The Scratch on the Ming Vase (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“I don't know how Ellen managed to get today off,” said Dolores, as she and Nicki filled their cleaning cart with supplies. “I hate working on Saturday, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Nicki. “Especially when it's so nice outside.”

“Too hot for me.”

“I don't mind the heat,” said Nicki. “I like to run first thing in the morning, though, before the worst of it sets in.”

“You're ambitious. I drag myself out of bed, drink two or three cups of coffee, and convince myself that I'm going to win the lottery.” She laughed. “Ready to go?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

They pulled the cart into the service elevator, got off on the fourth floor, and knocked at 401.

“Housekeeping. Anybody there?” When nobody answered, Dolores put her key card in the slot. “I knew he wouldn't be here, but I always follow the rules.”

“You knew who wouldn't be here?”

“The manager.”

“This is Trent Newman's room?” asked Nicki.

“Yep,” replied Dolores. “Which is why I always follow the rules.” She knocked again, then opened the door and went inside. Nicki took a wet rag and started to clean the safe. While wiping it off with one hand, she tried to open it with the other.

It was locked.

She waited for Dolores to go into the washroom, then used the override key.

The safe was empty.

“How long has Newman lived here?” asked Nicki when Dolores returned.

“Not long at all,” she replied. “He moved out of his apartment recently. He's staying here until he finds a new place, I guess.”

“Ever find anything interesting in here?” Nicki pulled the sheets off the bed and threw them onto a cart in the hall.

“Nothing more interesting than wine bottles.” She helped Nicki stretch the fitted sheet onto the mattress. “And Spam.”

“Yeah,” said Nicki, “he does love his Spam.”

Dolores fluffed the pillows and put on new cases.

“There was one weird thing,” said Dolores.

“What?”

“A Mandarin dictionary.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What would he want with a Chinese dictionary?”

When Nicki finished her shift at five-thirty that afternoon, she found T'ai waiting by the main desk.

“I figured you'd be around here somewhere,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for taking off last night. I wasn't mad at you.”

“I know,” replied Nicki. “And I don't blame you for being frustrated with Mac.” She looked around the lobby. “Since you're here, do you want to help me with something?”

“Sure. What's up?”

“I want to search the manager's office.”

“You think this guy's involved?”

“I don't know.” She pulled out her mother's override key and opened the door to Newman's office.

“Where did you get that?” asked T'ai.

“Who cares? Point is, I have it.”

T'ai shut the door quietly behind them.

“We'll have to work fast,” Nicki said.

She switched on the desktop computer. “I don't see his laptop around here, do you?”

“No, just the hotel computer,” answered T'ai. “How did you get the access password to this thing anyway?”

“I work here, remember?”

T'ai sat down and started opening files.

“What, exactly, am I hacking into here?”

Nicki started searching through CDs in a case behind his desk. “I need to find the surveillance footage of the eighth-floor hallway on the night David Kahana was knifed— Wednesday night, around eight-thirty or so. I need to know who entered his room from that time on.”

T'ai clicked away, and Nicki watched over his shoulder. “I know Newman's connected. I just don't know how.”

They shoved discs in and out of the computer until they came to surveillance footage of Wednesday night.

“Look at that,” said Nicki. “It's been erased.”

“How can you tell?” asked T'ai.

“The time stamp doesn't match up. Look here.” She replayed the tape. “Nothing but an empty hallway, except for the odd person with a suitcase coming on or off the elevator. But notice how the counter stops at ten thirteen, then starts again fifteen minutes later. Enough time for Newman to go upstairs, walk through the hall, enter the room, and return to his office.”

“For sure,” said T'ai.

“Nobody else but Newman has access to these tapes.”

Nicki thought for a minute. “What about the record of room 813? Was it opened on Wednesday night around that time?”

T'ai found the files for the rooms.

“Yes.” He pointed to the screen. “The universal key opened Mr. Kahana's door at ten nineteen.”

“So Newman erased the videotape of himself, but not the record of the entry.” Nicki looked at T'ai. “Maybe there's no way to erase that.”

T'ai shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know. Mac could tell you.” He leaned back. “But I don't want his help.”

Nicki didn't comment.

“So,” continued T'ai, “Newman had time to stick the fake vase in the safe. But so what?” He got up. “We can't prove anything.”

“Not yet,” said Nicki.

She sat down at the computer and started searching for downloaded files that might help.

“Just hotel records, documents, payments. Nothing interesting,” she mumbled.

Then she found something.

“Look at this,” she said. “In his e-mail program—his list of contacts.” She ran her finger down the screen and pointed to a name.

“Peter Byron?” T'ai shrugged. “They know each other?”

Nicki heard something moving outside the door and gestured to T'ai.

“What do we do now?” he whispered. He opened the door a tiny bit. “There's a man out there. I don't know who he is. He's talking to the concierge.”

Nicki looked out.

“That's Newman!” she said. She snapped off the computer.

“Now what?” asked T'ai.

Nicki spotted a first aid kit and yanked it off the wall.

“Get down on the floor,” she said, “and follow my lead.”

The door opened.

Newman looked at Nicki. Then at T'ai. Then at Nicki again.

“Nobody—and I mean nobody—enters this office when I am not here! This is the end of the line for you. I'm not kidding.”

“I can't talk now,” she said, slapping the sides of T'ai's face. “Quick,” she told Newman. “Look in there. Do you have something to revive him?” She pushed the first aid kit toward him. Everything spilled out onto the floor, including a half-used bottle of iodine.

“What happened to him?” Newman tried to stop the iodine from flowing out of the bottle.

“I don't know,” she said. “He just collapsed. His pulse is weak. Help me, please.”

“Did you call 911?” he asked.

Nicki couldn't think up an answer fast enough. She pinched T'ai, and he opened his eyes and coughed.

“Wha…what happened?”

“You were feeling ill, sir. I brought you into Mr. Newman's office to get first aid, but you passed out. Can you stand up now?”

T'ai slowly got to his feet.

“Are you…all right?” Newman asked.

“I think it's the heat. I…I just need some water.”

Nicki supported T'ai, and the two staggered out of the office.

Newman slammed the door shut.

T'ai rubbed his cheeks.

“Did you have to be so convincing?”

Chapter Sixteen

“Fenwick? Where are you, Fenwick?” Nicki called from outside the subway station on her way to the university residence. After several attempts, she left a message.

“Fenwick, I won't be back in time for dinner tonight. It's already past six, and I'm on my way downtown.” She went to click off the phone, then spoke again. “Where are you, anyway? I've called a dozen times.”

“I'm here, Miss.” The butler was out of breath. “I've just returned home from the market. I found some lovely
champignons
.” She could hear bags rustling in the background.

“How about tomorrow night?” asked Nicki.

“Splendid,” said Fenwick.

Nicki walked across campus to the building that housed Mac's room. Two girls her age stopped her to ask directions to the English department, where orientation for the upcoming fall semester was about to take place.

“I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you,” admitted Nicki.

“That's okay, we'll find it.” The first girl opened up a folder to check a map of the campus.

“So what are you going to be studying?” the second girl asked Nicki.

“I'm, uh…I won't be taking classes,” she said. “Not here.”

“York?” the girl asked Nicki, referring to another university in Toronto.

“No, I'm not planning on university.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” said the other girl, with a hint of insincerity in her voice that Nicki detested. “It's going to be great.”

I don't have time for it
, Nicki told herself.
Not now. I want to focus on my training.

The two girls chatted and pointed and went on their way, so excited about their future at the university, their feet hardly hit the ground.

That's not for me.

Mac's door was open, and he was working at his computer. A large bandage taped neatly under his eye and an even larger bottle of pain medicine next to his bed could only mean one thing.

“Margo been to see you?” asked Nicki from the hallway. She wasn't going to make the mistake of entering Mac's room until invited to do so.

“Hi. Come on in.” Mac swiveled his chair around to face her. “She was here earlier today. Quite the nurse, isn't she?”

Nicki nodded.

“Sit down,” said Mac, pointing to the end of the bed.

He flipped his computer screen off, but not before Nicki got a glimpse of the web page he'd been on. It was a gaming site.

And he wasn't winning.

“I came to see how you were doing, Mac,” said Nicki.

“And to ask a few questions?”

“Maybe.”

“I wish I could answer them, but I can't. You're a nice person, and so is Margo. I don't want to drag you into this. It's my problem.”

“By not telling T'ai what's going on with you, Mac, you're going to lose a friend.”

He picked up a pencil and broke it in half.

“Do you think I don't know it?” He hurled the pieces against the wall. And then, under his breath, he mumbled something that said it all. “I'll get out of this mess one day. Things are going to change.”

“You won't solve your problems by gambling. All you're going to do is make somebody else rich.”

Mac said nothing.

“It's none of my business, though,” added Nicki.

“Right.”

Mac turned his chair back to face the computer, which Nicki read as her sign to leave.

“I have to get some work done,” he snapped. When Nicki got up to leave, he grabbed her sleeve. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don't know.” He rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “For everything.”

“I'll see you around.”

Nicki stood in the hallway for a minute. She could hear him roll back to the computer and start tapping his money away again.

Then he stopped abruptly.

“No!” he screamed.

Nicki figured he must have maxed out his credit card. Nothing else would make him quit.

He took his anger out on the desk, bashing it with his fist.

He kicked the door shut.

Nicki took the stairs down and sat for a minute on a bench near the front entrance to tie her shoelace. When she looked up, she saw Mac heading across the grass.

He must have used the back stairway.
She jumped up to see where he was going. Under his arm he carried a manila envelope, folded over and taped down.
He's in an awful rush
, she thought.

She followed him to the subway platform and watched as he stood there, hesitating, trying to decide whether to board the train or not. Twice he held back as everyone pushed through the door. Finally, he boarded the third train to pull into the station.

Nicki followed suit.

She buried herself in the crowd, observing Mac as they rumbled along. The expression on his face was one of worry, fear—and dread. He got off two stops later.

Nicki followed.

He looked at his watch and then picked up his pace.

He crossed an intersection before the signal had changed and dashed through a park—the same park through which Nicki had followed his attackers the night before.

Down a side street he rushed, until he came to the narrow alley.

He's heading straight to Quon!

Nicki kept on his heels, waited for him to enter through the back door of the apartment house, then she headed down the alley.

The door was broken, and through the jagged glass, she could hear Quon's threats.

“So you finally came to your senses,” he said, his voice cold, his words blunt. “If you expect to leave here with both arms attached, MacDonald, those better be the discs.”

Chapter Seventeen

Quon led Mac up a flight of stairs.

Nicki looked up and saw a window being propped open by a piece of wood. She scrambled down the alley and found an old crate to stand on. She dragged it to the window and jumped up on it. She wasn't quite high enough to see inside, so she grasped the cement window ledge and pulled herself up, with nothing but her arm muscles to hold her in place.

She was peering into someone's kitchen, but it wasn't Quon's.

A woman and her son sat with their elbows resting on a table. Surrounded by the supper dishes and deeply engrossed in a board game, they didn't see Nicki's face at their window.

She lowered herself down.

Okay. His place must be on the second floor.

Nicki looked up again. There were two windows, both open, and one of them had a platform beneath it with a steel railing around it. Too small to be a balcony, but big enough to stand on and hopefully get inside the room.

But she had to climb up there first.

Running down the side of the building, not far from the window with the platform, was a metal downspout that led to the eaves trough along the roof. It was secured into the brick with bolts.

Pushing her feet into the wall and propelling herself upward along the spout, she managed to make it to the second-floor level.

Then came the difficult part—jumping to the platform without falling two stories down to the alley.

She swung her feet and got a toehold on the outside edge of the tiny balcony, then pivoted so she could grab the metal rail with one hand. Once she had hold of it, she managed to spring across and climb over the top.

She pushed back a pair of filthy curtains, leaned through the window, and checked out the bedroom.

The bed was unmade, clothes were strewn everywhere, and beer bottles were left on every conceivable surface at various stages of consumption.

She clambered in and crept through the room and into the hallway.

From her vantage point, she could see into the kitchen.

A young man and woman sat at a table with Quon and Mac; she recognized the man as Phil from the dance, and Nicki heard Quon call the woman Rita. Two gold rings pierced her left eyebrow, and a tattoo of a noose graced her upper arm.

“Okay, MacDonald,” said Quon, “you'd better not be yanking my chain this time.”

Quon ripped open the manila envelope, shook out several computer discs, then went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He twisted the cap off with his teeth, took two swigs, then stuck one of the discs into his laptop.

“Where's the hard copy?”

“Everything I have is on disc.”

Nicki positioned herself perfectly, turned on her cell phone camera, and aimed it for the table.

Quon put in another disc.

“This is it?”

“Those files represent the findings of the best minds in the world. My professor and his team have been working on this for eighteen months.”

“What's it about?” Quon rubbed his lips.

“We've found a way to create a 3-D photonic crystal that is both electronically and optically active.”

“I don't know,” mumbled Quon.

“What don't you know?” Mac's voice resounded with both anger and fear.

“It'll have to be cleared with the boss.”

“Who is your boss anyway?” asked Mac.

Quon laughed.

“Yeah, right.”

“Is he in Beijing?”

“Let's just say he travels quite a bit.” His voice trailed off as he got up to open a bag of potato chips. He took a knife out of his pocket, slashed the bag, then slit it down the middle. “How about a round with my friends here. Double or nothing. If you're lucky, you'll win and be able to clear the rest of your debt.”

“I've cleared my debt. I've just handed China enough intellectual property to satisfy a thousand debts.” Nicki heard him bang his fist on the table. “They'll jail me for the rest of my life for this.”

Quon laughed again.

“How about a little game of five card draw, Mac?”

Nicki could hear Mac get up and push out his chair.

Phil grabbed him and thrust him back down. “You don't go anyplace until Quon says you do.”

Quon took another gulp of beer. “I'll loan you the cash to play. Maybe tonight is your lucky night. Everyone has a good night now and then, right?”

“Maybe,” said Mac.

No!
thought Nicki.
Don't give in!

“Okay then, everyone,” said Phil, “let's deal.”

Nicki heard the slap, slap, slap of the cards. She bent her wrist as far back as she could to allow her camera to get a full shot of Quon and his guests. When she did, her foot hit the baseboard.

“What was that?”

Quon jumped up.

Nicki quickly rolled herself against the wall.

“I heard something,” he repeated.

“Me too.” Rita got out of her chair and looked around.

Nicki's heart started to pound. She felt beads of sweat forming on her forehead and rolling down her cheeks.

“Forget it, Quon,” said Phil. “Let's play.”

Slap, slap, slap.

Nicki sighed in relief as she positioned her phone back in place.

“Okay, Rita, here comes the jack. You deal, baby.”

“Cut,” said Phil.

“Done.”

They dealt until they each had five cards.

“Okay.” Phil pushed his chips to the center of the table.

“I'll straddle,” said Quon, moving even more chips in.

“Pass,” said Rita.

Mac turned to Quon.

“I'll see you and double the ante.” He shoved in a mound of chips.

Oh, Mac,
thought Nicki.

“I'll see you and raise—” Nicki couldn't make out his exact words, but by the number of chips he sent to the middle of the table, it was clear the blackmailer's bet was huge.

“You're bluffing,” said Mac.

Quon took a swig of beer and belched in his face.

Phil threw down his hand and passed.

Mac raised the stakes again.

Showdown time.

“Full house,” said Mac, laying out three tens and two threes.

Quon smiled.

Then he fanned his cards in front of Mac.

“Sorry pal,” he mocked, spreading out a straight flush—ace, king, queen, jack, and ten of hearts.

He stood up.

“I guess that's another grand you owe me, MacDonald. Unless you care to go double or nothing?”

No! Don't do it!

Slap, slap, slap went the cards for another hour. Nicki's cell phone memory had maxed out, but it didn't matter. She had enough evidence to send Quon away until his crew cut turned gray. Maybe longer.

The only problem was that T'ai's best friend would be going with him.

They played until Mac could stand the defeat no more. Now owing more than six thousand dollars, he hurled the cards across the room.

“I'll be in touch, Mr. MacDonald,” declared Quon, “to make arrangements.”

“I've given you everything. There's nothing left to take.”

“Oh, come on,” said Quon. “You must know a few more professors in the engineering department. My boss would love to know what kinds of things they've come up with for smartphones. And you're the man to give it to him.”

“I can't do that.”

“Figure something out.”

As he got up to leave, Nicki could hear Mac moaning something to himself.

“I'll kill myself first.”

And by the expression on his face, the look of a completely destroyed individual, Nicki knew he wasn't kidding.

Mac was about to commit suicide.