Page 81 of Facing the Enemy
“I hope not, Risa. The intake woman has access to personal and financial info. If she’s guilty, she has all a scammer would need to approach a resident,” I said. “It doesn’t match the Addingtons’ case, but we have no idea of the enormity of the crime ring.”
“We’re creeping closer, Gage. My intuition says we have more pieces than we think.” Her stomach growled, and she apologized. Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. “It’s from Anna Wright.” She pressed Speaker and answered. “Thanks for returning my call. Did you recognize the photo of the young woman?”
“Yes, I remember her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Um ... Elizabeth. I’d need to verify her last name in the files. Why? Has she been hurt? Is she okay?”
“We’d like to talk to her. I’ll hold on while you find her last name and address.” Several moments passed before Ms. Wright returned to the phone. “I can’t find her file. I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I’m always so fastidious about my documents. No one is allowed in the locked cabinet but me. I’ll go through each one after we’re finished.”
“I appreciate your willingness to help us.” Risa ended the call.
“Shall we get breakfast and map out our next move?” I said. “My brain doesn’t need a sugar kick, or we’d head back inside for donuts.”
We agreed on a First Watch location, Risa’s favorite breakfast spot. We drove to the restaurant with little conversation, which was how we normally worked together. She’d have her mind engaged with one angle, and I’d focus on another. Would this always be our way of settling in to our lives? I wanted kids, a dog, and a backyard. For sure when we talked or rather debated, reasoning rolled into place. We were both headstrong, but that only meant we needed proof to agree to the other’s viewpoint. The big difference rested in our relationship. I reached for her hand and wished I held her in my arms. Soon.
We’d been on the road about fifteen minutes when my phone buzzed with an unrecognizable number.
“Gage Patterson.”
“Sir, you gave me your card after Saigon Sampler fire.” Her thick accent perked my attention, and I enabled Bluetooth so Risa could hear. “You said to call if I knew anything about Phan Suzi and her sister, Hai.”
An image formed in my mind of the woman at the fire scene on the afternoon after Saigon Sampler burned to the ground. She’d been very upset about the Phan sisters’ deaths. I’d been led to believe none of the three Vietnamese people spoke English—they’d used Smoke as an interpreter. Just like the gang members I’d interviewed yesterday—English must be the language of convenience. I pointed to my legal pad, and Risa grabbed it with a pen. She jotted down something. I assumed the topic of the woman’s call.
“Do you have information to help the FBI solve those murders?” I said.
“Yes, sir. I have a little.”
“Can you give me your name?”
“No. Too dangerous.”
“I understand.” I refused to push the request for fear she’d hang up. I could research the number later. “Thank you for your courage to call me. I’m listening, so go ahead with what you can share.”
“Hai had a two-week-old baby boy who was taken from her.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who did this?”
“No name. Hai was offered money for him and refused. Then he was stolen.”
“Was Suzi trying to help her locate the baby?”
“Yes. The man who died in the fire was baby’s father. He wanted her to take money. Boy babies get higher price.”
“Hai wanted to raise her son.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If she no longer had her baby, why were she and her sister killed?”
“They were going to police because father helped the bad people take the baby.”
“I have the father’s name in the restaurant fire report—Ly Nien. Did he have family here?”
