Chapter 1
Friday, Week Seven, Fall 2008
“She could have lived, had she stayed inside, locked the door and kept quiet,” the university cop said. He was idling by the corpse, between the bathroom and the front door.
“If it was a regular home invasion,” Detective Carlos Ortega said from the back. An orange-glazed cookie was bookmarked on one of the open textbooks on the dining table. He yearned for some coffee, dark roasted beans brewed to perfection—anything better than the stench of blood, urine and excrement coming from the corpse, a girl curled in fetal position, clothed in a Lakers jersey and boxers.
Headlights passed. A van parked by the curb. Ortega knew that calculating the time of death would be problematic, given that the windows were open. It was still warm and dry outside, despite it being two hours past midnight. “Watch out for broken glass,” he said as the county medical examiner entered. Remnants of a fishbowl were scattered on the wet tile floor.
“What happened here?” Dr. Cordell shielded her nostrils.
“The perps came from the kitchen back door. Stole the TV, maybe a DVD player and other electronics. They forgot the remotes.”
“What is this?” With a gloved hand, she carefully lifted a snow-white mask from the pool of blood. It had a devil’s head: bulging eyes, a fat nose, pointed horns and shark’s teeth.
“Demonic symbols aren’t new. Could be local boys playing Satanas.”
“Thank goodness my daughters don’t celebrate Halloween,” she said and had it bagged by a Crime Scene Response officer.
Cordell peeled off the blood-soaked cardigan covering the victim’s face. It was an Asian girl, mouth ajar and eyes bitterly shut. “Well, this is interesting.” She reached into the cardigan pocket and found a thin Hello Kitty wallet. “Elise Angela Tran, UCR student. There are a few tens in here.”
“So the kill wasn’t for money?” Ortega fought the urge to vomit. This was his first Asian victim, two years in Homicide, and the girl’s name sounded familiar. With blood dripping away from her face, he could see her now: pale cheeks, a mole by her bruised lip. This was his nephew’s friend, a classmate who had visited a few months ago to deliver a birthday cake.
With a flashlight, Cordell studied the victim’s protruding tongue. Gently, she parted the gore-matted hair from the victim’s back. “Exit wound’s behind her neck, by the spine. The barrel must’ve been hoisted in a downward angle,” she said and swallowed, as if the words were too painful to mention. “Several lacerations on the throat and the roof of her mouth, before she was shot.”
“Jesus.” He looked away, spotting a textbook sprawled by the toilet. “Where’s her phone? She could’ve called 911 if she was just reading in the bathroom.”
She tapped the girl’s boxers. “It’s not on her. Maybe she left it out.”
“Damn. The perps must’ve taken it, along with her laptop. The oven was warm when the UCPD responded. There are 21 cookies on the sheet, besides the ones on the table. Hopefully we’ll find fingerprints and saliva.”
“Was she a baker? Why make them at this time, past midnight?”
“Let’s hope she wasn’t expecting company. I’ll call Brandon if he gets anything out of the boyfriend.” Ortega stepped outside and breathed. It was almost 3 a.m., all too quiet in the lawnless suburban neighborhood, despite the crowd of college kids peeping around earlier while the police tape was being set up.
From the parked van, the medical examiner’s assistant came up with a stretcher and a body bag draped over his arm. Ortega let him in, not wanting to stay any longer. The smell of urine and excrement still stuck to his shirt as he pulled out his cell phone. He wanted to get out of the house, see his sleeping daughter, but he didn’t want to go home either and tell his adopted nephew that another loved one had died.
#
Saturday, Week Eight
Elise was on the news, the college webmail, and the in-class gossip. When Ryan Ortega first heard it from his uncle, he felt like a beer can crushed by a passing truck. Since then, there were nights when he couldn’t sleep, or when he did, he would wake up in cold sweat, like times he peed on his cardboard bed while still in Manila, haunted childhood memories like blackened sweat and garbage stench clinging to his skin.
If there was another man more devastated by her death, it was Wayne Patterson, Elise’s boyfriend who had left her that night. The weekend after the incident, Ryan took Wayne and his housemates out of Riverside, merging onto the 60 West toward Los Angeles. Passing through the Chinese signs crowded along Diamond Bar and Rowland Heights, he took the Hollywood Freeway until they reached Little Tokyo, an hour away from reality.
Ryan and Wayne tried the Orochon Ramen Challenge, popularized by the Man v. Food show. The server began the timer, and Justin recorded the two steaming bowls.
“Shit, you guys serious? That much sodium could kill you,” said Ahmed, Wayne’s other housemate.
Each sip of the crimson broth burned, like frying the tongue in vegetable oil. Ryan began to sweat, the heat reaching his head. Wayne devoured his noodles and started on the broth and jalapeños. The tasty poison was good medicine, Ryan guessed, something to keep their minds away from Elise, at least for half an hour. Wayne dried his tears with a napkin and downed a glass of water. His lips were swelling, but eventually, he finished his bowl and got his picture on the Wall of Fame. That afternoon, though, he ended up in the bathroom, while the so-called “losers” waited out in the plaza.
“How is he?” Ryan asked the housemates.
“Seeing a counselor,” Justin said. “He drinks a lot these days.”
Ryan leaned against the wall. “I still don’t understand why she didn’t just go back to her apartment, why she had Wayne fetch her study materials.”
“We had a big ochem midterm the day after. Me, Elise and her roommate.”
“So, why didn’t you study with Elise?”
“We didn’t get back till 4 a.m.,” Justin said. “Frat event.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Ahmed breathed. “We’re not allowed to tell.”
“Hazing rituals?” Ryan crossed his arms.
“Nah, nothin’ like that,” Ahmed said. “Why don’t you just ask your uncle? He interviewed us already.”
“We’re not exactly on good terms.” Ryan looked away. “You guys know anything about the roommate?”
“Nah, never met her actually. Saw her pictures though. One hot Korean babe.”
“She doesn’t talk much even in class,” Justin said. “I’m not even sure if they’re close. Elise usually sits in front of the class.”
“Hmm, I guess I could go talk to her then.” Ryan straightened up as he saw Wayne emerge from the restroom.
#
After strolling around Weller Court, the four college students ventured into a hobby store. Justin took pictures of the display cases containing robot models and toys with guns and katanas. Ahmed gawked at the photos of cosplayers dressed as anime characters with colorful wigs.
Ryan was reading manga when he noticed Wayne glumly staring at a demon figurine. It was an oni wearing a lab coat, with a massive blade on the side—a troll demon covered in hair, with horns and a fierce glare that could melt its plastic box.
“You okay, man?” Ryan nudged Wayne.
“Huh? It’s nothing. Just brings back memories.”
“I used to watch anime back in middle school. My friend Kou got me into it, though he quit a while back.”
“Elise loved anime, and Asian dramas.”
“Yeah. Maybe we should leave.” Ryan stepped away from the toy shelves.
“The parents were mad at me. I met them at the vigil.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know—”
“I stayed in her apartment longer than I should have. I should’ve known better.”
Ryan hesitated, not knowing what to say. Justin headed to the counter and purchased a keychain.
Ahmed patted Wayne’s back. “Calm, down, man. Even Elise thought it was a hoax.”
“What hoax?” Ryan said.
Justin was already outside, calling them out. Ryan wanted to know the truth, but Wayne had already followed Ahmed to the exit.
The village plaza had salons, sushi bars and bakeries, with parasols and banners fluttering with the wind. Blue Christmas lights were coiled around the trees and branches, and round lanterns dangled on their strings. The smell of fresh takoyaki reminded Ryan of last quarter, when Elise had brought her cooking club, Food Lovers Collective, here in downtown. He remembered Elise and Wayne sharing manju by the fountain, bean paste spurting from the rice cakes. They were the ideal couple, wiping each other’s lips, a culinary princess and her knight. But now, under the streetlight, Wayne’s disheveled hair looked as if he hadn’t bathed for days. In daylight, he was handsome: a mix of Vietnamese and Danish blood, complete with chestnut hair, a beach tan, and large almond-shaped eyes. But now he looked like a zombie tormented by guilt.
“Just tell me already,” Ryan said, catching the eyes of tourists and families.
Wayne turned, his face sour. “I don’t want you to worry.”
“Worry about you? Fuck that shit. You’re like a brother to me. And Elise…she was more than a sister to me, a little sis I couldn’t protect.”
Ahmed sat by the fountain. Justin took pictures of fish-shaped cakes and peach-shaped sweets.
“Death threats.” Wayne sighed. “We’ve been getting them in the mail three weeks before her death.”
“For real? What did they want?”
“Whoever wrote them wanted us to quit the cooking competition.”
“Did you show it to the cops?”
“We didn’t think they were serious, so we kept on, and we won.”
“Shit. So that’s what happened.”
“Come on, guys, it’s getting dark. Let’s grab some food,” Ahmed said.
#
Ryan placed kimchi on his bibimbap bowl. “I’m surprised there are a lot of Korean restaurants here in Little Tokyo.”
“Dude, they own everything now.” Ahmed downed his soju. “And Korean babes are hot.” He nodded at a poster, a model with a seductive pose. “Don’t you think so, Justin?”
“Let’s not talk about girls right now.” Justin tasted his sweet-smelling bulgogi.
“Will you man up?” Ahmed spat grains of rice as he spoke. “You’re sounding like a girl. There are plenty of fish in the sea. You gotta learn to fuck different flavors, right, Ryan?”
Ryan glanced at Wayne: silently eating his food.
“I heard you guys are heading to Laguna Beach in a few weeks,” Justin said. “Mind if I carpool with you? I need more service hours for the frat, so I need to go to the AIDS Walk. Fuck my life.”
“My car’s full,” Ryan said. “I’m driving for FLC’s bonfire event. Josie’s the new president.”
“Have fun with her,” Ahmed said. “She scares the shit out of me. Like, the other night at soup kitchen, she spilled grape juice all over a hobo she was serving.”
“It was an accident, right?” Ryan said.
“I don’t even know why she goes to soup kitchen. She’s hella rich.”
“Hey, everyone needs something on their résumé.”
The boys tossed laughs at each other, all until Wayne put on his leather jacket, walked out of the restaurant and lit a cigarette. Ryan squirmed in his seat. “About the death threats, do you think Elise’s death is related to the competition?”
“I dunno. Could be,” Justin replied.
“Josie wasn’t at the vigil. As the new club president she should’ve given a eulogy. Instead, Adele, the secretary, spoke for FLC.”
“They were rivals, weren’t they? Josie and Elise, the whole drama on who should represent the club.”
“Yeah, I should talk to her, too. Maybe she knows something about the death threats.”
Wayne was still outside, smoking by the curb.
Ryan left and sat next to him. “I thought you quit.”
“Well, she’s not gonna nag me anymore.”
“I know how you feel, man. She meant a lot to both of us.”
“It’s not gonna be the same without her.”
“I know.” Ryan put his hand on Wayne’s shoulder.
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.”