Death Benefits
They came for Patrick at midnight. Chen rapped sharply on our bedroom door speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin that was Greek to me. I only understood two words but that was enough — Jai-ling Chow.
By the time I pried open my eyes, my husband was up and dressed. I switched on the bedside light and watched him. As always, his perfection staggered me— six plus feet of muscled male beauty with lovingly sculpted features and a full head of shiny black hair.
"What’s going on?"I whispered. "Is Jai-ling downstairs?" I flailed around for my robe and slippers.
"No Baby,"Patrick said. "Stay in bed. Go back to sleep."
"Sleep? Not likely! Tell me what Chen said. I heard her name."
I unfastened the pins in my thick blonde hair and grabbed a mirror. No way would I let Jai-ling see me looking like this. She was always fastidious— groomed and garbed with just the right amount of jewelry. Patrick shared a history with her. They were childhood friends, college sweethearts and occasional lovers. I loathed her.
"She’s not here. For Christ’s sake, Grace, calm down."His hands fumbled with his shirt buttons. "Stay here. The dogs’ll start barking and wake up everyone. Then the boys will start squealing. That’s all we need— a three ring circus."
How right he was. We have four little boys under five with remarkable powers of hearing the wrong things at the wrong time. Fortunately we also have a nanny who knows how to suppress those high spirits. I wasn’t fooled: Patrick was trying to sidetrack me.
"I’m going downstairs so you better tell me who the hell’s there and what’s going on." I jumped out of bed, belted my robe and grabbed my slippers, praying that mascara hadn’t ringed my eyes again.
She has some nerve barging into my home at midnight. Bitch!
He caught me before I reached the door. Patrick’s eyes were molten coal. His hands gripped my shoulders. "The police are downstairs,"he said. "Jai-ling’s dead. Murdered."
***I’d never liked her but I didn’t want her dead. Just permanently out of our lives. Someone else must have felt the same way. Jai-ling Chow was dead and I was finally free. It took a minute for me to process everything.
"Murdered? How? Are they sure?"I shut up before I started babbling.
Patrick nodded. "She had her license and passport on her. My card was in her wallet."
I’ll just bet it was. "What do the cops want?"
He fumbled with the words. "They need a formal ID. Jai-ling…she didn’t have anyone else in D.C. I’m the closest thing to family she has. Had."
I hugged my husband as hard as I could. "I’m sorry, Patrick. I know you two were close."
He straightened his shoulders, shaking off the outward vestiges of pain. "They don’t have any suspects yet, but by God I’ll make sure they don’t sweep this under the carpet."
The D.C. cops have an abysmal record. They solve fewer than 30% of homicides and most of the ones they clear are simple domestics and drive-bys. Jai-ling probably ran afoul of some druggie half out of his mind for a fix. At least that’s the cover story they might use.
"Where did they find her?"I asked. "Oh God, did someone break into her condo?"
Patrick was losing patience. "I don’t know yet,"he said through gritted teeth. "The cops only told Chen the basics."He managed a smile. "They wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t forced them. You know how tough Chen is about security.
Do I ever? Chen runs our household with ruthless efficiency. He’s Patrick’s beloved Sifu, houseman and friend, an ageless blend of Machiavelli and Sun Tzu who’s not to be trifled with. Chen doesn’t like me. Because I’m Patrick’s wife he tolerates me, treating me with the thinly veiled courtesy he reserves for social inferiors. Once I produced male heirs, he warmed up a bit but not much. It’s nothing personal—not really. Chen believes in keeping all things Chinese especially when it involves marriage. He regards an Italian-Irish mix like me as a blot on the Fong family name.
"Come on," I said. "Let’s hear what they have to say."
***We were no strangers to murder: it hovered over us like a noxious cloud. Our former careers had thrust us into a bloody trajectory of death, destruction and danger. That was all over now — until tonight. Patrick traded the world of espionage for academic pursuits; I swapped the joys of executive management for motherhood and the chance to write novels. Neither one of us regretted the bargain — not really.
Two detectives stood in the foyer under Chen’s eagle eye, awkwardly shifting their weight. The older guy was a stranger, a stocky redhead with a handlebar mustache and a face full of freckles. His partner was very familiar.
"Dr. Fong, Ms. Quinn — it’s been a while." Lieutenant Chick Martinez patted his slick black pompadour. His smile oozed insincerity and a large measure of ego. He pumped Patrick’s hand, pointedly ignoring me. Past dealings had strained our relationship.
Chick looks good and he knows it. He’s Patrick’s height with a rangy build that suggests plenty of gym time. His shiny suit of silk shantung reflects vanity and a sense of style. A casual observer might think he’s hot.
"Come into the living room,"Patrick said. "Espresso for everyone, Chen."
Chick craned his neck as we took our seats. "New digs, huh. Very nice." He eased into an antique French fauteil without asking permission. Patrick and I sat side by side on the velvet sofa. His sergeant stood in the doorway like a sentry.
Two years ago, we’d moved into an imposing home in Georgetown’s east village. It had all the bells and whistles — architectural details, luxuriant gardens, even a swimming pool. Most of all it had space — plenty of room for a houseful of children. Patrick was an enthusiastic proponent of large families.
Martinez trained his eyes on a stuffed toy peaking from under the loveseat. "Sooo, you’re still here, Ms. Quinn. What, you have kids now?"
Did I mention what a dolt Martinez is? The Brits have a word for him — smarmy. Stupid also comes to mind.
Patrick intervened. "Actually she’s Mrs. Fong. Has been for five years."His nice guy grin was deceptive. "Let’s get down to basics, Lieutenant. Would you please introduce your partner?"
Chick flushed and turned to the redhead. "Oh…sorry. This is Sergeant Larry Hall. Your butler probably told you why we’re here."
I tried to hide my smile. Chen is a butler like Shakespeare was a writer.
"You were close to Dr. Chow, I understand." Chick’s voice was sober as he watched my husband. "I’m sorry that you lost your friend."
Patrick nodded but didn’t react. "What have you found out?"
It was Hall’s turn now. "The victim, Dr. Chow, was murdered in her condo over on 25th street. Maid found her after lunch on Saturday. Called 911 and went hysterical." He shrugged. "Can’t say that I blame her. It was messy."
"Messy,"I said. "What do you mean?"
Chick glowered at me. "We’re not at liberty to discuss that, Ms…Mrs. Fong. By the way, where were you from midnight Friday to noon Saturday?"
"Me! Am I a suspect?"The possibility thrilled me.
Before he could answer, Patrick stood. "You need a formal identification. I’m ready to go now. Leave my wife out of this, Martinez. We have four babies under five years of age and I can assure you she’s fully occupied with them."
"Let me get dressed, Patrick. I’ll go with you."I leapt up, almost colliding with Chen.
"No, Darling. Stay here. I won’t be long."Patrick kissed my forehead. "Go back to bed."
