THE DETECTIVE ON duty seemed to be waiting for him, a beefy guy with ruddy cheeks in a rumpled suit. He had a salt-and-pepper military haircut. Jack wondered if he’d just come in from the cold, imagining him in the woods in camouflage gear, bow hunting deer or blowing away a bear with an assault rifle.

Jack broke the awkward quiet by placing his ID and gold shield on the duty desk.

“So what’s up, brother?” the Jersey detective greeted Jack, direct but accommodating, while pointing toward one of the metal folding chairs. He took another look at Jack’s ID and badge, apparently having never met, much less ever having had a conversation with, a Chinese cop, NYPD, federal, or otherwise.

“I’m working a homicide,” Jack began in his perfect Lower East Side English, “which could be connected to something that might’ve happened out here.”

“Might have happened?” The Edgewater cop seemed pleasantly surprised by Jack’s command of the language.

“Something like kidnap, burglary, robbery. Or home invasion, arson?”

“Out here?” The crew cut narrowed his eyes. He was reviewing local crimes in his head.

“In Edgewater. Could be tied to a Mr. James Gee.” Jack added, “A big house. I don’t have an address.” He thought he saw the man blink on Gee.

“This was how long ago?”

“Has to be recent,” Jack offered. “A few weeks, coupla months maybe.”

There was a long pause as the two men sat back, sizing each other up. You have a lot of that out here, wondered Jack during the delay, or hardly any? A crime happens just across the river, in another state, but unless it’s a notorious case with a federal tie-in, he’d never hear about it.

“You’re right. There was a home invasion,” the Jersey cop finally offered, like it was bait. “In February. What now? You got a lead for me?”

“Not yet,” Jack countered, “but I got a victim who maybe died because of it. Your home invasion had Chinese victims?”

“We don’t record data based on race.”

“I know that.” Jack shrugged, working the cop-brother angle. “Just off the record, anything with a James Gee?”

The crew cut took another long breath. “Okay,” he said. “But anything you get comes my way. Gang intel, organized crime, immigration. Everything.” Color rose on his face.

“You got it,” Jack said.

“It’s the only open case in my jacket,” he said frowning. “And anybody who comes and fucks around in my backyard, they gotta pay. Whether the victim helps us or not.”

“How’s that?”

“The victim, Mr. Gee—it wasn’t ‘James’ as I remember, something else Chinese—was cooperative but didn’t give us anything really useful. I got the idea he knew more than he was telling.”

“Go on.”

“Gee said he had no enemies that he knew of and was unaware of any threats against him or his family. We later thought it might have something to do with his son Francis, who had two criminal mischief and grand theft auto beefs here. We didn’t get anywhere with that.”

“How’d it go down? The home invasion?”

“Patrol got the call, a nine-eleven,” he said, “during the change of shift. A resident of Edgewater Lane complained that a car had sideswiped him at high speed as he was pulling in outside his home. He claimed the car came from the direction of Mr. Gee’s house.”

“He knew the location of Mr. Gee’s house?” Jack asked.

“He said ‘the Chinaman’s house.’” The crew cut watched for a reaction from Jack.

Nothing but his inscrutable face.

He continued the tale.

“So patrol went to the location. Some lights were on inside the house. No one answered the front door, but the side doors were open. They found Mr. Gee and his father inside. Both were bound and gagged. Gee had a gash on the back of his head, nothing serious, and the old man complained about chest pains. They put out a call for EMS.”

“How many perps? How’d they gain access?”

“Mr. Gee said he had a security alarm system but hadn’t activated it for the night, as he thought his son might be coming home late. He said the alarms in the area had activated last year during the nor’easter, and again when we had the tremors in the Palisades. They had to wait a long time for the alarm company to respond. So he kept the system off until they were ready to sleep. Most of the time he said it was just him and his father. That night, three armed men surprised them.”

“What happened to the old man?” Jack remembered Vincent Chin’s words, natural death.

“He had a massive stroke before EMS arrived. They pronounced him at the hospital.”

“What about the son?” Jack asked.

“Wasn’t home. Was at a party, and the alibi’s good.”

Jack shook his head. “He had nothing to say?”

“Again, nothing that was helpful. But not surprising, since he’s on probation here.”

“Probation? You got him on a leash?”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t violated, as far as we know.”

Jack remembered the house mentioned in the architecture magazine.

“What’s the address?” he asked, wondering if Bossy Gee was at home.

Flash-Forward

HE AVOIDED THE living room, only glancing around it in passing. He’d wiped away the streaks of blood from his head gash that had smeared against the couch and carpet. The luxurious leather furniture combination, arranged in a feng shui pattern, was still as pristine as ever. No prospective buyer could possibly know that the old man died there, on the carpet, next to the ottoman.

His father, bound hands and feet, choking inside his duct-taped mouth. The memory froze him breathless.

Terror in the old man’s eyes.

He poured another shot of XO.

Three men in ski masks, brandishing guns and knives, had gotten the drop on them.

Snubbed out the Cubano cigar.

They’d pistol-whipped him and taken cash and jewelry.

He took the rest of the alcohol back up to the bedrooms, trying to shake the flashbacks.

Somehow, the police arrived, freeing them. Suffering the loss of face, the humiliation.

He viewed the front of his property through the large picture windows. Downed the XO. I can’t stay here much longer, he knew. There was going to be some more payback coming, and he didn’t intend to be a sitting duck here. He needed to be very low-key. Disappear, and let the Hong Kong Triad do its work. He’d want to keep his remaining son, Frank, out of harm’s way, but he’d sponsor the Black Dragons to continue hitting the Ghosts wherever they spread to.

The lakeside trees were bare, but the evergreens still framed the house in green and lined the driveway approach.

He took a long breath and found calm again. A fresh brushing of snow had covered over the gray slush, and everything looked picturesque. The sales agents had posted a sign at the beginning of the driveway.

In the distance a car turned onto the lane, slowing as it passed the other houses. He tried to remember if they were showing the house today.

The car came to a stop at the driveway, idling opposite the FOR SALE sign, spitting little puffs of steamy exhaust from its tailpipe. Is it a prospective buyer coming for a look at the house? he wondered. Or someone who’s lost trying to circle back to the highway? He waited for some movement from the car.

JACK SAT BACK in the Chevy and admired the big house at the far end of the fancy white-gravel driveway. The FOR SALE sign presented 88 Edgewater Lane, an offering by Golden Mountain Realty. The biggest house in the neighborhood, fronted by the luckiest Chinese numbers, thought Jack, three levels tall. A long, private driveway. Roof deck. Probably has a pool and a hot tub out back. He remembered the “monster homes” news item and wondered how one man’s American Dream had ended in a fatal home invasion.