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SEVENTEEN

VERA

Vera has never been one to give up after just one setback. Oh no. So what if Marshall had very inconsiderately died from an allergic reaction instead of graciously dying from something more exciting and violent? It’s all mind over matter, and Vera has been so convinced from the very beginning that Marshall’s death was a murder that she is going to will it into reality, despite what everyone else believes. After all, there’s the flash drive to think about, and the scratch mark, and the bruise on his cheek, and the fact that he wasn’t a very nice person when he was alive.

So she takes a day to quietly seethe and give herself multiple pep talks about not giving up when the going gets tough. The only good thing about this is that she is able to tell Tilly that the man was killed by an allergic reaction, which seemed to relieve him greatly. On the second day, Vera decides she has had enough moping about and it is time to get cracking and chase down her destiny of solving Marshall’s murder. Destiny, Vera thinks, is something to be hunted down and grabbed tightly with both hands and shaken until it gives her exactly what she wants.

After her daily walk, complete with the usual stink eye for the Café, Vera shoves her sleeves up and gets to work, chopping and steaming and frying and boiling. There are a lot of components to be julienned and pureed and turned into crispy, juicy things, and at the end of all that hard work, Vera gazes down with all the pride and love that a mother might have for her newborn baby. In front of her is a tower of four tiffin containers stacked neatly one on top of the other. It stands at almost two feet tall and looks very impressive. Vera harrumphs with satisfaction, takes off her apron, and carefully applies some makeup. She then jams her visor on her head and picks up the heavy tiffin tower and marches down the stairs and out of the teahouse.

The San Francisco Police Department Central Station is on Vallejo, only a few blocks away from Vera’s teahouse, a straight line down Stockton. Normally, the walk would be nothing to Vera, but the tiffin tower makes it somewhat more difficult, and Vera finds to her horror that by the time she arrives, she is out of breath. She takes a few minutes to recover and dab at her damp forehead before lifting her chin once more and straightening up.

Being an upstanding citizen and a pillar of her community, Vera has never had reason to walk into the police station. But she has a very good idea of what to expect, because she has educated herself with CSI and Law & Order . She knows there will be Bad Guys probably shouting very exciting threats at anyone who dares look their way. There will also be Bad Cops who are doing very shady things and will look around very shadily once in a while. This is quite the adventure, and Vera wonders why she hasn’t thought of venturing into the police station for fun. Then she strides into the gray building, her eyes wide with expectation, and...

Like so much in life, the SFPD Central Station is a disappointment. No one is threatening her life. No one is shouting. No one is even looking her way. People are just typing into computers like this is a regular office instead of a police station. Vera sniffs. Honestly, what is the point of having a police station without some *~drama~*? She goes to the main reception desk, which is being manned by a young officer who looks like he’s barely out of high school, and says, “I need to see Officer Gray.”

“Which department?” the young officer says.

Vera considers this before saying regally, “Homicide.” She knows this is the most revered department of all the departments.

The officer narrows his eyes. He looks like a schoolboy struggling to see the blackboard. “Do you have an appointment?”

Technically no, but surely coming in here armed with a delicious feast would be enough to grant her an appointment. “Yes.”

“Name?”

“Vera Wong.”

He looks at his computer, then makes an apologetic face and says, “Hmm, sorry, I’m not seeing your name here.”

“Tch, is this police station or is this—” Fortunately for the young officer, Vera’s tirade is interrupted by the arrival of Officer Gray, who walks in carrying a takeaway latte from—unfortunately—the Café. Vera calls out in a friendly shout that can be heard all the way to the top floor, “Officer Gray! Eh, Officer Gray!”

Officer Gray glances up from her phone, and when she spots Vera, her face visibly falls. Vera doesn’t notice, or maybe she chooses not to notice. Either way, Vera heaves the tiffin tower from the reception desk and hurries over to Officer Gray, beaming. “Good morning, Officer.”

“It was,” Officer Gray says meaningfully. If her hands hadn’t been full with her latte and her phone, she would be pinching the bridge of her nose. “What brings you here, Vera?”

“Ah, I cook too much food for myself and I think, hmm, who can use a good meal? And I think, oh yes, of course, Officer Gray!” Vera’s smile widens. Then she sees the coffee cup with that hateful logo and those hateful two words, “The Café,” and her smile falters. “You shouldn’t drink such rubbish,” she scolds Officer Gray, plucking the cup from the officer’s hand. “Will give you liver cancer, everybody knows. Come, I show you what I cook.” She marches down the hallway, dumping the full cup of coffee in a nearby trash can as she does so.

“Wait, that’s my—” Officer Gray stares forlornly at the trash can, looking like she’s considering whether she should fish the cup out. With a sigh, she trudges after Vera. “That latte cost seven dollars and I only had the one sip,” she hisses at Vera.

“Seven dollars? Tomorrow I will bring you tea for free.”

“No, that’s okay,” Officer Gray says quickly. She follows Vera as she turns a corner and keeps marching. After a few minutes of this, Officer Gray clears her throat. “Um, just out of curiosity, where is it that you’re headed, Vera?”

Vera stops and turns around with a frown. “Your office, of course.”

“Right. Silly me. Except you seem to be leading the way?”

Vera sniffs. “I keep expecting you to catch up and lead, but you young people nowadays, always walking so slow. This is because you are always staring at your phone, all day, every day, just hunch over your phone, later you will have hunchback.”

“Right...” Officer Gray nods. “Would you like me to show you where my office is?”

“Yes, and take this, it’s so heavy. I been waiting for you to offer to carry it, but you young people don’t have many manners.”

With a sigh of defeat, Officer Gray takes the tiffin tower, which is indeed surprisingly heavy, and beckons to Vera to follow her. They walk up the stairs to the third floor, and Vera says, “Ah, this is where the excitement happens.” But all Vera finds is yet another office setting with a marked lack of violent criminals.

The office is open plan, and Officer Gray leads Vera to her desk near the windows. Nobody takes much notice of them, but as soon as they get to Officer Gray’s desk, Vera clicks the tiffin tower open and all sorts of wonderful smells waft out. Before Vera is even done arranging the containers neatly on Officer Gray’s desk, two other officers have wandered close, following their noses.

“Braised lion’s head,” Vera says, pointing to a container filled with fist-sized meatballs drowning in glistening gravy. “Spicy sesame noodles, roast pepper chicken, garlic-fried broccoli, and tomato-egg stir-fry. Come, eat.” She opens her shoulder bag and takes out a bunch of disposable bowls and chopsticks.

Officer Gray wants to protest, she really should, but maybe she’ll do so after one meatball. They look amazing, and when Vera places a bowl in Officer Gray’s hands, she just nods and spears a meatball. The other officers shamelessly help themselves to the spread and lavish praise on Vera for the delicious food. Vera nods, obviously pleased, and heaps more food into everyone’s bowls as she urges them to eat more. Before long, the tiffin containers are empty, at which point Vera says to the other officers, “Okay, go away now, I need to talk to Officer Gray.”

One of them, a burly sergeant, calls out, “Do you think you can make more of those lion heads, ma’am?” to which Vera says, “Yes, of course, but now I need privacy.”

Officer Gray shakes her head at Vera, and Vera stares back impassively. “I’ve never seen these guys take orders so well, not even from our captain.”

Vera shrugs. “If they want good food, they need to listen to me.”

“Can’t argue with you there. So, Vera, what can I do for you?”

Vera squares her shoulders, and Officer Gray leans back a little, as though she’s expecting Vera to pounce. “Well, I want to know what else you doing to investigate Marshall Chen’s murder.”

Officer Gray sighs. “Vera—”

“No, don’t tell me is not murder. Is very clearly murder.”

“Really? Why?”

Vera holds out a thumb. “Number one, he has scratch on his cheek.” She holds out her index finger. “Number two, he has bruise on cheek also, like someone punch him. And number three, there are no ducks in San Francisco!” She says the third thing with gusto. It’s her trump card. Vera almost places her knuckles on her hips and goes, “Hah!” but she manages to hold herself back. Just barely.

But Officer Gray doesn’t look impressed. Actually, she looks more confused than anything. “I’m sorry, come again? There are no... ducks? In San Francisco?”

“Yes, you say he die from duck allergy.”

“No...” Officer Gray says slowly, drawing out the syllable. “I said he had an allergic reaction to bird dander. It could’ve been any bird.”

Vera frowns. “Not any bird. For example, if he allergic to pigeon, then he would die a lot sooner, because this city is infested with pigeon.”

“Not necessarily. The bird dander was found in his stomach, so unless he ate a pigeon feather and all—”

“His stomach? So he eat it?” Vera’s frown deepens. “So he is allergic to chicken too?”

Officer Gray shakes her head. “Not according to Mrs.Chen.”

Well, now, this is getting interesting. Or maybe it’s going nowhere, but Vera blithely refuses to consider that possibility. “Okay, so what about the scratch and the bruise?”

“They could’ve been caused by him stumbling around when he started to feel unwell. He might’ve bashed his head into a wall—I mean, he broke into your shop, for god’s sake. His knuckles were injured from breaking in. It’s most likely that he sustained other injuries too.”

Vera can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. All those suspicious signs just being batted away. All wasted. “Have you done DNA test?”

“DNA tests? What for?”

“For—” Vera gestures vaguely. “I don’t know, to find if he has murderer’s DNA on him! They always do in CSI . You should watch CSI , you will learn a lot from it.”

Officer Gray closes her eyes. “God, I hate that bloody show,” she mutters.

Vera nods. “Yes, it can be bloody sometimes.”

“No, I didn’t mean— Never mind. Look, I assure you we know all about CSI and all the other shows, and yes, sometimes we check for DNA samples, but in this case, it wasn’t an appropriate avenue...”

As Officer Gray continues explaining why they’re not spending any of the city’s funding on pursuing Marshall’s death, frustration boils in Vera’s veins. And what about the flash drive? she wants to shout. Though to be fair, she’s mostly angry at herself about the flash drive, because if she hadn’t taken it, then maybe they would’ve taken the case more seriously.

Guilt is not a feeling Vera is familiar with. As soon as it rears up, Vera squishes it firmly. She did what she had to do in order to ensure that the case fell into the most capable hands, which are hers, obviously. Just look at these cops, sitting at their desks, typing into computers. They’ve gotten too complacent. No, Vera did the right thing. She chose to take on Marshall’s case, and now she will see it through to the bitter end.