"No! I do not allow!" Mrs. Chun had answered the doorbell, but when the detectives identified themselves she stalked away, leaving the door wide open. Jae came forward to apologize and invite them in, and then hurried after his mother.
Mrs. Chun turned in the entry to the kitchen and glared at them with crossed arms. She still wore a coat, and her luggage sat in the middle of the living room. Bobby couldn't make out what Jae was saying in a low, urgent voice to his mother. She refused to be calmed. "You do not understand!" she shouted in Korean. "The police – they cannot help your father. They only make it worse for him!" She waved her hand wildly toward the telecom technician, who sat uneasily beside his tape recorder.
As Jae continued to reason with his mother, her agitation did not ease at all. She seemed fearful and angry, both of which were understandable responses, but there was something off in her behavior. Bobby exchanged a glance with his partner. Why didn't Mrs. Chun want the police's assistance?
Eames said, "Mrs. Chun, if the kidnapper calls, this equipment may help us trace your husband's location. The first twenty-four hours after a kidnapping–"
"No, no, you make more danger," Mrs. Chun cried. "You make worse."
"More danger? Mom, he's hurt – badly," Jae said, pointing at the blood stains on the floor and furniture. "We have to find him!"
"They make worse," Mrs. Chun repeated, averting her face from the crime scene.
She was within her rights to throw them out – they needed to be careful. Bobby took a step forward. "My partner and I don't want to cause trouble. If you could answer a few questions, we won't need to stay long." He hoped he could reassure her and learn more about her anxiety.
She seemed to relent somewhat, so he cleared his throat. "Could I ask you for a glass of water?" he asked.
Mrs. Chun nodded and turned into the kitchen. Bobby saw Eames put her hand on Jae's arm to draw him toward the living room. Bobby wandered into the spacious kitchen beyond Mrs. Chun, trying to keep her attention away from Eames and Jae.
"I noticed your flight itinerary," Bobby said, pointing to the sheet which was prominently displayed on the refrigerator. "I see you follow the Korean tradition."
That threw her off balance. "What do you mean?"
He touched the top of the page. "I mean," he continued, "you haven't taken your husband's name – you're listed here as Park, not Chun. Were you married in South Korea?"
She nodded, a little more at ease. "Yes, in Seoul." She held out the glass to him. "Here in America, I use my husband's name, but not for passport, not for… official."
"Did they already contact you?" he asked. He kept his voice gentle, but even so she flinched. "Did they threaten you about talking to the police?"
"No, there is no call, nothing," she said. "I'm just so worried."
Bobby studied her. He still wasn't sure if she simply had an unusual response to the stress of the situation, or if she was hiding something. "I know what it feels like," he said quietly. "Someone close to me was kidnapped a couple years ago." He felt his heart speed up at the memory. "I was frantic."
That got her attention immediately. Her eyes snapped to his. "What happened?"
"She was able to escape, but not before she'd been tortured." He didn't often talk about the harrowing experience, and hadn't expected to be so strongly affected. His throat tightened, and he took a sip of water to hide his distress.
"I hope she's all right now," Mrs. Chun said.
Bobby nodded, and forced himself not to glance out into the other room where Eames was talking quietly to Jae. "You understand, it's important to work quickly to find your husband." He stepped closer to her, and once again tapped the flight itinerary. "Jae told us he expected you tomorrow night. Did your husband know you were returning today?"
Her reaction was very mild. "No, I changed at last minute. I saved two hundred dollar, so I took earlier flight." She showed no guilt or uneasiness – in fact, she seemed pleased.
Bobby smiled at her pride in her thriftiness. The apartment was spacious, with good quality furnishings and an impressive view of Central Park. The Chuns must have a comfortable income to live in this high-priced neighborhood – and yet she jumped at a chance to save a relatively small amount. He made a mental note to check their financials. Could money be the reason for the kidnapping?
"Were you in Seoul for your business?" Bobby asked. Jae had told them last night she ran an import company.
"Yes, some business, but also for family," she replied. She was more on edge now. "My parents are old, so every year I visit."
He nodded, then opened his leather binder and made a show of checking his notes. He scratched his neck as he said, "So… do you know any reason why your husband would be attacked?"
That got a strong reaction: for a moment she glanced at the doorway as though she wanted to run, but she quickly hid her fear. She shook her head as she said, "Everyone like him, everyone friendly to him. He is a good man." She crossed her arms tightly.
Bobby asked, "Did he have problems at work?"
She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "No, he is very good at job. He hope to get a promotion, but we have to wait until next year."
That was very different from Jae's explanation of the situation at the UN, though Bobby wasn't sure it was significant. They needed to find out how Mr. Chun's director at the UN viewed the matter of the promotion. Bobby scribbled a few words before he spoke again.
"Mrs. Chun, we'd like to keep the phone tap in place for the rest of the day. If the kidnapper is going to call, it's likely to be within the first twenty-four hours."
She sighed. "Okay, but today only."
Bobby glanced out into the living room; Eames was already tucking her notepad into her coat pocket and buttoning up. "If you think of anything that may help, please contact us." He handed his card to her.
As they were walking down the hallway to the elevator, Eames said, "Jae told me about the mover's boxes: the Chuns moved upstairs from the third floor just about two months ago."
"To a bigger apartment?" Bobby asked as he reached out to punch the elevator call button.
"Nope, same size. But this one," she said, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder, "comes with a lovely scenic view of Central Park from the living room and master bedroom – not to mention a big hike in rent. They were on a waiting list for a long time."
"We need to see that list."
"Jae already told me some names. Two of their neighbors from the third floor wanted to move on up, too: the Russos and the Wellmans. Practically everyone wants an apartment with a view."
"I think money's tight," Bobby said. "Mrs. Chun came back early just to save two hundred dollars on her flight. They might have been counting on Mr. Chun getting that promotion to afford the new rent. She wasn't very forthcoming about her import business."
Eames raised her eyebrows. "Money problems – how many times have we seen it?"
On the third floor they knocked on doors of the two neighbors, but only Mrs. Russo was home. She was a good-looking woman, probably about the same age as Bobby. Her hair was a little shorter than Eames', and several shades lighter. She didn't invite them in.
"I heard about poor Mr. Chun," she said. "I hope he's all right." Her concern seemed forced.
"How did you hear?" Eames asked.
"From Janet Wellman." Mrs. Russo pointed down the hall. "She's the neighbor on the other side of the Chuns – their old apartment, I mean. I met Janet this morning, and she told me. Our Jason and the Wellmans' two daughters and Jae Chun have been friends since grade school." Her words were rushed and nervous.
Bobby had turned sideways and edged forward until his shoulder rested on the door frame. "Could we, um…?" He tilted his head into the apartment.
"I'm sorry, but I really – I was just getting ready to go out."
He slid his foot over the threshold as Eames said, "Oh, we're in a hurry, too. We only need to ask a few questions."
Mrs. Russo reluctantly pulled the door open for them. Bobby went directly into the living room. Sure enough, the view was unspectacular: the window faced a five-story building sporting a large sign for shoes. The noise of traffic was considerably louder at this level.
"Wow, what a difference, right Eames?" he said with a big smile, swinging his arm to indicate the window. "No wonder the Chuns wanted to move upstairs!" He leaned lightly against the glass to gaze out, confident that his partner was observing Mrs. Russo's reaction. "They get so much more daylight – and the view!"
When he turned back, both women were seated. Mrs. Russo looked uncomfortable – she was regretting allowing them in. Bobby began a slow inspection of the photos on the wall and coffee tables as Eames flipped open her notepad.
"Did you or your husband or son go out yesterday evening?" Eames asked.
"My son doesn't live here," she said.
Bobby snatched up a framed photo of a cheerful, dirty young man standing before a wide field of oil pump-jacks. "Is this Jason?"
"Yes," she replied, hardly looking at the picture. "He moved to Texas last winter."
"He's not in college?" Bobby asked. He selected a picture of Jason in cap and gown with his parents on his left and right, studied their faces for a moment, then handed it to Eames.
Mrs. Russo replied, "Jason went to NYU for a year, but he decided to work for a while before he finishes college." From her fidgeting, this was probably a sore spot for her. Did she wish her son would go to medical school like Jae Chun?
As Bobby continued his tour of the room he noticed the dining room table. The lace tablecloth was pushed all to one side, and the exposed veneer had been damaged by water. A glance at the ceiling showed the likely cause: the section directly above the table was also water-stained. It looked like a recent problem.
"Was there a broken water pipe?" he asked, pointing at the ceiling.
"Yes, something like that," she replied, checking her wrist watch. "I really need–"
"This table looks old," he said. "I guess you'll have to replace it."
"No," she said, glaring at him. "Not at all – it was my grandmother's. We're going to have it restored."
"Thank goodness for insurance," Eames said.
"You're on the waiting list for an upper-floor apartment, aren't you?" Bobby asked, sitting on the sofa beside Mrs. Russo. "What's your number on the list?"
She shifted away from him. "I don't know. They don't tell us that." Now she looked annoyed.
Eames smiled tightly at Bobby, which meant she wanted to get back to her original question. "So…" she said. "What about you and your husband, Mrs. Russo? Did you go out in the evening?"
"Me? I came in around four, and didn't go out again. My husband worked late yesterday. He's a manager at a Wall Street firm: Bailey Montrose." Mrs. Russo was becoming more and more restive. "I really ought to get going," she said, glancing at her watch again.
"We understand that Mrs. Chun runs an import company," Eames said, lowering her voice and leaning forward. "Is it true she's having financial problems?" Bobby glanced at his partner. The Chuns certainly wouldn't have confided any such trouble to their neighbors – but that never stopped a determined gossip.
Mrs. Russo was a little more at ease, now that the focus was off her. "I know she's been trying to expand the business, but it's not as successful as she hoped."
"She probably over-expanded," Bobby said. He slid a little closer to Mrs. Russo. "You know – tried to grab for too much too soon. And if they spend beyond their means…"
"Well, I don't know about that," Mrs. Russo said, "but tuition at Hunter… It's not cheap, you know. And she does work night and day, weekends – all the time."
"Sounds like me," Eames said with a quick glance at Bobby. "So… your husband came in at what time last night?"
"Oh, ah, it was – about eight o'clock, maybe?" She stood up. "If you don't have any more questions…"
The detectives also rose. "We'd like to talk to him," Eames said, handing her card to Mrs. Russo, "in case he saw something that might help us."
Back in the hallway again, Bobby only waited for the sound of the door closing before he said, "She didn't want to talk about her husband. She's nervous about something."
"Yeah, she made me nervous, too. There's no way she doesn't know their number on the waiting list," Eames said, shaking her head. "I bet she thought they were ahead of the Chuns."
"I got that impression," he said. "The building super will know where they are on the list." When she checked the time he added, "Or do we need to get to the UN?"
The elevator opened and Eames stepped in. "Nah, you know they're going to keep us waiting no matter when we get there." She pushed the button for the basement level. "Do you remember seeing Mr. Russo on the security tapes?"
"I think so, but we need to look again to get the time." He looked at Eames steadily – they were thinking on the same track. Their chat with Mrs. Russo had sent up red flags. "I wonder if the Russos keep a car in the basement garage?"
She grinned. "Another good reason to have that chat with the super."