Page 74 of Facing the Enemy
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Giang said. “Is he ill?”
“I’m fairly certain your clients can fill you in on Agent Bradford’s attack.”
“Highly unlikely,” Giang said. “Did you arrest anyone?”
Now my frustration level threatened to explode. “You and your clients are here for me to ask the questions. Not the other way around. Sir, I repeat, your clients are facing first-degree murder and arson charges.”
“Mr. Tuan and Mr. Vinh are innocent.”
“Doesn’t negate the charges and evidence proving otherwise.”
“We’ll let a judge and jury decide,” Giang said.
I studied the two cuffed men—young and hard. I shared the video footage of the two arriving at the restaurant and the proof of Duong’s gun used for the murders. “In Texas, the sentence for first-degree murder can be life imprisonment or the death penalty. Think about it, gentlemen. A cell for the rest of your life or a coffin? Are you two willing to take that risk? Because if you’re not, we can discuss a plea bargain.”
The three exchanged words in Vietnamese, but they weren’t aware of an agent interpreting their conversation. I didn’t know what they said, but the prisoners’ body language demonstrated neither a life sentence nor the death penalty set well.
“Will my clients have all charges dismissed if they cooperate?” the attorney said.
“I will inform the judge of their cooperation and request the charges be reduced.”
“What do you want from us?” Vinh Bui said.
“You told me you’re innocent.” Giang glared at him.
“Doesn’t hurt to hear the man out,” Vinh said.
“All right.” Giang pulled a small notebook and pen from inside his jacket. “We talked about a plea bargain before and decided it wasn’t in your best interests and instead to plead not guilty, which you claim is the truth. What has changed your mind?”
Vinh spoke up. “I’ll listen. Duong, what about you?”
Tuan Duong nodded. Both spoke English when convenient.
I allowed a moment of silence to wrestle with their future. “Word on the street is you were paid to execute the Phan sisters and set fire to the restaurant known as the Saigon Sampler. Who paid you?”
The attorney jotted down my question. “That assumes they are guilty of the charges.”
“If your clients weren’t guilty, we wouldn’t be having a plea bargain discussion.”
The attorney huffed. “Any other questions?”
“Have you committed crimes for this person or persons in the past?” I gave the attorney time to write the question while the prisoners stared back at me. “What were those crimes and how much were you paid?” I paused. “I want the name of the person who attacked Special Agent Bradford. I saw five of you in the parking lot the day of the two murders and fire. I want the names of the other three men and any others who were involved.”
“For what purpose?” the attorney said.
“Questioning.” I concentrated on the two men in cuffs. “Your attorney will get his money whether you answer my questions or maintain a not-guilty plea. From the designer of his suit, his bank account is stuffed by someone other than the likes of you two. He doesn’t care if you walk the streets or face a deadly injection. All he wants is his fee.” I leaned back in my chair and gave a smug smile to the weasel of an attorney. “I suggest you and your clients reach a decision in the next ten minutes.”
The attorney eyed his clients. “I advise you not to comply.” The silk suit might not receive as much of his retainer if the two talked.
I stood and the ASAC joined me. “We will leave you three alone to make a decision.”
Again we watched the three from outside the interview room. They carried on a heated conversation in Vietnamese.
“Don’t think our guys want to cooperate, but Giang doesn’t agree,” ASAC Kendall said. “We don’t need an interpreter to figure that out.”
“But I have the exact translation,” the female interpreter said. “Giang told them they are dead men if they budge from their not-guilty plea.”
I nodded. “If they give up names, it could come back to haunt Giang.”
