Damn! Doug chose to ignore how much he was rooting for Scott Farnsworth to not be the killer.
“That’s exactly what I needed to know. Just one more question for you, Commander.” Doug hesitated, searching for the best way to word this question.
“Yes?”
“Do you have any suggestions for how I might get evidence of this? Either supporting or disproving the allegation.”
Manning snorted, the sound louder than the typical pops of the shortwave. “The only thing you can do is interview every enlisted man on the ship. You’d have to find other witnesses, or it comes down to one man’s word against another’s. And it’s a sure bet that any who were involved with the officer are not going to come out and admit it to you.”
Doug almost groaned. That would take days. And it was the most uncomfortable way to spend a few days that he could imagine.
“Thank you, Commander Manning. This has been helpful.”
“Keep me apprised as you collect evidence, Bainbridge.” The line clicked, and fell silent.
**
“Commander Bainbridge, you have a call from a Detective Inspector Wallace, with the Shanghai Municipal Police,” the front desk lieutenant said over the intercom late in the afternoon.
Doug’s heart beat faster. “Put him through.” He hadn’t meant to sound that breathless, but his eagerness was almost overwhelming. He took a breath in a vain attempt to calm himself before answering on the second ring. “Bainbridge.”
“Is this the same Mr. Bainbridge that was askin’ uncomfortable questions about the Green Gang two years ago? And about a certain corrupt police captain who has since deceased? You wouldn’t be that same trouble maker, now would ya, sir?”
Doug had to smile at Wallace’s tone. “That would indeed be me, Detective Inspector. Thank you for calling.”
“Your note says you’re leading a homicide investigation for the American Navy,” Wallace said in his unusual blend of Scottish and working-class English accent. “How’d you pull that card?”
Doug couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “The body of an American Seaman was found just inside the Chinese municipality, mere feet from the International Settlement, with a gunshot wound, in an active battle zone. The Chinese police turned the investigation over to us, since the victim was one of ours, and the Squadron captain asked me to take the lead. The autopsy showed the victim wasn’t shot by a Chinese or Japanese military weapon, but by a .45 caliber Colt pistol.”
“My condolences, sir. A Colt .45 you say? Sounds like a Green Gang job. Your seaman musta’ owed some money to one of their gamblin’ operations.”
Doug shook his head, even though Wallace couldn’t see it. “I don’t think so. I’ve talked with all of his buddies, and that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“Well then, what can I do for you, sir?”
“I have a list of Shanghai residents who had motive, but I need to know if they had access to an M1911 Colt .45 pistol. I can’t access gun registration records—but you can, Detective Inspector.”
There was a pause on the line. Finally, Wallace replied. “I have access, of course—but the question is, do I have the time to spare on somethin’ that ain’t my own investigation? We got plenty of unsolved homicides of our own, Commander Bainbridge.”
What was the expression the Germans used? One hand washes the other. “I’d be happy to return a favor, if there’s anything that I can do for you in these unsettled times.”
Wallace chortled. “Very good, sir. You’ve learned a few things since ya been in Shanghai. I’ll scratch your back, and you’ll scratch mine. Alright, let me see what I can dig up for you. Wednesday soon enough for you?”
Not really. But Doug couldn’t argue. “Wednesday will be fine.”
“What are those names you want me to check?”
Doug read the names of the Italian seamen that Jonesy had given him. “In addition to gun registrations, I’d like to know their full arrest histories. I only know that they were all arrested for a bar fight the night of July 3rd of this year. It would be useful to know if they’ve ever been arrested in Shanghai prior to that, and for what.”
“That’s a lot of names,” Wallace grumbled.
Doug hoped that didn’t mean Wallace couldn’t do it by Wednesday. He squeezed his eyes shut when he asked, “Would I be able to add two more names to that list? Civilian Shanghailanders.”
Wallace sighed. “Go ahead, sir.”
“Both are young women who formerly worked as dollar dancers at the Majestic—an American named Lola Cunningham, and a Russian named Tatiana Petrova.”
**
Kenny turned the radio on after dinner, and the four of them listened to the American music on XQHA, the English-language station. Doug sat on the couch with a book, while Lucy curled up beside him with a magazine, the glossy kind with a full-color cover, pulling her legs up underneath her. Kenny sat in his armchair with the afternoon newspaper, while Abbie darned one of his dress socks that had worn a hole in the heel. The amah Changying gave Margaret a bath in the kitchen sink.
After the second song ended, an announcer came on the air, speaking in that perfect mid-Atlantic accent that wasn’t quite British, and wasn’t quite American. “We pause this orchestra performance to bring you a repeat announcement from the American and British consulates.”
Doug’s ears perked up, and he closed the book, one finger holding his place. Lucy sat up, but kept her legs under hear. Abbie paused her sewing and looked at the radio.
The consulates were urging all citizens to consider leaving Shanghai “until the hostilities lately begun on our northern frontiers have concluded.” The announcement continued by stating that two ships would be provided tomorrow morning to evacuate “women, children, and the infirm” of the English-speaking nations.
The music resumed, and they all looked at one another.
Doug was the first to break the silence. “Obviously, I can’t leave, since I’m stationed here—but you three should consider it.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Lucy said, looking at him and holding his gaze. Her deep blue eyes held an intense look that told him she wouldn’t argue about it.
“I can’t leave either, old chum,” Kenny said, forcing a grin. “Until the British Court closes up, I have to stay here and work my cases.”
“Well, I’m not going alone,” Abbie said, sounding a bit cross. She began sewing again, her hand movements a bit more jerky than before.
“That settles it, then!” Kenny said, a bit too cheerful. “We’re all staying right here.”
Doug and Lucy exchanged a glance, and then she relaxed back against him, and opened her magazine.
The telephone rang a moment later, startling all of them, judging by the way they all jumped at its sudden sound.
“Hello?” Kenny answered. “It’s George,” he whispered a few seconds later, slipping his hand over the mouthpiece. “Doug, why don’t you get on the extension, in the bedroom.”
Doug nodded, and went down the hall to Kenny and Abbie’s bedroom. When he was growing up, only wealthy families had telephones in their homes, and only the wealthiest of these had extensions run from their line to other rooms. But being a lawyer, Kenny sometimes had to close the door and have confidential conversations, so an extension in the bedroom was a necessity.
He picked up the receiver, and George’s deep voice on the line was saying, “No, I can’t leave either. I’m picking up extra shifts at General Hospital, since the patient count is rising with the wounded coming in from Chapei.”
“George, Doug has picked up on the extension,” Kenny said.
“Oh, hey, Doug,” George said. “Kenny told me you heard the announcement on the radio. We did, too. I told Betty she should leave, but she said she didn’t want to go all by herself. I can’t blame her, especially in her condition. So I called Pete a few minutes ago; he said he’s staying, but Julia wants to leave. I told him Betty could go with Julia. I was just checking to see if any of
you are planning to go, too, so everyone can travel together.”
“That’s a good idea,” Doug said. Safety in numbers. “Kenny and I can’t leave, but maybe the girls will want to go with Julia and Betty.”
“We’ll talk to them,” Kenny said from the other room. “We’ll all go down to the docks tomorrow morning, either way, and at least see Betty and Julia off.”
“We’ll see you then,” George said, and hung up.
Doug rejoined the others in the family room. Abbie was sitting forward, stiff-backed, arms on her hips.
“I can’t go with Betty and Julia,” she said. “The announcement said the President Jefferson is only for Americans, and the Rajputana is for British and Commonwealth citizens only. I’d be by myself. I couldn’t even take Changying to help with Margaret.”
“But it might be safer, dear,” Kenny said, looking stung by her vehemence.
Abbie shook her head, more vigorously than necessary. “How would I be safe all by myself with Margaret in a strange city?”
“Alright, dear.” Kenny sounded more resigned than anything.
Doug looked over at Lucy. She met his eye, and shook her head in response to his unasked question.
**
Everyone else went to bed at eleven that night, but Doug sat up for a while. The breeze coming through the kitchen window hinted at coming rain, feeling cool and damp against his skin. He’d loosened his collar after dinner, but now that he sat alone in the dark, he unbuttoned his shirt halfway to enjoy the break from the heat.
He tried to use the quiet to contemplate the murder investigation, but his mind kept going back to Charlie and Bao. Poor Bao didn’t have anyone who could let him visit Charlie, or even tell him how Charlie was doing. If it were any of their friends in the hospital instead of Charlie, that wouldn’t be an issue.
An unexpected twinge of anger rose in Doug’s belly. If Charlie had only gotten married, like a normal man, he could have still hired Bao as their “manservant” and carried on discreet relations with him; and then there would be a Mrs. Ford to allow Bao to visit Charlie, to tell him how Charlie was doing.
Take Kenny, for example. If Kenny ever got hurt, Abbie would absolutely invite Doug and Lucy to visit him in the hospital, and would give them every update she got on his progress. By contrast, Doug would be completely left out if instead he and Kenny were...
No. He shook his head to banish that thought once and for all.
But it still made his heart jump into his throat.
He concentrated his thoughts instead on Charlie lying in a hospital bed, legs missing, his future uncertain. Doug closed his eyes and whispered a little prayer for him. What happened to Charlie could have easily happened to anyone he knew, given the random way the two bombs fell on Saturday. They were lucky none of their other friends had been hurt. Or worse.
At least Kenny and George couldn’t go to St. Luke’s Hospital anymore, since the evacuation of westerners from Hongkou. St. Luke’s was mere blocks from Japantown, and it would be all too easy for Chinese bombs to miss the Japanese vessels moored there, and again land in the city. They were being overly cautious with their bomb drops—but given how ineffective that had been, who knew how long that would last? His friends’ work at St. Luke’s had worried Doug, though he would have never said anything.
Then a tingle went up his spine, and he sat up straighter. George was taking shifts at the General Hospital now that St. Luke’s was off-limits. Maybe he could convince George to bring Bao to Charlie. A grin started to spread across Doug’s mouth, but then faltered. George might say no, might say it was too risky. But then Doug squared his shoulders. It was worth a try, damn it.
He’d talk to George about it in the morning.
**
Tuesday, August 17
“I wish you’d go with them,” Doug said to Lucy as they stood on the shore along the Bund, at the ferry stop in front of the Cathay Hotel.
A few feet away, George kissed Betty, who was dressed for travel and carried a suitcase. They put their arms around each other and hugged tightly. Meanwhile, Pete kissed Julia on the cheek. She was also dressed for travel, a steamer trunk on the concrete beside her. Pete wore the baggy khaki uniform of the Shanghai Volunteer Corps, the multinational civilian militia in the International Settlement that reported to the Municipal Council.
“Abbie’s not leaving, and neither am I,” Lucy replied. “I’m staying with you, and that’s final.”
Doug knew not to argue. Part of him was glad she was staying, but he suspected things were only going to get worse. A major Chinese offensive had launched that morning in Chapei and northern Hongkou, and he’d feel better if she were safely away.
The American consulate had arranged for the SS President Jefferson to carry more than six hundred American civilians—almost an eighth of the total—to Manila. Meanwhile, a few blocks down the Bund, as many British and commonwealth citizens were lining up to board the RMS Rajputana, bound for Hong Kong.
As if to underscore Doug’s words, another round of Chinese mortar fire began to rain down on Japantown, exploding less than a mile to their left. The Japanese cruisers and destroyers anchored along the Hongkou docks returned fire almost immediately, and Doug could feel the boom of their guns vibrating inside his chest. Betty cringed. Julia’s expression tightened a tiny bit, betraying her nerves in spite of her cool exterior.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Doug shouted over the cacophony of war noise.
She gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, Doug.” Then she softened her expression, and put her hands on his shoulders. “Besides, I didn’t bring my bag, and there’s no time to go back for it now.”
They stayed until the President Jefferson blasted its horn for departure. The passengers on deck waved to friends and family on shore as the ship began steaming down the Huang Po. They spotted Betty and Julia standing side by side, waving handkerchiefs. When the ship passed the Japanese naval vessels, they stopped firing, resuming a few minutes later when the President Jefferson disappeared around the bend.
“Well, that’s that,” Lucy said, slipping her arm through Doug’s and walking with him back toward Kenny and Abbie’s apartment. “I’m not surprised that Betty left—this is no place for a woman who’s expecting. The stress every time those guns go off can’t be good for the baby. And I’m not too surprised that Julia would leave—for all of her detached attitude and amusement at the whole thing, I always suspected that underneath it all she was nervous. But I am surprised that Abbie wouldn’t take this opportunity to get Margaret far away from the fighting.”
That had troubled Doug, as well. “What do you think of her not wanting to go with Margaret alone, without Kenny or their amah?”
Lucy exhaled hard. “I’m not sure. I mean, I understand being reluctant to leave Kenny behind, but he can’t leave because of his work with the British court. And he was the one encouraging her to take Margaret and go to Hong Kong.”
“But the part about not being able to bring their amah with her? That seems odd, don’t you think?” Doug said. He kept to himself the suspicions Kenny had voiced the other night.
“I don’t know. I think maybe it’s just an excuse, one more justification she can tell Kenny, and not really what she thinks.”
That made sense. Lucy was always good at giving him perspective. Kenny’s imagination had gotten to him, that’s all.
In front of them, George raised his arm to hail a rickshaw. Doug called his name, and he and Lucy hurried toward him.
“I’m heading to the General Hospital,” George said. “Not exactly on your way, if you were thinking of squeezing into the same rickshaw.”
“No, I have a favor to ask,” Doug said. “My neighbor, Charles Ford, is in the General Hospital with two amputated legs. No one will let his companion, Li Baosheng, in to see him. I wondered if you might be able to take Bao to see Charlie.”
George frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea. Your neighbor is probab
ly under sedation, after multiple amputations. Only family can visit while a patient is sedated.”
“Bao is the only family Charlie has,” Doug said.
“Hmmm.” The sound came as a deep grumble from George’s throat. “That’s not the same thing, Doug. You know that. We have an ethical responsibility to our patients, and we can’t let just anyone visit them while they’re under morphine.”
Doug’s stomach tightened, and his lips pursed. “Bao isn’t just anyone, George. They live together. They’ve shared everything for four years.” The words came out angrier than he’d intended, but he wasn’t sorry.
Lucy crossed her arms and glared at George. “If it were Doug in the hospital under morphine, would you stop me from visiting him? I’m not his family.”
George scowled. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“It’s practically the same thing,” Lucy said.
George looked down, sighed heavily, and ran his hands through the hair at the back of his head. “It’s not that I don’t sympathize with them—I do, I really do, you know I’m broad-minded about these things—but rules are there for a reason. Mr. Li is not real family, so he’s going to have to wait until Mr. Ford wakes up and asks for him.”
An empty rickshaw approached, and George raised his arm. It stopped in front of them, and George climbed in. He touched the rim of his hat at them. “I’ve got to get to work. We’ll talk later.”
They watched the rickshaw carry him away. Then Lucy huffed, “Well, how do ya like that?”
Doug sighed. “I understand his point of view. He does have his professional ethics to maintain.” He raised his arm to hail a rickshaw.
Lucy arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really? What good are ethics if all they do is hurt people? Charlie doesn’t have anyone else!”
She stomped off, and Doug called after her. “Where are you going?”
“I’m taking the streetcar!” she shouted back to him, and stormed up the Bund.
18
The Traywicks’ apartment was a scene of chaos when Doug arrived after work that evening. Margaret was screaming, Abbie was trying desperately—and loudly—to comfort her, and the amah Changying kept banging pots in the kitchen. Lucy waved a hand fan a couple of feet from Margaret’s head on Abbie’s shoulder.
No Accidental Death Page 18
