Doug kissed Lucy, and then said in her ear, “Can we go somewhere quieter and talk?”
“Let me get my purse.” She explained to Abbie, who nodded and motioned them toward the door, without pausing from bouncing her knees to try and quiet Margaret’s wails.
“She’s teething,” Abbie said to Doug, looking on the verge of tears herself.
“Poor little thing didn’t get a nap,” Lucy said when they’d closed the door, in the relative quiet of the hall by the stairs. “The shelling seemed to ratchet up this afternoon, and it definitely got louder.”
“We’re going to have to live with this for a while. There’ve been no signs the two sides are going to come to any sort of understanding.” Doug hesitated to give his more pessimistic—no, realistic—outlook, but then added, “If anything, I think it’s going to get worse. The Chinese are fed up, but the Japanese will never back down.”
She was silent for a moment while they went down the stairs. “I was afraid of that. We’re not going back to school in September, are we?”
The sadness in her voice made his heart ache. She loved teaching. “No.”
The view across Soochow Creek, toward their neighborhood, seemed the same at first glance. But plumes of black smoke almost too numerous to count rose into the air from a mile behind the buildings on the opposite side. The rumble of artillery carried, and was joined by the distant rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire.
“What do you want to talk about?” Lucy asked, her grip on Doug’s arm tightening enough that he felt the pressure of her fingers.
“With all of this going on, my workload has been high.” To say the least. “I didn’t have a single spare moment today for the murder investigation. I thought maybe we could discuss a few things.” He stopped and opened the door of the teahouse down the block from Kenny and Abbie’s building.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Lucy said as she walked past him through the door.
The place was more crowded than Doug would have liked for this conversation, but they managed to get a table in a relatively quiet area in the rear. After ordering—an Oolong for him, a jasmine green for her—he laid it all out.
“I was reluctant to tell you some things I learned the other day, about Navy personnel. I was being overly cautious, and I shouldn’t have. I trust you completely.” He gave her the full account of what he’d learned Sunday, onboard the Valparaiso, and at Commander Rose’s surprisingly large and luxurious house. He added what Jonesy had learned about the Italian seamen, and finished with what he’d asked of D.I. Wallace.
She listened in total silence, only an occasional nod showing that she was absorbing everything he said. When he’d finished, she leaned back in her seat and sighed.
“I can’t say it’s any clearer to me than it is to you—but I think we both know you need to learn more about how Commander Rose got the money to live the way he lives. And I don’t trust the way he threw out the allegation against Ensign Farnsworth. Even if it’s all true, it just doesn’t sit well with me. Seems like he’s deflecting you. And given that he said it while you were inside his giant house, it seems even more that he was trying to distract you from what was staring you in the face.”
Doug took a deep breath and nodded. She was thinking what he was. “It’s possible Nick Bonadio found out something about Rose and his money, and was trying to blackmail the commander.”
A sardonic half-smile graced one side of Lucy’s mouth. “You’ve read enough detective novels to know that the biggest motives for murder are jealousy, money, or blackmail. We seem to have all three of them here.”
Doug snorted. “And all from different people.”
Her expression grew serious, and she leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then let’s go one-by-one, and list what we need to learn about each. First, there’s Commander Rose, and how on Earth he got enough money to buy a mansion in Shanghai, while maintaining a household in Manila for his wife and children.”
Doug sighed. “But how do we learn that?”
“Jonesy could dig in places we’d never think of.”
Doug momentarily closed his eyes. Of course she was right. “I’ll call him in the morning.”
“Call him tonight,” Lucy said, and stared at Doug until he nodded.
“Alright, I’ll call him when we get back to Kenny and Abbie’s place.”
“Who do you think is next highest on the list?”
Doug took a couple of seconds to think about that. “It all depends on what Wallace finds in the gun registrations—but my money’s on Lola Cunningham or Tatiana Petrova. It’s obvious there was more they weren’t telling us on Saturday night.”
“Hmmm,” Lucy said. “You’re right, of course—but leave that to me. They won’t open up to you, no matter how charming you try to be. Let me try, I might have more luck.”
Doug arched an eyebrow. “How?”
“I’m not giving away all of my feminine secrets to you, Douglas Bainbridge. I don’t care how handsome you are.”
He had to laugh. “Alright, you win. You talk to Lola and Tatiana.”
Her expression grew somber, and she looked down at her teacup.
“What is it?”
“I know you said they looked shocked when you told them Nick was dead...” she let her voice trail off into silence for a few seconds. “But as much as you like them, you still have to suspect Ben, Chet, and Roger. They were the last ones to see him, and they weren’t too worried about where he went. They could have been acting shocked when you told them.”
Doug shook his head. “Their motives are fuzzy at best. Plus, none of them has a sidearm, and regulations don’t permit privately-owned guns aboard ship.”
He couldn’t read the look on Lucy’s face. “But they could have used an officer’s sidearm.”
He cocked his head to the side, and almost asked her why she thought that; but then he just dismissed it. It was unlikely at best, and they were low on the list of suspects, anyway. He’d come back to that if no other leads panned out.
“Speaking of sidearms—do Italian seamen carry them? Or just their officers?”
“Just officers,” Doug said. “Like us. That’s why I asked Wallace to see if any of them registered a gun in the International Settlement. It’s a long-shot, but worth looking.”
She looked skeptical. “And if they do?”
Doug took a deep breath, trying to think of a next step. Nothing came to mind, so he shrugged.
“Sounds like another task for Jonesy,” she said. “He could find them. I bet he could track down almost anyone.”
Doug groaned. That was a tall order, even for the most intrepid reporter. But if anyone could do it, Jonesy would be the one.
**
Kenny was home when they got back. It was almost seven o’clock, and the evening angle of the sun cast much of the living room in shadow. He was holding Margaret in one arm, two fingers of his opposite hand in her mouth. Her jaw worked up and down on them, and she was quiet; only the remnants of a tear hanging from the corner of her left eye betrayed that she had still been crying minutes before.
“Abbie doesn’t like it when Margaret tries to gnaw on her fingers,” Kenny explained after greeting them. “But I don’t mind. It soothes her gums, and it doesn’t hurt. I think maybe it hurts Abbie’s fingers. They are smaller than mine.” He grinned.
“Do you mind if I use your telephone?” Doug asked.
“Of course, old chum.” Kenny nodded his head down the hall. “Use the extension in the bedroom. Quieter, eh?”
Doug had to smile. Changying was anything but a quiet cook.
“Good evening. Operator,” the Chinese operator said in Shanghainese, and then again in English.
“Yes, please connect me to a residential listing uptown,” Doug said in Shanghainese. “I need the line for Mr. Arthur Jones.”
“Found listing, one moment,” the operator said in English. The line began to ring.
“Hello?”
“J
onesy, this is Doug Bainbridge.”
“You just caught me,” Jonesy said. “I was about to head out for the evening. What can I do for you?”
“I wonder if I might ask you to do some investigation for me.”
“I’ve only got a moment, but go ahead. Whaddya need?”
Doug explained about Montgomery Rose’s mansion, his household in Manila, and compared them to his navy salary. “I’m almost certain there’s no significant family money, so I need to know where the money came from.”
“Corruption and dirty money is right up my alley, Douglas. Glad you asked. I’ll be happy to dig into that for you—but not until tomorrow. Got plans for tonight. Speaking of that, gotta run. Maybe we could meet before work tomorrow, and I can get more details from you.”
“Where and when?”
“There’s a little German bakery I’ve grown fond of, down the street from my place. Avenue Haig, just off Bubbling Well Road. Meet me there at Eight?”
“Make it seven-thirty,” Doug said.
“Alright, have it your way. Seven-thirty it is. Be ready to tell me everything you know.” The line clicked off.
**
Wednesday, August 18
Doug walked the streets of his old neighborhood, shrouded in fog and eerily quiet. His shoes echoed on the cobblestones of Huang Lei Road, and he sidestepped chunks of brick and plaster debris scattered everywhere. All around, gaping holes in walls showed trash and broken furniture inside ruined apartments.
His building came into view, the awning of Mr. Hwang’s store jutting through the mist. It seemed intact. Then he was in the darkened upstairs hall, unlocking the door of his apartment.
“There you are!” Kenny said, smiling at him from the kitchen. He wore an apron over his white dress shirt and black necktie, and held a wooden spoon in his hand. Then he kissed Doug full on the mouth.
“I was worried about you,” Doug said. “Everything was bombed. How were you not hurt?”
“Don’t be silly!” Kenny said. “You remember the evacuation.”
Doug nodded, this answer making an odd sort of sense.
Then, he was standing in his bedroom, undressing. Kenny sat in his bed, bare torso propped against a pillow, a book open on his lap, which lay hidden beneath a sheet. Doug stared at him, and Kenny looked up and said, “Aren’t you coming?”
Doug nodded wordlessly, and slipped under the sheets.
“Good night, buddy,” Kenny said, leaning over to kiss him. Then Doug saw blood covering the pillow Kenny had been leaning on, thick, scarlet, and glistening. When Kenny turned back to his book, Doug saw a hole in his back, with blood flowing from it onto the bed.
“Kenny! You’re hurt!”
Kenny looked at him with an amused smile.
“I’m calling an ambulance!” Doug bolted from the bed and tried to run down the hall toward the telephone, but his legs felt like cement.
Then he was standing in the big hallway of St. Luke’s Hospital, and he spotted Kenny in a bed just beyond the ward door, unconscious. He walked toward it, and a big-framed severe-looking nurse in white uniform stood in front of him, arms crossed. “Mr. Traywick is very ill. Only family may see him.”
“But I’m his best friend.”
The nurse’s scowl deepened into the biggest frown Doug had ever seen. “I said, family only.”
Doug tried to step around her, but she moved to block his path. “You don’t understand. I have to see him.”
“I’ve told you, family only.” The nurse’s voice echoed down the corridor. “Now leave, or I’ll call the constable.”
And then Billy Dickinson appeared from the shadows of the hall, tapping his baton against his palm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bainbridge, you have to leave now.”
“But he’s my best friend. We’re...” He lost his words. We’re what, exactly? He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what he meant. He trudged away in defeat.
In front of him, Nick Bonadio lounged against the wall. “I can get you in to see your friend, Commander. But you gotta do me a favor in return.”
“But Nick, you’re dead.”
“Ha! Dead! You’re such a joker, Commander.” Then Nick’s face grew serious. “Do we have a deal?”
Doug looked back toward where he’d left Kenny. At the end of the long hall—much longer than he remembered it—the tiny figure of the nurse stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Her voice boomed down the corridor as if she were shouting in his face, “Family only!”
“What do you want from me, Nick?”
Nick Bonadio got that sly grin he was known for. “You know that gal I danced with, Lola? She’s gonna be my girl, see—but I need you to get her away from that Russian dame, Tatiana. She ain’t no good for Lola. The wrong sort, if you know what I mean.” He looked Doug up and down. “Yeah, I think you know what sort I mean, Commander.”
Doug’s insides tied themselves in a knot, and he felt queasy. He needed to see Kenny. But why would he stop Tatiana from seeing Lola so that he could see Kenny? Still, he knew he was going to do it, and shame crept through him.
Nick laughed maniacally.
*
Doug awoke with his heart pounding, breath ragged, and sweat dripping from his forehead. Lucy slept next to him, peaceful, undisturbed. At least he hadn’t cried out in his sleep. Thank God for small blessings.
He slipped out of bed and crept to Kenny and Abbie’s kitchen. He knew where they kept their gin, and he uncorked the bottle and took a swig. It burned on the way down without the tonic mixed in, but he took another swig as soon as he’d swallowed the first one.
The clock on the wall dinged three-thirty. He steadied his breathing, slowly relaxing as the warmth of the gin spread through his middle.
Lola and Tatiana. His mind jumped to Nick’s words in the dream, overlaying a remembered image of the way they touched each other at the Jade Dragon. Of course! He’d known, apparently, but hadn’t realized. Could that be the key to solving Nick’s murder?
And if so, how could he prove it?
**
Doug cut across the Recreation Grounds at seven-twenty on his way uptown. The rising sun was still hidden behind the downtown high-rises, casting the entire area in shadow, and the grass was wet with dew.
About halfway across the open green, he spotted a familiar figure walking the opposite direction, not far away, and seeming lost in his own world.
“Hey there, Ben!” Doug called, raising his arm. He altered course and hurried toward the seaman.
Ben Trebinski jolted to a stop, looking startled. “Oh! Sorry, Commander, I didn’t see you there.”
“Late night at Roxy’s? Or Ciro’s last night?”
As soon as he asked, Doug realized it had been more than an hour since the two late-night clubs had closed their doors at six AM; neither was more than a half-mile from where they stood, and it definitely hadn’t taken Ben that long to walk from there.
Ben shook his head, an odd sort of wariness in his bright blue eyes. “Nah, not last night. Our shore leave ends this morning, gotta be back on the ship soon. I was just headin’ that way, ya see.”
Without your buddies. Chet Heiselmann and Roger Aikins were nowhere to be seen.
“You stayed uptown last night?” Doug asked, unable to hide his surprise. Seamen pretty much always stayed at hostels downtown, where a bed was dirt cheap.
Ben’s face flushed, and a sheepish half-grin appeared at one corner of his mouth before disappearing abruptly. “I went to a party last night, stayed on the couch. Listen, Commander, I don’t wanna be late.” He started to shuffle away.
“Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.”
Ben hurried away at a faster pace than he’d been keeping before. Doug watched him for a couple of seconds. That interaction had been odd. Was Lucy onto something with Ben, Roger, and Chet? But then he shook his head. Ben’s shock when Doug had said Nick was dead was genuine, he was certain of that.
Doug found the bakery on Avenue Haig, and walked th
rough the door at precisely seven-thirty. Jonesy wasn’t there, of course.
“Guten tag,” a blond young man greeted him from behind the counter.
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes, good mornink,” the young man said.
“Good morning. I’m waiting for a friend.”
The young man nodded and went back to adding fresh pastries to the glass display cases.
The bell on the door jingled, and Jonesy walked in.
“Almost on time,” Doug said.
Jonesy ignored him. Putting his hand on Doug’s shoulder, and standing awfully close, he said to the young man behind the counter, “Willi, my friend and I would like two coffees, and two apple strudels. Danke.”
Willi cast Doug a less-than-friendly glance. He looked at Jonesy with a blank expression and asked for a dollar and ten cents.
Doug frowned. You can get a donut and coffee for thirty-eight or thirty-nine cents in the States.
“It’s a little expensive here, but worth it,” Jonesy muttered out the side of his mouth, while counting out the correct change.
After Willi handed them each their plate with strudel, and a coffee cup and saucer, Jonesy nodded toward an empty table by the window.
“Why do I get the feeling you brought me here to make that young man jealous?” Doug whispered after they sat.
Jonesy chuckled. “Worked, didn’t it?”
Doug ignored that, and took a bite of the strudel. He had to admit, it was quite good.
“Same family owns a restaurant next door that you might like,” Jonesy said, and took a sip of coffee. “Now, let’s get to business. I know you only have a little time, but tell me everything you can about this Commander Rose, every little detail.”
Doug started with what he knew of Montgomery Rose’s background and family—based on what Rose himself had told him—and then described the scene at Rose’s house on Sunday. He glanced around and lowered his voice when describing the allegations Nick had brought to Rose about Ensign Farnsworth’s sexual relations with enlisted men.
No Accidental Death Page 19
