by S. J. Rozan
“What if she doesn’t come at all?”
“It was her idea,” he said.
That didn’t particularly reassure me; I have lots of ideas I don’t follow through. I scanned for the moon, but the streetlights’ glow saturated the haze.
“Do you see Mary? Or any cops?” I asked Bill.
“No.”
“Good. Then Alice won’t spot them either. Wait! There she is!” By which I didn’t mean Mary, and he knew it.
A compact shape in a black straw hat and, despite the darkness, sunglasses, hurried along Chrystie and into the park. She peered around, then headed our way. Bill slid over and made a space between us. Slipping the sunglasses off, Alice Fairchild said, “Thank you both. For indulging me.”
Bill didn’t answer; my client, my show.
“Alice,” I said, “what’s going on?”
She watched her hands finger the sunglasses. “Lydia, I’m so ashamed. It’s fraud.”
No kidding. “Tell us.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here.” She shoved the sunglasses into her purse as though they suddenly annoyed her. “I can hardly believe I did it, but it’s true.”
“What is? What did you do?”
She took a deep breath. “I . . . It was all so wrong. It started a few weeks ago, when I heard about jewelry being unearthed in Shanghai.”
“How?”
“How I heard? I maintain sources there. No one in the asset recovery community is interested in Shanghai except me. Anything that made it there was by definition not confiscated, you see? But I know how it was there. And I’ve always thought so much must have been lost, left behind. When I heard about this find, I thought the jewelry might have been a refugee’s. I wondered who, and if they had family. Then the next day, sitting at my desk, I suddenly remembered the Shanghai Moon.”
“You thought it was part of the find?”
“Oh, no. That news would have gotten out. But I remembered the name of its owner, and the story that she’d had other jewelry. So I did some research. Ambulance chasing, I guess. If I found heirs, I was going to propose that I try to recover it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I learned two things. One, the find certainly sounded like Rosalie’s jewelry. And two, the family was gone. Horst Peretz died in Salzburg in the spring of 1938, Elke Gilder in the Stutthof concentration camp a few years later. I couldn’t trace either Rosalie or her brother, Paul, as the Shanghai community broke up. So—”
“He lives in New Jersey.”
“What?”
“Paul Gilder. With his granddaughter’s family.”
“Now? He’s still alive?” Her voice dropped to a shocked whisper.
“He came in 1949. Just after Rosalie died.”
“ ’Forty-nine. They stayed on in Shanghai. That’s why the Red Cross had no record. Oh, God. It just gets worse and worse.” Shaking her head, she went on. “In any case, I didn’t find anyone. Maybe I didn’t look as hard as I might have. Because over the next few weeks, I couldn’t get that jewelry out of my mind. I think . . . It’s probably self-serving to say I went a little mad, but I think I did. I associate Shanghai with so much unhappiness. And the business I’m in . . . You have to understand how disheartening it is. Emotions run so high. People feel owed, though of course what they’re really owed they can never get back. Cases take years, and it’s hard every step of the way. No one, collectors or museums, banks, governments, no one does anything but throw up roadblocks. And then . . .” She petered out.
“Then?”
“If we do recover anything, the heirs turn around and sell it. Almost always. You see recovered assets on the auction markets all the time. It’s not because they’re greedy. Once things are returned, people find they can’t bear to have them around, knowing why they were lost, knowing who had them all these years. Asset recovery can give you a kind of cold satisfaction, but really, it doesn’t make anyone happy.”
A gust of wind mixed the shadows around on the path. “So you decided if you personally recovered these assets, it would make you happy.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds awful, but I guess it’s true. I got in touch with Wong Pan and went to Shanghai to ‘negotiate.’ ” Her fingers made quote marks. “It wasn’t hard to manufacture heirs. I might not have been able to fool the Swiss, or some of the Eastern European countries where a lot of assets ended up. But the Chinese aren’t used to these claims.
“Wong Pan, though, turned out to be shrewder than I’d thought. He caught on, I don’t know how. And he offered me a deal: He’d expose me, or I’d help him get out of China and we’d split the proceeds.”
Bill said, “Sounds like he took a big risk for a hundred thousand dollars, give or take.”
“I thought so, too, but I was in no position to argue. His share would have been a few years’ salary at his level, so maybe that was temptation enough. Also, I got the feeling this wasn’t his first step over the line. Things might have been getting a little hot for him in Shanghai.
“When he suggested the deal, I woke up. That’s what it felt like, waking up. I was appalled by what I’d tried to do. I’d have given anything to be back in my office in Zurich, slogging through dull paperwork! But I didn’t have any choice.”
“I can see a few choices,” I said. “But go on.”
“What you must think of me,” she murmured, not meeting my eyes. “In any case: I did it. I got him the papers he needed and followed him here as we’d arranged. Then everything started to go wrong.”
“He gave you the slip.”
“That was the first thing. That’s why I hired you.”
“Why didn’t you just go back to Zurich, slog through paperwork, and count your blessings that you were rid of him? If you were so appalled at what you’d done?”
“I . . . Oh, I don’t know! I think I was afraid of losing track of him. Afraid he still might expose me. I thought, if I could just find him and talk to him . . . But then more things happened, so fast. First, Joel called to tell me you’d found an heir.”
“Mr. Chen? But Joel didn’t know who Mr. Chen was. I didn’t find out until after Joel died.”
“But I did. Remember, I’ve been living with these people longer than you. As soon as Joel decribed his reaction to the photos, I realized who he might be. That made everything different, you see?”
“Not really.”
“Stealing unclaimed assets is one thing, but stealing from the family? No, I couldn’t. And while I was trying to decide what to do, you called and told me Joel was dead. Then I was really frightened.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m sure Wong Pan killed him!”
I was sure, too: Wong Pan told me. “That call to the Waldorf. You did speak to Wong Pan, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes, I spoke to him. He wanted a truce. He needed me. Needed me? Hadn’t he already gotten me in enough trouble? I was about to hang up.
“But he said there was something I didn’t know: that he’d tricked me, and his bureau in Shanghai, too. I could hear him smirk. He said before I’d ever contacted him, he’d palmed something from the box, something no one else knew was there. The Shanghai Moon.”
“Alice, how could he? No one saw it? He opened the box alone? He’s lying.”
“No, there were three people there to open it, and when they saw it was jewelry, they called the head of the bureau. They all inventoried it, and Wong Pan put it in a safe. But antiquities are his specialty, remember. The box intrigued him. He’d seen ones like it before. It was deeply carved all around, and he played with it, thinking he might find a hidden compartment. Well, he did.”
“And the Shanghai Moon was in it?”
“Wrapped in red silk. Of course he’d heard the stories. He knew right away what it was. He pocketed it and was trying to figure out what to do next—he couldn’t sell it in Shanghai, obviously—when I came along. Oh, I thought I was so smart! I was completely out of my league. I’ve never done anythin
g like this in my life! I’ve been so . . . upright. And now there I was, completely tangled, like a fly in a web.”
The Shanghai Moon. C. D. Zhang’s words floated back to me. Casting its web.
“All right,” I said, softening. “I think it’s time to go to the police.”
“No! Not yet.”
“Alice, Wong Pan killed Joel. And he killed that cop who followed him from Shanghai. Shanghai’s sent another cop here now. They know you made those documents for Wong Pan.”
“They—You knew that? Before I told you?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you—”
“We wanted to hear what you had to say.”
She sighed. “I guess I deserved that.”
“And I guess I understand how you got caught up in this. But it’s time to let the police take over.”
“No!”
“They’ll understand, too. But it’s not about you getting in trouble anymore. It’s about catching Joel’s killer.”
“I’m not worried about getting in trouble. I’ll take what I’ve earned. But I want something good to come out of all this first.”
“How could that happen?”
“I have an idea.”
“Your ideas don’t have a stellar track record.”
“I know, but this is different. The heir. Your Mr. Chen. I want to give him back the Shanghai Moon.”
I didn’t know what to say. Bill stepped in. “It would be his anyway. Once Wong Pan’s caught—”
Alice shook her head. “It would be evidence. If it’s true about the Chinese policeman, it would be evidence in three criminal cases—two murders and a theft. On two continents. And it’s incredibly valuable. The Chinese government might not be so happy to see it returned to Mr. Chen. At the very least it will be a long battle—after the criminal trials are over. Mr. Chen’s an old man. He might never get to hold it in his hand.”
I thought about that. To have chased this elusive gem, this jewel that was his mother’s, all his life, and then to know it had been found, and not to be able to touch it—that alone could kill Mr. Chen. “What are you proposing?”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Anyone’s law. Wong Pan wants to sell it to Mr. Chen.”
“Wong Pan knows who he is?”
“No. He knows there are collectors who’d give anything for it. I’ve told him I’ve found one, and I want to set up a deal. I said I won’t tell him who because he’ll cut me out. The police can be there, waiting, you see?” Sort of like they are right now, I thought. “As long as they don’t interfere before the exchange. Then when they arrest Wong Pan, Mr. Chen will already have the Shanghai Moon. I’m not sure he could be made to give it up. Only the other pieces were inventoried. The killings and the theft can be prosecuted using the inventoried jewelry as evidence. As far as anyone would be able to prove, the Shanghai Moon has always been just a myth.”
I watched cars drift up Chrystie Street. A shaft of light and a salsa beat spilled out a half-opened door. The breeze blew my hair across my forehead. I started to reach my hand to smooth it but stopped just in time. If I looked like I was scratching my head, Mary and a platoon of cops might leap from the bushes, guns blazing.
I turned to Alice. “I think you’re right.”
“You do? Oh, I’m so glad.”
“No,” I said. “I think you’re right about being a little crazy. It’s a bad idea, Alice. I’m sorry. I appreciate that you want something good to come from this. But if Wong Pan’s already killed two people, we can’t mess around with him. We have to go to the police and tell them everything, including how you and he get in touch with each other.”
Her face fell. “But . . . are you sure?” She looked to Bill, as though his opinion might be different. He gave her nothing. She said, “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
Alice nodded disconsolately. The breeze came up again, and she put her hand up to steady her hat.
“Alice,” I started, “there’s something else we wanted to ask you about. It’s—”
A bullet’s scream put an end to that. Wood splinters exploded from the bench beside me. A different scream: Alice, jumping, shrieking. What had been an empty park erupted in shouts and running footsteps. A second gunshot; I couldn’t tell if it was coming or going, aimed at us or the shooter. I swung behind the bench, gun drawn. Another shot whined, slamming the earth, kicking up a dirt cloud. Bill edged around a tree. I heard Mary’s commanding bark, telling her backup where to go, which ones here, which there. Damn, girlfriend, you sound like the boss of this! Juiced on adrenaline, I looked around for someone to shoot at or someone to run from. “Lydia! You guys stay put!” Mary yelled. Hey, she could read minds, too. Though, stay put behind an open-slatted bench when bullets were flying? Maybe not. But the footsteps faded, there were no more shots, and even with the sirens that wailed up Chrystie doing their best to keep nerves on edge, it soon became clear that whatever this was, it was over. Mary came running down the path, Bill emerged from behind his tree, and I stood up.
“Anyone hurt?” Mary shouted as she neared.
“Not me,” I said.
“No,” said Bill.
The bad news was there was no third answer. There was no one to give it: Alice was gone.
33
“I will never, never, never listen to you again.”
In Interview One at the Fifth Precinct, Bill and I watched Mary pace, or more like stomp, back and forth. Bill wasn’t saying anything, probably because he’s smarter than I am. I tried every now and then to apologize, or explain, or offer some optimistic angle on the situation, but eventually even I could see that every word I spoke was making things worse.
“Bullets flying all over the park!” Mary fumed. “You idiots almost got killed! And now Alice Fairchild’s gone, and the shooter’s gone, and citizens could have been shot, and cops could have been shot! And we have nothing!”
She yanked out a chair, took a breath, and said, “All right, go over it again. This time with details.”
“Only if you’re really going to listen.”
“Listen? So you can try one more time to twist everything and make me think it was okay to let you walk head-on into this ludicrous—All right! All right. I’m listening.”
My words edged out as though any quick sound might detonate her. When she sat seething but silent, I got more articulate, expanding the outline we’d already sketched. I told her everything Alice had said, including her plan to return the Shanghai Moon to Mr. Chen.
“My God, that’s insane! I’m surprised you didn’t go along with it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Really? Now that I think about it, I’m surprised you didn’t dream it up. And you didn’t make her tell you where Wong Pan is, or how they get in touch?”
That was more like a disgusted statement of fact than a question, but I answered it anyway. “I don’t think she knows where he is. Obviously they talk by phone. If you tapped her cell—”
“You think we haven’t tried? She’s a lawyer and an American citizen and not a terrorist. You tell me where to find a judge to authorize that.” She turned to Bill. “What about you?”
“Me? If I were a judge I’d authorize it. I’d authorize anything you wanted.”
Mary stared. “Oh, the homegirl and the stand-up comic! What a team!”
“I’m sorry,” Bill said. “I’m not giving you a hard time.”
“No? What was that, then?”
“I don’t mean to. But I have nothing to add to what I already added to what Lydia said.”
“You’re both useless, you know that? The only good thing is, no one was hurt. I don’t mean you two. I’m tempted to hurt you myself. But citizens or cops. Next time someone sets you up to shoot you, Lydia, have them do it someplace private, okay? Oh, now, what could possibly be funny?”
“I just remembered how careful I was not to scratch my head. But Alice adjusted her hat right before the sh
ots. Maybe she was using the same signal.” When all Mary did was stare, I said, “Okay, it’s the adrenaline talking.”
Maybe to keep my foot from getting any deeper into my mouth, Bill asked, “Mary? What if Lydia wasn’t the target?”
“What, you think it was you? Some yellow power gang doesn’t want whitey in the park?”
Being more generous than I am, he ignored her sarcasm. “If Alice set it up, why put herself in the middle? Whoever fired those shots could easily have done it while we were waiting. Maybe she was the target.”
“Alice? Who, Wong Pan? You say he needs her to unload the Shanghai Moon.”
“She thinks he does. But what if he’s decided he doesn’t? If he’s figured out who Chen is, or doesn’t care because he’s found another buyer?”
Mary glowered but stopped yelling, so I chimed in. “Or he doesn’t care because, buyer or not, Alice knows too much. Maybe he trailed her to the park.”
“How did he pick her up?”
“She’s probably not the world’s best track-coverer. Maybe he hung around the Waldorf dressed as a bellhop. Okay, I don’t mean literally, but it couldn’t have been real hard.”
“Well, this is just great. We’re saying Wong Pan killed two people, he just tried to kill another, we don’t know where he is, we don’t know where Alice is, and we don’t know what’ll happen next.”
“We may,” said Bill.
“What are you talking about?”
“She seemed pretty serious about wanting to make up for what happened. Manic about it, even. She may try it anyway.”
“What? Returning the Shanghai Moon to Chen?”
“It’s possible.”
“But if she didn’t set you guys up, she must have figured out by now she was the target and Wong Pan was the shooter.”
“So? Suppose she calls him, says, ‘Knock off trying to kill me, we’ll both make a fortune.’ She says to deliver her share to a post office box or something. He’d agree, with no intention of cutting her in, but she’ll have no intention of collecting. She’ll wait until Chen has the Shanghai Moon. Then she’ll call the cops.”
“That sounds crazy.”
“She may be crazy,” I pointed out. “Even she said so.”
