Skulduggery

by Carolyn Hart

  And some people will go to great extremes for money.

  “It would be a sensation in the newspapers,” I said slowly.

  “Oh, there are muggings, that kind of thing . . .” he began.

  I shook my head. “No. Don’t you see, if you go to the police, they will want to know why somebody is after Jimmy. Some reporter would pick it up, that Jimmy had what looked to be a skull of Peking Man . . . and that would tear it.”

  He was skeptical. “Look, Miss . . . Ellen, I gather you know something about fossils, that this is your thing, but, you know, the average person isn’t much interested in dry scientific . . .”

  “Right,” I interrupted, “but the average guy likes price tags. And entrepreneurs get really turned on by bundles of dollars. Like one hundred thousand dollars. Maybe up to half-a-million.”

  His head jerked up as if I’d slapped him. I finally had his attention.

  “Oh.” He thought about it. “And the bones are up for grabs? Whoever has them can sell them? Is that what you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “So if this broke in the newspapers, then anybody in San Francisco who could find Jimmy and get the bones . . . by whatever means . . . would be in line for the money?”

  I nodded again.

  “Damn,” he said softly. Then, lawyerlike, he came back to ownership. “They must belong to somebody.”

  I answered uncertainly, “The bones belonged to the Peking Union Medical College a long time ago. Beyond that, they should belong to the Peoples’ Republic of China.” I rubbed at my cheek. “I’m not sure on it, but I think, from what I’ve read, that the United States government has indicated unofficially that it would like to see the bones, if recovered in the United States, returned to mainland China. I do know the FBI joined in the search several years ago when it was rumored that the bones had come to light in New York.”

  “But the FBI couldn’t find them?”

  “No.”

  “But if the bones do turn up then there will be several lots on Jimmy’s tail, including the FBI and mainland Chinese agents?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Plus, of course, any local supporters of Nationalist China.”

  “God yes,” he replied. “There are a lot of them.” He sighed. “This is no time to explain Chinatown’s ties to Taiwan but you can take my word for it that there are thousands of older Chinese who have spent years supporting Taiwan because they thought it was the right role for all good Americans. The detente between the U.S. and mainland China has left a lot of them floundering between banks. Many of the younger Chinese are all for mainland China.” He frowned. “Why should Taiwan want the bones? Or mainland China either?”

  He still didn’t see Peking Man for what he was.

  I could have talked for hours. I did talk furiously for a few minutes.

  “Those fossil bones are the earliest, the very earliest, finds of man in China. Moreover, they are definitely ancestral to today’s Chinese. So, the Chinese have very strong feelings that these fossils are rightfully theirs even aside from the fact that they were found in China.”

  “Okay,” Dan rejoined, “ancestor worship on a grand scale. But still . . .”

  “Even more important to all anthropologists is the fact that no group of fossil bones anywhere in the word matches these for containing the bones of so many individuals from a single population. The total collection included bones from about forty persons.

  “In addition, the study of fossils never stops, and casts, which were made of Peking Man and which survive today, can never match the real thing so . . .”

  He held up his hands, staving off the words. “All right. I’ll take it on faith. Somebody somewhere will ante up to a half-million,” and he shook his head wonderingly, “for these bones. But how can Jimmy Lee get in touch with the right man?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Then the word struck me, turned itself inside out, and I clutched Dan’s sleeve and said excitedly, “Maybe that’s it, maybe that explains the thugs. Maybe Jimmy tried to sell the bones but he tried the ‘wrong’ man, somebody who decided it would be easy to grab the bones and run. Or . . .” I hesitated, but it was another real possibility, “or maybe Jimmy lifted them and someone’s out to get them back.”

  Dan was quiet for a long moment and I wondered if I had offended him. But he spoke consideringly, “I don’t suppose I can even say about my own brother when it comes to a half-million dollars, but Jimmy’s never really cared about money. I don’t think he’d steal anything. He must have come by the fossils honestly.”

  I remembered that quick young voice, telling me how he was going to cash in on Peking Man.

  But Dan was still talking. “You see, Jimmy’s always been one of those damn-fool kids who’s hung up on some cause or other.” Dan’s voice hardened. “If Jimmy’d had to work his way through college, maybe he wouldn’t feel so soft about guys on welfare. I earned every penny of my way. I made a mistake when I gave Jimmy money for college, but I wanted him to have it easier than the rest of us did. Maybe it gave him too much time. All he’s done is march for this ‘wrong’ and picket for something else and work for nothing to try and help the immigrants. I keep telling him that they’ll make it okay. It doesn’t hurt people to have to work . . .”

  “What if they can’t get jobs?” I asked quietly.

  He turned on me. “So you’re one of them, too. Everybody wants a job handed to them on a platter. It’s all this permissive crap in the colleges.” He stopped and sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was tired, expressionless. “I hadn’t seen Jimmy for six months until tonight.”

  I wanted to tell him that I understood. Because I did. I was between him and Jimmy in age, able to see both worlds, perhaps better than either of them. Dan had, obviously, hauled himself up by bootstraps. Jimmy thought bootstraps suspect in a world where nothing held to its outward reality.

  “Why hadn’t you seen him?”

  “He dropped out of school.”

  A world of unhappiness and accusation and sheer dismay in his voice.

  “What’s he been doing?”

  “Living in a damn commune.” He paused then said grudgingly, “Well, I guess that’s not quite fair. He’s got a job with a kind of shoestring social agency and he’s rented an apartment and gone around and picked up these kids off the street; you know, drop-outs, that kind, and he helps them get jobs. A lot of them are new kids, you know, fresh from Hong Kong and they can’t speak English very well. Jimmy’s started some classes, the hip kind of thing to pull in these kids who won’t go to the more straight classes.”

  “I don’t believe,” I said softly, “that I would be angry with Jimmy.” I began to have some idea why Jimmy would want money.

  “He should have finished school,” Dan said stubbornly. “Eighteen hours to go and he drops out.”

  “He’ll go back.”

  “Now there’s this mess. Tough guys after him. But if I call the cops for help, then half San Francisco may be looking for him.”

  “But, if we don’t go to the police,” I said unhappily, “then how can we ever hope to find him?”

  “We?” he repeated.

  I looked up at him, at his darkly handsome face dimly seen in the shadowy shop entry.

  “Oh yes,” I said firmly. “If you’ll remember, I was invited in. And I’m in it to stay until we find Jimmy.”

  And, of course, I thought to myself, until we find Peking Man.

  FIVE

  Jimmy’s motorcycle was gone from the alley. We stood uncertainly by the rack of garbage pails.

  “He must have got away from them,” Dan said. “So, I guess the first place to look for him is his apartment. It isn’t listed so those toughs wouldn’t go there.”

  It was a tenement only a couple of blocks off Grant Avenue, a weary down-at-heels building, windows so grimed with dirt they were opaque, sightless eyes in a crumbling facade. The entry door hung loosely on its hinges and wouldn’t latch.

  Dan held
the door for me and I stepped into the cramped hallway. A single low-watt bulb dangled from a cord.

  You are sometimes intensely aware of other people, in a packed lecture hall, at a sold-out movie theatre, wedged into an elevator during the morning rush.

  Standing in that small linoleum-floored entryway, waiting while Dan bent to check the boxes, I sensed a multitude of people near, smelled damp washes, cabbage and fish, and heard an unceasing rustle and creak of movement, the dull mumble of radios and televisions, footsteps, the rattle of water pipes, a baby’s tired cry.

  Behind us, the outer door creaked slowly in and an older, heavy-set man shrugged past, ignoring us, not so much hostile as indifferent. He climbed the stairs and it was painful to watch. He climbed slowly, so slowly, with such weariness. It was more than exhaustion. Every heavy footfall thumped dully on the stairs. On his way home but nothing to look forward to. Not tonight. Or tomorrow. Or forever. Tired and drained, defeated and despairing.

  Dan and I watched him climb, so slowly, so agonizingly slowly. And around us, surrounding us, pressing on us, was the rustle and breath of people.

  “Sometimes,” Dan said with no expression in his voice, “three families will share one kitchen. There will be only one toilet on each floor. Half the time, the toilets don’t work and need a pan of water to flush. The water’s cold. No hot water. And no heat.”

  The entry door swung in again. An elderly woman squinted at us, then smiled shyly and slipped by to hurry up the stairs, clutching a bundle with tip ends of cloth straggling loose.

  “Just a little night work. Hell, this place spooks me. C’mon, Ellen, this way,” and he took my elbow and we started up the stairs.

  “Night work?”

  “The old lady.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s the old garment racket. Chinatown has a bunch of little factories that do piecework for the downtown factories. Problem is, too many Chinatown shops so the big outfits downtown chivvy down the price until the ladies that sew end up making thirty, forty, fifty cents an hour. Lots of them work all day and still have to bring work home at night.”

  We were at the landing, starting up the second flight of steps. Narrow steps these, uncarpeted, warped, slanting toward the banister.

  Again, the only light came from a single hanging bulb. On the second floor, Dan turned toward the back of the building and I followed. I could smell rice cooking and hear a small child singing. Two men waited outside a doorway midway down the hall. We skirted past them and their heads turned to watch us. We stopped at the last door.

  Dan knocked.

  A teenage boy opened the door. The room beyond was dim, the only light spreading in flickering halftones from the black-and-white television set against the opposite wall. Not that the wall was far away. The room was diminutive, ten feet by twelve perhaps, and at first glance seemed full of people.

  Dan was asking the boy about Jimmy and I sorted out the dim figures, two on a narrow couch against the wall, the other four lounging on the floor. Six boys.

  “No, no, Jimmy not here. He late.”

  A heavier boy pushed up slowly from the couch, walked with a swagger to the door.

  “You looking for Jimmy?” It wasn’t the words, it was his tone. I could almost feel Dan’s hackles rise.

  “Yeah, buddy. Has he been here tonight?”

  The boy shrugged.

  I touched Dan’s arm before he could answer.

  “Please,” I said, “we’re hoping you can help us. Jimmy was supposed to meet us but he didn’t come. Has he been here, oh, in the last hour or so?”

  The boy’s dark eyes moved slowly to me. He didn’t smile. His eyes were cold and angry, but I knew the anger wasn’t at me. He had been angry for a long time. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. No, he hasn’t been here.”

  A door opened down the hallway. A woman stepped out, carrying a saucepan. A little girl followed close behind her.

  “If Jimmy comes, please tell him that Ellen and his brother are looking for him. That we need to talk to him. That we want . . . to help him.”

  “Brother?” the boy repeated. “I didn’t know Jimmy had a brother.”

  “He does,” Dan said shortly. “Tell him I came. And, tell him he’d damn well better call me, the mess he’s in.”

  I could have strangled Dan. But, it was too late.

  The boy’s angry eyes swung back to Dan. Even though Dan was much the bigger, I was afraid for an instant. The boy’s mouth curled a little.

  “Tell him yourself,” he said softly and the door slammed in our faces, quivering in its frame.

  “Goddam smart ass, I’ll . . .”

  “No,” I said sharply.

  Dan’s fist, raised to pound on the door, slowly dropped to his side. He glared at me then shook his head wearily. “Sorry, Ellen. Sorry. You’re right. Damn dumb. I know better. Like the old lawyer said, honey catches flies every time. It’s just . . .” he rubbed the side of his face tiredly, “it’s just that I’m so damn sick of smart mouth kids. All right, I blew it. Let’s go. I can’t think here.”

  As we started down the stairs, he said reassuringly, “I’ll find Jimmy. Don’t worry about that. I know Chinatown.”

  How many people in Chinatown, I wondered. I’d read the figure once. Thirty-five, forty thousand people, all crowded into a twenty-four block area. Lots of hiding places down there.

  But Dan said it once again when we reached the sidewalk. Both of us welcomed the cold damp air, the feeling of space and freedom, welcomed it but our eyes avoided saying so.

  “We’ll find him,” Dan insisted.

  Half-an-hour later even Dan was losing confidence. We were at the public phone booth on the sidewalk next to Old St Mary’s, that distinctive booth that is shaped like a pagoda, red-roofed with uptilted eaves. I stood by as Dan made call after call, Jimmy’s old roommate in Berkeley, Dan and Jimmy’s brothers, Pete and Eddie, their sisters, Ruth and Janet, a couple of Jimmy’s best friends from high school.

  Dan made one last call.

  “Mother? Hi, Dan here. How’s everything . . . mmm . . . no, no, I hadn’t heard that . . . well, that’s great, a little girl, huh? . . . I know, yeah, it’s been too long . . . no . . . sure thing, I’ll try Sunday . . . hey, Mother, have you been home all evening? . . . no, no special reason, just wanted to talk to you, see how you are . . . sure . . . okay . . . night.”

  He stepped outside the booth and, when he looked at me, I could see the fear in his eyes. “Nobody’s seen him, nobody’s talked to him.” He frowned. “I don’t like it. Usually, if one of us gets in a tight spot, well, he turns to somebody in the family. That’s the way it is. I’m afraid . . .” Grimly, he stepped back into the booth and began to call the hospitals.

  But Jimmy, if he was hurt, was not in a hospital.

  Then Dan was angry again. “When I get my hands on him, I’ll knock some sense into his head.”

  I understood that kind of anger. Dan wanted so badly for his little brother to be all right.

  But Jimmy didn’t want anyone, family or friends, to know where he was. Not if my guess was right. And I was guessing that he was lying low, trying to figure out how to sell his bonanza. So Jimmy was not going to be easy to find.

  But maybe we could approach it another way. If we could find out where Jimmy got the bones, we might get close to him.

  “Dan, we need to . . .”

  “Ellen, where do you suppose . . .”

  I finished it for him. “. . . Jimmy got the skull?”

  “And where are the rest of the bones?” Dan asked. “Didn’t you say the whole collection included the bones of about forty people? Why, that would . . .”

  I shook my head. “Just bits and pieces, Dan. We aren’t talking about a big mass of bones. Nothing like forty complete skeletons. No complete skeleton, of course, was ever found. These fossils had been crushed and covered by falling cave rocks and buried under tons of material for a half-million years, perhaps longer if so
me recent discoveries in Africa are accurately dated. The collection was mostly teeth, lots of teeth, parts of jawbones, upper arm bones, wrist bones, pieces of crania, several skulls. The whole lot could be put in an ordinary size suitcase.”

  “A suitcase, huh? So they’re probably just sitting around in a box somewhere.”

  “Somewhere.”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard,” Dan said hopefully. “What we need to do is find out where Jimmy’s been, what he’s been up to the last few days. He can’t have had the fossils long.”

  I nodded. “He was so excited when he came to my apartment.” And I began to be excited. “You’re right, Dan. That’s the way it must be. He must have come across the fossils today or yesterday!”

  “Okay, Ellen, now we know what to do.”

  “If you haven’t seen him for six months, how can you have any idea where to start?” I protested.

  Dan smiled. “I may not have seen him, but I know what he’s been doing. I’m the eldest brother.”

  “The eldest brother?”

  He nodded, started to speak, paused, shook his head a little. “You have a lot to learn about Chinese.”

  We had started to walk now and he was, once again, guiding me, his hand firm on my elbow.

  When we stopped for a traffic light, I asked mildly, “Where to now?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I’m going to take you home.”

  The light changed but I didn’t move. He started to go then stopped and looked down at me in surprise. “Did you think we were going to roam Grant all night?” and I heard the light teasing note in his voice and, suddenly again for the first time in so many years, I thought of Bill. Bill had been shorter, stockier, a flaming redhead, but there was always a touch of laughter in his voice.

  “Ellen?”

  “Sorry,” I said quickly, “I was thinking of . . . something else.” I began to move, we crossed and made it before the light turned red. “Why are you taking me home?”