“What?”
“I need you with me. I’ve got an idea!” He barked out a few instructions and then tossed the phone away from him. With two dexterous hands, he wrapped his turban neatly around his head.
♦
“Did you pay him?”
Anthony Tan sat on the edge of a deep chair, his elbows resting on his knees. The living room was lit with lamps and shadows criss-crossed the floor.
Susan asked again, more prosecuting counsel than wife, “Did you bribe Dai Wei?”
He looked up and nodded once.
His daughter, watching from a corner of the room, whispered, “Oh, Dad.”
Susan was not finished. “And you borrowed the funds from a moneylender?”
“Yes, but I’ve paid him back.”
“Was he the one that threatened me?” asked Jemima.
Anthony Tan rose to his feet and walked slowly to his daughter. He hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry, honey.” He released his daughter and turned to face his wife. “Look, I know what I did was wrong. But at least remember, despite everything, this didn’t have anything to do with Justin’s death. Dai Wei was right here at the Embassy – you said so yourself.”
“Where did you get the cash to pay the moneylender?”
“Dai Wei issued the planning permission. So the Singaporean developers paid me a fee for facilitating the project.”
“But, Dad – Justin was working to stop people from being thrown off their land. He and Professor Luo tried to prevent this deal.”
“I know, honey. And I’m sorry.”
“But you could have pulled out! Told them you didn’t want to be involved any more instead of dishonouring Justin’s memory.”
“I had to pay the moneylender – otherwise you might have been in real danger. I had no choice but to go ahead.”
The three of them stood, staring at each other. All that was left of the family of four just a short month before. In the silence was the acknowledgement that although his words were true, they provided cold comfort.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked. He spoke to them both but he was looking at Jemima.
There was silence. Susan looked as if her face had been hewn from rock. At last, Jemima nodded, although her eyes remained bleak.
Anthony Tan’s phone rang and he reached for it instinctively. Even as mother and daughter listened to the faint tinny sounds of a hurried speaker on the other end, the blood drained from his face like sand through an hourglass.
♦
“You were right!” Li Jun was smiling broadly and the full moon lit up his teeth so that he looked uncharacteristically vicious.
Singh acknowledged the compliment with a nod but rather wished he’d had his insight twenty-four hours earlier. That would have saved him a whole heap of trouble.
They stood at the small hutong junction, a few yards from where Justin had been killed. Singh turned a hundred and eighty degrees until he could feel the wind in his face. It probably presaged a violent storm and an uncomfortable drenching but it felt good after the clammy humidity of the last few days. Maybe the weather breaking predicated a break in the case. It certainly seemed that way from their late-night conversation with Qing’s old aunt.
“What do you think our next step should be now that we have made this discovery?” asked Li Jun.
“Confront our suspect?”
“That is a good idea, but perhaps we should take our latest information to the First Secretary before we decide on the direct approach? It might be prudent to do this.”
Singh grinned – it was the closest thing to a criticism of his previous efforts that he was likely to hear from his loyal sidekick.
“Very well,” he said, prepared to humour the man. Singh turned to face the wind and sniffed suddenly. “I smell rain,” he said.
“Yes – after it has been hot for a few days it always rains in Beijing,” said Li Jun, taking the diversion into meteorological matters in his stride.
They watched the heavy clouds approach the moon in a pincer movement as if determined to snuff out the light. A metaphor for Beijing, slowly swamped in pollution and crime? Singh remembered Dai Wei’s warning that he get on a plane that evening or face the consequences. He shrugged, as the first few drops of rain landed on his face. He wasn’t going anywhere when he was so close to a solution to Justin and Qing’s murders. Beijing and its inhabitants would just have to put up with the continued presence of one angry but determined Sikh copper for a couple more days.
Fifteen
By the time Fu reached Dai Wei’s mansion, it was too late. The house was bathed in light. He could hear screaming and crying from within. Two police cars were already at the scene, engines running, red lights cutting swathes in the pre-storm darkness. He stood outside for a moment, gathering his thoughts, preparing for whatever he might find within. He could smell the air, heavy with impending rain.
A policeman in uniform appeared at the door. He was speaking into his radio. Fu couldn’t hear the words but the tone was high-pitched and rushed. It was time to take charge. He hurried towards the door, coat billowing, accompanied by a crack of thunder that sounded as if the ground beneath his feet had been ripped asunder. The junior policeman at the door looked as if he might burst into tears of relief at the appearance of the senior man.
“What is it?” demanded Fu.
“It is not good.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know whose house this is?”
Fu nodded. “Yes.”
“Come and see what has happened.”
Fu followed him in. Every light was on and the interior was so bright that it reminded the deputy chief of a film set, or the stage for an elaborate Chinese opera. Through a doorway, he could see uniformed staff huddled together around a sofa. Some were stony faced but most were weeping and at least two were in hysterics. Fu Xinghua didn’t spare them a second glance. He continued after his guide who led him up a wide staircase with increasingly reluctant steps. When they reached the landing, he pointed at a door that was slightly ajar. Even if he hadn’t indicated the entrance, Fu would have realised it was ground zero from the whey-faced policeman standing outside. He too recognised Fu. Without a word, he pushed the door open. Fu stepped forwards and looked in. Even for a seasoned policeman, it was a shock. He took a small step back and closed his eyes.
The second policeman was made of sterner stuff than the first. “It’s the wife,” he said. “The servants identified her from her clothing. It’s Dai Wei’s wife.”
Fu nodded. He hadn’t expected anything else although only a DNA sample would provide proof beyond reasonable doubt. Her own mother would not have recognised the former socialite – her face had been beaten to pulp, features completely destroyed in a mess of raw flesh and splintered bone. Her sheets were soaked in blood and the splatter on the walls looked like a display at a museum of modern art.
“Where is the deputy mayor?”
“He has gone out.” The policeman cleared his throat as if he was having difficulty uttering the rest. “The servants heard screaming. One of the braver ones came to investigate – she was the personal servant of Madame Dai and felt great loyalty to her.”
“And?”
“And Dai Wei told her to ‘clean up the mess’. Then he had a shower and went out. The servant called the police and we were the first car to respond.” The policeman paused as if seeking to formulate a sentence in a foreign language. “I have not put out the alert for Deputy Mayor Dai Wei in case the authorities choose a different approach to his apprehension.”
Fu Xinhua met the other man’s eyes, pupils wide with fear and shock, and nodded. Which junior policeman wanted to be responsible for seeking the arrest of the most powerful man in Beijing? And it was quite possible that the higher-ups might decide on a ‘different approach’ – in other words, a cover-up. This young man had an effective antenna for the politics of China. He would go far. Fu glanced once more at the remains of Madame Dai Wei. Ther
e were not going to be any easy solutions here – too many witnesses, too much of a mess.
“Did Dai Wei say where he was going?” he demanded.
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Fu. “I think I know.”
♦
Anthony Tan and his wife stood side by side, a couple of feet, and a lifetime, apart. They were bathed in the ghostly glow of a street light that heightened the blackness in every direction. The two of them had walked out of the Embassy and down the street until they reached the corner. Dai Wei was waiting for them, leaning against the Embassy walls, facing the deserted road, as if he was a vagrant deciding where to bed down for the night.
“So you came…” The deputy mayor sounded pleased but not ecstatic, as if he had picked the right number on a roulette wheel but not put all his chips down on the table.
“You said on the phone that I had to meet you – that you were considering withdrawing the planning permission?”
“That’s right.”
“Why? I don’t understand.”
Next to her husband, Susan tried to process the information, tried to understand the implications. When she had heard that the rendezvous was with Dai Wei, she had insisted on coming along. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but she knew her husband’s dealings with this man posed a threat to what was left of her family.
Dai Wei cackled suddenly, his mouth opened like a gash. Dai was not lost or drunk or confused, realised Susan, he was enraged to the point that his self-control hung by a thread.
“Please, Dai Wei, don’t do it,” whispered Anthony.
“Why not?”
“Because the developers will want their money back, and I don’t have it any more.”
“Because you repaid the moneylender?”
“Yes.”
Susan Tan understood why her husband sounded as shocked and broken as the day they heard that Justin was dead. Beijing was a very bad place in which to owe people money.
“Comrade Dai, we ask you this favour. I’m not involved in the transaction, but I beg you not to do anything that would endanger my daughter. I have already lost one child.” Susan’s voice was trembling like the last leaf of autumn.
“You think that revenge from a failed transaction might threaten your child?”
“That is what I fear.”
“All the better,” snapped Dai Wei.
Anthony Tan swayed on his feet as if he’d been hit by a heavyweight. “Why? Dai Wei, why are you doing this?”
“Because you were having an affair with my wife.”
In the empty space after his words, Susan Tan gasped. She had discovered many truths about her husband in the last forty-eight hours, but not this last one. She didn’t even turn to look at Anthony for confirmation. Instinctively, she knew that it was true. A man with something to prove would have been susceptible to the charms of a trophy bride.
Dai Wei reached into his pocket as nonchalantly as someone looking for loose change to tip a waiter. But instead of a wallet, he extracted a vicious-looking revolver. Susan stared at the dark shadow in his hand, an inkier black than the stormy night sky.
“I am going to kill you,” said the deputy mayor.
He raised the gun.
♦
Singh and Li Jun reached the Embassy well after midnight but the First Secretary’s residence was lit up like a skyscraper in a banana republic. It was as if someone within was trying to chase away fearsome night terrors. Jemima answered the door, her eyes wide, her cheeks tear-stained.
“Jemima, what is it? What’s the matter?”
“My parents – they walked out, down the street. To meet Dai Wei.”
As Singh stared at her blankly, trying to process the reason for this post-midnight rendezvous, she continued, “They wouldn’t let me go with them. They said it might be dangerous.”
“We’ll go after them,” said Singh.
“Would it not be better to wait here?” asked Li Jun. “It might be a confidential matter between them – ” he looked at Singh meaningfully – “and they may prefer privacy.”
Singh knew Li Jun was alluding to the affair, but he shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
They hurried out into the night, waving away Jemima’s request to come with them, and past the main gates with its puzzled-looking security officer. The rain was coming down in an unbroken sheet now and both men were drenched immediately. Even as they hesitated, trying to decide which way to turn, a police car came screeching around the corner. It skidded to a halt in front of them, spraying both men from a puddle of water. Fu Xinghua leaped out, all lithe motion and indifference to weather, the people’s hero. He stopped when he saw the two men, both watching him warily.
“You are the inspector from Singapore,” he said. “I’ve heard about you.”
Singh grimaced. He knew the source and he doubted the reviews were good. He noted that Li Jun was standing a couple of feet behind him, head down, trying not to draw attention to himself.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the inspector, unwilling to be intimidated.
“There has been an incident.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fu Xinghua did not answer directly. Instead, he said, “I am on the trail of Dai Wei, have you seen him?” Singh’s answer was drowned out by gunshots.
♦
“But first, I intend that you too understand the pain of losing everything you care about.” He turned the weapon towards Susan Tan. “And when I am done with the two of you I will return to the Embassy for your daughter.”
Dai Wei pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times. Claps of thunder echoed the gunshots. But it was Anthony Tan who hit the ground. In that last second, he’d flung himself in front of his wife and taken the bullets meant for her. His collapse was lit up as lightning crackled across the sky. Susan screamed. She fell to her knees beside Anthony, trying to see in the darkness, feeling for a pulse, trying to spot the bullet entry points.
Anthony Tan was as pale as death and not far from it. His eyes flickered open, shut and then, with an act of will, open again. A hand trembled and then found a place to rest on his stomach, covering the wounds but not the spread of blood.
“Susan…” He met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t say that it was all right. He was dying, had tried to save her, but how could she forgive him? Justin was already dead and Jemima was in danger. Nothing was ever going to be all right again.
“I just wanted to be prove myself…that I wasn’t just a husband…I could be a success too.”
She nodded. A small part of her understood. A large part of her found the ability to blame herself. Could she have avoided this reckoning? Were there forks on the road that she had missed because her eyes were always on the horizon, the next posting, the next promotion? Susan had no thoughts at all for the man holding the gun in the shadows. She could only think of her dying husband, her dead son and what might have been.
Anthony reached out a hand and she could see that it was covered in blood, black as tar in the night. Susan hesitated and then took it. His eyes remained open but she could have sworn she saw the moment when Anthony Tan’s spirit left his body. It was fanciful, but she had seen the terror ebb in the dying man’s eyes.
Susan reached over and closed them – did she see an accusation there? At least her husband had suffered an easier death than her son.
Susan turned around and saw that Dai Wei still had the gun although he was not pointing it at her with any singularity. The deputy mayor was lost in his own thoughts and she sensed that the rage that had fuelled him had died along with Anthony.
♦
Like spectres out of the shadows, they came – first Fu Xinghua, followed by Li Jun and then, trailing a few feet behind, Singh. Li Jun fell to his knees beside Anthony Tan. The inspector came to a stop beside him, hands resting on knees, wheezing and panting. The rain plastered Li Jun’s hair down until it looked like a tonsu
re. In his dark Mao suit, Singh thought the Chinese man looked like a priest administering the last rites. But it was too late for any attempt to save Anthony Tan’s soul.
Li Jun turned to face them and in that sudden lull that punctuates all tropical storms, his voice was loud. “He’s dead.”
“What happened?” asked Singh, straightening up and taking in the tableau, his heart rate calming down for the first time since they’d heard gunshots ring out further down the road. Fu Xinghua had led the cavalry and Singh had brought up the rear.
“He’s been shot.”
Singh had already noted the gun limp in the deputy mayor’s hand. But Dai Wei did not appear a threat. His expression was dazed, his shoulders rounded with defeat.
“Dai Wei – he shot Anthony.” Susan’s voice sounded almost disembodied. “He was trying to kill me – he said that he’d go for Jemima next so that Anthony would lose everything he cared about.”
“Then how come it’s him that’s dead?”
“Anthony…Anthony got in the way.”
“Do you know why?” asked Singh although he thought he could guess. Fu, in a movement so quick that none of them anticipated it, stepped up to Dai Wei and in a quick efficient twist of the wrist seized the weapon. He retreated two steps and pointed the gun directly at the chest of his former boss.
“Anthony was…was having an affair with Dai Wei’s wife.” Susan Tan was still crouched next to the body of her husband. Her hands were covered in blood, her words barely audible.
“I have just come from their residence,” said Fu Xinghua.
Dai Wei appeared to wake from his gaze. “You saw?” he asked, the upward tilt of the head indicating some pride in his handiwork.
“Yes.”
“She deserved it.”
“No one deserves what you did to your wife,” responded Fu. And then in a formal tone, “Dai Wei, I arrest you for the murder Anthony Tan, Madam Dai…as well as Justin Tan.”
Singh opened his mouth to protest and then shut it firmly again.
“Are you sure?” asked Li Jun.
“Without doubt,” said Fu.
Singh had been watching Dai Wei, curious as to his reaction, but the deputy mayor remained impassive, indifferent or oblivious to being arrested on three counts of murder.
A Calamitous Chinese Killing Page 24
