The blindfold was not removed until I had been escorted inside the house, guided up the carpeted stairs, and led to a comfortable armchair. When I once again regained the use of my vision, I saw that I had been placed in the room Li always used for my visits. I was delighted to see that a lovely porcelain tea service had been laid out on a black-lacquered table next to my chair, including a plate containing Western-looking cakes and cookies. Each time I called upon Li Ying, I was served refreshments from a different tea set, each more exquisite than the one which had preceded it. At the conclusion of the Russian Hill murders, he had presented me with an exquisite hand-painted tea set which had been in his family for centuries. Much to my mother's delight, it was now proudly featured on the buffet table in our Rincon Hill dining room.
As I gazed around the lovely, and eclectically decorated, room, I was once again struck by the deep peace and sense of well-being I always experienced here. Actually, it was this unexpected tranquility which had most impressed, and surprised, me on the occasion of my first visit to Li's home. Li Ying wielded more power within Tangrenbu's ten square blocks than any other single individual, Chinese or white. Given his fearful and well-deserved reputation, I had been shocked to discover that he was also a Mandarin scholar, a connoisseur of fine art, and, most significant as far as I was concerned, a gracious and sensitive gentleman.
This private and gentler Li had managed to furnish his inner sanctuary with fine examples of American and European objets d'art, sculpture, and paintings, some by the old masters while others were decidedly avant-garde. Despite the contrasting styles, they strangely blended together in harmonious coexistence.
I was examining several new additions to his collection, when there was a small noise to my right. Turning, I saw that my host, Li Ying, had quietly glided into the room.
The distinguished-looking man sat, as was his custom, on a square-backed kuan moa chair which had been placed on a small raised dais. Li possessed a regal bearing, sitting with a straight back, head held high, hands resting on each arm of the chair of state, yet his smile was so genuine and welcoming it quickly dispelled any fear or anxiety I might have otherwise experienced. This afternoon he was wearing an intricately embroidered green satin tunic, with an equally impressive black satin hat which was also decorated with elaborate silk embroidery.
Li was tall for a Chinese, and very slender, with coal-black hair shaved and oiled into a long queue falling down his back. It was difficult to judge his age: his hair betrayed almost no gray, his face was unlined, and he moved with youthful grace and flexibility. His dark eyes, however, betrayed a wisdom and insightfulness that takes many years to acquire, leading me to guess that he might be a great deal older than he appeared.
“Miss Woolson,” he said, bowing his head. “You grace my humble home with your presence.” His English was very nearly perfect, his tone pleasant and well modulated. “Again, I must apologize for requiring you to wear a blindfold.”
“I appreciate the need for such a precaution, Mr. Li.” I suppressed a little shiver. “Frankly, I prefer this minor inconvenience to what might happen if your enemies decided I could lead them to your home.”
“I am relieved that you understand,” he said with a smile. “I only wish that other visitors could accept this regrettable necessity with such intelligent forbearance.”
“It is good of you to see me at such short notice, Mr. Li,” I said, pleased by the compliment. “You are a busy man.”
“I am never too busy for you, Miss Woolson.” He nodded his head ever so slightly, and a manservant appeared out of nowhere to pour tea into the two delicate cups which sat on the tray. “Let us enjoy our tea, shall we? Then you can tell me what has brought you to my home.”
Aware that this was Li's custom, I relaxed and savored the excellent tea and cakes. We spoke of my last case at San Francisco's famous Cliff House, then went on to discuss the current political climate in the city. Inevitably, our talk moved to the pending Chinese Exclusion Act, which, if passed, would provide a ten-year moratorium on Chinese labor immigration, as well as impose additional restrictions on the Chinese who had already entered the country.
“Such legislation was inevitable,” he said in a tone of matter-of-fact resignation. “One limitation has built upon another over the years, emboldening anti-Chinese factions to grow ever more bold.” He reached out and took a small piece of cake. “I find I have developed a taste for American sweets. You see, Miss Woolson, even I am becoming Westernized.”
I regarded his long queue and very un-Western clothing, but said nothing. My mind boggled at the thought of Li outfitted in Western attire. It would be akin to an elephant trying to masquerade as a rabbit.
When we had finished our tea, and the ever silent servant had dutifully borne away the tray, Li settled back in his chair and finally inquired what business had prompted my unexpected visit.
“I wondered if you were aware that two of your countrymen were arrested this morning and placed in city jail?”
Li's eyebrows rose nearly to his shaved scalp. It shames me to admit it, but I was secretly pleased to have finally informed the tong lord of something he did not already know.
“You have taken me quite by surprise, Miss Woolson,” he said, eyeing me with intense curiosity. “I know nothing of this matter. Of what crime have they been accused?”
“They've been charged with killing Dieter Hume last Wednesday night. He was the deacon at the Church of Our Savior on Howard Street.”
“I am aware of the young man's death.” His long, sculpted face was grave. “However, I do not understand why the police should suspect two of my countrymen of committing such an assault.”
“Some men have come forward and identified them as being in the vicinity of the Harrison Street Bridge the night Dieter Hume was murdered.” I did not add that I found the so-called eyewitness accounts a great deal less than convincing.
His mouth tightened. “That is all? They were simply seen in the area?”
I was embarrassed to admit that our all-white police force had acted upon such flimsy evidence. “Yes, I'm afraid so. It's very little to go on, and if they had not been—”
“Chinese?” he finished for me. “Indeed, Miss Woolson, you are correct. If the two men had not been Chinese, they would simply have been questioned and released.”
Since I could think of no response to this all too fair indictment, I remained silent.
“Do you know their names?” he went on when I didn't respond.
“No, and I rather doubt the police know, either. I've been told that they are quite young and that neither speaks any English. Unfortunately, the authorities have not provided them with an interpreter. They must find their predicament very frightening.”
Li's face remained outwardly composed. His black eyes alone betrayed his disquiet. “It was most kind of you to notify me of this unfortunate situation, Miss Woolson. I am in your debt. The two men of whom you speak must have only recently arrived in San Francisco. Otherwise, I would have received a report of their disappearance.”
He sat very still for several minutes as he contemplated the situation. “I assume there is little hope of obtaining their release on bail?”
I shook my head. “It would be virtually impossible, Mr. Li. The fact that they're foreign nationals, along with the ease with which they could disappear within the boundaries of Chinatown, makes them an extreme escape risk.”
I thought of the disturbing newspaper reports of the two murders. “Actually, their safety might be better served if they remain in jail, at least until the real killer is apprehended.”
“You fear a lynch mob.”
“Yes, I do,” I told him truthfully. “People are afraid. And Deacon Hume's murder was particularly brutal.”
“As was Mr. Logan's. I presume that at some juncture the authorities will attempt to connect my young countrymen to this prior killing?”
“They haven't done so as yet. But, yes, at some point I'm afrai
d that's exactly what they will do. The newspapers have been stirring up people's fears until they're afraid to venture out after dark. It's bound to come as a relief to learn that two suspects have been incarcerated. I fear their reaction if the two men were freed on bail.”
“Especially when those two men are Chinese,” Li added, his face inscrutable. Neither his expression nor his tone of voice revealed his private feelings on the matter.
“Exactly,” I quietly agreed.
He nodded. “As is your custom, you speak no less than the truth, Miss Woolson. I have missed our little chats.”
Subtly shifting his position in the thronelike chair, Li gave the impression of suddenly growing taller and, although I wouldn't have thought it possible, even more regal. He made a tower with the long fingers of both slender hands, and eyed me with unsettling directness.
“Tell me, Miss Woolson, what can we do to help these men?”
Thankfully, I was ready for this question, having thought it through on the ride over in the hansom cab.
“First, we must ensure that the young men receive a speedy arraignment,” I told him. “The police are holding them on the flimsiest of evidence. It's my guess that they'll attempt to put off officially charging them for as long as possible, hoping, of course, that they'll uncover more definitive proof of their guilt.”
“You would be willing to represent these unfortunate young men, Miss Woolson?”
I had also anticipated this request, and although this was certain to become yet another unpopular and high-profile case, I could not turn my back on two young men who might otherwise not receive justice.
“Yes, Mr. Li,” I replied, after a brief hesitation. “I will do whatever I can for them. It will be necessary, of course, to provide me with the services of an interpreter.”
“You shall have one,” he immediately agreed. As if guessing the reason behind my brief hesitation, he went on, “I am not unaware of the difficulties you will face by accepting this case, Miss Woolson, both personally as well as professionally. Once again, I am amazed by your courage and dedication to justice. I seriously doubt that I could find another attorney in this city willing to risk his career, and certainly incur private disdain, for the sake of two young ‘coolies.’ ”
I nodded, but could think of nothing to say. It would be fruitless, as well as naïve, to deny that these words were no more than the simple truth.
We spent the next quarter hour discussing the details of my visit to city jail on Monday morning, including the time and location where I would meet the translator.
When we had concluded our business, the man who had served us tea once again slid silently into the room and handed Li Ying an envelope. With a low bow, he turned and just as quietly exited. Without examining the contents of the envelope, Li Ying handed it to me.
“Please consider this a retainer, Miss Woolson.”
Gravely, he shook his head. “As in the case of the early Christians, I feel as though I am throwing you to the lions. I can only pray that you will escape from the arena unscathed.”
During the ride home, I had time to reflect upon my decision to represent Li Ying's countrymen. As I had told the tong lord, there was virtually no possibility that I could obtain their release on bail. The most I could reasonably hope to achieve was to get their arraignment hearings scheduled as quickly as possible. Other than that, I could only ensure that they were being treated fairly at the jail which, given their nationality, was hardly an assured thing.
Of course I had yet to meet my clients, but it required no great leap of faith on my part to believe in their innocence. As Samuel and I both agreed, it stretched coincidence beyond reason to presume that Nigel Logan and Dieter Hume had been murdered by two different villains. I remained convinced that there was only one killer, and that that person had chosen his victims with care, and then carried out the murders with deadly forethought. To my mind, the only crime those unfortunate young Celestials were guilty of was being in the wrong place at the wrong time!
What concerned me most at this particular moment, however, was that now that the police had two suspects in custody, they would give up looking for the real murderer. The citizens of San Francisco were in an uproar. When the city's newspapers discovered that two Chinese men had been arrested for the crimes the situation was bound to become even more volatile.
As soon as I was allowed to remove my blindfold, I took Li's envelope from my reticule. Inside, I discovered a thick wad of bills amounting to an extremely generous retainer. Closing my eyes, I felt almost light-headed with fear. Unless I could somehow manage a miracle—which almost certainly would require me to find Nigel Logan and Dieter Hume's murderer myself—how was I possibly going to prove my new clients' innocence? I continued to believe wholeheartedly in our Constitution's promise of justice for all, but at this particular moment I simply had no idea how to achieve it.
I would have preferred nothing more, when I returned home, than to spend what remained of Saturday afternoon contemplating this latest dilemma, as well as the challenging matter of Brielle Bouchard and her baby. Not for the first time in my brief legal career, I felt out of my depth. I wished that Samuel were not spending the weekend in the country. If he were here, I would at least have someone to discuss the cases with. Samuel was adept at playing devil's advocate; between the two of us we often came up with ideas neither of us would have considered on our own.
Much as I might have desired time for much needed contemplation before dinner, however, it was not to be. I had no sooner stepped inside the house than Mama swept me up to help with the preparations for next Saturday's Christmas party.
My sister-in-law Celia, along with her two eldest children, Tom and little Mandy, were already seated at a table in the kitchen stringing popcorn and cranberries to be used as decorations for the Christmas tree (although it seemed that as much popcorn was going into their mouths as was making it onto the string). The newest addition to the Woolson family, three-month-old Charlie, was sleeping peacefully in his cradle at his doting mother's feet.
Hazel Bentley, our ladies' maid, and the children's nanny, Mary Douglas, were seated well out of range of the children's sticky fingers, busily tatting white snowflakes and other delicate patterns which would also be hung on the tree. Cook was busy at the stove baking gingerbread men and other hard cookies, while Ina Corks, our Irish maid, bent over a tray, her small tongue protruding slightly from between set lips as she carefully decorated the cooled pastries with colored icing squeezed from an assortment of piping bags.
Brooding over my legal quandaries was all but fruitless, when surrounded by so much joyful family activity. If I had been lacking Christmas spirit before this afternoon, it was present now all around me. Our warm, cozy kitchen was filled with happy chatter, childish giggles, and mouthwatering smells, all of which I found impossible to resist. Taking off my suit jacket, I slipped on the apron Mama handed me, and set to work.
Since I was hopeless at tatting, as well as embroidery, knitting, crocheting, and other womanly skills, I was set to work twisting sprigs of mistletoe, holly, and other greenery into arrangements to be hung about the house. Time permitting, Mama had instructed me to commence work on the paper streamers which would also be used for tree and room decorations. The following week, of course, would find the entire household staff turning our home upside down in a frenzy of last-minute housecleaning.
Several hours later, after a simple dinner of cold meat, bread, cheese, and apples, I sought out my father, hoping to discuss Brielle Bouchard's case with him. Only Brielle's case. I knew he would not be happy to learn that I had once again ventured into Chinatown alone, or that I'd had a private audience with Li Ying. He certainly would be upset if he knew that I'd agreed to represent the two Chinese men arrested for Dieter Hume's murder. As I had other fish to fry this weekend, I preferred to leave that particular confession until later.
I was disappointed, although not surprised, to learn that he was spending the even
ing at his club. It did not require a mind reader to guess that he had probably slipped out immediately after dinner before Mama could involve him in the flurry of Christmas preparations which resumed immediately after our evening meal. Unfortunately, I had no club to escape to, and was once again recruited to paste together the paper streamers.
This busywork with my mother and Celia had one undeniable benefit: It once again kept me too occupied to worry about Brielle Bouchard, and the two young Chinese men I had rather rashly agreed to represent. Time for that would come later, when I retired for the night. Then I would have entirely too much time to consider my two all but impossible cases.
I feared I was destined to pass another long night.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As it turned out, I had no opportunity to speak to my father about Brielle Bouchard until the following afternoon. My hope that he would be able to conjure up some scheme to help the girl, however, had faded with each passing hour. Papa might be a brilliant if slightly unorthodox judge, I told myself, but he was not a miracle worker. His job was to enforce the law, not invent new ways to circumvent it. On the other hand, he had an uncanny ability to pull a rabbit out of his hat when one least expected it, and in the end I couldn't bring myself to give up on the young mother until I had at least run the problem by him.
I found Papa supervising Marco Ciatti, an affable part-time gardener and general handyman who was much sought after to do odd jobs in the neighborhood. They were clearing out several overgrown rhododendron bushes that were encroaching on the back fence.
“Buon giorno, Miss Woolson,” Marco said with a broad grin. He jauntily tipped his cap as I joined the two men.
I was about to address my father when, for a startled moment, I actually thought I caught the little Italian winking at me. When I turned back for a second look, however, he was whistling cheerfully and taking up a large pair of clipping shears to attack the overgrown bushes. I remembered odd bits of gossip I'd overheard from several women in the neighborhood, implying none too subtly that the good-looking handyman had a well-developed eye for the ladies. Since Marco's behavior toward me had always been pleasant and well mannered, I chided myself for possessing an overactive imagination.
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