by M J Lee
‘It’s been a long time since you visited us for a game of chess.’
‘Alas, now my daughter keeps me busy when I’m not working, Princess.’
‘You must bring her here. I would love to meet her. She must be missing the food of home. A few piroshki, a bowl of borscht, some knish, a slice of limmonnyk. I can even get Yuri to prepare driniki if she’s missing a taste of Minsk.’
‘As ever, Princess, you are right. She is missing home very much.’
‘And your wife and son, any news?’
‘Nothing, Princess. They were last seen in Vladivostok, about to head to Shanghai, but then they vanished.’
‘I will ask my “little ears” again. Perhaps, they have heard something. There are new arrivals in the city every day. More repression at home.’ She shrugged her elegant shoulders in a peculiarly aristocratic way.
The princess had the best network of informers, her ‘little ears’, in Shanghai. It was the way she managed all her legal, and not so legal, businesses.
‘Your “little ears” are the reason I have come here tonight.’
‘And I thought you just wanted to chat about the old times, Pyotr Alexandrevich.’
‘I wish I had time to reminisce, Princess, but I’m investigating the murder of a family and the shooting of a man on the steps of Central Police Station today.’
‘I read about both cases in the papers. Shocking, the killing of a young family.’ She shook her elegant head.
‘I wonder if your “little ears” had heard anything.’
The Princess ignored the question. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a few snacks?’
Danilov shook his head.
‘Or a glass of tea? We have a new blend that arrived just today. Yuri is very pleased with it.’ The big man smiled from behind his samovar, the walrus moustache spreading its wings upwards.
The chess player in the corner got up and sat down on the opposite side of the table, staring at the board the whole time.
Danilov smiled. So this was the game the Princess wanted to play. No information for him, until he gave her something in return. But they both had an understanding; he would never ask her about her businesses and she would never tell him any lies. It was a relationship based on mutual need. He needed knowledge from her and she needed information from him.
Danilov pulled at the skin above his eyes. ‘I’ve been reading the newspapers recently.’
‘Not usually a useful application of time, I find,’ she sniffed.
‘They are reporting a dislike amongst certain members of the Shanghai Council of the spread of bars away from their designated areas.’
‘Quite correct. The entertainment of the soldiers, sailors and marines of the colony should be kept away from the eyes of the citizens of Shanghai lest it corrupt the young and scandalise the old.’
Danilov was always amazed at the Princess’s ability to be both immensely conservative in her ideas and tremendously modern in her business practices. Money had no morals, he supposed.
‘The police are under immense pressure to act against these bars. So much pressure that they will be forced to raid them at 11 pm on the 11th of November.’
‘And so they should. Armistice Day should be a time for mourning our losses, not for drinking and licentiousness.’
‘I knew you would agree, Princess.’
Yuri took the opportunity to place two glasses of tea on the table. ‘You’ll enjoy this tea. I brought it in from Russia just today,’ said the Princess.
Danilov placed his nose just above the glass and inhaled. The scent of pine and smoke and white birch took him back to the days of his youth, running through the forests near his home. He sipped a little of the hot brew.
A smile of ecstasy crossed his face. He was back at home, sitting in his kitchen, his wife was stirring a large pot on the stove. He had his arms around her small waist, inhaling the perfume of her hair and tasting the dew on the back of her neck.
‘It’s exquisite, isn’t it, Inspector?’
‘Heavenly, Princess. A memory of home.’
‘I’ll give you a small wrap to take back. For your daughter, of course.’
‘She will be happy.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’
Danilov smiled. ‘There is one other question. It’s about the Lee family.’
‘The murder of that family was shocking. To be killed in their own home...’
‘The husband, Mr Lee Hsiao Fong, was an accountant.’
‘That’s what makes it so shocking. Such a menial profession.’ The Princess sniffed as only an aristocrat can do when talking about the middle class.
‘He was an accountant for the Three Friends Company.’
The Princess’s eyes opened wide at the mention of the name.
‘You know this company?’
The Princess recovered her composure quickly, smoothing down an errant hair that had come loose from her chignon. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it, Inspector.’
‘I’ve heard whispers. ‘Gossip needs no horse-drawn carriage’
‘This gossip flies on wings of truth. You don’t need to know more.’
Princess Ostrepova began to rise from her chair. Danilov reached over and touched the back of her hand. ‘Please, Princess.’
She sat down and sighed. Without looking up, she talked in a monotone. ‘The Three Friends Company was formed by Du Yue Sheng, Huang Jin Rong and Chang Xiao Lin. If you don’t know already, they are the primary distributors of opium in the city. Their headquarters are in a three-storey villa on Route Henry.’
‘They can operate so openly?’
‘Under the protection of the French police. Listen, Danilov, Huang Jin Rong was the head of the French detectives. Or at least he was until he retired last year.’
‘The leading opium supplier in Shanghai was a detective?’
‘You know how this city works better than I do, Inspector. Everything is a shadow of the truth, and every shadow has its own shadow.’
Danilov wanted desperately to roll a cigarette, but he knew that the Princess hated the habit. Her cafe was the only smoke-free place in the city. ‘You think the murders may have had something to do with his job?’
‘I think nothing. Especially when it comes to the Three Friends.’
Danilov picked up his hat. ‘Thank you for your time and your honesty, Princess.’
He got up to leave but this time it was her turn to touch his arm. ‘Be careful, Pyotr Alexandrevich, these people are not the kind one annoys.’
Danilov smiled. ‘Thank you, Princess. I’ll make sure I do much more than annoy them.’
Chapter 37
Strachan had spent the last hour recounting his interview with the maid, her mistress and the other residents of the area.
‘We need to talk to the maid again. She knows more than she’s telling us,’ said Danilov.
‘I agree, sir. I can go back tomorrow.’
‘You seem awfully keen, Strachan.’
Strachan smiled. ‘I just know she’s got more to tell us, sir. She’s going back to the country on Saturday. Keeps hearing ghosts.’
Danilov raised an eyebrow. ‘Ghosts?’
‘She’s quite fragile at the moment, sir. Skittish.’
‘An interesting word, Strachan.’
‘My dad used it, sir.’
‘I’ll remember. I’ll also remember this.’ He threw the photographs down on the table. Strachan picked them up and quickly examined them.
‘The bastards lied to our faces. I’ll…’
‘The negatives are in the envelope too. See if the photographers can give us any more detail on this one.’ He picked up the fourth picture. ‘Particularly this area.’
Strachan’s eyes lit up. ‘So that’s our killer, sir, standing by the car?’
‘It is, Strachan. But the picture is too blurred, it could be anybody. I don’t hold out much hope for a better likeness. Can you chase them about the other phot
ographs we confiscated?’
‘Yes, sir. But I bet the photographers only gave us stuff they knew was useless.’
‘I wouldn’t take that wager, Strachan. I’m sure they only gave us film that was useless.’
Danilov stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk. ‘I’ve been doing some checking of my own. Mr Lee worked for a company known as Three Friends. Ever heard of it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Apparently they control much of the opium imported into the territory.’
‘Strange, we know nothing about them, sir.’
‘I’m sure somebody knows, but whether they will tell us is a different matter.’ Danilov started rolling another cigarette with a ball of tobacco taken from his pouch. ‘Anything on Cowan?’
‘Nothing, sir, he’s vanished into thin air.’
‘Time to put an APB out on him. Let’s have all the street coppers keeping watch.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll do it straight away.’
‘Find out where he used to go to drink. Ask Tinkler, he was a close friend of his.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And remember what Kao said.’
‘What was that, sir?’
‘About the fight with the woman. I wonder if she was Cowan’s girlfriend?’
‘It’s possible, sir.’
‘Well, hop to it. I’m going to sit here and smoke for a while.’
‘It’s something you do very well, sir.’
‘You may not realise this, Strachan, but when I am doing nothing, just sitting and staring at the wall, is when I am most active.’
‘Really, sir?’
‘Really, Detective Sergeant Strachan. Once you have the names of the bars and clubs from Tinkler, I think we’ll pay a visit to Detective Constable Moore. We can go round the bars looking for Cowan afterwards.’
‘Tonight, sir.’
‘Yes, Strachan, this evening. You don’t have anything else on, do you?’
Strachan’s stomach rumbled audibly. ‘No, sir,’ he muttered.
‘Well, get a move on. Tonight we should discover the bright lights of the big city of Shanghai.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Strachan said unenthusiastically, ‘but can we eat first?’
There was a light cough from the doorway. Miss Cavendish stood there, dressed in a purple twinset, adorned with a long string of ivory pearls. ‘The Chief Inspector would like to see you.’
‘Is it good news or bad news, Miss Cavendish?’
‘Let’s put it this way, Inspector Danilov, the top of Mr Boyle’s head is covered in red scratch marks.’
‘That doesn’t sound good, Miss Cavendish. For the news or the Chief Inspector’s scalp.’
***
‘Look at this.’ Boyle threw a copy of the North China Daily News on his desk.
Danilov saw a large picture stretching across the width of the page. It was the image he had pointed out to Earnshaw, now blown up, with a circle around the killer’s face. None of the features were distinguishable, but he could see that someone was there and they were definitely holding a gun. ‘I saw the picture at the newspaper’s office.’
‘You went there?’ Boyle scratched his scalp again. Another bright red mark appeared on the bald head and flakes of scalp drifted slowly down to settle on the shoulders of his suit.
‘I did, sir. I wanted to see the pictures and get our photographers to make prints. I don’t think they will give us anything new, but there’s no harm in trying.’
‘No harm in trying? I’ve just had the head of the Municipal Council on the telephone demanding action. He wants to know why he keeps seeing pictures of murders on the front pages of the paper.’
‘He keeps seeing them, sir, because they keep happening. The killing of the Lee family and Mr Kao were just the start. There may be more to come.’
‘More?’ Boyle banged the desk with his fist. ‘And what are you doing investigating the Lee murders? That’s Cowan’s case.’
Danilov pointed to the small article that appeared in the column beneath the picture. The headline read:
INSPECTOR MISSING
Boyle’s eyes followed the Inspector’s fingers. He snatched up the paper and quickly read the article. ‘How did they know he was missing? And what’s this about his record? Disciplined four times? Nobody knows his record except me.’
‘Nothing is secret in a police station, sir.’
Boyle scratched his head once more. ‘Cowan is due to retire soon. He only has six more months before he heads back home.’ The Chief Inspector stared off into the distance.
Danilov leaned back in the chair. He spoke slowly and calmly. ’I think Cowan was involved in the death of Mr Kao and the Lees. I don’t know how yet, but I’m sure he was. At least, he was involved in covering it up.’
Boyle seemed to wake up. He glared at Danilov, his brow creasing deeply. ‘That’s a serious accusation against a colleague.’
‘It is.’
‘You’ll have to find proof.’
‘I know.’
‘I can’t believe an Inspector of the Shanghai Police was involved in such a crime, or covered it up. We catch criminals, Inspector, we don’t employ them.’
Danilov said nothing, preferring to let silence provide his answer.
‘Let me repeat once again. Your first task is to find out who killed Kao.’
‘I know, sir. But to find out who killed him, I have to discover who killed the Lees.’
‘That’s not your case. Get whoever killed Kao, and get him quickly.’
‘Arrest somebody?’
‘Exactly what you failed to do yesterday. I heard a suspect escaped across a roof.’ He ran his fingers over the red weals that covered his bald scalp.
‘I’m close, sir. There are just a few more pieces of the puzzle that I have to put in place. I can’t quite see the patterns yet, but I know they are there.’
Boyle threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘Patterns? I don’t want bloody patterns, I want arrests. Just find Kao’s killer, Danilov. That’s your priority. You have two more days. Or else, I’ll find somebody who can.’
* * *
Chapter 38
The meeting with Mr Zhang had not gone well. To be rebuked in public by that man was intolerable. Sure, he had once been a name in the city, famous for killing Song Wei Hao in 1919.
But that was a long time ago.
Age and comfortable living had made him slow and fat. He had become too set in his ways.
Always drinking in the same tea house.
Always turning up at his office at the same time.
Always leaving on the dot of five to return to his fat wife in their new house on Rue Culty in the French Concession.
The final straw had been the deadline. Two days to clean up the contract.
Nobody gave him deadlines. Not now. Not ever.
It was time for a new head of Murder Inc.
A new man to sweep away the excesses and luxuries of the old leaders.
The organisation had to become leaner, more austere. The present operatives put out to pasture and new ones hired who were hungrier and more disciplined.
But first he would have to clean up the contract.
Cowan had been a mistake. He needed an extra man and the policeman had been recommended to him. But Cowan had lost his nerve.
A nervous man, unwilling to finish the job properly. What was one young girl? All around him people were dying and Cowan objected to the death of a girl?
Stupid.
Unprofessional.
She had recognised him, so she had to die.
He hadn’t told Zhang that it was him, not Cowan, who had killed her.
Ignorance was bliss. Especially in Zhang’s case.
Cowan had to be dealt with. He was hiding out with his girlfriend in that sleazy dump on Chaou Fung Road.
Predictable as ever.
It would only be a matter of time before the police found him.
He had made sure that Cowan
knew nothing about him, only ever allowing himself to be called Ah Tung. But Cowan would tell them everything about the job.
That could not be allowed.
He opened the door to the telephone booth in the Astor Hotel and sat down inside. The phone hung above the red velour seat. He picked it and asked to be connected to Shanghai 3763. After only two rings, a gruff voice answered, his Mandarin heavily accented with the vowels of Shantung. ‘Three Friends Company.’
‘I have some information for Mr Du. The man who killed the Lee family can be found at Chaou Fong Road, number 22, second floor.’
‘Who the fuck is this?’ The Shantung voice was harsh and strident.
‘A friend. Make sure Mr Du gets the message.’ Then he put down the phone. They would try to trace the call no doubt. But he would be long gone, vanishing like a shadow into the night.
Chapter 39
Danilov sat at his desk, slumped in his chair, blowing smoke rings up towards the ceiling.
Strachan had the sense to keep quiet.
‘There’s too much happening in this investigation.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘There’s the murder of the Lees, the killing of the Mr Kao, and now the disappearance of Inspector Cowan.’
‘He could just be on a bender, sir.’
‘For thirty-six hours?’
‘Probably sleeping it off as we speak, sir.’
Danilov lapsed back into silence once more, taking occasional drags on his cigarette and sending smoke rings up to the ceiling.
Then suddenly he sat up and stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Where exactly does Cowan sit, Strachan?’
Strachan looked around the detectives’ room. It was empty. The night boys were out on the streets dealing with a fight on Tibet Road. He pointed to a desk in the corner. ‘His desk is over there, sir.’
Danilov walked over to the wooden table. He was disgusted at the dirt and mess that lay there; two used handkerchiefs, old pens, chewed pencils, an old knife, its blade mottled with rust, an empty beer bottle with cigarettes floating in the bottom, two packets of Craven A, both half-smoked, and an old newspaper smeared with oil, or something resembling oil. ‘This desk is a reflection of his mind, Strachan. It’s not a good picture.’
Danilov tried to open the top drawer. It was locked. He opened the others one by one. They were the same as the top of the desk, packed with used junk. Danilov hesitated before he searched through it.
