by M J Lee
Chapter 42
Strachan showed Danilov the list that Tinkler had written for him.
‘I didn’t know there were that many clubs in Shanghai. When did Cowan ever find time to work?’
‘It seems he did enjoy a drink, sir.’
‘Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up.’
The Inspector finished his cigarette and threw it into the gutter. ‘I’m convinced that Cowan is key to both cases, Strachan. If we find him, we will find the answers to our questions.’
‘Well, looking at the list, there are four places in Blood Alley that he frequented and two more in “The Trenches”.’
‘Neither are in the International Settlement. It seems that he preferred to go outside for his relaxation.’
‘There are a couple more clubs in our area, sir, on Tibet Road and Nanking Road. More upmarket, I think.’
‘Let’s start at Blood Alley before it gets too late and the army starts killing each other.’
They drove to the first bar on Chu Pao San Road, known to the Armies, Navies and Marines of the world’s fighting forces as Blood Alley.
‘Here it is, sir. The Four Sisters. According to Moore and Tinkler, this was his favourite after-work drinking hole.
Above the door, a rough picture of four young girls was highlighted by a red lamp. The door itself was solid wood with a round porthole cut into it.
‘The sailors should feel at home.’
As Danilov spoke, one of those sailors stumbled out of the bar and into Strachan. ‘Wes me fren?’
Strachan recoiled from the alcoholic breath of the man. ’What’s that?’
‘Wes me fren?’ He swayed slightly, held upright only by the weight of his bell-bottomed trousers.
‘Where’s your friend?’
The sailor nodded, his eyes focusing on Strachan’s tie.
‘They went over there,’ said Danilov pointing to a bar across the street.
The sailor nodded once more and began to stagger across the street until he collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
Strachan went to help him up.
‘Zank ye, zank ye.’ The sailor slowly clambered to his feet and set out once again to cross the road to the bar.
‘Let’s get a move on, Strachan. I fear this is going to be a long night.’
They opened the door and pushed their way through a bead curtain. The place was dark with just a faint red glow emanating from behind the bar. In the corner, three sailors were drinking with three Russian women. It had all the appearance of the Last Supper without Jesus or any of the disciples.
The sailors looked up as the two detectives entered but silently returned to their drinks. A round, flabby woman festooned with rings that were too tight for her fingers, approached them.
‘Welcome, gentlemen, to the Four Sisters. I’ll get some girls to join you. We’ve just had a new shipment in from Harbin.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Madam.’
‘A drink then, come this way.’ She hooked her arm beneath Danilov’s elbow.
He removed the arm. ‘We’re here on business, Madam.’ He flashed his warrant card.
The woman’s smile vanished and her eyes seemed to shrink into her skull. ‘I don’t want any trouble, I know I’m behind with the payments…’
Danilov held up his hand to quieten her. ‘Have you seen this man recently?’ He showed her a photograph of Cowan that Strachan had taken from the police files.
‘Inspector Cowan? Saw him last week. He was a little the worse for wear, but that was normal for him.’
‘You haven’t seen him recently?’
‘He hasn’t been here. I heard he has a new girl from one of the nightclubs. You might find him there.’
‘Which nightclub?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘There are so many.’
‘Thank you for your help, Madam. We won’t bother you any more.’
The rings sparkled in the sparse light as she waved her hands. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink? It’s on the house.’
‘Thank you but no, Madam.’
She looked at Strachan. ‘The girls will be unhappy I let you leave.’
‘But leave we must. Goodbye, Madam…?’
‘Just call me Mamie.’
‘Goodbye. Madame Mamie.’ Danilov parted the bead curtain which rattled in his hands. One of the sailors looked up as they left, eyed them suspiciously, then returned to his untouched drink.
Mamie ran after them. ‘Do come again, Inspector, and bring this one with you.’ She pointed at Strachan.
Danilov smiled. ‘If I come back, I’ll make certain that Detective Sergeant Strachan is with me.’
‘The girls will be pleased.’
They closed the door behind them. ‘There’s three more bars on Chu Pao Street that he used to patronise, sir.’
‘Let’s check them out, Strachan. Inspector Cowan must be around here somewhere.’
‘The woman said something about a girl and a nightclub, sir.’
‘Kao said the same thing. Remember he separated Cowan from a girl during an argument. Any nightclubs on the list?’
‘Two, sir. One on the corner of Nanking and Tibet Road. The other not far from the station.’
‘We’ll visit them both after we’ve finished here.’
Chapter 43
It had been an incredible night. After dinner at Alaverdi, they were joined by three of Ivan’s friends who were making a documentary about Shanghai.
They had visited two nightclubs, before finally taking a taxi to a third.
‘This is the best in Shanghai, you’re going to love it.’ said Ivan.
They walked up a staircase shaded by a light blue silk canopy. The deep blue walls sparkled with Swarovski crystals. Above, the ceiling was painted the colour of the most perfect blue sky that Elina had ever seen.
As they entered the main ballroom, a shock wave of syncopated jazz hit them. The floor was packed with people, all dancing to the rhythm of the band.
Those who weren’t dancing sat at tables, laughing and joking and playing drinking games, their faces silhouetted by the cartoon of a black cat etched into the desk lamps.
It had been so long since she had been in a place like this. The club in Harbin had been a pale imitation.
The band was playing the jazz she loved so much: “St Louis Blues”, “Stumbling All Around”, “Jungle Blues”, and “Gloriana”.
After two more glasses of champagne, Ivan asked her to dance. At first she refused, she hadn’t danced in such a long time. But he persisted and the music was good and the champagne had gone to her head. Before she knew it, she was whirling around the dance floor to “Dancing Tambourine”, his arms around her and her head spinning.
They sat back down on the banquette and he ordered more champagne. With the rest of his friends from the film, they laughed and joked about life and women and Shanghai.
For the first time in a very long time, Elina felt comfortable and happy. She danced with the cameraman and the producer. She tangoed with Ivan. She did the Charleston with a young assistant director from Donetsk. She even chatted with him about her memories of his city.
And when a tall man in a dinner suit from another table asked her to dance, she agreed.
It was the most wonderful night of her life.
Until she saw her father.
Chapter 44
‘This will be the last club this evening, Strachan. I don’t think I can take any more.’
‘Inspector Cowan certainly got around, sir.’
‘But he doesn’t seem to be around any more.’
They had visited six clubs that night, all haunts of Cowan. Nobody had seen him for three days. He had simply vanished.
‘It’s the last one on the list, sir. The Black Cat.’
They stood at 72 Tibet Road, outside the Paris Hotel.
‘It looks like a hotel, Strachan.’
‘It is, sir. The club is inside.’
‘Have
you been here before, Strachan?’
‘Once, sir, with a few of the other detectives. I don’t really like jazz, sir.’
‘Too fast for you, Strachan?’
‘Too loud for me, sir.’
‘Sometimes, I think you are 58 not 28, Detective Sergeant Strachan.’
‘My mother says the same thing, sir.’
‘Lead on, Strachan, you know the place.’
A manager approached them. ‘A table for two, gentlemen? I’ll find you a good spot. You can buy tickets for the dances from your waiters. The girls are over there.’
He pointed to a small roped off section on the right. Here, a group of Chinese and Western women sat on high chairs. Each one had a number attached to a wristband on her arm.
‘Beautiful girls, wonderful dancers. I’m afraid Miss Lilly has already been fully booked this evening, but there are many other beauties to choose.’
‘We’re not here to dance,’ said Danilov bluntly. Once again he flashed his warrant card. And once again, he received the same reaction that he had seen at six other clubs.
‘Don’t worry, we’re not here to cause trouble.’ He brought out the picture of Cowan. ‘Have you seen this man recently?’
‘Inspector Cowan? He used to come here a lot. But we haven’t seen him for a couple of nights.’
‘Did he dance with any particular girl?’
‘He always asked for Amy. She’s over there, dancing with the tall German.’
Danilov looked around the dance floor. He followed the finger of the manager to a small Chinese woman standing next to a tall blond-haired man.
‘That girl? Can you ask her to join us?’
‘I’m afraid she’s been bought for the next four dances.’
Danilov sighed. ‘Get her to join us now. Give him back his money.’
Danilov continued to stare at the faces of the dancers, both Chinese and Western. They were all flushed and excited, with a hot sheen across their foreheads. The trumpeter had just finished his solo and sat down behind the bandstand. Above his head, the name ‘Felix and the Meows’ was written in curly letters like the tail of a Parisian street cat on the prowl.
A sudden movement in the corner of his eye made him turn to his left. A woman stood there trying to escape from her dance partner and hide behind a pillar.
Not a woman, a girl.
Not a girl, his daughter.
‘Elina,’ he said.
Chapter 45
A black car drew up to a wharf on the edge of the French Concession. It was like many of the wharves in the area. Dirty, pockmarked with pools of water and strewn with the rubbish from a thousand ships.
Four large wooden crates lurked beside the river, close to a metal bollard. The boxes had ‘Forestiere Marseilles’ stencilled on their sides in thick black type. Nobody knew how long they had been there or even what they contained. Just that they can’t have been valuable otherwise the gangs that roamed the docks would have stolen them years ago.
They did provide an effective barrier to inquisitive eyes, behind which the occupant of the car could get to work without being disturbed or observed.
A short, stocky man, dressed all in black, got out of the car. He coughed twice, inhaling the damp air off the river, a miasma that was constantly on the lookout for new bodies to inhabit having already given the dock workers the lowest life expectancy in Shanghai.
Men carried on working there anyway. The work was hard and relentless, but the perks from stealing supplemented their meagre wages. No matter that nobody lived long working on the docks. Life was short anyway.
The man in black looked around him, checking that nobody was nearby. He knew the mist rolling in off the river would cover what he was going to do, but he had to make sure.
He checked the steps leading down to the river. They were covered with slime. A small crab, its legs dressed in short black hairs, scurried from its hole and leapt into the river.
He walked round to the rear of his car and twisted the metal handle to open the boot. A grey tarpaulin lay inside. He propped the boot up and reached in to grab the cloth. It was heavier than he remembered. Much heavier.
He grunted as he tumbled it out onto the cobblestones of the wharf. Water splashed up at him as the body landed in one of the many puddles. He jumped back to avoid getting dirty. He hated feeling dirty.
It was then that he noticed a large splash of water had drenched his coat down the side. ‘Dirty bastard,’ he said out loud, giving the tarpaulin a sharp kick. He got out a freshly laundered handkerchief and wiped the soft wool of his overcoat. It removed most of the dirt and water, but the coat was useless to him. ‘Bastard,’ he said once again.
He picked up one end of the tarpaulin and dragged it toward the steps, the dead weight and the cobbles making it difficult. I should have just dumped it at a building site, he thought, there were enough of those in Shanghai. Would’ve been a whole lot easier than this.
He took the first three steps down, dragging the tarpaulin after him. A shriek came from his left. He looked up and reached for the gun holstered beneath his jacket. A bedraggled old cat ran into view, chased by an enormous rat, vanishing into another of the warehouses on the left of the river.
He looked around him. All was quiet again. A tramp steamer glided by in the centre of the river, a line of washing hanging from the bridge and water pouring out of a pipe at its stern. Far to the left, a row of battleships swung lazily at anchor. On the other side, a few lights twinkled out of the gloom of Pootung.
He returned to the tarpaulin, giving it a vicious tug and jumping to the side. It tumbled down the remaining steps, coming to a hesitant halt at the small, square landing stage. As it did, the knot at the end came free and a head popped out. The head was covered in bruises and a bloody welt oozed blood from beneath the eye.
He followed it down. The water lapped the step below him like a cat lapping cream.
‘Ta ma de,’ said the man dressed in black. He bent forward and took out a cartridge case from his pocket. Opening the man’s mouth, he placed the case on the tongue. This was his calling card, his particular method of showing the world his work. Sometimes it wasn’t possible of course. A rush job or a hit and run assassination, but when he could he liked to leave his signature.
He pushed the bloody head back into the tarpaulin, tying the top with a double knot just like he tied his shoelaces.
He stepped above the tarpaulin and shoved it over to the sloping edge of the landing until it lay half-submerged in the water. ‘Shoulda dumped it on a site,’ he said out loud.
Then he stepped down and gave the tarpaulin and the body inside a final shove with his foot. It turned, rolled over and floated off into the foggy darkness of the Whampoa River.
He watched it for a minute as it was slowly taken by the tide and drifted downstream, just more rubbish in a city full of shit.
‘Enjoy the cruise.’ He waved sarcastically at the grey tarpaulin as it vanished into the blackness of the river.
He turned and climbed back to the wharf with a new spring in his step. He would have to go to the Golden Nights bathhouse, of course. The river had somehow seeped beneath his collar to leave his skin feeling like he had been rolling in a pig sty for a day and a half. Never mind, Little Jade would give him a rub down and he would feel as good as new in no time.
He opened the car door and glanced back at the river. He couldn’t see the tarpaulin anywhere now, it was lost in the vast darkness, drifting lazily to the sea.
He started the engine, turned on the lights and reversed away from the wharf.
As he pulled away in his car, a man stepped out of the darkness and lit a cigarette, the flare of the match illuminating his small, mouse-like face.
Chapter 46
Despite the loudness of the music, she heard her father call her name, softly at first, then louder and more strident.
She knew she couldn’t get away from him, there was no point hiding any more.
She step
ped out from behind the pillar. He came over to her and without saying a word, dragged her to the side of the ballroom.
‘You’re hurting me, father.’
‘What are you doing here?’
She had never seen him so angry before. His jaw was set tightly, the muscles beneath the skin taut like a rope. The veins on the side of his temples bulged. She thought she could see each beat of his heart as the blood raced through the blue knot of vein.
‘What are you doing here?’ He spoke again, louder this time.
Strachan was standing behind him, staring at her. Her mind was a blank. How could she answer her father?
Ivan appeared beside her. ‘Are you all right, Elina?’
Her father let go of her hand. ‘Hello, Mr Thomas, I am surprised to see you here.’
‘Ivan…you know my father?’
‘Mr Thomas is a reporter, Elina. He was present when Mr Kao was murdered.’
‘Good evening, Inspector. I didn’t expect to meet you here.’
Danilov glanced across at his daughter. ‘Evidently not.’
‘Ivan, can you tell me what’s going on?’ Elina looked between the two men. In the background, the music seemed to get louder as a trombonist began to blow his solo.
‘Mr Thomas, Ivan as you call him, is a reporter for the North China Daily News. I’m sure he has been asking you questions about the case. And about me.’
Ivan lit a cigarette, a smug smile appeared beneath his moustache.
It was as if Elina had been slapped across the face. Her eyes darted from her father to the man she thought she knew. Her lips quivered, trying to form words to explain it all. ‘Ivan? What? Is this true? Are you…?’
‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Elina.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
Danilov turned back to Strachan. ‘Take her home,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll interview the dance girl on my own.’
Ivan Thomas stepped forward. ‘Now look here…’
Strachan moved in front of him, but Elina stuck out her hand. ‘Take me home. Now.’
Strachan stepped to her left. ‘This way, miss.’
