by M J Lee
‘Wasn’t Mr Lee the chief accountant?’
‘Mr Lee was one of our accountants.’ The Chairman spread his hands out to take in the whole building. To Danilov, it looked like he was swallowing up the whole of Shanghai. ‘As you can see,’ the receptionist interpreted, ‘we are a large company with diverse business interests in the city. We need many accountants to manage them. Money runs the city and, unfortunately, every cent has to be counted for tax. The French officials are most punctilious on that point.’
The Chairman smiled as he finished. He cracked a watermelon seed between his teeth and spat the shell onto the chicken bones lying on the table. He spoke again. ‘If the Inspector has finished asking his questions, the Chairman has another appointment.’
Danilov stood up, ‘Please thank Chairman Du for his time.’ He gave a small bow. The Chairman cracked another watermelon seed between his large yellow teeth.
Danilov turned to go and then turned back. ‘There is one more question I have for Chairman Du.’
The receptionist translated. Du Yue Sheng shrugged his shoulders.
Danilov asked his question anyway. ‘Does the Chairman know an Inspector Cowan?’
The eyebrows above the lizard eyes rose slightly at the name. Du leant forward and took a long swallow of tea. He then spoke directly to the receptionist. ‘Chairman Du has many friends in the police force, both French and English. He is not certain he is acquainted with this Inspector Gowing.’
‘Cowan. The name is Cowan. Well, I’m afraid Chairman Du will not have the opportunity to become acquainted with him. He was pulled out of the harbour this morning. He hadn’t been swimming. He had been shot dead.’
Without waiting for a response, Danilov put on his hat and strode out of the room, down the stairs and out of the main doors.
Once they were outside, he turned to Strachan and said, ‘Every word was a lie, Strachan.’
‘It wasn’t the safest place to visit, sir. I’m sure those bodyguards had pistols under their coats. What next, sir?’
Danilov took out his tobacco tin and rolled a cigarette. ‘We’ve just given the dragon’s tail a tug, Strachan.’ He lit the cigarette and inhaled, coughing twice as the bitter smoke stung the back of his throat. ‘Now we will have to wait for the reaction.’
‘We just go back to the station, sir?’
‘No, Strachan, we have lots to do. This case is beginning to become a little clearer.’
‘Is it, sir? Not to me it isn’t.’
‘You need to start smoking, Strachan. Helps you think. I’ve often wondered if the man who first discovered tobacco knew how useful it would become to police detectives.’
‘It was Sir Walter Raleigh who first brought tobacco to England, sir.’
Danilov took a step away from Strachan. ’Sometimes you amaze me with the amount of useless knowledge in your brain, Strachan.’
‘Sign of a misspent youth, sir.’
Danilov took another drag on the cigarette and then threw it on the pavement, crushing it with his boot. ‘I think Dr Fang should have finished the autopsy on Cowan by now. Let’s return to the morgue.’
‘My favourite place in the world, sir.’
‘With your favourite doctor.’
Strachan fingered the scar over his Adam’s Apple. ‘Luckily, I won’t be needing his services this time.’
Chapter 56
She didn’t wake until late, well past 11 o’clock. Her bed was soft and comforting. Hiding under the covers, she could smell the last strains of her perfume and feel the warmth of her body.
Last night seemed so far away. Seeing her father, hiding behind the pillar, him grabbing her hand, wrenching her away. He had humiliated her, treating her as a young innocent girl, a Cinderella in a fairy tale.
His fairy tale, not hers.
She had been the one who had worked to keep the family together, slaving in the fields, scarring her hands. She had fought to get them train tickets to Vladivostok, elbowing aside old ladies and young men. She had been the one who had stayed awake every night while her mother and brother slept, to guard against thieves on the long journey across the steppes of Russia. And it was she who had done even more to stay alive and survive, on her own, without him or any other person to help her.
All the time she had been struggling and fighting to stay alive, he had been enjoying the bright lights of Shanghai. How could he go to clubs like that? How could he waste his money in such a way? She knew what happened there. She knew how those women were treated. She knew what they had to do to survive.
And Strachan, pandering to an old man’s desires, behind him every step of the way as her father wallowed in the joy, gin and jazz of Shanghai as their mother toiled in some godforsaken place.
She curled up into an even tighter ball beneath the covers. And Ivan. He had betrayed her too. Using her to get to her father. Another man, another manipulator.
She didn’t need them. She didn’t need anybody. She could support herself, survive whatever happened.
She knew it was time to go but still she huddled beneath the warm covers of her bed.
Finally, she began to cry, softly at first, but then letting all her tears flood out.
Chapter 57
‘We meet again, Inspector Danilov. This is getting to be too much of a good thing.’
‘We’re here for Inspector Cowan, Dr Fang. Have you finished the autopsy yet?’
‘Finished four minutes ago, Inspector. Your timing is perfect as usual.’
Strachan bustled through the door.
‘I wish I could say the same for Detective Sergeant Strachan. Good to see that you made it into our morgue using your own feet this time, Strachan.’
‘Yes, Doctor, it makes a nice change.’ He touched the red line that ran down the centre of his throat, feeling its raised edge.
‘How’s the voice?’
‘Fine, sir. A little deeper. But, in my line of work, that’s no bad thing.’
‘I’ve been reading up on the operation I performed on you. It’s one of the side effects, I’m afraid. Looking back, I should have done it quite differently. Too dangerous, the way I did it.’
‘Don’t tell me that now, sir.’
A dry cough interrupted them. ‘Sorry to disturb this cosy medical meeting, but could we get on with the autopsy?’
‘Of course, Inspector Danilov. Come this way.’ Dr Fang led them through the double doors into the white-tiled morgue. The familiar feeling of loneliness and desperation suffused Danilov’s body as he entered, but how could anybody spend their life here? Surrounded by such a sense of loss.
Dr Fang just carried on as normal, setting his instruments out with exactitude beside the covered corpse of Cowan. Danilov understood the precision. It was a way of dealing with the abnormality of the surroundings. By creating order and structure in his morgue, Dr Fang could make better sense of the disorder and chaos that the corpses presented him with every day.
Or maybe, it was just so he could find his instruments when he needed them.
‘Now I’m ready, we can begin.’ Dr Fang lifted the white cotton sheet to reveal the naked body of Cowan. Or at least a naked body that once had the name of Cowan and was once human. This corpse looked nothing more than a slab of pig’s meat one would find on a butcher’s table in the market. The chest was open to reveal the clean cut edges of the ribs. The liver lay in a dish next to the pelvis. The heart lay in another dish next to the head. Or what remained of the head.
Danilov was always amazed how pink brains looked. A light pig skin sort of pink.
Dr Fang was speaking. ‘...male, in his forties.’
‘His file says he was 44, Dr Fang.’
‘Thank you, Detective Strachan. Age 44.’ Dr Fang amended the autopsy sheet. ‘But from the condition of the heart and liver, I would have said that he was much older.’ He picked up the heart. ‘The arteries display advanced atherosclerosis.’
‘He was ill?’
‘Very. His heart woul
dn’t have lasted much longer. But he died yesterday from a gunshot wound through the eye.’ Dr Fang rattled a small bottle with a lump of squashed lead inside. ‘A .32 bullet, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Not the same as the one that killed the Lee family?’ asked Danilov.
‘I couldn’t say. As you know all too well, I only deal in facts, not guesswork. I will say that the bullet is of a different calibre. Your firearms people will be able to tell you more.’
‘Thank you, Doctor, the facts are all we need.’
‘Here, they are, then.’ The doctor pushed his glasses back onto the non-existent bridge of his nose. They immediately slipped back into their original position. ‘The body bears marks of torture. The wrists have abrasions indicating that he had been tied up. The same with the ankles.’ He lifted the arms and showed the detectives the wrists. ‘There is extensive bruising all down the right side of the body.’
He picked up a metal pointer. ‘See, here at the shoulder. And here, at the hip and the side of the knees.’
‘He had been thrown on his right side and landed, bruising those places.’
‘Correct, Inspector Danilov. There are seventeen other bruises on the body, I’ve listed them on my report. They bear witness to Inspector Cowan receiving a severe beating before he died.’
‘But you talked about torture, Dr Fang.’
The doctor lifted the left hand and extended the fingers. The ends of the fingers where the cuticle meets the nail were still caked with blood. Except there weren’t any nails. All had been removed.
‘That wasn’t done by the fish,’ said Strachan.
‘I believe it’s called the “Shanghai Manicure” by the people of the criminal fraternity. The “manicure” occurred pre-mortem, as did the bruising. This man was most definitely tortured before he was killed.”
‘Any thoughts on the time of death, Dr Fang?’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Impossible to estimate with any accuracy. Lying in the river doesn’t help. Being covered with a tarpaulin prevented direct contact with the water, but the low temperature will have slowed down the degradation of the body.’
‘Thank you, Dr Fang.’
‘I also found this in the mouth of the victim.’ The doctor held up a used cartridge case between his index and forefingers.
‘How did it get there?’ asked Strachan.
‘I believe it was placed there. There is no way the case would find its way into the mouth by accident. Again, it is a .32 calibre casing.’
Danilov squeezed his bottom lip. ‘It’s the killer’s signature. It tells the world “I did this crime.” He turned back to Strachan. ‘Check the files at Central for any reports of bodies found with similar cartridge cases in their mouths.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Danilov shook his head. ‘Anything else, Doctor?’
‘Just one thing, Inspector. And it strikes me as odd. Often, an autopsy tells us not just how somebody died, but also how they lived. And one can say for Inspector Cowan that he didn’t live well. In fact, he didn’t have long to live. The condition of the liver is particularly necrotic. See, even with the naked eye one can spot fatty deposits and decrepitation, here and here and here.’ He pointed with his metal wand. ‘While the heart is a massive stroke waiting to happen. I don’t know which would have killed him first, but one of these organs would have done, of that I am sure.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. You’ve given me lots to think about. There’s one other case I have to ask you about.’
‘Which one is that, Inspector? As you can see, I have many.’ Dr Fang indicated all the other bodies covered beneath white sheets waiting for his attention.
‘The murder of Mr Kao.’
‘A most distressing case, shot on the steps of the police station, I believe.’
Danilov nodded. Dr Fang walked to a table on the other side of the room. He pulled back the sheet. Kao lay on the shining aluminium surface with a large ‘Y’ stitched into his chest. He checked the toe tag. ‘Mr Kao Ker Lien, aged 37, native of Shanghai.’ The doctor pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. They immediately slid down again. ‘Two fractured ribs, one of which punctured the lung. Extensive bruising to the upper abdomen. Another man who had received a beating before he died.’
‘The cause of death was a gunshot?’
‘It was. The beating would have required medical attention, but it was not life-threatening. There are two gunshot wounds. One to the chest and one here to the head.’ He pointed with his metal wand to a small entry hole in the forehead. ‘Death was instantaneous with the second wound to the head.’ He held up a small glass vial with a squashed lead bullet inside. ‘Another .38 calibre, I believe.’
‘Not the same calibre as killed Inspector Cowan?’
‘No, a different calibre.’
‘But the same as killed the Lee family?’
Dr Fang appeared to consider this question for a moment. ‘If I remember correctly, it was a .38 bullet that killed Mr Lee, his wife and daughter. I would have to check my notes to be certain but…’
‘Don’t worry, Doctor, I have read your notes. It was a .38.’
‘So the same gun killed both the Lees and Mr Kao?’ said Strachan.
‘No. I didn’t say that, young man. Please do not put words into my mouth. The same calibre of gun killed them, but it could have been a different make, style and model of revolver or pistol. I do not know. And, as you are well aware, I do not make guesses.’
Danilov jumped in. ‘Thank you, Doctor, that information has been most useful.’
‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a suicide waiting for me at table seven.’
‘I’m sure they won’t mind hanging around for a few minutes longer.’
‘Oh, they won’t, Detective Strachan, you see that’s how they died. Piano wire from a beam above the bed. Not a pleasant way to die. You see, the wire almost severed the throat.’
Once again, Strachan fingered the red scar that lay across his Adam’s Apple.
‘Thank you, Doctor, for your time, we need to go.’ He took Strachan by the arm and led him out of the morgue.
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Time we went back to interview the maid from yesterday, I’m sure there’s something she’s hiding from us.’
Chapter 58
They knocked on the door of the Lee house again. This time, the police seal had not been disturbed and the constable was still standing outside.
‘Anybody been here?’ asked Danilov.
The constable saluted. ‘No, sir. Quiet as a grave.’ Then, realising what he had said, he shuffled his feet and looked down at the ground.
Danilov grunted. ‘Go and have a chat with Miss Chong, Strachan. Find the maid and bring her here. It will be better to question her in the house.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Strachan didn’t need any encouragement. He ran next door and knocked. Immediately, the door was answered by the maid. ‘Is your mistress at home?’
‘She’s out, sir.’
‘Never mind. It’s you we need to talk to. Come with me.’
‘I can’t leave the house, sir. It’s not safe.’
‘Don’t worry, I just want you to come next door and meet the Inspector. You won’t be long.’
The maid nodded. She slipped off her slippers and put on a pair of outdoor shoes, closing the door and locking it carefully behind her.
Strachan led her to where Danilov was waiting, smoking another cigarette. ‘This is the Inspector.’
‘You work next door to the Lee family?’
The maid nodded without saying anything.
‘She doesn’t understand, sir. Let me.’ Strachan spoke to her in Shanghainese. This time, she started talking and pointing.
‘She’s telling me about the two houses, sir.’
‘Ask her what happened to the Lees’ maid.’
Strachan spoke and she went silent and looked down. She mumbled something to the ground.
‘She doesn’t want
to say, sir.’
‘Tell her, unless she lets me know where the Lees’ maid is hiding, we will take her into the house and question her there.’
Strachan translated once more. The maid began to cry, wiping her eyes with the back of her arm as she spoke, the words coming from her like water flowing from a faucet.
‘She wishes she’d never come to the city, sir. Should have stayed in the village. Only bad people in the city.’
‘What happened to the Lees’ maid?’
‘She’s getting to that, sir. On the night the family were killed, the maid came to her. Ah Ching is her name. She stayed the night with her. She’s still there in her room. She hasn’t gone out since.’
‘Why didn’t she tell us before? Take us to see her. Now.’
The maid nodded, still sniffling and red-eyed from her tears. She led them into the hall of her house, past the potted palm, and gestured for them to wait in the living room. The same room in which Strachan had interviewed Miss Chong the day before The gramophone, with its unruly stack of phonograms, was still in the corner. The furniture was still as modern as ever. The photographs still sat on the table. The only thing that was different was Miss Chong. She wasn’t there.
Five minutes later, the maid reappeared with an older, stouter woman in tow.
‘Ah Ching, I presume?’
The older maid nodded, still standing in the entrance.
‘Ask her to sit down,’ said Danilov.
Reluctantly, the maid walked into the room, looking around her all the time like a mouse in a room full of elephants.
‘How long were you employed by the Lee family?’
‘A long time. I was hired by the Lees’ parents to look after Ah Ming when he was twelve.’ Strachan translated the rich Southern Wa dialect of the maid.
‘Ah Ming?’
‘Mr Lee. I’d cared for him as a boy. When he got married, I stayed in the new household.’
‘And you helped take care of the children?’
‘There were none there.’
‘But two children...?’
