City of Shadows

by M J Lee

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, pushing him out the door. ‘I’m not so sure if it’s good either.’

  Chapter 70

  It was good to sit and smoke and think. The case was complicated, but he was beginning to understand it, only a few of the jigsaw pieces remained to be put in place.

  The events with his daughter had distracted him. His mind had wandered away from the job at hand. He would sort it out with her tonight. Too much had been left unsaid and undecided. He needed to tell her how he felt, what he wanted her to do.

  The opium hadn’t helped. He realised he had been escaping into the dreams of his imaginary family, leaving his own daughter, his real daughter, alone and isolated.

  There would be no more opium, no more dreams. Just the here and now.

  The case had suffered, he knew that. It wasn’t good enough. He had missed a few clues, not picking them up as quickly as he once would have done. He had let the Chief Inspector down. Beneath the bluff exterior, he was a good man. One who lacked imagination, a plodder, but someone who shared the same values as Danilov, the same desire to see justice executed to the letter of the law.

  He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, noticing a brown envelope that was pinned to the noticeboard beside the door.

  He stood up and walked over to it. His name was written on the cover in large green capital letters.

  He looked around the detectives’ office. Only two people were there. One was sleeping on his desk, his head cradled in his arms. The other had his feet up, reading the sports pages in the evening paper. Neither was looking at him.

  He took the envelope down and ripped open the seal. Inside was a sheet of white paper and another envelope. Written in the same capitals and the same green ink was a message.

  ‘YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD’

  Danilov looked around him. The detectives were still at their desks, not looking at him. Who had placed the envelope here?

  He pulled out the smaller white envelope and opened it. Inside were three photographs. They were of him lying on the divan in the opium house. His face was clearly seen, his eyes glazed over in that peculiarly distant look that came from opium smoke. A used pipe was cradled in his hand.

  The flashes last night. He hadn’t imagined them, they weren’t part of his dream.

  He looked at the note again.

  ‘YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD.’

  What did they want from him? Who had sent it? The newspapers? He didn’t think so. Not even Thomas would sink to these levels. It must have been Du and his gang. How long had they known about him?

  He grabbed his hat and coat from the stand. He had to get out of here.

  Chapter 71

  Elina Danilov stood on the platform of the train station. Up above, a flock of pigeons whirled through the iron stanchions of the roof. Around her was still organised chaos, just different people than before. She looked over to where the train to Nanking lay waiting. Steam hissed from beneath the carriage, joining all other smells of sweat, scent, earth, coal smoke and fish that seemed to be Shanghai’s signature.

  But today, there was something extra. A sweet, clinging smell that made her mouth water. She looked over to her left. A hawker was just stirring a pot of charcoal. He took one of the sweet potatoes from the wok on top and sliced it down the middle with his knife. Immediately, steam came from within and the sweet smell of the sweet potato filled her nostrils once more.

  She walked over to him.

  ‘One piece, miss?’

  The man held up one of the sweet potatoes. She nodded her head.

  Once again, he took his knife and slit it open. Fresh steam rose from the centre. He wrapped the bottom half in paper and gave it to her. She bit into it. The soft, floury centre melted in her mouth like a potato bonbon.

  ‘Best sweet potatoes in Shanghai,’ the man boasted.

  ‘No, they’re not,’ she answered.

  The man’s face fell.

  ‘The best in the world.’

  His eyes shrank to little slits and his cheeks swallowed up his face as he smiled.

  She checked the train for Nanking again. It still sat on the platform. A guard was closing the open doors, checking for late arrivals.

  If she were going to leave, she had to do it now.

  She picked up her case and ran towards the train. Just before she was about to board, she stopped.

  If she left now, she would never see her father again, he would never forgive her. She had to speak the truth about herself. He had a right to know and she had a duty to tell him.

  She was sure he would criticise her, shout and rail at her, but she didn’t care. She had criticised herself far more cruelly than anything he could say. If he wanted her to leave after that, she would go. But she had to tell him everything.

  The guard came along and picked up her case to put it in the carriage.

  She reached out her hand and stopped him. ‘I’m not going any more.’

  ‘Missee, train leave now.’

  She took the case gently from his hand. ‘I’m not going now. My father needs to know.’

  The guard walked away, shaking his head and muttering,‘Ti-seen gweilo’ in a thick Cantonese accent.

  She took the case and walked slowly back through the crowds to the main road.

  Chapter 72

  As Strachan opened the door, his mother came rushing out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. ‘Why are you home so early? What’s happened?’

  Strachan held up his hands. ‘Nothing happened. You worry too much.’ He smiled and her face relaxed. ‘I’ve just brought someone home to meet you.’

  ‘A girlfriend? It’s about time...’

  He stepped aside to reveal the portly face and stocky body of Ah Ching. His mother’s face fell.

  ‘Not a girlfriend. Somebody whom we have to help.’

  The women stood eyeing each other for a few moments before his mother stepped forward with her hand outstretched. Ah Ching shook it gently.

  ‘Ah Ching needs to stay here for a few days.’

  ‘But the guest room isn’t prepared. The fire isn’t lit.’

  ‘Please don’t worry about me. I don’t need a fire.’

  ‘Ah Ching is helping us with our enquiries, she’s got nowhere to stay.’

  His mother ran her fingers through her hair and immediately began to bustle about, puffing out cushions on the sofa, re-arranging the chairs, stoking the fire. ‘The place is such a mess. How can we have guests?’

  Ah Ching joined her, taking one of the antimacassars from her hands, unfolding it and laying it correctly across the back of the chair that Strachan sat in every night after he came home.

  ‘Let me do that.’ His mother took the antimacassar off the back of the chair and refolded it. ‘Thank you. I can take care of my own home.’

  ‘Ah Ching is the maid at the home of the Lee family. Remember, I told you about the people who were murdered?’

  His mother’s face softened. ‘It must have been a terrible time for you.’

  Ah Ching said nothing. Her nose caught the aroma of something cooking. ‘You’re making red bean soup.’

  ‘David likes something warm when he comes home in the evening.’

  ‘Do you use rock sugar?’

  ‘Of course, what else?’

  ‘And ginger?’

  ‘Just a touch, for the flavour.’

  ‘Sounds like a recipe from my home town.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Soochow. Well, a village just outside the town. But we used to go often with my father on market days. I remember the red bean soup...’

  ‘That’s my home town,’ his mother cried clapping her hands. ‘The best soup came from the old man with his stall in Xiao Luong Alley, just behind the Catholic church.’

  ‘I know the one you mean. He only had one arm.’

  ‘That’s him. Never knew how he managed to cook, but he did.’ His mother smiled. ‘Would you like some tea? I have some o
olong that David bought for me.’

  ‘You sit down. Let me make it.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that. You are my guest.’

  ‘Oh me, I’m just a maid.’

  ‘No,’ his mother said firmly, ‘you are our guest. And in my house, guests do not make tea. Please sit down.’ His mother sidled up to him and whispered, ‘Ah Ching can stay, David. Just for a few days. She seems a lovely woman.’

  ‘That’s good news. I’m sure you’ll enjoy her company.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I must be going. I’ve got to meet Inspector Danilov soon.’

  ‘David, make sure you are home early this evening. I don’t want you to work late again.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘David...’

  ‘Listen to your mother, Detective Strachan.’ He felt a strong arm push him down into the chair.

  ‘Thank you, Ah Ching. You are not going anywhere until you have eaten.’

  ‘Listen to your mother, Detective Strachan.’

  He looked at the faces of the two stern ladies. One pressuring him was bad enough, but two? He wondered what he had let himself in for.

  Chapter 73

  It had begun to rain, but he didn’t care. A soft, autumn rain that drenched the streets and polluted the air.

  He walked along with his hands in his pockets, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

  He had let everybody down. His daughter. Chief Inspector Boyle. Strachan. Kao’s wife.

  Everybody.

  How could he not see that his stupidity would be found out? He spent his whole life in control, never revealing his feelings, always holding back, observing rather than getting involved.

  Only with his wife did he let go. Only with her could he feel truly at ease. Without her he was nothing.

  Without her, he was useless at being a father. Look at what had happened with Elina. He needed his wife here with him. She would know what to do. She would know what to say. He would never stop looking for her. He could never stop looking. The great detective who couldn’t even find his wife. A wave of self-loathing washed over him.

  A shadow of a man.

  He walked past the stalls with their hot bowls of noodles and their steamed buns, their kerosene lamps a beacon for the hungry of Shanghai.

  He hadn’t eaten that day but he didn’t feel hungry, just empty inside. A complete emptiness, devoid of feelings or sensations. Nothing.

  He was nothing.

  Alone.

  A ghost.

  A group of American sailors staggered out of a bar in front of him. He watched them jostle each other playfully, joking about the women they had seen and the ones they wished they had seen.

  He moved into the shadows as they hailed a cab, waiting for them, and their friendship, to leave.

  He walked on, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the light.

  Who was blackmailing him?

  What would they ask him to do?

  And then the voice of the detective spoke to him. Blackmail only works for secrets hidden in the shadows. If the knowledge is out in the cleansing light of day, it loses all its strength to hurt.

  He shook his head. But he would lose everything. His job. His daughter. Any chance of finding his wife.

  And what would he be then?

  Another washed-up Russian, grist for the mill that was Shanghai.

  A large sign loomed out of the mist in front of him. Medhurst Apartments. Home.

  Up above, a pale light shone from his living room.

  It was time to talk to his daughter. No more running away and hiding in opium dreams of childhood and Minsk and Russia and a world that no longer existed, perhaps had never existed.

  It was time to talk and to listen. Something he should have done when she first arrived in Shanghai.

  He hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter 74

  ‘We need to talk, Lenchik.’

  His daughter was sitting in the dark in the kitchen. The only illumination was that of the moon, fighting its way through the haze that enveloped Shanghai, and casting its pale, shadowy light over the room. To him, she was just a dark object shadowed in the moonlight, hunched over the table. He went to switch on the light.

  ‘Please leave it off, Papa. I prefer the dark.’

  He sat down opposite her. She lifted her head and, in the pale moonlight, he could see the whites of her eyes and the outline of her hair.

  ‘Why were you in that club?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’ Her voice was defiant, aggressive.

  ‘I was working.’

  ‘You’re always “working”.’

  The rebuke stung Danilov deeply because it was true. Even worse, he knew it was true. ‘I was investigating the murder of the Lee family and the shooting of a man on the steps of Central. Myself and Strachan were looking for a missing policeman.’

  ‘Did you find him?’ Again her voice was challenging him.

  ‘Yes, we did. We found him floating in the Whampoa this morning. He had been shot to death.’

  He watched the dark shape that was her head go down to the table.

  ‘Was he a friend?’ The voice was softer now.

  ‘No. I don’t think he was a good man at all. In fact, I think he was involved in the murder of the family and the suspect.’

  ‘So you and Strachan weren’t there to dance with the Wunu?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t ever imagine betraying your mother like that. How could I enjoy myself when she’s still missing?’

  His daughter’s head went down onto the table again. ‘I’m sorry, Papa.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about. I should be apologising to you.’ He touched the back of her head and felt the soft hair beneath his fingers. ‘I know I haven’t been a good father to you.’

  ‘You don’t…’

  ‘Shhh, I need to say this, Lenchik. I left you and your brother and my wife, my darling wife, to go to Moscow for a case. Another case. I should never have left you.’

  ‘But you didn’t know what would happen. It was your job.’

  ‘The truth, Lenchik?’

  She nodded her head.

  ‘I could have sent somebody else. But I wanted to go myself. To catch the murderer. I had wanted to arrest him for so long, I couldn’t let anybody else do it. It had to be me.’

  ‘Your job, Father…’

  ‘It wasn’t the job, it was me. Having to prove myself, to show everybody how clever I was. The great detective. I should have sent somebody else, stayed in Minsk to protect my family.’

  ‘We all have regrets, Father. But we can’t turn back time. All we can do is make it better in the future. The past is gone and buried.’

  Her head lifted from the table. He could see her features now. The nose, cheeks and mouth, just like his wife’s, above a strong chin which was his contribution to her face. For the first time, he could see why the men in the club were looking at her, staring at his daughter.

  ‘I need to tell you what happened in Harbin,’ she said softly.

  He placed his finger across her lips, trying to quieten her. ‘I don’t need to know.’

  ‘But I need to speak, to bury my past.’ She sat back away from the table and away from him. ‘I told you that I was put off the boat in Harbin by the captain.’

  ‘Yes, he stole your clothes and money.’

  ‘He also tried to rape me. He was drunk, came to my cabin one night. I woke up to find his hands on my body, the stench of alcohol, him slurring at me. I screamed. He tried to shut me up. I bit his hand and screamed again. I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. His hands were on my face. I’ll always remember the smell, fish and engine oil…’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me this, Lenchik.’

  ‘I do, Papa, I need to tell you.’ He watched her head drop to her chest. She carried on in a monotone. ‘The crew came and dragged him off. Can you imagine what it was like sitting there in the dark, smelling the fish and the engine oil and the alcohol on my body?’

&n
bsp; Danilov stayed quiet. Her head lifted again.

  ‘We docked in Harbin that morning. I got off the ship, leaving everything behind. I just had to get away from there.’

  ‘It’s OK, Lenchik.’ He reached for her hand lying on the table. She pulled it back and folded her arms.

  ‘The next two days are hazy. All I remember is walking and walking and walking. So many streets, so many corners. I didn’t eat. I didn’t drink. I just walked. I must have collapsed against a lamppost. A woman found me. Her name was Anna, she was Russian too, from Odessa. She took me back to her flat and fed me soup. And then I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I woke up, Anna was still there. I stayed with her all the time I remained in Harbin. She was like a mother to me. The mother I’d left behind.’

  ‘You were lucky that she found you.’

  ‘She also found me a job where she worked.’ His daughter’s head came up now, the jaw and chin set defiantly. She was so like him.

  ‘I was one of those girls you saw last night, Papa, at the club. Your little daughter was a taxi dancer, a Wunu.’

  He remained quiet. She had to get this story, this bitterness out of her, he couldn’t help.

  ‘I was good at my job. The young Russian with the blue eyes and blonde hair was popular. Each night, men bought tickets to dance with me. Short men, tall men, fat men, old men. It didn’t matter who, if they bought a ticket, they had my time. I became professional at flattering them, lighting their cigarettes, making them feel like they owned me. But, always, there was another person in my head who knew who she was. When I was dancing with those men, it was like I was looking down on myself from above. I was there, but I wasn’t there. Does that make sense, Papa?’

  ‘Yes, Lenchik, it does.’

  ‘I worked in the club for six months, Papa. I made some money, but not enough to get me to Tsingtao.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me any more, Lenchik.’

  ‘But I do, Father. You of all people must see that.’

  He took her hand, stroking the fingers.

  ‘There was this one man, the son of one of the warlords that controlled the area. He came often to the club. One night the owner of the club came over to speak to me. She put a wad of notes in my hand and told me it was from him. I looked down at the money. More than I needed. More than I would ever need.’