Death In Shanghai

by M J Lee

  After a long speech in French, the Lieutenant began talking in his accented English. ‘The Major had asked for Chief Inspector Boyle to attend this meeting. You are not him. You are not even English.’

  ‘The Chief Inspector sends his apologies. Unfortunately, given the short notice, he is indisposed at this time.’

  The Major grunted at this without it being translated.

  ‘I am Inspector Danilov and this is my assistant, Detective Constable Stra-chan.’

  Again, the Major launched into a long speech in French. ‘The Major supposes that you will have to do but he is surprised the English Head of Detectives does not give this matter the attention it deserves,’ the Lieutenant translated.

  ‘It would be difficult to give it any sort of attention without knowing what it was.’ This time the Major turned to Masset for a translation. There was a brief discussion between the two of them before the Lieutenant continued. ‘To save the Major’s valuable time, he has authorised me to give you an outline of the matter.’

  The Lieutenant brought his thumb, index and middle fingers together and blew as if moistening them before turning the pages of a book. Danilov thought it was a very interesting idiosyncrasy. The action of a clerk, rather than of a policeman.

  ‘This is a very difficult situation. There have been murders.’

  ‘Murder is unfortunately fairly common in all parts of the city. It is a problem we are facing all the time,’ said Danilov.

  ‘Monsieur, this is different. These are particularly brutal murders.’

  The Lieutenant let his words lie on the table between them. The Major embarked on another long speech in French.

  The Lieutenant continued speaking, but it was obvious to Danilov he was no longer translating. ‘In the French Garde Municipale, we believe the murderer comes from the International Settlement.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘A witness saw the murderer’s car leaving the scene of the crime. It had a number plate from your district.’

  ‘What was the number?’

  ‘The witness couldn’t remember. It all happened so fast you understand. He just knew the car was from the International Settlement.’

  ‘How can we assist the Garde Municipale?’

  Lieutenant Masset blew on the ends of his fingers. ‘When I explain the murders to you, Inspector, then you will understand.’

  Danilov leant back in his hard-back chair. The Major began another long speech in French. But before he could get into the flow of his speech, Danilov interrupted him.

  ‘Je comprends que cette situation est vraiment importante, Monsieur le Chef, comment pourrait la Police Municipale de Shanghai vous aider?’

  Both the Lieutenant and the Major watched him in silence. Eventually, Major Renard said in English, ‘Your French is quite good, Monsieur.’

  ‘As is your English, Monsieur le Chef. Now we’ve got that out of the way, how can we help?’

  The Major nodded at Masset. ‘We expect you to find the murderer and return him to us so that he may be put on trial. The honour of France is at stake.’

  ‘The honour of France?’

  ‘One of the victims was an official of the French government, killed without mercy. This ’orrible murder must not be left unpunished.’ The Major pronounced ‘horrible’ in a very French way.

  ‘And the other victim?’

  ‘A Russian prostitute. A woman of no consequence in society, but nonetheless we believe the murders are related.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Lieutenant Masset will give you all the details but there was one feature that appeared in both murders. They both had Chinese characters carved into their bodies.’

  Danilov looked across at Strachan. ‘We are also investigating a similar death in the Settlement at the moment. A killing without mercy. Could I see your case notes?’

  ‘Masset will give them to you. The killing may be just be another vicious gang war over opium but–’

  ‘We doubt it,’ interrupted Masset.

  The Major glared at him. He tapped the table three times with a well-manicured fingernail. ‘You must understand, monsieur, when one of our officials is attacked, the nation of France itself is under attack.’

  ‘We will do everything in our power to help find the murderer.’

  The Major pulled the end of his white goatee, sharpening it into a point. ‘I do not need to remind you of the consequences of failure, do I, Inspector?’

  ‘No, sir, you don’t.’

  ‘Good. Find him and deliver him to us.’ Once more, the Major tapped his desk three times, then waved his feminine hands. Masset stood up immediately.

  Danilov understood that the interview was over. ‘Thank you for your time, Major. We will catch this man.’

  There was no answer. Just another wave of the hands.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ The old concierge stretched his arm, blocking the narrow back entrance to the theatre.

  ‘I’m looking for Miss Everett,’ said Richard.

  ‘You and everybody else. Didn’t turn up last night. Not good, not good at all. The artistes always turn up. Once we had Mr Mayhew here, wonderful actor, magnificent Lear. He turned up with a broken leg one day. Still went on. Had to do the heath scene in a chair but he did it anyway. What a trouper, if you catch my drift.’ He tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Can’t say the same for Miss Everett though.’

  ‘I was supposed to meet her last night…’

  ‘I thought I’d seen you before, but there are always so many chaps waiting for the girls, I can’t tell ’em apart. Here’s Mr Trevelyan, the director. Miss Everett is not in his good books, if you catch my drift.’

  ‘You’re looking for Miss Everett?’ The director was a bulky, florid man with red-veined cheeks and a large spotted handkerchief sitting like a toadstool in his top pocket. ‘Aren’t we all. She was supposed to be here last night at six o’clock for rehearsals. Didn’t make those and didn’t make the show either. Miss Davenport had to take her place. Heavy calves, Miss Davenport. Doesn’t have the lightness of foot for the part.’

  ‘I was supposed to meet her last night after the show. She didn’t turn up.’

  The director shrugged his shoulders and sighed. ‘So you were stood up too. Typical. A girl gets infatuated with some man and her standards drop quicker than her knickers. Well, if you see her, tell her not to come back. She’s been replaced by Miss Smith.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Between you and me, she was getting a little past it anyway. They all have a sell-by date those sort of girls. And hers had been sold a long time ago.’

  ‘So she didn’t come here yesterday evening?’ Richard persisted.

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling you, my dear. Didn’t see a hair of her once pretty little head. I hope she enjoys her little fling because the final curtain has been lowered on her career. The only place that will have her now is Little Piddling rep, on a Wednesday night, in the middle of February.’

  ‘But she said she was coming here. We were at the Astor…’

  ‘Drinking again, was she? I warned her about that. Ages actresses dreadfully does the booze. The skin never recovers, you know.’ He glanced at the clock in the concierge’s office. ‘Is that the time? I must be off to see Harold about his shimmy in the third act.’ The director looked at Richard and his voice changed, adding an edge to his words. ‘If you see Miss Everett, tell her not to come back. She’s been sacked. Given the elbow. Shown the curtain. Danced her last chorus. She won’t be paid either. We don’t pay those who let us down, do we, Mr Harcourt?’

  ‘No, we don’t, sir,’ the concierge said smiling.

  ‘Anyway, I have a dance number waiting. Goodbye.’

  With a little wave, the director flounced off into the darkness of the theatre.

  Richard took out his pocket book and quickly wrote a note for Elsie. ‘Would you be good enough to give Miss Everett this, if you see her?’

&nb
sp; The concierge took the note, leaving his hand extended, palm upwards.

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ He gave the man a dollar.

  ‘Thank you kindly, sir. Very generous. But between you and me, I don’t think we’ll see her again. There was another gentleman who used to hang around here waiting for her. If I were you, I would forget Miss Everett. Not your type at all, if you get my drift.’ And once again, he touched his finger to the side of his nose.

  The concierge pocketed the dollar and returned inside his shed guarding the theatre door.

  At the bottom of the alley, a hawker was selling newspapers. In his hand was a copy of the North China Daily News with a large headline:

  WOMAN’S BODY FOUND IN CREEK

  Richard shivered as if someone had just walked over his grave.

  ***

  ‘Both occurred in the last eight days?’

  Lieutenant Masset nodded. ‘We found the second body three days ago, over towards the old Chinese city, on the borders of our Concession. At first, we thought they were gang related.’

  ‘What changed your mind?’

  ‘They lack the simple brutality of a gang killing. With the gangs, it’s either a shot to the head or long, painful torture, followed by dumping the body in the street. Both are there to set an example. To discourage the others, as you English are fond of saying.’

  ‘It’s actually to “encourage” the others, and it was used first by a Frenchman,’ said Strachan.

  Danilov held his hand up for silence. ‘But you think something else is happening?’

  The Lieutenant again brought his three fingers up to his mouth and blew on them. ‘It’s almost as if the bodies had been put on show. Like an art gallery. We were meant to find them, to see them, as they had been displayed.’

  Danilov reached into his pocket and pulled out his tobacco tin. He took one of the papers from the tin and laid it on the table, adding a few strands of tobacco. Then he closed the tin, placing it on its side on the edge of the table, adjusting the angle until it matched the lip of the wood. That felt better. The tin was in perfect alignment. ‘Tell me about the bodies,’ he said.

  Masset opened the case file. ‘The first victim was one of our resident magistrates, a lawyer by training, Monsieur Flamini. The body was found on the steps of the courthouse, hands tied behind his back. He had been strangled. That was eight days ago.’

  ‘He could have been killed by a gang. Perhaps he had jailed one if their members,’ said Strachan.

  ‘That is true,’ agreed Masset, pausing for a moment for effect, ‘but why was the body frozen? As hard as ice it was. The weather has been cold recently but not cold enough to freeze a body.’ Lieutenant Masset stared into mid-air. ‘I’ll always remember the way the man’s lips were parted from his teeth. Pulled back in a snarl like a scared dog.’

  He took out a silver case and lit a cigarette. The aroma of Turkish tobacco filled the room. ‘It was a grimace, the look of a man who had seen something terrible at the point of his death.’ Masset took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘I was at Verdun, Inspector, and I’ll tell you, I never saw anything like the look on the magistrate’s face.’

  He took another drag on the cigarette. ‘And we found a ten dollar note frozen in the man’s hand, his fingers gripping it tightly. Our pathologist thought he had been alive when he was frozen.’

  ‘Could I see the body?’

  Masset shook his head. ‘It has already been returned to his family. I believe it is on its way back to France.’

  ‘That is disappointing.’ Inspector Danilov looked down at his hands. ‘Had Monsieur Flamini been threatened in any way?’

  ‘Not that we know. He had been a magistrate here for four years. He was known as diligent in his work. A wife and two children in France. A mistress in Shanghai but that is common, is it not? Even among the English.’ Masset shrugged his shoulders in a way only the French know how. ‘We checked all his recent cases to see if someone with a grudge would want him killed but he handled property related work rather than criminal law. There was a suggestion of small irregularities in some of the recent property cases that came up before him. But nothing could be investigated or proven. If we arrested every official for “small irregularities”, we would have none left to do the work.’

  Again he shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was when the pathologist undressed Monsieur Flamini that he found the strangest piece of evidence. There were Chinese characters carved into his chest. The characters for “vengeance”.’

  Danilov took the Lieutenant’s lighter and lit the cigarette he had been holding in his fingers. He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of blue smoke. ‘Now, that is interesting.’ He glanced across at Strachan. ‘And the second murder?’

  ‘A Russian prostitute. Not high class and not a street walker. Just another Russian prostitute.’ Masset stopped speaking, suddenly realising that the inspector in front of him had the surname Danilov.

  ‘Just another Russian. Please carry on, Lieutenant.’

  ‘She was found outside the abattoir close to the old Chinese city on Rue Albi, floating in a barrel of pig’s blood. For making boudin noir, you know.’

  Danilov nodded to encourage the Frenchman to continue.

  ‘According to our pathologist, Dr Legrand, she was alive when she was put in the barrel. He found blood in her lungs and trachea.’

  ‘How did she die?’ asked Strachan.

  ‘She drowned. According to our pathologist, she had been lying in the barrel of blood for at least two days before she was found.’

  Danilov took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Her time of death?’

  ‘He couldn’t be certain. The warmth of the pig’s blood you see…’ Lieutenant Masset stopped talking. He blew on his fingers once more and then continued. ‘Her hands had been tied with a thin rope. There was one other thing. She also had Chinese characters carved into her chest. But this time, they were different. They were the characters for “damnation”.’

  ‘Were the characters carved in the same style?’

  Lieutenant Masset shrugged his shoulders once more. ‘I think they were, but I can’t be sure. I didn’t spend a lot of time with the body. You’ll find the coroner’s report in our case files.’

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Masset, I’ll read it.’

  ‘We have no real leads to the killer. To be frank, our detectives are more used to managing brothels and opium dens than investigating murder.’ He brought his fingers up to his mouth and blew on them. ‘You seem to be very interested in these murders, Inspector. Why?’

  Inspector Danilov stubbed out the end of his cigarette and immediately rolled another. The office was now a warm fug of blue smoke, the whispers of fumes caught in the bright light from the sash windows.

  ‘We may have a similar murder ourselves. A young woman, or should I say a young man, found in Soochow Creek, his body nearly cut in two, his stomach and genitals slashed to ribbons.’

  ‘You think they’re connected?’

  Danilov shrugged his shoulders, copying the Frenchman, but not achieving the same Gallic elegance. ‘I’m not sure, but they do show similarities: hands tied, Chinese characters carved into the chest. And it is strange that all three murders should occur within such a short space of time. If it were the usual gangland squabbles, we would see shootings and very public displays of revenge. These killings, brutal though they are, seem very personal.’

  He took another long drag on his cigarette. ‘A message from the killer to the world, perhaps. Could I see the body of the second victim?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Nobody came to claim her, so she was cremated according to French law. It’s one of the few areas in which we are remarkably efficient.’

  ‘Then her clothes may give us some clues.’

  ‘She was naked when she was discovered.’ Masset thought for a moment. ‘We still have the barrel in which she was found. It’s in the cellars beneath here.’

  Danilov stubbed his cigarette out in t
he ashtray. ‘Let’s take a look, Lieutenant.’

  ***

  Lieutenant Masset led them through a maze of corridors in the basement of the building. Here, the richly painted walls of the floors above had been replaced by rough grey brick. It many areas it was badly finished as if the builders couldn’t be bothered with any surface that their bosses were unlikely to see.

  Danilov realised that not many people were invited down to this part of the building.

  ‘I think it’s this way, Inspector.’

  They passed an open room filled with junk from past investigations. It was all piled in the room in one heap, without any thought for filing or organisation. Danilov looked inside and shuddered.

  ‘I think it’s in here.’ Lieutenant Masset pointed to another room across the corridor. He opened the door and switched on a light. A bare bulb hung from a black and white flex in the middle of the room. Danilov could see that it was just half-filled with junk, evidence from investigations and props from a Christmas party. A lack of cobwebs indicated that most of these things had been left here recently.

  ‘It should be in the corner.’

  He picked his way around the remains of a lion’s head. The kind used by the martial arts troupes at Chinese New Year when they dance their blessing of good fortune on a business or shop. The body of the lion was nowhere to be seen.

  Masset removed a dust sheet. Underneath was a wooden barrel. Its appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. Just another wooden barrel, used to store wine or vinegar, about four feet tall and with the classic round waist and tapered top and bottom.

  Nothing about it indicated that it had once stored the body of a dead Russian prostitute.

  Strachan coughed. ‘This makes our filing system look modern, sir.’

  Danilov raised his hand. ‘This is the barrel in which she was found?’

  Lieutenant Masset nodded.

  ‘What happened to the pig’s blood?’

  ‘It was poured away in order to retrieve the body’