by M J Lee
‘I would like to speak to Chief Inspector Boyle.’
The sergeant was automatically deferential. ‘And who shall I say it is, sir?’
‘Richard Ayres.’
‘Any relation to Councillor Ayres, sir?’
‘He’s my father.’
The sergeant stood up. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here, sir.’ He picked up the phone and rang through to the Chief Inspector. The answer came back quickly. ‘Would you come this way, sir?’ He led Richard behind the desk, through a double door and into the anteroom of Boyle’s office.
Boyle was waiting outside his door to greet him. ‘Good morning, Richard, good to see you again. How’s your father?’
‘Fine, Chief Inspector, working hard as usual.’
Boyle stepped back and allowed Richard to enter his office first. He indicated a seat in front of his desk. He opened a cigar box and offered Richard a Havana. Richard shook his head.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘It’s rather delicate.’ He paused for a moment before continuing. ‘It’s my girlfriend, my fiancée actually.’
‘I didn’t know you were engaged. Congratulations.’
‘I’m not. We’re not. That’s to say, we were about to get engaged when she disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
‘Two nights ago. She didn’t turn up at the theatre. She’s an actress, you see.’
Boyle scratched his bald head. ‘I do see. Have you talked to her friends?’
‘Of course, they think she’s just gone off for a while.’
‘Well, she is an actress, Richard. They can be a mite…’ Boyle searched for the right word ‘…flighty.’
Richard’s hackles went up. ‘Elsie’s not “flighty”. She would have told me if she were going off somewhere.’
Boyle leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands in front of his stomach. The girl’s just gone off with another man that’s all. But this is Councillor Ayres’ son, he thought. ‘What would you like us to do?’ he said in a soothing voice.
‘Find her, of course. Perhaps, she’s been abducted, shanghaied.’
Boyle laughed. ‘That sort of thing only happens in trashy novels, not here in Shanghai and not on my watch. Do you have a photograph of her that I can circulate?’
‘We took this last week at the Astor.’ He showed the picture of himself and Elsie dancing to the band.
As soon as he saw the photograph, Boyle’s face went pale as if it had been illuminated by a flashbulb. ‘If you’ll excuse me for a moment.’ He got up and went outside.
‘Get Danilov immediately.’
‘I’ll see if he’s back, sir.’
Boyle went back into his office. The calm, peaceful Chief Inspector had been replaced by a nervous, stammering man. ‘Just a minute, Richard, Inspector Danilov will join us. Ah, speak of the devil.’
Danilov appeared in the doorway, his hat still in his hands. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘Yes, Danilov. This is Richard Ayres, he’s inquiring about his missing fiancée.’ Boyle handed the photograph to Danilov.
He took one look at it. ‘When was the last time you saw your fiancée, Mr…?’
‘Ayres. Richard Ayres.’
‘The son of Councillor Ayres,’ interrupted Boyle.
Danilov ignored him. ‘When did you last see her?’
Boyle laughed. ‘Our Inspector Danilov is known for his brusque manner, aren’t you, Danilov?’
Richard spoke directly to the Inspector. ‘Two days ago. Her name is Elsie Everett. We were at the Astor together. She left around 5.30 pm. Something about having a rehearsal.’
‘You haven’t seen her since?’
‘No. I checked at the theatre. She didn’t go there that night. Her flatmate hasn’t seen her either. She’s just vanished.’
Danilov took out a picture of the girl in the park from inside his jacket. Richard looked at it. ‘Yes, that’s Elsie.’ Then he stared at it more closely. ‘But she doesn’t have that mark on her face. And her eyes, they are…’
It was Danilov who spoke first. ‘I’m afraid to tell you, Mr Ayres, we found Miss Everett in the public garden on the Bund yesterday evening. She had been murdered.’
Danilov watched the look on Richard’s face. This was the moment of truth. Very few people could fake surprise well. Most of them overacted it, making all the emotions too big, too obvious.
Richard just stared straight ahead. ‘But, she can’t …she was just…,’ he stammered.
Danilov watched him. Surprise followed by disbelief. Classic reactions, they should be completed by acceptance and sorrow, usually tinged with a little self-pity.
‘She was murdered some time on the morning of February 23rd, about twelve hours after you last saw her.’
‘Do you have to be so blunt, Danilov?’ Boyle touched the shoulder of Richard’s jacket.
Richard buried his head in his hands. ‘My poor Elsie, what are we going to do?’ He quickly stifled his sobs, gaining control of himself.
Danilov just sat there, watching.
‘We were going to be married. I’d bought her the ring and everything.’ He looked up as if a thought has suddenly occurred to him. ‘What am I going to do with it?’
Danilov leant forward. ‘Where were you on the evening of the 22nd and the day of the 23rd, Mr Ayres?’
‘Now, look here Danilov…’
Danilov held up his hand. The Chief Inspector stopped speaking.
‘Where were you, Mr Ayres?’
Richard glanced up into the eyes of the Inspector staring straight at him. ‘I was…I was at Ciro’s with friends on the evening of the 22nd. Then on the 23rd I went to see Elsie at the theatre and her home, then I went to the office not getting back until the early evening.’
‘Someone can confirm this?’
Richard nodded. ‘My friends at Ciro’s. And the theatre director met me.’
‘Good,’ said Inspector Danilov. ‘Now, this may be painful, but I need you to tell us everything you know about Miss Everett.’
Richard nodded.
Danilov raised his voice. ‘Miss Cavendish, could you bring us some tea?’ he shouted through the closed door, knowing the secretary would be listening.
***
He watched the preacher leaving Jingling Church, the black bag clutched to his chest, like a virgin guarding her chastity. The man’s eyes darted right and left, wary of the snatch thieves that preyed upon the citizens of Shanghai.
He followed him. Li Min was behind in the car, idling the motor, letting it creep forward slowly.
The hunter following its prey.
The preacher turned left and then first right. He passed a one-legged blind beggar leaning on his crutches on the street corner. The beggar had his hand out, murmuring ‘Xie Xie. Xie Xie’ every five seconds although nobody had put any money in his tin.
The preacher just ignored the outstretched hand, entering a small bank on the street. The Nanking Commercial Bank. The preacher went up to one of the counters and slowly emptied all the coins and notes in front of the cashier, counting every one as he did so.
Patiently, the cashier re-counted it all, writing the total in a book. A smile crossed the man’s face as he read the amount.
The preacher came out of the bank, still reading the figures in his book, adding them up in his head.
He was waiting.
The street was empty, with only the blind beggar occupying his place on the corner.
He raced in to stand behind the preacher, thrusting the hessian bag over the man’s head. Immediately, the preacher started to struggle, shouting out in his deep Ulster voice.
He wrapped his arms around the man, ignoring the muffled shouts, and pushed him to the edge of the pavement. Li Min accelerated the car and braked heavily with a loud squeal.
Must get those brakes checked soon.
A door opened and, a few moments later, Li Min clamped a cloth soaked in chloroform over the hessian bag where the p
reacher’s mouth should be.
The preacher struggled for ten seconds before his body went limp. Li Min opened the boot of the car and the heavy body was tumbled in the back.
The preacher lay there, faint breathing coming from inside the bag. Luckily, it wasn’t far to the courtroom.
Li Min ran round to the driver’s seat and started the engine.
He closed the boot, adjusted his necktie and walked round to the rear of the car. He scanned the street. Still empty except for the blind beggar with his hand held out.
But the beggar was looking straight at him, no longer mouthing the words ‘Xie Xie, Xie Xie’. The man wasn’t blind, just another faker who inhabited the streets of Shanghai.
He was tempted to kill him, but it was not part of the plan. The preacher was the plan.
He climbed into the rear seat. Li Min accelerated away from the kerb. As they drove past the blind beggar, the man stared at them.
He would have to get rid of the car now. Just to be on the safe side.
It was time to concentrate. Time to try the preacher for his sins.
Yama was needed again.
***
‘I believe we’re dealing with a serial killer, sir.’
‘Come on, Danilov, this isn’t Victorian London.’
‘No, it’s modern-day Shanghai. But we are still dealing with a serial killer.’ Danilov sighed. ‘Four people have been murdered in the last nine days.’
‘There is no need to take that tone with me, Danilov.’
Danilov ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but unless we act quickly this man will kill again and again.’
‘You were too harsh on young Richard Ayres. He is the son of Councillor Ayres, you know.’
Danilov closed his eyes and forced himself to take two deep breaths. ‘He is also the prime suspect in a murder inquiry. He was the last person to see the victim alive. He has no alibi for her time of death. And he had the opportunity to kill her.’
Boyle smiled. ‘You are forgetting motive, Danilov. What’s his motive, tell me that, hey?’
Danilov looked down at his hands. The fingers of his right hand were beating a tattoo on his leg. ‘I don’t know, sir. If I knew what the motive for the murders was, I would be closer to catching the killer.’
There was silence between the two of them. The sort of silence that underlined a temporary truce in a war of words.
Boyle spoke first. ‘OK. Let’s say there is a “serial killer” on the streets of Shanghai. There have been four victims now and all seem to have Chinese characters carved into their bodies. It seems to suggest, and I emphasise “seems”, Danilov, that the same man committed all four crimes. What will he do next?’
‘That’s pretty obvious, sir.’
Boyle waited for the answer.
‘He will kill again.’
‘You are certain of that?’
‘Yes, sir. All my experience tells me this man, and it is a man, will kill again. Brutally. Viciously. And without mercy.’
Boyle’s tongue flicked out and licked the left side of his moustache. ‘Well, you’d better catch him before he strikes again. If you don’t, I can’t answer for the consequences.’
Danilov stared down at his hands once more. The fingers had stopped tapping his knee. ‘Neither can I, sir.’
***
‘Do you need me to go to the Astor, sir?’
‘Not yet. Let’s go to the mortuary first and see what Dr Fang has to say. You can interview the hotel staff afterwards. Has the barrel lid arrived yet? I’d like the doctor to take a look at it.’
‘Not yet, sir. I’ll call Lieutenant Masset.’
Danilov sat down at his desk. It was completely empty. Sniggers came from behind him. Cartwright and a few of the other detectives were watching from the door. As he looked up, they beat a hasty retreat. He opened his drawers and found the telephone, his desk diary, pens, pencils, pencil sharpeners and tobacco tin inside.
‘This is becoming intolerable, Stra-chan. I must complain to Chief Inspector Boyle.’ As he got up from his desk, the phone rang.
Danilov picked it up. ‘Central Police.’
‘Hello, hello, is that Inspector Danilov?’
He recognised the elegant Russian vowels of the Princess. ‘Good morning, Princess. How can I help you?’
‘It’s the opposite, Inspector. It’s how I can help you. Victorov has turned up.’
‘The pimp who ran Maria Stepanova?’
‘The one and only. Scum like him can’t keep away from the bright lights for long.’
‘Where is he, Princess?’
‘He’s sitting in my cafe as we speak, Inspector. He thinks he is getting some work from me but I don’t deal with the dregs of the Earth like Victorov.’
‘Please keep him there. I’ll be there in an hour.’
‘Be careful. This one’s not to be trusted.’
‘Of course. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf.’
‘I’m sure they will be remembered, Inspector. And if they are not, I’m sure somebody will remind you.’
‘Thank you once again, Princess.’ He put the receiver back on the cradle.
Strachan had been listening to the conversation. ‘Do you want me there, too, Inspector?’
‘Not necessary, Stra-chan, let’s see what Dr Fang has to say first.’ Danilov picked up his hat from the stand in the corner. His desk was still empty. It would have to wait. There were more important matters to attend to.
But the image of the empty desk haunted him all the way to the morgue. Something would have to be done.
Chapter 16
‘Good morning, Dr Fang, I’m sorry to be seeing you again so soon.’
‘Good afternoon, Inspector.’
Danilov checked his watch. 12.05 pm. Dr Fang was as accurate as ever. ‘You have our latest victim?’
‘She arrived last night. We carried out the autopsy this morning at 8 am.’ The doctor led them through into the white-tiled mortuary. A body lay on the second slab from the door. Danilov did not recognise who it was. The skin of the face had been peeled back in two sections and then rolled up like a ruched rug along the hairline. All that was left of the woman’s beauty was blood and muscle and bone.
He remembered something his mother used to tell him long ago. ‘A candle is a flame, the woman a glow.’ There was no glow left here, the light that had shone from this woman was long gone.
Behind him, Strachan coughed.
‘If you are going to be sick, Detective, please do it outside in the bucket, not on my clean floor.’
Strachan glared at Dr Fang. ‘I’m not going to be sick, Dr Fang.’
‘Please begin, Doctor,’ Danilov said.
‘The victim’s death was caused by a single trauma to the throat, severing the aorta, trachea and Adam’s apple. She died almost instantaneously.’
‘And the wounds on her body?’
‘I counted 137 separate cuts to the arms, hands, legs and feet, and one deep cut to the left side of her face. They were clean, sharp scores caused by an extremely thin knife, scalpel or razor blade. See here, here, and here.’ Dr Fang pointed to the slashes. ‘Most seem to be on the arms and legs. Very few cuts to the body.’ The doctor scratched his head. ‘Sometimes, we see similar cuts in knife fights caused by cutthroat razors. But never this many.’
‘Would she have bled to death from these cuts?’
‘I don’t think she would, Inspector. The cuts were all shallow, barely penetrating the epidermis. They would have caused pain, severe pain. Her death was brought about by a deep cut to the throat produced by a completely different weapon.’
Danilov glanced down at the faceless corpse in front of him. Another body, another person who had their life terminated. Four corpses now. One frozen to death. The second drowned in blood. The third nearly severed in two, the genitals removed. And finally, this young woman, her throat cut and multiple slashes across her body. Four different ways to die. Four personal w
ays to kill. In each case, the killer must have been very close to his victims. Close enough to see the pain in their eyes as they died.
The doctor was speaking.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor, could you repeat that?’
Dr Fang sniffed, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. ‘As I was saying, Inspector, there are two small characters carved into her chest just above the sternum. The instrument used to carve these characters was larger and thicker.’
‘Not the same one as caused the cut on the throat or the slashes on the rest of the body?’
‘No, definitely not.’
‘A knife or a scalpel?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, Inspector. It is up to you to find the instrument. But I will say the wound was definitely caused by a different weapon than the cuts on her body and throat.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. We will let you see the weapon as soon as we find it.’
‘The character is interesting, Inspector. Not a common character, “retribution”, as you know. Rather old-fashioned, I even had to check its meaning in the dictionary. Whoever did it was quite punctilious though. Each stroke of the character has been cut precisely. The proportions of the strokes are very accurate. Almost as if it was copied from a book.’
‘The character looks the same as on Henry Sellars?’
‘As a pathologist, I can only say the character was created with a similar instrument. But as a student of Chinese, I would say it was written by the same hand. Or rather, it was carved by the same hand.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. Anything else you can tell us?’ The smell of formaldehyde was beginning to irritate Danilov. He avoided looking at the faceless corpse.
In another part of the morgue, a telephone rang three times before somebody answered it. So there were other people in here beside the doctor, thought Danilov. Sometimes, it seemed as if the doctor was the only living person here.
Dr Fang sniffed loudly, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. He lifted up one of girl’s lifeless arms. They were thin and white. ‘See here, the marks of the rope. She was bound at one point. The wrists show deep bruising where she struggled against her restraints.’ He put the arm down. ‘There are also rope marks on her palms,’ he turned over the hands for Danilov to see, ‘the inside of her thighs and her ankles.’
