by Alexa Kang
Lillian Berman. Poor girl. He remembered her from the night at Sambuca. No one deserved an end like hers. He hoped Zhou could find some leads and the truth would come to light.
He sat down on his bed and leaned back against the headboard. Thinking of Eden during the outing today, a smile came to his face. Her laughter, the way her deep brown eyes shone when she watched the planes glide in the air, and the way her hair blew in the wind. He wished he could openly gaze at her and admire her. It took so much self-control to hold back.
If only he could be more a part of her life. What drove a girl like her to leave the comforts of her home and the city to suffer a trip to Kaifeng? Why take on a job as a reporter, investigating sordid crimes like murders and rapes? She could have such an easy life like so many other foreign girls in Shanghai.
No. Eden wasn’t someone who could idle away life. She had a soul. It was what attracted him to her since the first time they met. She had eyes with a soul.
Why did they have to exist in such different realms? In a perfect world, she would be the light of his life.
Even now, after weeks of uncertainty had passed and they were near each other again, he could feel a warm closeness between them unlike any other.
Where was his own happiness? Was he doomed to accept the woman his parents had chosen for him?
The whole world assumed that he would be happy with his parents’ choice. Marriage was a big event. Something that parents knew best when it came to making the decision. The idea that he would be unhappy with his parents’ choice was inconceivable, especially to the older generations.
And love? Love was a very new concept to the Chinese. Sure, they had folktales and legends of lovers who lived and died for each other. Heaven only knew, Mei Lan-Fang wouldn’t have a Peking opera career if there weren’t stories about lovers. But love wasn’t something to factor into real life if his parents had already made a decision for him. If he defied his family for love, everyone would think he was selfish. Marriage was a family matter and the wishes of his family should come before his own feelings.
He tried to imagine life with Shen Yi. Any way he tried to think about it, all he felt was misery.
There was an outside chance his parents might relent if he insisted he did not want to marry her. But even then, they would still expect him to marry a respectable Chinese girl from a family that matched their own. The problem was, he didn’t want another Chinese girl. He didn’t want any other woman.
Why? Of all the women in the world, why did it have to be Eden? Why couldn’t a Chinese woman have caught his heart?
Why was he tormenting himself with these thoughts? He had already decided he wouldn’t do anything to drag down Eden’s name.
Seeking a distraction, he picked up a book next to the bed lamp. The card given to him by Mauricio Perez lying on top of the nightstand caught his eye. His mind began to turn. He picked up the card and went downstairs to the study to make a call.
“Mauricio? Clark Yuan . . . Yes. I’d like you to check someone out for me . . . I know it’ll cost me. Tell me where to send the money . . . I want you to find out everything you can about a man named Roland Vaughn. Dentist. He came from Manchester about seven, eight months ago . . . Perfect. We’ll see if you’re good for your word.”
29
A Nazi on Trial
At the lobby of the Metropole Hotel, Eden walked up to the Chinese man in a white suit jacket behind the concierge desk. She’d intentionally come at four o’clock, the same time Lillian had said she would come to pick up a message Roland Vaughn had left for her. That should increase her chances of finding the staff who worked the concierge desk during this shift.
The staff might not talk, Clark had already warned her. If that happened, she was prepared.
She waited until he finished helping the tourists needing directions to the Lyceum Theater.
“Good afternoon.” The concierge greeted Eden. “Can I help you?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m hoping you can. Were you working here the afternoon of October 8? Around this time of the day?”
“Yes. I’m here at your service every day.” He grinned.
“Good.” Eden took out a photo she and her friends had taken with Lillian. “Do you by any chance recognize this woman?” She pointed to Lillian in the photo.
The concierge squinted and examined the picture. “Mmmm . . . no. I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Are you sure? She came here the afternoon of October 8, at four o’clock to pick up a message left for her by a man named Roland Vaughn?”
The concierge studied her face, then shook his head. “No. I don’t know anything about that.”
Eden took out a five dollar bill and slipped it onto the desk. Clark had told her to do this when they drove home after the Air Show. The concierge stared at the money. His expression wavered. He shifted his eyes around, then slid the money off to his side and into his pocket. “She stopped by and picked up a message from Mr. Vaughn, yes.”
“Do you know what the message said?”
He shook his head. Eden placed another five dollars on the desk.
“I don’t have the answer, Miss. I don’t read our guests’ private messages.”
“Do you know where she went afterward? Did she say anything to you about that?”
“No. She only took the message. That’s all I know.”
Eden drooped her shoulders. She’d hoped she would find out more than that. “You know what happened to her the next day, do you?”
“No.” The concierge blinked. “What happened?”
“She was murdered. It’s been reported in the news.”
“Murdered!” His eyes popped. “That’s horrible. I didn’t know. I don’t read the news. I’m sorry I can’t help more.” He lowered his face with regret in his eyes.
“It’s all right. I appreciate it anyway.” She slid the five dollar bill back toward herself.
“Wait,” the concierge said, “you might be interested to know, Mr. Vaughn always leaves messages here for young ladies. He pays us to deliver the messages. Three dollars each time.”
“Three dollars?” Eden halted her hand. Three dollars was a lot of money for such a simple task.
“Yes. Every time, it’s a different girl. One left her name card. She said she teaches English. She told me to contact her if I knew anyone with children who want to learn English. Here.” He pulled a name card out of the drawer.
Eden took the card. June Phillips. The card had her name, address, and phone number. “May I keep this?”
The concierge hesitated. Eden took another five dollar bill out and put it on top of the five already on the desk.
“Of course you can have it.” The concierge smiled. “I’m a bachelor. I don’t know anyone with kids who want to learn English.”
Eden smiled. “One more thing. Has Mr. Vaughn left messages for any other girl recently?”
The concierge shook his head. “No. Miss Berman was the last one.”
Eden nodded. “Thank you. You’ve been a huge help.” She put the card into her purse.
The concierge took the money and slid it into his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, miss. You shouldn’t stay with him anymore.”
“Who? Who shouldn’t I stay with?”
“Mr. Vaughn. I’m sorry you have to find out he’s cheating on you. You’re a pretty woman. You can find better.”
It took a moment for Eden to realize the concierge thought she was here to catch an unfaithful suitor. She laughed and thanked him, then left without explaining any further.
With June Phillips’s card securely in her purse and the confirmation from the Metropole concierge that Lillian indeed had had a dinner engagement with Roland Vaughn, Eden left for work the next day feeling energized. For the first time since Lillian’s death, she felt she was making headway into finding out the truth.
When she got back to the China Press headquarters, a new development had come about and threw her plans off co
urse. The SMP had announced they’d arrested a suspect. A Nazi soldier named Johann Hauser. The SMP Commissioner Burt O’Reilly would be holding a press conference at 10:00 a.m. Zelik directed her to get there immediately. At his order, she left her office and hopped on the first tram to arrive to ensure she’d get to the conference well ahead of time.
On her way, Eden ran everything she’d learned so far through her mind. Could it be true that a Nazi had killed Lillian? She’d always thought it was a bad idea for Yuri and Lillian to provoke the Nazis like a game. Lillian might have tempted fate just one too many times.
And yet, something didn’t sit right. Why did Roland Vaughn outright deny he even knew Lillian? There was nothing wrong with a respectable gentleman of the community taking a girl out to dinner, even if he courted many girls and played the field like the concierge said. The same questions Eden had before kept coming back. If Vaughn had known Lillian, wouldn’t he want to help find her killer? He should’ve stepped forward the minute he heard the news. A valiant gentleman would not have stayed silent and then denied knowing her at all.
And what about the SMP? Why all this fanfare about the arrest? She thought they didn’t want to take on this case.
The more she thought, the more questions she had.
In a ballroom of the Park Hotel, SMP Commissioner Burt O’Reilly took the microphone and began to speak. Behind him, a line of police officers stood, including Inspector Bonham, who had initially been in charge of the case.
O’Reilly cleared his throat. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”
The crowd of reporters stopped talking and the room turned silent except for the popping sounds of cameras.
“I’m pleased to announce today that the perpetrator of the vicious murder of Miss Lillian Berman has been caught. Thanks to the hard work and relentless efforts of our team, yesterday evening we took into custody Johann Hauser, a Nazi soldier who multiple witnesses saw arguing with Miss Berman on the day of her death. Hauser was specifically heard to have called Miss Berman a Judenschwein, a Jewish swine, when Miss Berman accidentally spilled a drink on him.”
Eden gasped and raised her hand to her mouth. That was Johann Hauser? The Nazi whose face Lillian had spat in?
“The incident happened at Cafe Louis. The cashier who was working at the time told us Miss Berman was visibly shaken. In fact, she was so upset, she had to leave the cafe, even though she’d come with her friends to celebrate her birthday.”
Eden frowned. That wasn’t right. The cashier had ordered Lillian and Hauser both to leave. Lillian definitely was not shaken or upset.
“The cashier was appalled by Hauser and told him to leave and to never come back. The suspect left in anger and humiliation. Before he left, several witnesses heard him say he wouldn’t let the Jew get away with this.”
This wasn’t what Eden remembered at all. Dumbfounded, she stopped taking notes and stared at O’Reilly.
“We’re very pleased that our force has apprehended the suspect so quickly. The vicious murder of Miss Berman is an affront to our community and our countries. No one should have to live in fear of the Germans and the Nazis. There will be a public trial, and the world will find out the ugly brutality behind the minds of the Nazi soldiers. I’m depending on you all to spread the word, from here, to London, Paris, Sydney, and Washington. Let the folks back home hear the sickening way Lillian Berman was butchered by the Nazis. Help them open their eyes and understand that Hitler’s aggression must stop. And we will make it stop, starting right here!”
A buzz broke out from the swarm of reporters. Eden’s scowl deepened. A public trial. Against Hitler? And the Nazis? This wasn’t about Lillian’s murder anymore. The SMP was making an indictment of the Führer himself.
“Wait, wait.” O’Reilly shook his finger in the air. “We’re not done yet. We need your help, not only to get the word out to those countries which stand up for democracy, integrity, freedom, and the rights of the Jews, but also to send a message to the Reich. Let them know that we will not stand for evil. We will take down anyone who threatens our peace. We will prosecute the murderer, and he will be punished. And just like our police force, our armies stand ready to enforce justice and peace. When victory comes, it will be swift, and it will be absolute.”
The room roared. Even reporters, whose job it was to be objective, were caught up in O’Reilly’s rousing rhetoric.
Eden lowered her notebook. This wasn’t right. Lillian, in death, was being used. The details O’Reilly gave about what happened at Cafe Louis were wrong. Was Johann Hauser really her murderer? If not, then all this talk of bringing justice would be useless, and Lillian would’ve died in vain.
She gazed at O’Reilly basking in the glory of the camera flashes. Until today, he’d never lifted a finger to help the Jews in Shanghai. More and more refugees were arriving, and not once had the SMP reached out to inquire as to their needs and concerns. In fact, the Jews were coming here because the good folks back in London, Paris, and Washington decided they would not issue visas to those who were fleeing Hitler’s regime. What hypocrisy it was for him to stand up there and claim they were standing up for the rights of the Jews.
No, the SMP wasn’t interested in seeking justice for Lillian. It had its own agenda. If she wanted the killer caught, she would have to get to the bottom of this herself. She swore she would not let the killer get away if Hauser wasn’t the culprit, and she would not let the SMP use Lillian and the Jewish people for their own advantages while they swept justice under the rug. Not if she could do anything about it.
The reporters in the room circled around O’Reilly, jostling to get past one another to ask him questions. Ignoring the circus, Eden caught up with Inspector Bonham. In the back of the room, he stood alone, forgotten by everyone who would much rather get a quote directly from the Police Commissioner. Maybe she could get the real story from Bonham instead. “Inspector Bonham.”
“Miss Levine.”
She glanced at O’Reilly and gave Bonham a sarcastic smile. “This is a hundred-eighty degree change. I thought the SMP had no jurisdiction over this case.”
Bonham straightened his arms behind his back. “Yes, it is. I pleaded with the higher-ups to take on the case. And might I remind you, I did that at your request. As you can see, my work and efforts have paid off.”
Sure he did, Eden thought, but she let it slide. “I have some questions though. There are some things I don’t understand in the case the Commissioner presented just now. I’m having a hard time reconciling some of the facts with what I know about this case.”
“What questions do you have? I can answer them for you.” He glanced at her press pass. “I’m the detective in charge. I apprehended the suspect myself. You can quote me on that.”
Eden lifted her brows. “Quote you? Can I trust your word? What if your word isn’t persuasive enough? Maybe I should go ask the Commissioner instead.”
Bonham’s lips drooped. What a dupe. Before, he didn’t want anything to do with the case. Now he wanted her to give him press attention and credit.
“I can give you an exclusive interview with the suspect,” he said.
“Johann Hauser?”
“Yes,” Bonham jutted out his chin. “He’s a Nazi. Don’t you want a chance to talk face-to-face with him and tell him what a disgusting human being he is?”
Perhaps. What she wanted more was to find out directly from Hauser whether he did or did not kill Lillian.
“You’ll have to remember to credit me for arresting him though,” Bonham said.
“Did you really arrest him? Last I talked to you, you didn’t even want to take on the case.”
“Indeed I did.” Bonham’s face scowled, his face indignant. “I was at Cafe Louis for lunch. When the cashier told me the dead girl had been there the day before she was murdered and had an argument with a Nazi, I went and picked him up right away.” He puffed out his chest. “The Council was delighted I caught a Nazi suspect,” he said, referring to
the Shanghai Municipal Council which governed the International Settlement.
It all made sense now, Eden thought. Bonham knew it would further his career if he could deliver a German accused of a hideous crime to the people running the show. From there, the powers that be ran with the story, no doubt hoping to further their own careers by impressing even more powerful people back home who were looking for ways to make Hitler and Germany look bad and to get public opinion on their side.
“Don’t worry,” Eden said. “I’ll be sure to make it clear that you were the officer who caught the suspect.”
Pleased, Bonham said, “Come to the station at five. I’ll arrange for you to talk to Hauser.”
Eden departed the room. What a coup. An exclusive interview with the Nazi suspect. Wait until Zelik heard this.
In the interrogation room in the building where the SMP housed their temporary holding cells, Johann Hauser sat in silent defiance. He did not look up when Eden entered. Behind him, an SMP policeman, a Chinese one, stood guard in the corner of the room.
Eden took a seat across from him and observed his face. Yes. She remembered him. He was the same Nazi soldier who Lillian had picked a fight with at Cafe Louis the day before she died. The cashier working at the counter had asked them both to leave. He had left the cafe just a little before Lillian.
She noted the Nazi armband on his sleeve. The symbol repulsed her. The sight of him in his Wehrmacht uniform was almost enough to make her want to get up and walk away. She inhaled a deep breath and forced herself to speak to him. “Obergefreiter Hauser.”
He gave her a quick glance.
“My name is Eden Levine. I’m a friend of Lillian Berman, the girl you’re accused of having murdered.”
