by S. J. Rozan
“Right. So-” I broke off and dug out my phone, which was tinkling the Wonder Woman song. “Hi, Mary.”
“Where are you?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Lydia-”
“Mott Street. What’s up?”
“I’m at the precinct, with Wei De-xu. Can you come up?”
“That’s your Chinese cop?”
“Meet us in Interview One.”
“Why? I was about to-”
“Forthwith.”
That’s cop for “right now this minute.” Mary hardly ever talks cop to me.
“Your surveillance on Mr. Chen! It turned up Wong Pan?”
“No.”
“Then can’t I-”
“No. I’m taking De-xu to meet the captain, but we’ll be done by the time you get here.”
“You guys are on a first-name basis already? What will Peter think?”
“Girlfriend, he won’t care.” She clicked off, so that was that.
“Nuts,” I said to Bill, annoyed. “That was Mary inviting me to the precinct forthwith.” Generally I’d jump at a chance to stick my nose in police business, but Mr. Zhang’s hidden secret was on my front burner, and meeting a cop from Shanghai sounded like just a lot of politeness and more tea.
“ ‘Forthwith’ isn’t an invitation,” Bill said.
“Hey, she did say, ‘Can you?’ I didn’t ask if you could come, but since she’s the one who called you in the first place-”
“Thanks anyway. I have some things I could more profitably be doing.”
“Like what?”
“I’d like to try out these intruders on Professor Edwards, just in case there’s something in his sources about people breaking into the Chen villa.”
“You’re just looking for an excuse to stay out of a police station.”
“That, too.”
“Well, go ahead. It can’t hurt. Write if you get work.”
The desk sergeant, a woman named Anna Bilankov I’d met once or twice, nodded and told me to go up. I took the worn concrete stairs two at a time and turned left at the top. I knew where the interview rooms were; I’d stood on the witness side of the one-way glass a few times, with clients, and sat in the customer seat once when the Fifth’s former captain thought I’d been misbehaving just a little. The door to Interview One was half open, so I pushed through it.
“Oh,” I said, as Mary stood up grinning from one side of the table and a Chinese woman about ten years older, four inches shorter, and infinitely tougher than either of us bolted up from the other.
Mary said, “Lydia Chin, Inspector Wei De-xu.”
I shot her a glower, then bowed to Inspector Wei, who had already bowed crisply to me. “Inspector Wei De-xu,” she announced in English. “Special Crimes Group of Shanghai Police Bureau.” She thrust out her hand. When in Rome. Her grip stopped just short of powdering my bones.
“Lydia Chin Ling Wan-ju, private investigator. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Investigator Chin. Detective Kee telling much about you.” Wei De-xu-whose given name, meaning “virtuous order,” could go either way-wore her thick hair in a heavy-banged Cleopatra framing a tanned face. She was dressed in road-movie civvies: black jeans, black T-shirt, black leather jacket. And black motorcycle boots. I bet no one messed with her in Shanghai. “One man killed, is your friend. Please accept sympathy from Shanghai Police Bureau.”
“And please accept mine on the loss of your colleague.”
“Inspector Sheng Yue. He is talented officer. But too eager, unfortunately.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Sheng Yue is leaving Shanghai too fast. He doesn’t has all informations.”
Mary gestured us to sit and asked if I wanted tea.
“Luckily for me, I just had some.” I turned to Inspector Wei. “Is the tea as bad in Shanghai police stations as here?”
“Of course.” Wei picked up an almost empty NYPD mug and threw back a last swallow. “Even it’s bad, we drinking all day.”
“I’ll get you some more,” Mary offered and left.
“You must be exhausted,” I said. “After that long flight.” I knew better than to get into anything substantive before Mary came back.
“Shanghai Police Bureau doesn’t sending me here to sleep. From now, going to meeting with-Midtown Squad?” She pronounced the words as though their meaning were esoteric.
“That’s right,” said Mary, returning with a pot of hot water, another mug, and a handful of teabags. “Inspector Wei is about to have the privilege of meeting Detective Mulgrew.”
“Detective Kee telling about him also.” Wei’s predatory smile nearly made me feel sorry for Mulgrew.
“Before we go up there, though,” Mary said, “there’s something I want you to hear. From the inspector. Have you talked to Alice lately?”
“No, she’s ducking me. She fired me twice. She’s afraid I’ll get hurt.”
“Is that what she said?”
I looked from Mary to Inspector Wei. “Hey. What’s up?”
Mary nodded to the Shanghai cop. Dipping a teabag as though she were fishing in her mug, Wei said, “Assistant Deputy Minister Wong Pan working in Shanghai Culture Bureau, Modern History Section. Has responsibility, artifacts, relics, all recent antiquity of Shanghai.”
Now there’s a government concept, I thought: recent antiquities. But apparently, that wasn’t the problem.
“How Wong Pan is flying off to United States after stealing jewelry?” Inspector Wei asked. “Why not gets stopped leaving, or at Customs arrival? Why no record, passenger list, exit paper?”
“How could he get out so cleanly is the point, Lydia,” Mary said. “The theft was noticed within hours.”
“Because,” Wei answered her own question, “Wong Pan has false passport, visa. New identity. Wu Ming. Stupid name. How he gets identity papers?”
I said, “I imagine it’s as easy to get those things in Shanghai as anywhere.”
“No. Not so easy.” Wei gave me a steely look. Then she laughed. “Not so easy because some way, China still backwards. Technology some things hard to find. Easy in Europe. Easy in Switzerland.”
“Switzerland? Wait-you’re not saying you think Alice Fairchild had anything to do with it?”
“Shanghai Police Bureau information, very fews in Shanghai capable making papers, none of these did. In U.S., say, ‘word on street?’ ” She looked to Mary with evident pride in her American slang. “Word on Shanghai street, Wong Pan getting papers from Europe. One other word, getting help from European woman. Small, good clothes, short hair with gray.”
“Well, that… but it could-”
“Be anyone,” Mary finished for me. “Except as far as we know, there’s no one of that description connected with this case but Alice Fairchild.”
“Attorney Fairchild leaving Shanghai immediately after Wong Pan,” Wei pointed out.
“She was chasing him. Because he stole her clients’ jewelry.”
Mary said, “Or because he skipped out on whatever deal they had.”
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“Uh-oh, what?”
Mary and Wei both leaned forward, eyes identically glowing.
Reluctantly, I said, “The phony heirs.”
“What is ‘phony heirs’?” Wei leaned closer.
“Yes, Lydia, what?” Mary demanded.
I caught them up fast, so their matched cop eyes wouldn’t drill holes through me.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Mary’s voice edged toward the danger zone.
“Tell you what? My client’s clients were lying to her?”
“You didn’t think it was a problem I should know about?”
“What I thought was, it was a problem for my client that I didn’t understand. My job isn’t the same as yours.”
“Catching Joel’s killer?”
“Joel hired me to work for this client. Until I’m sure she’s involved in something-”
“
And when you’re sure? What are you planning to do when you’re sure?”
“If I’m sure,” I said, “you know I’ll tell you.”
Mary and I locked eyes. “I know how stubbornly loyal you can be. Your clients-”
“If I were you, I’d be grateful for how stubbornly loyal I can be. Like to my best and oldest friend, for example.”
Wei De-xu frowned. Whatever was going on between Mary and me wasn’t helping her catch her killer. She cleared her throat. “I have theory of crime.”
Mary sat back. “Go ahead.”
“In Europe, peoples hear about jewelry. Go to Attorney Fairchild, make scheme together. Attorney Fairchild flying to Shanghai, suggest scheme to Wong Pan. Corrupting official, bad crime in China.”
Ah, the wily lo faan, tempting the naive Servant of the People. Wei practically smacked her lips at the thought of bagging such a fiend.
Grudgingly, I said, “Also…”
“Also?” Mary repeated.
“I hate this!”
“So?”
“Yes, yes, all right. Is there still hot water in that thing?”
“Are you stalling?” Mary passed me the pot and a mug.
“Probably.” I unwrapped a teabag. “It’s just, the clients may not be lying. Alice may be lying. About having clients.” I added milk and waited to see if it curdled. “Last time I talked to her, I told her three things. That the clients were phony, that Rosalie and Kai-rong had a son and I’d met him, and that it looked like Wong Pan had tried to call her. She said the call might be coincidence-which is true, by the way,” I added, just to keep their minds open, “and she told me she’d call the clients and get back to me. And she fired me. But beyond one ‘Oh, my God,’ when I told her about Rosalie’s son, she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t ask his name or what woodwork he crawled out of, how I found him, anything.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“Well, he’s a genuine heir with a strong claim on Rosalie’s jewelry. If she’s actually doing asset recovery for real clients, she’ll need to contend with him. And if her clients are phony, I’ve inadvertently found an heir anyway. So she should have been more interested.”
“But if it’s not recovery, it’s theft-”
“Then she wouldn’t care who Mr. Chen is. The fact that he exists and knows the jewelry was found could make the pieces harder to sell. That could be a problem later on. But her problem right now hasn’t changed. She needs to find Wong Pan.”
Mary and the inspector traded gratified looks. I drank my foul tea and tried to calm down. If Alice Fairchild was a liar, a thief, and a swindler, it wasn’t Mary’s fault, or Inspector Wei’s.
They just didn’t have to be so damn happy about it.
28
Leaving the Fifth Precinct’s wheezy air-conditioning for the muggy air of Elizabeth Street, I called Bill. I got his voice mail, which told me nothing. I already knew enough nothing. I left a message to call me and headed to my office, to try to think.
If Alice was chasing Wong Pan for a whole other reason than what she’d told Joel and me, it set a lot of things in a new light. Maybe the pay-phone call to the Waldorf meant Wong Pan had changed his mind about running out on her. Alone in the big city, he’d called to make up. Maybe I kept getting fired because they were once again thick as, well, thieves, and my searching for him was now a liability. And maybe Joel had been somehow onto Wong Pan. If so, maybe he’d also been onto Alice.
And in that case maybe Alice knew something about Joel’s death she wasn’t saying.
But the question still was, if Joel had found anything definitively dirty, why didn’t he say that, instead of “fishy”? The impression I’d gotten was that something unexplained was bothering him. Not good, but nothing worse than that.
When the light changed and trapped me on the corner, I thumbed David Rosenberg’s number into my phone. Before the light changed back, I’d asked him about Alice Fairchild. “How sure are we that she’s what she says she is?”
“What do you mean?”
“A lawyer who specializes in Holocaust assets.”
“As far as I know. The magazine follows recovery cases from time to time, and we wrote up one of hers a few years ago. I found her impressive. Straightforward and well prepared.”
“Did she win?”
“I believe that one’s still in litigation. You know these cases are hard to win.”
“That’s what Joel told me. Mr. Rosenberg, what if I made the same request of you that she did? Can you put me in touch with a private investigator? In Zurich?”
“What is it you need?”
“Any information at all about her.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve just learned she may have supplied a Chinese national with false travel documents.”
“Really? Alice Fairchild?” A moment’s thoughtful silence. “Could that be what Joel knew?”
“I don’t know. Can you find me an investigator?”
“Well, the system in Switzerland works differently than here. I’m not sure how to connect you. But, you know, I publish a magazine, with some very good investigative journalists on staff. Would you like me to have some research done for you?”
“I don’t want to get you involved.”
“This is still that same case, right? Joel’s case?”
“Yes.”
“Then, Ms. Chin, I’d very much like to help.”
* * *
I opened the street door I shared with Golden Adventure Travel, thinking, Okay, I have investigative journalists in Zurich digging for me, how can I lose?
Then I walked down the hallway, unlocked my own office, and saw how.
Drawers open, books off shelves, papers everywhere. My office looked as though the Duke of Hell had had a fit in it.
Just the way Joel’s had.
At first I froze, my pounding heart the only thing moving; then fury boiled me into action. Who the hell did whoever this was think he was? I drew my gun and slipped inside, back to the wall. If they were still here, they could only be under the desk or in the bathroom. Unless it really was the Duke of Hell. He’s invisible. Yeah, well, I’ll plug him right between the glowing red eyes. I kept up a silent monologue until I’d covered the entire space, which didn’t take long. The breach in my security turned out to be the bathroom window, whose bars were no match for the Duke of Hell and his crowbar. I holstered my gun and called Bill. I told his voice mail about the break-in. “Watch your back and call me.”
Then I called Mary. “I’m never coming up to your place anymore. It’s too dangerous.”
“What are you talking about?”
“While I was there, someone was here.” I described the ruins I stood in the middle of.
“Are you all right?” Mary demanded.
“Of course I’m all right! They’re long gone! But,” I added grudgingly, “thanks for asking.”
“You shouldn’t have gone in alone. You should have called.”
“And died from adrenaline poisoning waiting for you?”
“I’ll send some uniforms right away.”
“Oh, now you’re hanging with the international set and you’re a big shot? Come yourself, show your Shanghai buddy a genuine American burglary.”
“We’re in the car on our way to Midtown. I’ll turn around if you want.”
“Oh. No, forget it. Let Wei bite Mulgrew’s head off. That might make me feel better.”
“Any chance it was Wong Pan?”
“Mary, girlfriend, how would I know?” Though the thought had occurred to me, and the face I’d imagined on the Duke of Hell had been suspiciously round.
I hung up and went across the hall.
“Hi, Lydia.” Ava Louie looked up from her computer with a cheerful smile. Andi Gee, on the phone, waved at me.
“You guys hear anything in my office today?”
“Like what?”
“An earthquake, explosions, a dance party?
No, someone broke in.”
Ava jumped up, and I had to take her to see the damage. We were joined a moment later by Andi, who gave a little shriek.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, because they were staring at me. “I wasn’t here.” This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. The other time had involved the travel ladies having to liberate me from a certain amount of rope. The last thing I needed was for them to decide I was a risky subtenant and evict me. “Either of you guys see or hear anything?”
They shook their heads. “We had busy afternoon,” Andi said. “Lots people. This very weird. After we so nervous. We perfectly fine, but your office, this happens.”
“Nervous about what?”
“Lots people, ask about flight, tour, cruise, everythings. Some maybe interested, but most, no. But sit, keep asking, talking. Actually, we worried, in case looking to see, should they rob us. But don’t dare throw them out.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Ava said. “White Eagles.”
I left the travel ladies in their own office and tiptoed around mine, looking to see what was missing while I waited for the precinct guys.
That White Eagles had spent the afternoon researching vacation packages was beyond suspicious. Chinatown gangsters aren’t Travel & Leisure types. A lot don’t even have passports: Some are illegals, some are still serving out parole time, and others haven’t used their real names in so long they don’t know them. Their only purpose could have been to distract Ava and Andi from whatever was happening in my office.
Which was what? Nobody breaks into a PI’s office looking for cash. Under all the paper, everything that could profitably be fenced was still here. The alley lightwell may not be Main Street, but it’s not risk-free. If I were a jewelry shop, the distraction tactic and the risk might be worth it, but to break into my office?
I examined the bent bars more closely. Not a large opening. I could barely have made it through myself. Anyone slight enough to use this gap probably wouldn’t have the strength to create it. So, a theory: Some muscle-bound rice-brain jimmies the bars; a ten-year-old apprentice gangster squeezes through and opens my door for some other rice-brains while yet another set distracts the ladies at Golden Adventure.
