Socrates logged off the computer, washed up and then climbed into bed. He was sorry now he hadn’t taken a break earlier and called Jade to say ‘hello’ and then ‘goodnight’. It would have been nice to hear her voice.
He laid in the dark with his eyes shut, hoping to trick his body and brain into shutting down, but he was unable to switch off his racing mind. Bing-fa’s inventory kept scrolling by behind his closed eyelids as if he was still looking at the computer’s monitor. The harder he tried to stop the parade of rolling images, the more insistent they seemed to be. He decided it was a losing battle.
He gave up after forty minutes and walked out to the living room. He poured himself a single malt scotch and put on a remastered CD of operatic arias, including one of his favorites by the composer Cilea, originally recorded in 1954 by Maria Callas. Then he stretched out on the couch with a Lawrence Block Bernie Rhodenbarr mystery.
Socrates always enjoyed Block’s well-written and well-plotted Rhodenbarr novels featuring a main character who was a good natured, often humorous, seller of secondhand books in New York City, but who also happened to be a part time burglar specializing in stealing rare books, art and scarce collectibles. Invariably, while engaged in a burglary, Rhodenbarr would come across a dead body at the burgled premises, and, to avoid becoming the prime suspect in the homicide, would have to solve the murder himself before the cops found out about him and his role as burglar at the homicide crime scene.
Socrates decided he would read himself to sleep even if it meant falling asleep on the couch and spending the night there.
He had just started reading when his telephone rang.
“HI, SOCRATES. IT’S me,” Jade said. “Hope I’m not calling too late.”
Socrates bolted up into a sitting position, dropping his feet to the floor and launching Bernie Rhodenbarr from his chest, where the book had been perched, far away from the couch, out onto the carpet. Socrates’ smile split his face.
“Are you kidding? Not at all. I’m glad you called. It’s never too late to talk to you.” Socrates could feel his fatigue leach from his body as his adrenalin kicked in and he came awake.
“I’m starving,” Jade said. “I’m at my office. I’ve been grading papers all day and night, and I’m going blind. Want to meet me in Georgetown for something to eat, then we can go home together?”
Socrates glanced at his watch. It was 11:40 p.m. Why not, he thought, he’d eaten later than that many times. “I need about twenty minutes to freshen up,” he said. “I’ll meet you at Billy Martin’s, if that’s all right.”
Jade had arrived first. When Socrates walked in he saw her sitting at the bar facing the entrance. They exchanged waves from across the tavern floor as Socrates headed across the room to her.
Socrates leaned in and kissed Jade, holding the kiss. When he moved to pull away, Jade held his lips to hers with a quick shake of her head, signaling him to keep going. The kiss lingered on.
Socrates heard a woman, who was sitting not far from them, say to someone, “You’d think they’d stop and come up for air.”
Socrates glanced over and watched the woman shake her head in disapproval. He also saw the woman’s companion, a middle aged man, slowly examine Jade from head to toe, and heard the man say, “Why? I wouldn’t stop if I was him.”
THEY DIDN’T WANT a full blown, multi-course meal, not at that late hour, so Socrates paid for Jade’s drink and they left Billy Martin’s. They walked north on Wisconsin Avenue to Five Guys to get two small hamburgers and Cokes.
Socrates and Jade threaded their way through the Five Guys’ crowd of college-aged customers who were milling around the counter area waiting to pick up orders. They found a small table back in a corner of the enclosed patio. As they waited for their check-receipt number to be called, indicating they should pick up their order, Jade said, “So tell me, how’s the aspiring private eye doing on his first case?” She smiled warmly, than pursed her lips and blew him a kiss.
“I’m making progress,” Socrates said. “I’m figuring out what to do and how to do it by reading books about conducting criminal investigations, and by working with a database to query your father’s inventory list. I’m still in the taking baby steps stage, trying to recognize the so-called proverbial rope so I can, as they say, learn the ropes.”
“Rrrrright,” Jade said, stretching out the word for all the dramatic effect she could milk from it. “I know you, Socrates Cheng, better than you think. You’re being too modest, as usual. What you call learning the ropes and taking baby steps, anybody else would describe as serious study and meaningful progress.”
She waited a few seconds, giving Socrates time to demur. When he shrugged, blushed and remained silent, Jade said, “Come clean with me, Sherlock. My curiosity’s killing me. What have you learned so far?”
Socrates grinned. He was pleased Jade was curious. “I’ve developed questions and processes to think about,” he said, “but I’m really still in the fact gathering stage, is all.” He paused, waiting for Jade to respond.
When she remained silent and rolled her eyes, he said, “Really, Jade, that’s all so far. And my attempts to find some theme or pattern among the stolen objects and non-stolen objects are on hold until I can get my hands on the exhibit catalog.”
“Oh, dear,” Jade said. “I wish I’d known. Youngest Brother brought me a catalog to look at, but I returned it to him after I finished with it, before our father could find out what Youngest Brother had done. I would have kept it for you if I’d known.”
“Not to worry,” Socrates said. “I’ll get one from the gallery.”
Jade nodded. “Good. But Socrates, my love, you’re not off the hook. Give me a for instance, one question you came up with you can’t answer until you have the catalog.”
Socrates thought about the open issues he had mentally filed away to address at a later time.
“All right, here’s one. I wonder why photographs and written descriptions of the Mandarin Yellow and other stolen objects haven’t been posted on the Internet by the FBI or by Interpol. Such postings are standard art theft protocol.”
“What’s the answer?” Jade said.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” Jade said. “I asked first. What’s the answer?”
Socrates slowly shook his head and smiled. “Come on, Jade. If I knew the answer, I wouldn’t have described this as an open question, would I?”
Jade’s face and neck reddened. “Point taken,” she said. She smiled again. “Tell me another question you’re actually struggling with, one more. I won’t make a stupid remark afterward. Well, hopefully not.”
Socrates looked at his watch. “Last one. Our order should be ready soon.” He briefly closed his eyes and considered the open question. “Here’s one that puzzles me.” He paused for dramatic effect.
“Each of the cultural categories in the exhibit suffered the loss of at least one object in the burglary. All except the category BLUE & WHITE EXPORT CERAMICS. It makes me wonder why not that category? There certainly was a large enough selection of this ware for the burglars to choose from. What was it about the Blue & White Export ware that made the burglars leave it all behind?”
Socrates paused again for effect, then elaborated on his question. “Specifically, what does it say about the burglars?” He stared at Jade, then said, “Any thoughts?”
Jade split her face with a large grin and uttered a tsk, tsk, tsk sound as she held up her hand and wagged her index finger from side-to-side, as if she was gently reprimanding a small child.
“That’s a no brainer, Socrates. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out. Maybe you’re not as good a detective as my father thinks.”
Socrates’ face flushed. He was embarrassed and also annoyed by Jade’s remark. “Cut the bull, Jade. What’s the answer?”
Jade’s smile grew larger, inspired by Socrates’ reaction to her teasing. She looked lovingly at him and took his hand. Then she said, dr
iving the knife in a little deeper, “I guess my father and Eldest Brother were right about you. You’re not really Chinese after all. If you were, you would know the answer without me telling you.”
Socrates frowned. “I am Chinese,” he said, “but I don’t know the answer. Either tell me or let’s change the subject. I’m not in the mood for guessing games.” He looked at his watch again. “Where’s our food. It’s taking too long.”
Jade uttered tsk, tsk, tsk again and, undeterred by Socrates’ self-conscious grim mood, grinned while she stared into his eyes. She patted his hand lovingly.
“The answer is simple, Darling. No knowledgeable Chinese man or woman considers Blue & White Export ware to be something worth owning. It’s junk and everybody knows it.”
She threw Socrates a kiss. “Everyone who’s Chinese knows that Blue & White Export ware was inferior pottery that was mass produced by low-skilled potters, specifically for sale to the unsophisticated West. It was intended to satisfy the West’s limitless desire for all things Oriental.”
Socrates felt the warmth of a slow blush overspread his face, like a window shade slowly being drawn down.
“So,” Jade said, “the answer to your question is obvious, isn’t it?”
Socrates did not take the bait. He stared at Jade, waiting for her answer while he impatiently tapped his foot under the table.
“The answer is,” Jade said, not yet letting go of the bone she’d clamped her teeth onto, “the burglars were Chinese, not Occidental. I know that because no self-respecting Chinese burglar would be caught dead stealing Blue & White Export ware.”
In spite of himself, Socrates laughed, then pointed his finger at Jade, and said, “Touché.”
But then he considered what Jade had said. That makes sense, he thought. But given what Jade just described, why was the Blue & White even included as part of an exhibit intended to demonstrate the beauty and majesty of China’s cultural heritage? Did its presence have some subtle purpose as yet unknown to him?
SOCRATES AND JADE spent the night at Socrates’ condo. The following morning after Jade had left, Socrates called Bing-fa and asked for a meeting. They agreed to get together at the Golden Dragon.
Youngest Brother and the Twins met Socrates just inside the restaurant’s entrance. They seemed to be waiting for him. Socrates nodded to them as he entered, but said nothing. He eyed them warily.
The three brothers darted their eyes back and forth among themselves as if they were silently conveying messages only they could understand. Latent hostility imbued the air. Youngest Brother turned to Socrates and said, without otherwise acknowledging his arrival, “Come with us.”
Bing-fa sat at the head of a long, rectangular rosewood table in a small, private dining room located at the back of the restaurant. He rose from his chair as Socrates entered. Bing-fa, speaking Mandarin, ordered his sons to leave him alone with Socrates and to close the door on their way out. Socrates was pleased he was able to understand Bing-fa’s vernacular, non-Shanghainese instructions to his sons.
After they concluded the ritualistic greetings and small talk expected for these occasions, Socrates gave Bing-fa a full status report concerning the investigation. He emphasized his unsuccessful attempt to look at the police files.
“Without access to these files,” he said, “I won’t have the benefit of the lab’s work with the physical evidence or know the identities of potential witnesses. I’ll have to cover the same ground the cops did, costing us valuable time. Not only that, it’s also possible I’ll miss something or someone that they, as seasoned pros, think relevant.”
Bing-fa shrugged and fanned out his palms and fingers in gestures Socrates interpreted as Bing-fa’s tacit message: That’s your problem, not mine. Deal with it.
“I am confident,” Bing-fa said, “you will locate the precious objects within the required time without needing the crutches local authorities rely on. Ineffectual, dependent bureaucracies are the same everywhere.”
Socrates said nothing. Bing-fa’s attitude left him with mixed feelings. Should he be flattered by Bing-fa’s blind faith in him or annoyed that Bing-fa had just flippantly brushed aside his legitimate concern?
Socrates forced himself to refocus his attention on the reason he’d wanted this meeting. He had come to Bing-fa with a full tray of questions to serve on him.
Socrates led off by stating he was surprised photographs and descriptions of the stolen objects had not been posted on the usual art theft web sites for the world to see. Such postings, he said, would limit the ability of the burglars to dispose of their contraband and make it more likely the stolen objects would be recovered.
“Were you aware of this, Bing-fa?” Socrates said.
“I was.”
Bing-fa’s response blindsided Socrates. He hesitated, regrouped, and asked, “Then why wasn’t that done?”
“The Embassy and I believe such an action might unduly involve the authorities and the public in matters better left private. We prefer that the stolen articles be discreetly recovered by you.”
Bing-fa’s answer struck Socrates as odd if Bing-fa’s true objective was to recover the stolen objects. This seemed especially true given the compressed timetable they were operating under. He let the issue pass for the time being.
“There’s something else I need to know,” Socrates said. “How did you and the cultural attaché select the items to exhibit? You must have had many treasures in Mao’s secret archives to choose from.”
Once again Bing-fa remained silent.
After a long pause weighted with unstated ambiguity, Socrates said, “Bing-fa, if I’m going to be able to help you, I need to know . . . .”
“You do not need to know this to perform your duties,” Bing-fa said. “Our reasons are not relevant to your investigation . . . . Now, what else do you want?” Bing-fa tapped his foot under the table.
Socrates thought about his mounting frustration. He needed answers to his questions. Bing-fa’s responses might hold the key to the reason the burglars chose certain objects to steal and opted to leave others behind. That information, in turn, might point the way to understanding the burglars’ overarching motive for the theft. And knowing the burglars’ motive might point the way to the identity of the burglars and the recovery of the Mandarin Yellow and other stolen objects.
Socrates refused to acquiesce in Bing-fa’s unwillingness to answer his questions. He pressed on, feeling he had nothing to lose at this point, crafting his questions so they were more specific.
“Why’d you select the Ming Dynasty yellow and white glaze warming bowl rather than choose some other Ming ware or some other dynastic porcelain ware of equal or greater aesthetic value or historic importance?”
Again, Bing-fa did not answer. He slightly shrugged his shoulders, then continued to sit passively with his fingers interlaced on his lap. He stared into Socrates’ eyes.
Socrates sighed. He would give it one more try. If Bing-fa remained uncooperative, he’d call it a day.
“All right, Bing-fa, let’s try it this way. Why’d you pick the Xi’an Agreement and its Secret Protocol to exhibit rather than some other historical document equally important in China’s history? You must have had some reason for your choice. Or, was your decision merely capricious?”
This time Bing-fa surprised Socrates by responding.
“We did not act whimsically, but you do not need to know why we acted as we did.”
This response did not sit well with Socrates. That arrogant son-of-a-bitch, he thought. Intentionally blindfolding me, then sending me out under a tight deadline. Lots of luck resolving this in time for the rescheduled opening.
Socrates consciously relaxed his body to release the tension in his shoulders and neck. He recited, sotto voce, the Taoist phrase he had learned from his father and had put to good use many times in his lifetime — wei wu wei - the Taoist mantra meaning do not get in your own way. Act without forcing results. Let matters take their own course.
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Socrates looked closely at Bing-fa and nodded grudgingly. “We have to get something straight, Bing-fa, if I’m going to be able to help you. I need your full cooperation. Otherwise, we’re just wasting our time. Time, I might add, we don’t have the luxury of wasting if you really want the exhibit’s rescheduled opening date to be your deadline for me.
Bing-fa nodded thoughtfully. Socrates welcomed this as his indication of agreement.
“Okay, then,” Socrates said, “this is what I want you to tell me. Was there anything common among the stolen objects that was absent from the items not taken? Some theme, maybe, or some pattern I should be aware of?”
Bing-fa responded by delivering a brief lecture. He acted as if Socrates knew little or nothing about China’s art, history and culture, as if Socrates had not studied the subjects as his college major, as if Socrates had not grown up in the home of a Shanghainese father and Shanghainese grandparents.
Bing-fa concluded his lecture by saying that he and the Embassy’s recently deceased cultural attaché had designed the exhibit to display the splendor and majesty of cultural and historic China for the West as reflected in objects hidden from public view in the Chairman’s secret archives. He also said that the objects selected, when taken together, conveyed an accurate representation of the aesthetic achievements of the Middle Kingdom over several hundred years.
Then Bing-fa laughed softly, and added that China’s cultural achievement included the Middle Kingdom’s success in deceiving the West into believing that inferior Blue & White Export Ware was worth acquiring from China.
“Our decision to include Blue & White Export ware among the many priceless treasures was our little joke on barbaric Occidentals who would come to see the presentation.” He chuckled again.
Then Bing-fa’s face changed and lost its mischievous look. “In making the other selections,” he said, “we did not intentionally seek any common aspect among the objects to be displayed. That never occurred to us. But reflecting now upon your question, I see that such commonality might have existed.”
Mandarin Yellow (Socrates Cheng mysteries) Page 9
