The Chinese Tiger Ying

by Larry Darter

  “That’s impossible, William,” Brandi said. “My client would be outraged simply to learn you even know of the auction. As I told you, the consignor wishes to be anonymous. He might accuse me of breaching our agreement and pull the entire consignment.”

  “Either meet my demand, Ms. Camargo, or we shall do no further business, ever,” Chambers said. “I’ll find another dealer.” He turned on his heel, marched to the front door and went out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the window glass.

  Brandi looked crestfallen when I walked back over to her. While I’d found the conversation interesting, it didn’t seem proper for me to comment on anything I had overheard. Instead, I intended only to ask for the address I’d come for.

  “What was it you wanted, T. J.,” Brandi said after a while.

  “I need the address for Salina Clark’s flat,” I said. “I went around to see her at work, but she was out. Given she is in outside sales, it would be difficult to catch her at work to have a word. I thought I’d bowl round to her flat tomorrow and have a chat.”

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Brandi said. “I told you Salina would not steal from me.”

  “All the same I must,” I said. “We’ve been over it. It is necessary for me to interview every person, no matter how remote the chance, who could have accessed a key to the shop.”

  “Oh, all right,” Brandi said. She turned and picked up her mobile from the counter and paged through it. Then she recited the address while I copied it in my notebook.

  “Was there anything else?” Brandi said. “It’s past closing time.”

  “Ah, no... oh wait, actually yes,” I said. “A bit of news. Lee Tran, the security officer who attended the alarm here the morning Tiger Ying was pinched, was found dead.”

  “Dead!” Brandi exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “The Honolulu police believe someone murdered Tran,” I said.

  “Then I was right about him,” Brandi said. “He must have been involved in the theft. Otherwise, why would someone murder him?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said, borrowing the line Nix had dropped on me earlier. “It could be only a coincidence.”

  “I’m certain he was involved,” Brandi said. “He probably attempted to sell Tiger Ying to a buyer and was killed in the bargain.”

  “We don’t know that,” I said.

  “Good heavens! That means the police will get involved now and they will tell Austin Bryce someone has stolen Tiger Ying.”

  “It's unnecessary to throw a wobbly, Brandi,” I said. “The police are looking to solve Tran’s murder not to investigate the theft. They haven’t any reason to speak to Bryce. He isn’t a suspect in the murder since he doesn’t even know about the theft.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Brandi said. “At any rate, you must find Tiger Ying as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll give it heaps,” I said. “Hopefully, we will get it sorted soon.”

  Nine

  Saturday morning I had showered, dressed, and was out the door at nine on my way to Salina Clark’s flat. It was on Kaloko Lane up near the Punchbowl National Cemetery. When I arrived, I found she lived in a duplex rather than the expected apartment building.

  It was an older place but looked well cared for. After parking the motorbike in the driveway, I went to the door and rang the bell. I heard footsteps inside, and then the door was opened by a fortyish looking fair-skinned, slender woman with her red hair in a butch cut—clipped close all the way up on the sides with length on top. She had a long narrow face with a high forehead and pointed chin. She wore a black singlet top over black spandex shorts.

  “Yes?” the woman said.

  “Hi, I’m T. J. O’Sullivan,” I said. “I work for Brandi Camargo. Ms. Clark, can we have a word?”

  “Brandi?” she said. “What’s this about?”

  “If I could have five minutes of your time, I’m happy to tell you all the details.”

  “All right I guess,” Clark said.

  She stood aside, and I walked in. Clark closed the door and said, “This way.”

  I followed her into a small lounge off the entry.

  Clark waved a hand at a beige sofa and said, “Please sit down.”

  She sat down across from me in a matching armchair. I glanced around the room. Everything was done in beige. The decor was modern, and minimalist. Clark sat with her legs crossed at the knee, her elbows resting on the arms of the chair, and her hands clasped together in front. She looked about five foot eight, but the tiny shorts and long legs made her look taller.

  “You have a cute accent,” Clark said. “Is it Australian?”

  “Not even,” I said. “I get that a lot, but I’m from New Zealand, actually.”

  Clark smiled and nodded. “So, what did you want to talk with me about?”

  “There was a theft from Brandi’s shop last week,” I said. “I’m making inquiries into it.”

  Clark frowned. “And that involves me how?”

  “I’m interviewing everyone who may have had access to the keys to Brandi‘s shop,” I said. “I understand you and Brandi lived together at one point. That would have at least in theory given you access to the keys.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Clark said. “That slut gave you my name as a suspect in a theft from her store?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Brandi said there was no way you were involved. You aren’t being accused of anything. This is only a routine inquiry because of the potential access to the shop keys.”

  “We broke up months ago, and I moved out,” Clark said. “And, I was never involved in Brandi’s business. I didn’t share her enthusiasm for old junk. I wouldn’t even recognize the key to her store if you showed it to me.”

  “I see,” I said. “Could you tell me where you were from late Monday evening to early Tuesday morning last week?”

  “You’re asking if I have an alibi? You have some nerve, barging into my home on a Saturday morning interrogating me.”

  “Sorry, I had hoped your concern for a friend would prompt you to help with my inquiries,” I said.

  “Brandi and I aren’t friends,” Clark said. “We were in a relationship until she cheated on me with a man and we broke up. We no longer have any association.”

  “I understand how awful that must have been for you,” I said. “You’re speaking of Justin Wood?”

  “Yes, that’s the guy she was screwing behind my back,” Clark said. “He was her diving instructor.”

  “Is there anything you might tell me about Justin Wood?”

  “Nothing other than what I already have. I’ve never met the creep.”

  Clark stood up, her arms folded across her chest.

  “If there is nothing else I can do for you, I was about to do my yoga workout when you arrived,” she said.

  I stood up and slipped my notebook into my pocket. “Of course,” I said. “Sorry for any upset and thanks for your time.”

  I followed Clark back to the front door and went out after she opened it.

  “Have a lovely day,” I said before turning to walk to the motorbike.

  “You ride a motorcycle?” Clark said.

  “Yes, I find it makes it easier to get around given the congested Honolulu motorways.”

  “Ms. O’Sullivan, T. J. isn’t it? I’m sorry if I’ve behaved rudely. It was a shock to learn Brandi might suspect me of stealing from her. Before she decided she wanted a man in her life, we had a fantastic relationship. Things still feel a little raw on that front.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “No worries, Ms. Clark. It’s only my job to ask the questions I did.”

  Clark nodded and smiled. “Please call me Salina,” she said. “Perhaps we could have a drink together one night soon? I feel terrible we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot this morning. I’d like to make it up. I could give you my number.”

  “I’m sure having drinks would be lovely,” I said. I took out my
notebook and jotted down Clark’s phone number as she gave it. “Cheers, and thanks. See you soon.”

  Clark smiled again and waved.

  I put on my helmet, climbed onto the motorbike, and rode away. “Bloody Nora,” I thought. With all my confusing emotional issues having a date with another woman wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. Clark was an attractive woman. The problem was I wasn’t attracted to women, not in that way. I hadn’t wanted to leave her feeling rejected, but I wouldn’t be ringing Clark for drinks anytime soon.

  The morning hadn’t been an utter write-off. While I hadn’t pressed Clark for an alibi, she had seemed forthcoming as far as the questions she had answered. It seemed I could safely cross her off my unofficial list of suspects.

  When I arrived home at half past ten, Jackie was sitting in her car out front. She got out and followed me into the garage while I put the motorbike away.

  “How’s it going?” I said.

  “Good, how are you doing?” Jackie said. “Thought I’d drop by to check on you since I didn’t hear from you yesterday.”

  “Ah, thanks,” I said. “You’re such an awesome mate. I’m all good.”

  “Did you make an appointment to see a therapist?”

  “Yep, and I’ve already had my first session, actually.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Jackie said. “How did it go?”

  “It was okay,” I said. “It’s only one session, but I’ve felt a bit less gloomy and miserable since I went. And, the therapist seems like a good chap.”

  Jackie beamed. “I was sure it would help for you to talk with someone. Feel like drinks and dinner tonight?”

  “I reckon, as long as it’s only a restaurant,” I said. “I’m not up for a pub or clubbing yet.”

  “Sure, how about Italian? There is a nice place on Waikiki. The food is marvelous. They have a great wine list and a full-service cocktail bar.”

  “Sounds awesome,” I said. “Fancy a swim? I was planning to go down to the beach out back. I’ve got extra togs.”

  “No, I can’t,” Jackie said. “I was on the way to the supermarket to do grocery shopping. I’ll pick you up at seven this evening.”

  “Cool,” I said. “We could take the motorbike, but I don’t have a spare helmet.”

  We both laughed. Jackie said goodbye and left. I went inside and changed into my togs. I grabbed a beach towel, and a Corona then headed down to the beach.

  Ten

  It was a sunny Monday afternoon, and I was on the way to Makana Antiques and Treasures again, this time to interview Brandi Camargo’s part-time shop girl, Chloe. It seemed easier to catch up to Chloe at work than to track her down at uni.

  Jackie and I had a mean feed Saturday night at the Waikiki restaurant she had chosen. After a bottle of pinot noir with dinner, we’d carried on with serious drinking, and we both got trolleyed. Around two Sunday morning, we took a taxi back to my place, leaving Jackie’s car at the car park since neither of us was fit to drive. We slept until almost noon. Then Jackie got dressed and left in a taxi to retrieve her car. I had a sore head and felt a bit crook for most of the day, but was over the hangover mostly by late Sunday afternoon.

  I could hear a man shouting before I pushed open the shop door. There was an older chap giving Brandi a good rark up while swinging a walking cane about like a madman, knocking things off the front counter. Brandi had pressed herself against the wall behind the counter. She had a look of horror on her face.

  Spreading my feet with hands on hips I shouted above the din, “Oi, mate! You want to stop flailing about with that cane before someone gets an eye poked out!”

  The old fella paused. His head swiveled around to look at me. He eyed me from behind a rounded pair of black eyeglasses that looked like a pair he'd pinched from Harry Potter. He was a gaunt man, rail thin and reedy. Looking as if he’d just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalog, he wore a Fitzgerald fit navy two-button blazer over a dark blue turtleneck shirt with grey plaid cotton chinos and a pair of black leather cap toed shoes. His hair was long and silver, and slicked tight against his head, touching his collar.

  The man gave me a droll look and said, “Who the hell are you?”

  I said, “The chick who will snatch away that cane and give you a proper hiding with it if you don’t stop what you’re doing.”

  The man’s head swiveled back to face Brandi. She cleared her throat.

  “Mr. Austin Bryce, meet T. J. O’Sullivan,” she said. “T. J. is working with me on a special project. T. J., Austin is one of my dearest clients.”

  “Not anymore,” Bryce growled. “I’m canceling the consignment. I’ll send a van over this afternoon to collect the balance of my pieces. You have twenty-four hours to return Tiger Ying or to hand me a check for two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars.”

  “Austin, be reasonable,” Brandi said. “I’ve already sent out the auction invitations, and it isn’t my fault someone stole Tiger Ying.”

  Bryce harrumphed. “All the more reason to take possession of my artifacts,” he said. “The security at this dump is clearly subpar. If I don’t have Tiger Ying or the check-in twenty-four hours, I shall swear out a complaint with the police and see you jailed.”

  Bryce whirled about and strode to where I was standing and said, “Stand aside young lady.”

  I stepped to the left to let him pass, and he strode out the front door. After he slammed it, the little bell above the door fell to the floor making one final tinkle before it went silent.

  “Bloody hell,” I said to Brandi. “He seems mental.”

  “I believe I mentioned Austin can be difficult,” Brandi said. “He is a little eccentric.”

  “I’ll say. How did Bryce find out about the theft?”

  “He said someone told him, but refused to say who,” Brandi said. “I can’t imagine who it was. Any word on Tiger Ying?” She sounded desperate.

  “Sorry, no,” I said. “I only popped in to have a word with Chloe. Isn’t she working this afternoon?”

  “No, she didn’t come in,” Brandi said. “Friday afternoon before you were here, she told me she was ill and took off early. When she didn’t show up for work today, I tried calling her mobile three times, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Did Chloe know someone had stolen Tiger Ying?”

  “Yes, I mentioned it to her Friday before she went home sick,” Brandi said. “Oh dear, she must have told Austin. No one else knew about the theft except us.”

  “Odd,” I said. “First the security officer you suspected in the theft is murdered. Now your shop girl goes missing. Where does Chloe attend uni?”

  “The University of Hawai’i at Mānoa,” Brandi said.

  “Does she live in the dorms on campus?”

  “No, she shares a bungalow with her disabled father in Makiki Heights northeast of downtown.”

  “Can I have the address?” I said.

  “Yes,” Brandi said. “I’ll get her job application from my office.”

  She went to the back and then returned a few moments later with the application. I copied the address in my notebook while Brandi read it off.

  “I’m going over there to see if I can turn up Chloe and learn what she knows,” I said.

  “I can’t believe she would be involved in the theft,” Brandi said. “She is such a nice young girl and a hard worker.”

  “Still, it’s simply far too odd she hasn’t been at work essentially since Tiger Ying went missing,” I said. “I must interview her to make certain she isn’t involved.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Brandi said. “Whether I should close early before the van arrives to haul away Austin’s consignment pieces, or stay here and let them go.”

  “If he is adamant about having them back, I don’t think you can keep them from him,” I said. “But no worries about his threats. The police will not arrest you simply on his word. But, with that in mind, I think the time has come for you to call the police. It would be better for you to get ou
t in front of any accusations Bryce may make.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Now that Austin knows, there isn’t any reason not to report the theft to the police.”

  “Good on you,” I said. “While I go over to Chloe’s house, you can phone the Honolulu police and make a report.”

  “I still want you to continue, T. J.,” Brandi said. “I still have a little time left before I must cancel the auction. If we can find Tiger Ying in time, maybe I can convince Austin to go through with the auction as planned.”

  “Yep, sure,” I said. “I’ll stay on it.”

  Eleven

  On the way to Chloe’s place I contemplated what I’d learned about the case. Precious little was what it was. There was the murder of Lee Tran and now the unexplained disappearance of Brandi Camargo’s shop girl. It felt like there had to be a connection between those two occurrences. If I was meant to make any headway on finding Tiger Ying, I had to work out that connection.

  Makiki is a Honolulu neighborhood situated in the foothills of the Ko’olau Mountains northeast of downtown Honolulu. It stretches east to west from Punahou Street to Pensacola Street and north to south from Round Top Drive to Lunalilo Freeway. Punchbowl, an extinct tuff cone, overlooks Makiki. The neighborhood is outside of the hustle and bustle and busy streets of Waikiki, but close enough to be convenient to downtown.

  Arriving at the address on Kaululaau Street Brandi had given me, I found a modest gray frame home with a low roof and an older sun-faded red Ford sedan parked in the driveway out front. There was just enough space for me to squeeze the motorbike into a spot beside it. Kaululaau Street, a major thoroughfare through Makiki Heights, had a steep grade running on an upward slope toward Punchbowl and Mount Tantalus. The builders had constructed the homes along Kaululaau in stair-step fashion with the ends facing the street and the fronts facing downhill.

  Following the paved footpath to the front door, I stepped onto the covered porch. There was no bell, so I knocked on the wooden door frame. I was sure I heard movement inside after knocking, but no one answered the door. Knocking several more times brought the same result, no response. Leaving without having a word with Chloe wasn’t what I was after. Continuing to knock then seemed the only option, but after several minutes, my knuckles were hurting. It occurred to me that perhaps trying the back door might at least show to the occupants I’d persist if they continued ignoring me.