The Fourth Sacrifice (The China Thrillers 2)

by Peter May

  Michael said something but she couldn’t hear him.

  ‘What was that?’

  He raised his voice. ‘So who killed Yuan?’

  ‘The best bet is some guy they call Birdie. Works at the bird market.’

  ‘Why would he want to kill Yuan?’

  ‘Because Birdie’s the last surviving member of the group of Red Guards that killed Yuan’s father. He was sure to have been on Yuan’s hit list.’ She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair. ‘Mind you, he might be the best bet, but he’s a pretty poor one. The guy’s a misfit. Lives on his own with a bunch of birds. Suffers from nerves and can’t do proper work … and a whole bunch of other reasons I wouldn’t even bore you with.’

  She turned off the shower and stepped out of the bath reaching, eyes closed, for the bath towel on the rail. She felt a hand touching her and screamed with fright, opening her eyes with a shock. Michael stood grinning in the steam-filled room, holding out the bath towel. ‘Jesus, Michael!’ she said. ‘You gave me a fright.’ She snatched the towel and wrapped it around herself.

  He cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘That’s not what you said last night.’ And he slipped his arms around her waist and drew her towards him.

  ‘You’ll get all wet,’ she protested.

  ‘Tough.’ And he leaned in to her and dropped his head to kiss the softness of her neck. She felt a wave of pleasure and desire weaken her knees, and smelled the heady scent of his patchouli lacing the perfume of her bath gel. She took his face in both her hands, feeling the scratch of his whiskers, and raised it to meet hers. They kissed. A long, passionate kiss, and she felt his erection press against her belly. And suddenly she thought of Li, stooping as he bent to kiss her. The touch of his lips. Her sudden fear, and flight from the apartment. She broke away from Michael, breathing hard, and her smile was a little strained. ‘Better hurry if I’m going to beat that clock,’ she said.

  *

  The Ya Mei Wei restaurant was tucked away down the unpromising Dong Wang hutong off Kuan Street, opposite the AVICS space technology building. As Margaret stepped from the taxi she had to dodge a phalanx of cyclists without lights, jostling for space in the strip of road left to them by manic night drivers freed from the constraints of daytime and rush-hour traffic. With bicycle bells still ringing in her ears she made it to the sidewalk and peered down the dark, misty hutong. ‘We’re eating down there?’ she asked. And when Michael just nodded, she said, ‘This isn’t another place like the one you took me to in Xi’an?’

  ‘No,’ he said confidently. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

  Fifty yards down, crumbling brick walls rising above them on either side, two forlorn red lanterns hung outside a maroon-painted wooden doorway that was firmly shut. Michael rapped on the door.

  ‘This is it?’ Margaret said.

  Michael smiled. ‘You should never judge a book by its cover.’

  A handsome woman of about forty, wearing a pink silk suit, opened the door. Her face lit up in a smile when she saw Michael and she stretched out her hand to shake his. ‘Mr Zimmerman,’ she said. ‘I am so pleased to see you again.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You are a little late.’

  Michael raised his hands in abject apology. ‘I am so sorry, Zhao Yi. Are we too late?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Zhao Yi said, her smile broadening. ‘Never too late for good friend.’

  Michael made the introductions and Zhao Yi ushered them inside. The contrast with the hutong outside could not have been more startling. This was another world. The centrepiece was a reproduction of a traditional Beijing-style courtyard with sloping green tile roofs and a tiny bridge over a small stream. Along one side, doors led off to a huge dining lounge. Along the other, more doors led off a narrow corridor to private rooms behind screen windows. Zhao Yi led them across the courtyard and into their own private room where a table was set for two, candles burning, soft classical Chinese music playing from discreetly hidden speakers. It seemed they had the whole restaurant to themselves. It was nearly ten o’clock, long past Beijing evening meal time.

  Immediately several girls in matching silk buzzed around them like bees, bringing hot and cold starter dishes to the centre of the table. ‘Just help yourself,’ Michael said. ‘As little or as much as you want. They’re only appetisers.’ He nodded towards the stainless-steel pots that stood beside each place on circular racks above big purple candles. ‘Have you had Mongolian hotpot before?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s a real treat here.’ He said to Zhao Yi, ‘We’ll have a bottle of that Rioja you have. The ’93.’

  She nodded and melted away, leaving Michael and Margaret to pick at the selection of starters: spicy lamb, roasted peanuts in chilli, fish in sweet and sour sauce. The wine came and Michael raised his glass to touch Margaret’s. The light from the candles flickered and refracted red in the wine, and danced in Michael’s eyes. ‘To us,’ he said.

  ‘To us.’ And Margaret found that irritating sense of guilt returning. She took a big swallow of wine and determined not to let Li ruin her evening in the way he had spoiled her day.

  Michael said, ‘There’s one thing puzzling me.’ He paused. ‘No, two actually.’ He thought for a moment. ‘This Birdie character … If there were six Red Guards, and only three murders, how is he the last surviving member?’

  Margaret laughed. ‘That’s your training, isn’t it? You don’t miss thing. Every tiny detail’s important.’

  ‘I told you. Archaeology is just like police work. A slow, painstaking process of digging into the past, uncovering and recreating an event, or a place.’

  ‘You should have been a Chinese policeman. They like their detail, too.’ She took a sip of her wine. ‘I was just talking shorthand, Michael. He’s not the last surviving member. There’s another one. A woman, but she’s blind. The third one was killed at Tiananmen Square.’ She took some more fish. ‘This stuff’s fantastic.’ She washed it down with more wine and said, ‘So what was the other thing?’

  Michael put both elbows on the table and leaned towards her, maintaining a very steady eye contact. ‘If it’s over between you and Detective Li, why is he jealous of me?’

  Margaret wished with all her heart that Michael had not raised the spectre of Li again. It was hard enough for her to keep him from her thoughts without Michael constantly reminding her. She sighed. Honesty was the best policy. ‘The reason we broke up was because his bosses told him our relationship was …’ she searched for the right words, ‘… inappropriate for a high-ranking Chinese police officer.’

  ‘You or his career, in other words.’ She nodded. ‘And he chose his career.’

  Margaret felt a stab of annoyance. ‘It’s not that simple, Michael.’

  He held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. Things never are.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Margaret, ‘he’s just finding it very hard to live with his decision.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘It was hard, I’ll admit. It wasn’t what I wanted. But it’s history now. I’m only looking forward.’

  He smiled at her fondly and reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘I’m glad,’ he said.

  The girls came then and lit the paraffin candles, and filled the pots above them with boiling spicy stock that bubbled and steamed at the table. Plates of raw meat – marinated lamb, wafer-thin sliced pork, strips of beef, marinated prawns still in their shells – were placed before them along with plates piled high with crispy lettuce. They cooked everything themselves, a piece at a time, in the boiling stock, and then dipped it in hot soy dips before letting the flavours explode in their mouths.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ve never tasted meat or prawns so tender.’ And she copied Michael, cooking the lettuce in the stock as well. It cleansed the palate between meat or fish.

  They finished the wine and Michael ordered another bottle. Margaret felt warm, and sensuous and sated, and Michael was making her laugh a lot with a story about a misunderstanding of French farce proportions during
a dig in Egypt. Then, after a while, she realised she had got a little drunk, and that Michael had stopped talking and was leaning his chin on his hands and gazing at her across the table.

  ‘I know it’s too soon to tell you I love you,’ he said suddenly. ‘But I don’t care.’

  And just as suddenly, Margaret felt very sober and her heart was pounding. ‘What?’

  He produced a small red jewellery box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a rose-gold ring set with a diamond solitaire. ‘If someone had asked me a week ago I’d have told them I never expected to marry. But I hadn’t met you then.’ He paused and she saw that his eyes were moist. ‘That’s why I wanted to know about Detective Li. I’m crazy about you, Margaret. I want you to marry me.’

  She sat and looked at him in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then she laughed in disbelief and shook her head. ‘Is that a proposal?’

  ‘It sounded like one to me.’

  ‘Well, then, the answer’s no.’

  His face coloured. ‘Why?’

  She laughed again. ‘Because I hardly know you, Michael. We only met a few days ago.’

  He held her gaze for a long time, then smiled and snapped the box shut. ‘How did I know you were going to say that?’

  ‘Because you know it’s true.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the only problem, it’s easily remedied. With a little time and a lot of exposure.’ His smile faded and he looked at her very seriously. ‘I mean it, Margaret. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.’ Then he shook his head, laughing at himself. ‘And you’re making me feel like a clumsy schoolboy getting his first refusal.’

  ‘Oh, Michael.’ She reached out to put her hand over his. ‘This is all just too soon for me. I need time. To get over Li. To sort out my feelings about you.’ She paused. ‘Last night was wonderful. But I’ve got to know there’s more to it than that. I threw away seven years of my life married to the wrong man. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.’

  He nodded. ‘I understand. I do. So I’ll put the ring on ice, as well as your answer. Because I’m not going to give up on you, Margaret. I’m just not letting you get away that easily. So if you really want to close the door on the past, I’m going to be right there helping you do it.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  I

  He left Xinxin waiting in the Jeep. And then the Chinese security guard in the gatehouse took great delight in exercising his authority over Li by keeping him waiting until Sophie arrived. Officially this was American soil, and Li had no jurisdiction here. It was not often that an ordinary Chinese could thumb his nose at his superiors with impunity.

  Sophie shook Li’s hand warmly. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘We met the other day downtown, at CID HQ.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Li said, and he was aware of her inspecting him with interest. No doubt she knew that he and Margaret had been lovers. Probably the entire embassy knew.

  She led him around the side of the Chancery building, and they headed towards the canteen. ‘Have you been here long?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long. Just about a month.’

  ‘How’s your Mandarin?’ he asked in Mandarin.

  She smiled. ‘I’m Vietnamese. But I don’t speak that very well either.’

  Li looked at her appraisingly. ‘How long have you been in America?’

  ‘Born and bred,’ she said. ‘You don’t think I’d make Assistant RSO at a foreign embassy if I wasn’t, do you?’

  He smiled. ‘I guess not.’

  Dakers was waiting for them at a table in the canteen. It was crowded with embassy staff tucking into breakfast of waffles and pancakes drowned in syrup and washing it all down with strong black coffee. He stood up and shook Li’s hand firmly. ‘Mr Li,’ he said. ‘Good to see you again. Wanna coffee?’ Li shook his head. ‘Take a seat. What can I do for you?’

  Li said carefully, ‘I wanted your permission to ask a few of your embassy people about the whereabouts of Michael Zimmerman last Monday night.’

  Sophie’s face flushed and she said, ‘Why do you want to know that?’

  Li smiled and waved a hand dismissively. ‘Nothing sinister. It’s routine stuff. We’re just establishing where anyone who knew Yuan Tao was on the night he was murdered.’

  ‘It’s hardly routine for a Deputy Section Chief to come calling,’ Dakers said shrewdly.

  Li grinned. ‘I was hardly going to send a junior officer to speak to the Regional Security Officer of the American Embassy.’

  Dakers nodded, satisfied. ‘Fair enough.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I guess I have no objection. What about you, Sophie?’

  She shrugged. ‘None at all. Only you don’t need to go any further than present company. I can tell you exactly where Michael was on Monday night – at least, up until about two.’

  ‘You were at the party, then?’ Li asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘It was me that introduced him to Dr Campbell that night.’ Li flicked her a look and wondered if she knew what she was saying, if she was deliberately rubbing salt in the wound. If she was, there was nothing in her expression to give her away.

  ‘And after the party … ?’

  ‘There were about a dozen of us went on to the Mexican Wave bar.’ She turned to Dakers. ‘You know the place, Jon … where the Hash House Harriers meet up.’

  Dakers nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘And Zimmerman left at two?’

  ‘No, I left at two. I have no idea when he left.’

  II

  There was a spring in Margaret’s step as she strolled past the surly security guards at the gate of the hotel and turned down Ritan Lu past the rows of fur traders. They looked no happier than usual. Business was not any better.

  Michael had gone early, before six, to get out to location, and left his smell and his warmth in the bed with her. She had lain for a long time luxuriating in it, wondering what it was she really felt for him. She found him addictive, wanted to be with him all the time. Early signs of the first flush of infatuation. He was attractive, intelligent, a wonderfully sensitive lover. He had talent, as an archaeologist, as a communicator. She remembered the night at the Sanwei tearoom when he had joined the band to play tenor sax. Talent like that was unusual. And sexy. It was only her lingering feelings for Li that still clouded how she felt about Michael. The further removed she became from Li, she was certain, the clearer her feelings for Michael would become. She needed a complete break from him.

  The blast of a car horn startled her as she stepped from the sidewalk to cross the street without looking. She turned and saw Li’s Jeep pulled up in front of her, Li grinning at her from the driver’s seat, Xinxin waving frantically at her from the back. He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.

  She stomped around the bonnet and climbed in with a bad grace. ‘What are you trying to do, kill me?’

  ‘Actually,’ Li said, ‘I was trying to avoid putting a dent in the fender.’

  She made a face at him and felt Xinxin tugging at her from behind, repeating the same phrase again and again. She turned and Xinxin planted a big kiss on her lips and then giggled hysterically. Margaret laughed. ‘What’s she saying?’

  ‘Hello, Auntie Margaret,’ Li said with a smirk.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Margaret groaned. ‘That makes me sound like someone’s ancient maiden aunt.’

  ‘She was very disappointed you weren’t still there when she woke up this morning.’

  Margaret’s smile faded. ‘Well, I hope you told her not to expect me to be around for much longer. She’s lost too many people already to have her expectations built up about anyone else.’ Xinxin bounced around in the back, between the two front seats, waggling her bunches from side to side.

  Li pulled out into the traffic again, ignoring a flurry of horns, and said, ‘I’m going up to the archaeology department at the university. I thought you might want to come.’

  Margaret looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are we going there for?’

>   ‘I just wanted to ask them about Zimmerman.’

  Margaret exploded. ‘For Christ’s sake, Li Yan, can’t you just let it go?’ Xinxin was startled by the sudden angry words.

  Li said calmly, ‘Zimmerman said he heard about what happened to Professor Yue from other people in the faculty. I just want to check on how many people knew what. I already checked his alibi for Monday night. He went on to the Mexican Wave after the Ambassador’s reception, just like he said.’

  ‘You are such a complete bastard,’ she said. ‘This is absolutely not fair. Michael has done nothing wrong. Everyone loves him. You talk to anyone who knows him. No one’s got a bad word to say about him. They’ll all tell you he’s really good guy. You can’t hound him like this just because you’re jealous.’

  ‘I am not jealous,’ Li said evenly.

  ‘Like hell!’

  ‘Uncle Li, why is Auntie Mar-ga-ret angry?’ Xinxin asked timidly from the back.

  ‘She’s not angry with us, darling, it’s to do with work,’ Li told her.

  ‘What are you saying to her?’ Margaret asked suspiciously.

  ‘I’m just telling her not to worry about you shouting at me. And that Americans are always bad-tempered.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Margaret hissed.

  ‘The point is,’ Li said, ‘I’m just tying up loose ends. We follow one line of inquiry until we reach a dead end. Then we move on.’ But he was not at all certain that he would be pursuing this particular line of inquiry if it was not for Margaret’s relationship with Zimmerman. ‘If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. I’ll drop you off at the embassy.’

  ‘Oh, no you won’t. I’m going with you, even if it’s just to make sure you don’t go getting Michael into any more trouble.’

  She felt Xinxin tugging at her sleeve. She turned and found herself looking straight into Xinxin’s earnest little face as the child spoke directly to her with unusual timidity.

  Li said, ‘She’s asking if you’ve finished being angry now.’

  Margaret pursed her lips in a moment of annoyance, and then found herself forced to smile by the wide-eyed innocent appeal that wrinkled Xinxin’s forehead. She sighed. ‘Tell her, yes. Tell her that I was never angry with her in the first place. And tell her that the next time her uncle starts letting his personal feelings cloud his personal judgement, I’ll slap his goddamn face for him again.’