by Lisa See
“The triads,” he said, deciding to go along with her for now. “I know that.”
“This isn’t about the triads.”
“I disagree. Everything points to them. The immigrants. The body found on the China Peony.”
“But the triads are sophisticated. If they wanted someone to disappear, he would. Why was it so easy to find the bodies of Watson and Guang?”
“I wouldn’t say it was easy. I’d say it was an accident, and accidents are how murderers get caught.”
Hulan shook her head. “Try looking at this through my eyes. Ask yourself some simple questions. Why was I given this case? Why were you asked to come here?”
“You already had the case—”
“No! I was assigned to look into Billy Watson’s death. I had hardly begun my investigation when I was pulled off of it, and I wasn’t involved at all with the disappearance of Guang Henglai. All I knew about that case was what I had read in the newspaper or heard on television.”
“But it still makes sense. These murders are connected. As for me, who else would they ask?”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re seeing.”
“All right then. What am I missing?”
Hulan sighed. “Guang Mingyun is a powerful man—”
“I know that,” he said impatiently.
“I’m not talking just about money.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say. Guang Mingyun also has ties to the U.S. You must find it suspicious that he owns the bank where the Rising Phoenix keeps its money.”
“Suspicious, perhaps. Conclusive, absolutely not. And besides, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She wondered how blunt she should be, then decided on: “His kind of power can be dangerous in this country.”
“Power corrupts.”
“It’s more than that, David. He can make things happen. He has strong affiliations with the army, which makes him a very influential man in our government.”
“Your point?”
“I’ll say it again. You don’t know what you’re seeing.”
David leaned back against the bench. “Then explain it.”
“In China, we hide behind etiquette and formality. Even given these extraordinary circumstances, I would have expected to pass through many layers of bureaucracy before meeting Guang in person. Did you notice how he immediately asked if we drank tea? Guang wasn’t content with my polite refusal. He continued to press the tea on us. Remember?”
David nodded. It had seemed unimportant at the time.
“The longer this ritual is protracted, the greater the honor bestowed on the guest, which, in turn, reflects on the host. Conversely, when the vice minister offered you nothing, he insulted you.”
“I didn’t notice.”
Hulan smiled. “I know, and I’m sure he didn’t like that at all.”
“So this whole tea thing tells you what?”
“It tells me that Guang isn’t blocking us. He wants us asking questions. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”
“I guess I botched it,” he said after a few seconds.
“It’s not your fault, David.”
He thought for a moment. “So when you switched to Chinese, what did you say to him?”
“I apologized on your behalf.”
“So something else happened that I didn’t understand.”
She nodded slowly. “Just as we were leaving he asked about my father.”
“And?”
“I also asked in which province he bases his enterprises.”
“Sichuan, right?”
“My father was imprisoned at a labor camp in Sichuan Province during the Cultural Revolution. Guang was also imprisoned during the Cultural Revolution. It’s part of his mystique. I think he was at the Pitao Reform Camp with my father. They must have known each other then.”
“I still don’t see the problem.”
“I didn’t know my father and Guang Mingyun knew each other.”
“Then why would he tell you that?”
“It was like the tea, a kind of code. It was as though he had stated, ‘We have a deeper relationship here.’ But what’s so strange is that I’ve never heard of it.”
“So he’s still hiding something.”
“Everyone in this country is hiding something”—Hulan shrugged—“even Ambassador Watson.”
“You’re changing the subject,” he said. He eyed her levelly and waited.
Finally she laughed. “Okay, so I botched that one, but there’s something about that man I don’t like, don’t trust.”
“He didn’t tell us the truth, as we know it. But so what? He said himself he’s a busy man. He all but told us he wasn’t a good father. Listen, I’m sure my own father wouldn’t have known the names of my friends in college.” But David had had enough of this conversation. “Can’t you forget Billy Watson and Guang Henglai for a minute?” She turned slowly to him. Wisps of black hair had escaped her scarf and blew gently across her face. God, she was beautiful, he thought. “What about us?”
Her voice was flat as she said, “You have to forget about that.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re married.”
“How would you know?” he asked in surprise.
“They put together a file on you. I read it.”
“Well, let me tell you something,” he said hotly. “They—whoever they are—have their facts wrong. I’m divorced.”
She looked back across the lake. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I never stopped loving you.” He gently touched her cheek. Her skin colored under his touch.
“All that was a long time ago. I’ve forgotten about it,” she lied. “Soon you will return to the United States. You will go back to your life and I will go back to mine. Those who watch us are mistaken to think otherwise. Come. We must get back before Peter finds us.”
But instead of going back the way they’d come, she led him deeper into the park.
He waited for her to speak, then dove in himself. “I don’t know why you left me like you did.”
“You know why I left.” Her words burst forth in a rush. “My father wrote to me and said my mother needed me urgently. We talked about it, David. Don’t you remember?”
“We talked about our both going to China,” he corrected her.
“That was out of the question.”
“Why?”
“You thought it would be a vacation, but I knew I’d be acting as a nurse. I saw no reason for you to come here.”
“I understood that. Then we agreed you’d be gone for a week or two.”
“That’s right.”
“But that’s not how it turned out,” he said calmly. He wanted the truth from her, but he was afraid of scaring her into silence. Hulan had always been secretive; he had always questioned her, trying to break through her reserve, to get her to finally reveal herself to him.
“My mother was sicker than I thought.”
“You never called.” He continued to press her.
“I wrote. I told you.”
“That’s true. After a month, I got that letter saying you loved me and that your family needed you. How was I to understand from those few words that you weren’t coming back?” He hesitated, recalling the arguments he’d had over the years with Jean about his short-comings. He had come to believe that Hulan had left him for the same reasons. Finally he said, “For years I thought about why you left me. I was so ambitious. I’d made partner and was working eighteen-hour days, out of town on cases for weeks at a time. You used to say I wasn’t being true to my goals. Now I can see my failings, but back then I thought I was a walking advertisement for moral rectitude.”
“It had nothing to do with that. My mother was sick. That’s all.”
As the memories came back, he found he wasn’t ready to listen to her. “I started to believe that you weren’t in China at all. Sure, you’d left on that pretense, but were you really here? After all,
you’d rarely talked about your family. You never talked about Beijing. Do you remember the trip we took to Greece?”
He saw her nod and tried to read the thoughts behind her eyes.
“Do you remember that day at the Parthenon?” he asked. “I was reading from the guidebook about Athena and how she had sprung full-grown from the head of Zeus. I said you were like that. You didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day. That’s what it was like whenever I made a reference to your past or your family. You didn’t like to talk about them or China. So when you said you’d gone back to your family, I didn’t believe it. I thought you’d simply run off with another man.”
She stopped, impulsively grabbed his hand, then just as quickly dropped it. “How could you think that?”
“Because I kept trying to blame someone other than myself, because I was tormenting myself with my belief that I’d done something to drive you away. I held myself responsible. All those times I had tried to talk to you about your past…‘Tell me about your father,’ I’d say. You’d answer, ‘He’s in a labor camp.’ I’d say, ‘Tell me about your mother.’ You’d always accuse me of interrogating you. ‘I’m not on trial here, David. I’m not guilty of anything. Don’t treat me like a witness.’ And then you were gone. How many letters did I write to you? You never answered. That was wrong, Hulan.”
“I’m sorry. I regret that.”
“I thought, I’ll fly over there and I’ll bring her home. I don’t know how many times I applied for a visa. They always turned me down.”
“I wish you had come,” she said.
He started to reach for her when he heard Peter’s voice. “Inspector Liu! Inspector Liu!” David turned to see Peter hustling along the walkway in the company of three other men, one of whom held a walkie-talkie. “I was worried about you, Attorney Stark,” the investigator said as he neared them. “We have already had one murder here. We don’t want another. You and Inspector Liu should come along back to the car. I know you still want to see Guang Henglai’s apartment.”
Later, as the Saab sat in midafternoon traffic, David put his gloved hand over Hulan’s. She did not pull away.
When the door swung open to Guang Henglai’s apartment in the Capital Mansion, Hulan heard David’s swift intake of breath. She knew, without even stepping a foot inside, that with its $6,000-U.S.-a-month rental price, it would be vulgar in the extreme. She had already anticipated its excesses, and now as she stood in the doorway, waiting and observing as she always did at a scene, she watched as David moved quickly into the foyer with its glossy black marble floor and smoky glass walls, then disappeared into what she presumed was the living room.
What a shock all of this must be to him, she thought. She could bet that he hadn’t expected the elegance of her father’s office, the opulence of the China Land and Economics Corporation tower, or the extravagance of this apartment. But these things were nothing compared to the jolt of being thrown together again. She, at least, had prepared herself, but he clearly hadn’t known he’d be working with her. But her advance knowledge hadn’t stopped her from wanting to say she still loved him, because she did. At the park, she was ready to put her arms around him and press her lips to his. He seemed only too ready to pick up where they’d left off, but how could they? She knew there could never be any hope for them.
What David valued above all else was justice and truth. He left no room for hedging or extenuating circumstances. But just as his strong beliefs were what she loved most about him, they were also what she most feared, because there were so many things she couldn’t tell him. Her truth and his rigid sense of justice would destroy all that had been between them.
Hulan walked to the middle of the living room and slowly turned, taking in everything around her. Guang Henglai had chosen a place that was new, expensive, and cheaply built. Everything inside these walls conveyed extraordinarily bad taste. She was not being critical. This excessive display of wealth was expected of a Red Prince.
Hand-woven rugs of elaborate design were spread beneath her feet. Soft black suede upholstered the furniture. Flashy modern Chinese landscapes hung on the walls.
David stepped into the room. “Look what I found,” he said, holding up a set of bankbooks. “I think you’ll be surprised at where they’re located and how much cash he had stashed away.”
She doubted that but didn’t say so. Instead, she took the bankbooks from him and fanned them out. Bank of China. Hong Kong National Bank. Sanwa Bank. Sumitomo Bank. East West Bank. Cathay Bank. Chinese Overseas Bank. Citibank. Bank of America. Glendale Federal Savings and Loan.
“All of those banks have branches in the U.S.,” he said. “Several of them—East West, Cathay, Glendale Federal—are based in Los Angeles, and the Chinese Overseas Bank, as you know, is owned by the Guang family.”
Hulan opened one of the bankbooks. She flipped through the pages, noting deposits and withdrawals of $10,000 here, $20,000 there. She opened another. The same thing. She slipped the books into her bag. “We’ll need to take a closer look at these. Compare his deposits with his trips.”
“My God, Hulan, Henglai was loaded,” he said, amazed at her nonchalance.
“Yes, he was, but remember who his father is. I would expect to see these. If we didn’t find them, I’d be concerned.”
“But they were just lying around…”
“This is China. Stealing from a Red Prince would likely be grounds for execution.”
David shook his head. She thought, Different culture, different values, different punishments.
“Let’s look around,” she said.
The kitchen was a spotless panorama of chrome, granite, and modern appliances. She opened the refrigerator, but it had been emptied. She guessed that the Guang family had sent someone over to remove perishables after Henglai’s disappearance. The bedroom was another story. His clothes—expensive Zegna suits, Gap jeans, and a nice collection of leather jackets—were stuffed into the closet. The den—again, more leather furniture, this time in sumptuous beige—was messy. Henglai had probably employed a maid, but his personal belongings had been off limits. A few bills, a personal letter or two, and some notes scattered across a mahogany desk.
Above the desk were pinned several photographs. Hulan leaned in to take a closer look. She saw Henglai—painfully young to her eyes—seated at a banquet. His straight black hair flew out rakishly from his head; his arm looped casually over the shoulder of a friend. In another photograph, Henglai posed with Mickey Mouse along Main Street in one of the Disneylands. Several other photos had been taken at a nightclub. Some showed people dancing. In others, Henglai held a microphone and appeared to be singing.
She pulled these photos off the wall and shuffled through them again. Guang Mingyun had been right. She did know Henglai’s friends and she knew exactly where to find them.
When they left the apartment, Hulan insisted that Peter drive them back to David’s hotel. “You must be tired,” she said. “You need to rest for tonight.” David objected strenuously. He wanted to go back to interview the ambassador. “We’ve got to clear up the differences in their stories.”
Hulan disagreed. “Ambassador Watson and Guang Mingyun aren’t going anywhere. We can see them another time. We need to understand those two boys—who they were, what they did, who they associated with—before we can begin to know their killer.”
At ten that evening, Peter picked David up and drove him to the Palace Hotel near the Forbidden City. Unlike most modern edifices in the capital, the hotel’s architecture was rich, even excessive, in its use of Chinese motifs. The eaves of the red-tiled roof swept upward. Bright green, gold, and red paint, gilt, and enamel decorated the ceremonial gate before the circular driveway. The owners of this establishment, the general staff of the People’s Army, had spared no expense.
When David pushed through the revolving doors and into the lobby, Hulan was waiting for him. He was dressed in the same suit he’d put on that morning. She, however, had gone home to change.
She wore a dress of fuchsia silk cut in the traditional Chinese style. The cheongsam had a high mandarin collar. Frog buttons above Hulan’s right breast and under her right armpit held the fabric tight against her body. Her lavender coat draped over her arm.
He followed her as she swayed through the lobby, down a corridor, and into Rumours Disco. They passed several closed doors as they walked down another hallway and into the disco itself. A mirrored ball slowly rotated in the center of the ceiling, casting specks of light on dancing couples. The music was loud, the lyrics in English. Hulan took David’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. She kept her distance and began to rock slowly from foot to foot. She showed a clumsiness very much at odds with his memories of her. But as David looked around, he noticed that all the dancers had this same awkwardness. The women, he saw, were dressed in miniskirts or tight jeans. The men wore collarless shirts, jeans, and leather jackets. Everyone kept a safe distance from their partners. Their movements were jerky and not necessarily in time to the music.
The song came to an end. In the bored applause that followed, Hulan inclined her head to David and spoke just loudly enough for him to hear. “These are the taizi—princelings. You see that man over there?” David followed her gaze. “He was in one of the pictures in Henglai’s apartment. See that girl over there?” David looked across the room to a young woman sitting at a table with a tall, icy glass filled with a green drink. “We have her photograph as well.”
“Do you know who they are?”
She nodded as a new song blared through the speakers. Strobe lights pulsed to the beat. She began to dance again. An Australian disc jockey began shouting over the loudspeaker as a fog machine sent cool white mist billowing across the floor. They danced for another minute or so with Hulan moving slowly back the way they’d come. David was relieved when they stepped off the dance floor and back onto carpet. He was even more relieved when Hulan sat down at one of the small tables that bordered the dance floor. Just as the thought that Hulan looked stunning tonight floated through his brain, he realized that they were here to be seen. She had dressed not for him but to call attention to her arrival. She had chosen this table because it was prominent.
