“I also came to see if you’ve done that little errand we discussed on Monday,” he said, quieter this time.
“Not yet.” She pushed the call button for the elevator. “I wasn’t feeling up to it the last two evenings. I’m sure I’ll be able to it this evening, though.”
Jonesy nodded in silence, but there was an intense calculation in his green eyes, and she wondered what was on his mind. She arched an eyebrow, the unspoken question.
“Why don’t we team up,” he said. “I’ll leave the girls to you, like you asked—but let me talk to their landlord while you’re with them. That way, we might still learn something even if the girls clam up on you.”
“But I already talked to them,” Lucy said. “I already learned that Nick came by the building late at night, a couple days before he was killed, and was shouting Lola’s name in the street.”
Jonesy’s face was grim. “But did you ask them if Commander Rose ever came by?”
24
Doug’s work kept him in the radio room well into First dog watch, and when he finally wrapped up and glanced at his wristwatch, it read 5:40—17:40 in military time. Just twenty minutes left until the end of First dog watch, when most of the crew would line up for dinner. He didn’t have much time.
He hurried to the ship’s deck, Starboard side, and found the watch lieutenant. The way the Valparaiso’s shifts worked, the men who’d worked First watch last night—20:00 to 00:00—were on First dog watch tonight, meaning they were there now.
Lt. Richards was on duty on the Starboard, and he gave Doug a quizzical look as he flipped back to the previous night’s watch notes, then turned the log so Doug could see it. Doug read over the notes quickly. Nothing. Doug thanked him and hurried toward the Port side.
Lt. Van Vliet was in charge of the watch there—at least, for the next six minutes. He was noting the log book when Doug found him, so it was no bother to flip it back to the previous night and hand it over.
Doug’s finger ran down the entries, and then stopped at one. His pulse quickened, and he could feel it in his throat.
22:12 – Seaman First Class Novak reported hearing two gunshots fired somewhere off the port bow. The shots seemed to come from somewhere out in the Yangtze River, Seaman Novak estimated one hundred yards based on the sound. No boat engine was heard, so Seaman Novak assumed a Chinese dinghy or junk was passing the Port side, and fired at unknown Japanese vessels closer to shore.
A suppressor would make the shots sound farther away than they were. It would also mute the flash—meaning someone would have had to look directly at it to see it.
What time had Major Cartwright knocked on his door? Doug was almost certain it was about ten-twenty—22:20.
Doug’s glanced at the clock; 17:57, only three minutes until shift change, and chow time. His mouth was dry when he said, “Lt. Van Vliet, I need to speak with Seaman Novak right away.”
**
The daylight turned softer as dusk approached, and shadows stretched across the stone street. Lucy walked on Jonesy’s arm, down West Ningpo Road. Banners in Chinese script fluttered over their heads, and all around them Chinese shop keepers were closing their doors and front windows.
Just before the intersection at Fokien Road, she tugged Jonesy’s arm, and steered them toward a building on the right.
The landlady opened her apartment door the second they walked through the front door of the building. Doubtless she’d been sitting at the front window, watching the street. Round-faced, but with sagging cheeks and gray streaks in her hair, she was about sixty. She wore an old-fashioned Ruqun—a plain gray blouse covered with a wrap-around skirt of dark blue that went over her shoulders and crossed in the center of her chest. Chinese women over fifty still preferred it to the more form-fitting qipao that younger Shanghainese women wore to look modern.
Lucy was opening her mouth to speak to the woman when Jonesy said, “Us wantchee talkee Lola topside.”
After more than a year in Shanghai, Lucy had grown pretty comfortable with Pidgin. Still, the ease with which those words flowed from Jonesy’s mouth was nothing short of amazing.
The landlady scrutinized Jonesy. “What wantchee talkee bout?”
“Talkee plivate pidgin,” Jonesy said.
Private business. Lucy doubted the landlady would just accept that answer. But Jonesy handed her a silver coin—Chinese currency, worth about a half-dollar—and the woman nodded toward the stairs. “Topside number four.”
Lucy wasn’t sure if that meant apartment number four upstairs, or upstairs four flights. The building was five stories, so it could be either.
Seeing her hesitation, Jonesy said, “Apartment four. Go on up, I’ll stay and talk with this nice lady.”
She found apartment four at the top of the stairs after only one flight. Her stomach seemed to tie in knots. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves before knocking.
“One moment!” Lola Cunningham’s voice called from inside, and immediately repeated it in Shanghainese, presumably. The sounds of hurried movement came through the door for half a minute, and then it flew open. Lola looked at her suspiciously, hazel eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes?”
She was in full evening make-up, but wearing black slacks and a short-sleeved white blouse, two buttons open at the top. Her brown hair was pulled back, curled, and piled high. Apparently, her dress didn’t have to go over her head.
“We’ve met, Miss Cunningham. I’m Lucy Kinzler.”
Lola visibly relaxed, and even cocked her hip. “Yeah, I remember. Pretty blonde, super nice to us, real friendly like.” A hint of smile curled the corners of her mouth. “We got somethin’ you want, honey?”
A couple of years ago, Lucy might have said yes. “May we talk for a few minutes?”
Lola’s eyes searched Lucy’s face for a few seconds. “You’re a hard one to read. Yeah, I can spare a few minutes—but only a few. We gotta eat before we go to work tonight.” She stepped aside and motioned Lucy in.
“Thank you.” She waited while Lola closed the front door, then said. “I know you’re busy, but this really is important, so if you’ll just bear with me a mo—”
“Who is?” Tatiana’s sultry Russian contralto asked, emerging from one of the rooms behind the kitchenette. She wore a blue bathrobe, and her face was only half-made. Her long auburn mane was held back by a pair of barrettes.
“This nice lady wants to talk,” Lola said, emphasizing the word as if she didn’t really believe it. She looked back at Lucy with an expression that seemed to say, so?
“You may remember my boyfriend, Doug Bainbridge. You met that night at the Jade—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lola said waving a dismissive hand.
“I told you he’s an officer on the same navy ship as those American seamen who got into a fight with those Italians several weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Lola held out one hand, fingers spread, inspecting her nails.
In other words, get on with it. “What we didn’t tell you is that Nick Bonadio—the one who was so insistent on monopolizing your time—he’s dead.”
A veil fell over Lola’s eyes, and her face went slack. She dropped her hand to her side. “That’s too bad. I hate to hear something like that.” Her voice was flat.
Lucy had hoped to do this gently, but obviously that was off the table. “He was murdered, Miss Cunningham. We know he came by the building two nights before he was killed, and shouted your name from the street. He knew where you lived.”
Lola’s lips pursed, and she glared at Lucy. “Yeah, so? You think I’d kill a fella for waking me up in the middle of the night? I got better things to do.” She marched to the door and threw it open. “Speaking of, we gotta get ready. Thanks for stopping by, doll.”
Lucy planted her feet. “Not until we talk about Montgomery Rose.”
The color drained from Lola’s face. She let the door creak closed.
**
Yes, a man like that came by two weeks ago, the
landlady told Jonesy in Pidgin. He’d described Commander Rose as best he could from Doug’s descriptions of him, but it had worked.
She told him he went up to see Lola, and left ten minutes later. Yes, it was a Friday evening. No, she didn’t know what they talked about. Yes, Lola and Tatiana left a while later, like usual. No, there wasn’t anyone with them.
Jonesy grunted and frowned at that last part. The girl from Zhu Xian’s cell had said they were with Nick at Rose’s party.
The younger man who came by the night before, he said in Pidgin, the one who shouted Lola’s name—was he waiting outside for them?
The landlady shook her head. He didn’t come around again, just that once.
Jonesy frowned again. Too many unanswered questions swirled in his head. Why did they go to the party at Rose’s house, instead of going to work at Roxy’s? What was Rose up to, inviting them, and how had he convinced them to skip work for it? And why was Nick there, if he didn’t go there with them?
This was peripheral to the story he was working on, to expose Rose’s activities. He didn’t quite have enough evidence to go to print—not with only the account of an Anonymous Source—but he could figure out a way to spy on them the next time they sent out a “shipment.” If Nick Bonadio’s murder was connected, that was just gravy.
On its own, the smuggling of underage girls was a second or third page feature, maybe fourth page. With a murder connected, it was front page center, the main headline.
But no, the part involving Nick Bonadio was mostly for Doug. Sure, he could be annoying as hell sometimes, but he was a good guy, with a good heart. And he was easy on the eyes. And he had a nice butt... Jonesy closed his eyes for a second to dismiss that thought altogether.
The thought that kept coming back to him was that Doug was onboard the same ship as Commander Montgomery Rose, working with Rose’s crew to figure out who killed another member of that crew.
He thanked the landlady and told her he’d go upstairs now.
“No! It was my fault! Lola did nothing wrong, it was me!” Throaty and passionate, the words came through the closed door loud and clear when Jonesy reached the landing one flight up. He put his ear near the door of number four, and listened to the voices inside.
*
Lucy turned toward Tatiana, unable to hide the shock from her face. She reminded herself to close her mouth, but she was certain her eyes were still as big as full moons.
“Tatiana, it wasn’t your fault,” Lola said.
But Tatiana shook her head. “I was one who hit him with vase. I make him unconscious, not you.”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on a minute!” Lucy said, holding up both hands. “You said you knocked him out?” She looked back and forth between the two women, who moved closer together. Lola slipped her arm through her taller friend’s, and they both turned to face Lucy.
“He deserve it,” Tatiana said, raising her chin in defiance. “He try to force himself on Lola, so I break vase on his head.”
Lucy was still trying to wrap her head around this revelation. “Who was in the room? Did anyone see it?”
“It was just the three of us,” Lola said, quieter, a faraway look in her eyes. “I was just lookin’ around, never been in a house like that before. That Nick fella, he followed me into this room and closed the door.”
She shuddered, and Lucy’s heart broke for her. She waited in silence, not pushing, knowing what must have happened. After a few seconds, Lola continued.
“He stood between the door and me, and when I told him to let me out, he said ‘Not ‘til you say you’re my girl.’ I laughed at him, what a ridiculous thing to say, but he got real mad. When I tried to walk around him he pushed me onto a settee and wouldn’t let me up. He kept kissing me, and pawing at my boobs. I tried to fight him, but he was awful strong for such a short fella. I saw Tatiana open the door, and the next thing I knew there was this loud crash, and he fell off the side of the settee.”
The two women exchanged a look, and the look in Tatiana’s eyes said she’d do it again.
“What did you do then?” Lucy asked.
“I was kind of in shock. I didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him on the floor. I think he might have been bleeding from where Tatiana hit him on the back of his head. It’s a little fuzzy. Then Tatiana came to me, asked if I was alright. And I kept staring at him. I said, ‘Is he dead?’”
The words came out almost in a whisper, and Lucy imagined that was exactly how Lola had voiced them the first time.
Tatiana shook her head. “He breathed, not dead.”
“Not yet,” Lola said, quietly, staring at a space on the floor somewhere in front of them.
Tatiana looked Lucy directly in the eye. “I say to Lola, ‘We must go.’ And we climb out window and run away from house. We take cab home.”
Lucy’s face screwed up. “So...neither of you shot him?”
Their eyes widened, and Lola’s mouth opened. “Sh-shot him?” she asked after a moment.
Tatiana looked confused. “No, we not shoot him. Only hit on head with vase.”
Lucy’s mind raced. She believed them. Hadn’t she always believed them? But that meant someone else had shot Nick after the girls left. It had to have been either Commander Rose himself, or one of the Green Gang henchmen who were in league with him.
“One more thing,” she said, and held up a finger for emphasis. “And this is important, so try to remember. What time did you leave Commander Rose’s house?”
Lola took a deep breath, and looked up in thought. “We got home a little after two—maybe five past? Ten past at the latest, I think.”
A faint smile stretched Lucy’s lips. The timeline worked. They were innocent. She stepped toward them, and put a hand on each of their arms. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help, both of you. I think I know who killed Nick.”
Or who was responsible, even if he didn’t pull the trigger.
25
Lucy slipped out of Lola and Tatiana’s door, back to the hall, silently closing the door. When she turned she was startled to see Jonesy standing two feet from her, and her breath caught for a second before she exhaled hard.
“You scared me!” She pointed a scolding finger at him. “Don’t sneak up on a woman like that! Especially when she’s spent the last fifteen minutes talking about murder.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Jonesy said, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I was trying to listen at the door. I caught a lot of it, but not all. Fill me in on the rest?”
“It’s incredible, really,” Lucy began as they started down the stairs. “Commander Rose came here that Friday afternoon, the thirteenth, to talk to Lola. He never said how he knew her address.”
“Did they ask?” Jonesy said, holding the front door for her.
“Lola did, but he wouldn’t say,” Lucy said, stepping out into the busy street. It was an entirely Chinese crowd, so she didn’t bother lowering her voice. “He pressured her into calling in sick to work that night, and coming to his house party instead. He offered her double what she usually made at the club—which isn’t much, since the dancers have to give half of their nightly take to the club—but she said no.”
Lucy kept to herself that Lola suspected her role at the “party” was as a prostitute. “I ain’t sayin’ I never done work like that—but that was back in the States, where there weren’t nothin’ else for a girl like me. When I came to Shanghai, I swore I’d never do that again.” Jonesy didn’t need to know that.
“If the extra money didn’t do it, how’d he convince her to come?” Jonesy asked.
“He threatened to get her fired from Roxy’s, and blackballed at every respectable club in Shanghai. He told her he had the connections to make that happen.” Lucy’s chest constricted in anger for Lola, and for every other girl these powerful men manipulated into doing what they wanted.
“He needs to be knocked down a peg or two for that alone,” Jonesy grumbled. He shook his head. “These girls have n
o recourse for threats like that. No workers do. The damned Nationalists and their Green Gang thugs took out all the union organizers in Shanghai during the purge in ’27. The propaganda said they were eliminating communist insurgents, but most of the victims had never belonged to the Communist Party.”
“Well, Lola did pull one over one him,” Lucy said. “She brought Tatiana with her. It was only supposed to be her, and she said Rose was pretty steamed when she didn’t show up alone.”
“Smart girl.”
“She’s no one’s fool,” Lucy agreed. “She told him she wouldn’t stay if Tatiana didn’t stay with her, and she dug in her heels. After a few minutes huffing and puffing, he gave in.”
“What time did they get there?” Jonesy asked.
“She said around eleven. The party was in full swing, and there were about twenty American men there, with about the same number of Chinese girls—all younger than her, she said. She insists she didn’t recognize anyone, until Commander Rose brought Nick Bonadio over to her and formally introduced him. He ‘suggested’ they spend some time getting to know one another. That’s when she put it together—Commander Rose had promised Nick he’d bring Lola for him.”
Jonesy grunted. “Does she know why?”
Lucy thought back on the conversation. “I really don’t think so. She said she had no idea, other than that Nick was part of Commander Rose’s crew. But she guessed that the commander was the one who somehow learned where she lived. She confronted Nick with that, and he admitted that the commander gave him Lola’s address a couple of days before. She asked him why, and he just grinned.” Lucy could picture that smug grin. “I believe her.”
Jonesy grunted again, and Lucy wasn’t sure what that meant. Did he agree with her? “So what happened next?” he asked.
“They talked for a while—actually, she said Nick did almost all of the talking, and I don’t find that hard to believe at all. After a while he wanted to take her upstairs ‘for some privacy,’ but she said no. She wanted to mingle with Tatiana, but he monopolized her time. Commander Rose stopped by to check on them a few times, and his manner made it pretty clear to her that he expected her to give Nick all her attention. She finally managed to get away from him long enough to go to the powder room; she half expected him to be waiting for her at the door, but he was getting another drink, so she took the opportunity to slip off and explore the house.”
No Accidental Death Page 25