by Lisa See
“Look, Brian could have gotten his fellowship from any number of sources, and you wouldn’t have to look very far to learn that I do business with many auction houses and dealers.” He foundered. “Yes…. Well…. Do I need a lawyer?”
“If you feel you need one.”
Stuart thought about it, then said, “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”
“Were you in China when Brian died?”
“I was visiting Cat at the site when they found his things. We used my hydrofoil to look for him.”
Why had no one mentioned this?
“Tell me more about Brian and Lily. I understand they were lovers.”
“More than lovers. They were business associates.”
“He did research for her—”
“Research! That’s funny! He was her courier.” Stuart rubbed the nap of the suede on his armrest, turning it a darker color. “She’s dead now, so I guess it doesn’t matter, but she wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up.”
“Meaning what?”
“She got stuff out of China, then doctored the records so that an artifact would have untraceable provenance. She hired people like Brian to work for her. I give fellowships to kids like him, but it doesn’t surprise me when they do a little extra work on the side.”
Three knocks on the door announced the arrival of the tea girl. Stuart cleared a spot on his side of the desk and told Hulan to move whatever was in her way.
Once the tea girl left, Hulan said, “You still haven’t explained how Lily could get artifacts out of China or how she sold them.”
“I don’t know how she did it exactly. People don’t usually tell you the ins and outs of their criminal activity even if you both know it’s happening.”
“But you’ve given some thought to it,” she prompted.
“Sure,” he said. “Who wouldn’t? I figure Lily used kids like Brian and other archaeologists who’re working on sites in China and need extra cash—I guess that would cover the lot of them—to find things. After all, they’re on a site. It would be very easy to find yourself alone with your brush and sieve, uncover something, pocket it, and keep working. No one would know.”
“Which would explain why Dr. Ma doesn’t know all of what’s missing,” Hulan prodded.
Stuart disagreed. “Brian brought Ma pieces for identification, but I don’t think they came from Site 518.”
“If not Site 518, where?”
Stuart shrugged. “I don’t know, except that the pieces I saw last year weren’t consistent with Site 518 artifacts.”
“What were they consistent with?”
“I’d say the Erlitou site on the Yellow River.”
“But Brian wasn’t up there, was he?”
“Not to my knowledge.” He paused, then said, “As for getting pieces out, just look at the river. If it were me, I’d put my contraband in a bag of fruit or tuck it inside a duck basket, then get on one of those ferries or barges. Who’s going to stop one of those?”
“Who else knew what Brian and Lily were doing?”
“The scholars literally have their heads in the sand,” Stuart answered. “And Cat’s as naïve as the rest of them. Dr. Ma knew, but all he cared about was where.”
“Where?”
“If Brian wasn’t going to Erlitou, then where did he find those artifacts?”
Hulan tucked that thought away, then said, “I get the impression you were one of Lily’s biggest customers.”
“Only at Cosgrove’s.” He hesitated, then explained, “I love beautiful things, but I can’t do anything to jeopardize my position here at the dam.”
“Are you sure she put Site 518 artifacts up for auction at Cosgrove’s?”
“Absolutely. I bought a couple of pieces myself—”
“That you knew were stolen relics.”
“If they were at Cosgrove’s and supported by proper authenticity papers, I considered my purchases clean and legal transactions.” He smiled. “Lily let me know what was coming up for auction. She took me on private tours even before the public previews. She made a lot of money off of me, but you have to understand that Cosgrove’s was just her day job. She made real money—I’m talking serious cash, and it was all cash—dealing on the side. It’s totally illegal and unprofessional. That’s why I never went to her directly, because it always seemed too risky. I guess I was right.”
“Can you talk a little more about your relationship with Lily?” Hulan asked. “Just how intimate was it?”
THE PILOT CONTINUED HIS SIGHTSEEING MONOLOGUE FOR Pathologist Fong’s benefit, but the trip down to Wuhan was hardly as grand as it had been in the Three Gorges. The floodwaters that had been confined within the high, narrow walls of the gorges now spilled over low, wide banks, inundating fields and farm buildings. David could see people sitting on rooftops, whether waiting to be rescued or waiting for the waters to recede he didn’t know. Bridges and roads disappeared into water. What had seemed like just high water back at Bashan now looked hugely destructive, but David felt numb to all of the misery below. He was exhausted and trying to hoard his resources to deal with the day ahead.
The government helicopter touched down at the Wuhan airport, and two vans pulled up. Under Fong’s watchful eye, a couple of men put Lily’s body in the back of one of the vans. David said good-bye and got into the other one. He passed through the terminal without incident, and the flight down to Hong Kong was uneventful. He landed at the new airport, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to take him to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Tourism had been down ever since the handover, so he was given a spectacular room overlooking the harbor. He dropped off his bag, then immediately went to the mezzanine, crossed over into the Prince’s Building through an enclosed pedestrian bridge—thus avoiding Hong Kong’s murderous humidity, not to mention the torrential rain pounding the gray streets below—and entered his favorite tailor shop in the city.
When he’d left Beijing, he thought he was going only to an archaeological dig, but his khakis and short-sleeved polo shirts wouldn’t do in Hong Kong. He didn’t have the three days necessary to have a suit made, so he selected a Zegna suit of fine dark wool. The tailor promised to have the alterations done by three. David then continued on through the passageways and over another pedestrian bridge into the Landmark Building, where he bought some ties, a couple of dress shirts, a pair of shoes, socks, and a lightweight linen sports jacket to make himself moderately presentable when he went to Cosgrove’s.
The Hong Kong headquarters for the auction house was on the fifteenth floor of the Swire House, again just a short walk over yet another pedestrian bridge. The elevator opened onto a lobby paneled in rosewood. On the left, a Plexiglas case held a Tang horse; on the right, a carving of a seated Guan Yin. Framed posters of past auctions decorated the walls. Commerce may have been bustling outside and the weather abysmal, but in here it was utter quiet and sublime elegance.
David gave a business card to the receptionist and said, “I don’t have an appointment, but I’d like to see the person in charge. I have some information regarding Lily Sinclair.”
A few minutes later, the door to the inner offices opened, and a tall, dapper gentleman with silver hair and severe wire-rimmed glasses stepped through. He introduced himself as Angus Fitzwilliams, executive director of Cosgrove’s Hong Kong branch. Fitzwilliams led the way back to his office, and they sat down. The desk was as neat as the man. Although a big event would be happening later today, there were no papers or files strewn about. The only items on the desk were a phone and a photograph of a middle-aged woman sitting on a couch upholstered in chintz. Behind the desk was a credenza, also totally free from papers. The lack of a computer terminal added to the conceit that no work went on in this room.
“I see from your card that you’re a lawyer,” Fitzwilliams said in clipped tones, “so I suppose I should deduce that Lily has gotten into some sort of trouble over on the Mainland. I have to say it was only a matter of time, but if she thinks she’s going to get an
y help from us, you should report back to your client that she’s sadly mistaken.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t it, although I wish it were.” There was never an easy way to break this sort of news. “I’m sorry to inform you that Miss Sinclair is dead.”
Fitzwilliams visibly struggled to control his emotions, then managed, “I always worried about her traveling alone so far off the beaten track. And, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of just how bad those drivers can be on the Mainland.”
“It wasn’t a car accident. Miss Sinclair was murdered. Her body was found yesterday.”
Fitzwilliams’s fist clenched, and he brought it down on the desk with a dull thud. He stared at his hand in wonder and slowly released the tension.
David didn’t speak, curious about what Fitzwilliams would say next.
“When will her things be returned to us?”
Not the usual first question in such a moment.
“The Chinese government will return her personal effects to her family,” David answered.
“Lily considered Cosgrove’s her family,” Fitzwilliams assured David. “Her things should be sent here as soon as possible.”
No questions about how she was murdered or by whom. No questions about when her body might be returned.
“I’m not with the Chinese police,” David said, “so I’m the wrong person to speak to about that.”
Fitzwilliams’s eyes narrowed as he registered this. “Yes, of course you aren’t with the native police. Then what are you doing here?”
“I represent China’s State Cultural Relics Bureau. It was in this capacity that I met Lily.”
“Cosgrove’s cannot take responsibility for activities our employees do outside these walls.”
“But I think you can and must,” David said. “Lily was out in the field looking for artifacts and collections to bring to you. She also wooed clients for you. What she did clearly has a direct connection to Cosgrove’s, and I think any court would agree with me. What concerns me, however, is that it sounds as though not only did you know Lily was into things that she shouldn’t have been but you’re eager to acquire whatever she had in her possession at the time of her death.”
“I’m not accustomed to this sort of situation,” Fitzwilliams admitted. “I don’t know the proper responses you’re looking for.”
Again David waited, using the old prosecutor’s trick. Again Fitzwilliams came through, filling the void just as he was supposed to.
“Lily always said she was lucky, and who was I to deny it? She would browse the antiques shops up on Hollywood Road until she found some treasure or other, then she’d persuade the dealer to put it up for auction. It’s a lot easier to sell through us than to wait for a connoisseur to come through the door. Or she’d bring in a piece of porcelain saying that she’d picked it up in a pawnshop on the Mainland. Since the porcelain wasn’t marked as an antique, she’d bring it out simply as a curio. We’d come away with something that Lily said she’d bought for one hundred yuan suddenly worth twenty-five thousand Hong Kong dollars. She had a good eye.”
David could always come back to Lily as a person and who might hold a grudge against her, but once you let a witness start filling the void, you had to be willing to listen, even if it sounded like an unnecessary detour. You also had to know when to reel your witness back in if he got too far afield. For now David was willing to go where Fitzwilliams took him.
“Tonight, for example,” Fitzwilliams went on, “we have about twenty artworks that Lily found at Cathay Antiquities. It’s an old and reputable company run by the Leong family, but now that the old man’s dead his son Roger is running the place. Lily got him to put up six jade pieces, which are estimated to sell for about two hundred thousand Hong Kong—twenty-five thousand dollars U.S.”
Those could be the jade artifacts that Dr. Ma had told David about.
“What was Lily’s role in all this?” he asked, hoping to draw Fitzwilliams out without being too obvious.
“You have to understand,” Fitzwilliams said, “this is Hong Kong—the great global shopping mall—where every merchant thinks about inventory and supply. There are only so many Chinese antiques in the world. Roger didn’t know the value of what he had, and he was also selling to customers who didn’t know what they were getting. Lily identified what was genuine, potentially profitable, and aesthetically pleasing.”
“What about provenance?” David asked.
Light refracted off Fitzwilliams’s glasses as he answered. “Lily always validated Cathay’s claims of provenance. I was skeptical of several of those documents, but wrongdoing in the art market is hard to prove even for us here at Cosgrove’s. We can’t and don’t condone criminal activity. What I’m trying to tell you is that I had no proof and I couldn’t very well fire Lily without it.”
“People have been fired for less than what you’re telling me now.”
“Unfortunately that wasn’t possible. Lily was a strong-willed woman.”
Fitzwilliams was an English gentleman of the old school. And although his debonair manner must have served him well in the art business, he was as readable as any other man. Beneath the smooth answers David heard fear, and he’d caught Fitzwilliams’s unconscious glance at his wife’s framed photo as he’d spoken about Lily’s disposition.
“You had an affair with Lily,” he surmised.
Fitzwilliams took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Actually no, but how could I prove otherwise? It would have been her word against mine, and Lily could be very persuasive. She was an excellent saleswoman.”
“So you were concerned about personal embarrassment.”
“Wouldn’t you be in the same situation? I love my wife very deeply, and I saw no reason to cause her needless pain. I hope and believe that she would have known the truth, but gossip can do a lot of harm to a marriage. I was worried about Cosgrove’s reputation as well. Our industry has suffered in recent years from scandals of various sorts. Fortunately Cosgrove’s has remained out of the press.”
Which, David noted, did not mean that Fitzwilliams was denying any wrongdoing on Cosgrove’s part—only that any whiff of indiscretion had not yet found its way to the media. In fact, from where David sat, Cosgrove’s was a lot closer to a sophisticated artifact-laundering operation than an art purveyor. Objects came in with dubious credentials and came out with the legitimate provenance of having been sold at Cosgrove’s.
“When was the last time you saw Lily?”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re implying. I can prove that I haven’t left Hong Kong for several months.”
The image of this prim man draining the blood from Lily’s body flashed through David’s mind. No, he didn’t see Fitzwilliams as the killer.
“When did you last see her?”
“Lily was here about a month ago. She brought in several artworks, which we’ll be selling tonight. I was quite aggravated with her frankly, because we’d missed the deadline for the catalog. She’d given us descriptions, of course, but we didn’t have photos. The prices we realize are very dependent on catalog photos, because they attract interest from people who can’t bid in person. But Lily assured me that these pieces would bring in record prices even without the photos.” Fitzwilliams lifted his shoulders, suddenly at a loss for words. “Did you ever meet her?”
“Briefly, and I know that she was not the person she pretended to be.”
Fitzwilliams sighed regretfully, but the English accent, the elegant surroundings, and his pseudo-pious demeanor didn’t change the fact that Lily had probably been selling illegally obtained artifacts through Cosgrove’s. David knew, though, getting the man before him to admit that would be difficult. “I believe there are some items to be auctioned tonight that came from an archaeological dig on the Mainland,” he said.
Fitzwilliams looked at David in stark indignation. “We don’t have anything like that!”
“The jade pieces you mentioned earlier are probably from Site
518. I’ve also heard that you have a ruyi going on the block tonight. Unfortunately, Lily Sinclair is the prime suspect in the smuggling of several artifacts matching these descriptions, if not the thefts themselves.”
“Well,” Fitzwilliams responded hesitantly, “I’d need to see documentation with those objects properly identified.”
Knowing that wasn’t possible, David offered another option. “I was hoping you’d show me the documentation for the pieces that go on sale tonight.”
“All of them?” Fitzwilliams inquired with false sincerity. “We have one hundred artworks on the block this evening.”
“Just the pieces that Lily brought in,” David amended, realizing full well that Fitzwilliams had known exactly what he was asking for.
Fitzwilliams shook his head in abrupt little jerks. “That won’t be possible. Our files contain privileged information. However, I think what you’re looking for is readily available in the auction catalog, which provides a thorough description according to our standards. I’ll make sure that you’re given a complimentary copy before you leave. This will also serve as your ticket into the preview, if you’d care to see the items before the auction begins.”
“I appreciate that,” David said, “but why not pull the questionable pieces from the auction until they can be properly authenticated?”
“It’s too late for that.”
“I could get an interlocutory injunction.”
Fitzwilliams’s supercilious smile told David just how complicit the director had been in Lily’s illicit activities. The man practically gloated as he said, “It’s Saturday afternoon. By the time you get one, the auction will be over.”
Which would mean David would have to retrieve the pieces from their new owners. It would be a difficult, time-consuming, but not insurmountable job.
In the most civilized and pleasant manner, Fitzwilliams gave David the catalog for tonight’s auction, then very definitely gave him the boot. David stopped for lunch, then went to the tailor to pick up his suit. Once back in his room he turned on the TV to a BBC news broadcast and began leafing through the Cosgrove’s catalog Fine Chinese Ceramics, Works of Art, and Jade Carvings. On nearly every page was a spectacular four-color photo of a sculpture, ceramic, or bronze accompanied by a description written in the most academic verbiage that incorporated dimensions, stylistic components, historical information, and from which collection the piece was being sold.