Realising she hadn’t eaten all day and was in fact hungry, Rebecca replied, ‘Oh, Fen, that sounds great.’ And throwing caution to the wind, she added, ‘How about some spring rolls as well? And some green tea?’
Fen smiled. ‘Of course.’
Fen disappeared into the kitchen, her steps quick but graceful, her sky-blue silk traditional dress with mandarin collar flattering on her slim figure. Rebecca climbed the stairs to the Shanghai Room, passing the bamboo birdcages hanging from the ceiling, the gold lotus flower wallpaper, and the bright red rice-paper lanterns. The Shanghai Room itself had a high ceiling, dark wood panelling, several gold-framed paintings of beautiful Asian women on pink-peony wallpaper, stools covered in brightly coloured silks, bookcases filled with leather-bound books, Chinese porcelain and jade, and tables laid with white linen. It was a Western colonial interpretation of China, a nod to chinoiserie. Rebecca found it charming. She pulled out a stool and sat, hearing Chin’s footfall on the wooden stairs, She looked up to see her friend bound into the room.
‘Rebecca Keith!’ said Chin in a broad Australian accent. ‘How are you?’
Rebecca jumped up from her stool and gave Chin a hug. ‘I’m good thanks Chin. But I would be even better if I didn’t keep stumbling upon dead bodies.’
Chin looked puzzled. ‘What are you talking about? Has another chef died?’
‘No, no. Not a chef this time. That book is closed. Sit down. This might take some time.’
Chin sat down on a padded stool next to her, just as Fen brought in a pot of green tea and two teacups. She set them down and retreated. Rebecca hoped the food wouldn’t be long.
After bringing Chin up to date with the fate of Pixie Browning, Rebecca turned on her smartphone and brought up the photo of the red silk body bag with its Chinese characters.
‘This is the bag Pixie was dumped in. Can you translate these characters?’
Chin’s eyes opened wide. He took the phone from Rebecca and used two fingers to enlarge the photo on the screen.
‘This is serious, Rebecca. You need to be careful.’
‘What is it?’
‘This triangle,’ said Chin as he enlarged the photo even further. ‘This triangle refers to a triad.’ He enlarged the other symbols. ‘This here says White Lotus Society. It is one of the most dangerous triads in the world. They operate from their base in Hong Kong but their tentacles extend all over the world, including Australia.’ He then moved the image to see the rest of the characters. ‘This is a number. Number 426. It stands for Red Pole, the enforcer in the triad structure.’
‘What would Red Pole be enforcing?
‘Who knows? There are a myriad of rules that you have to adhere to in a triad. For a start, there are thirty-six oaths you swear at initiation. Breaking any of the oaths brings death by a range of colourfully worded metaphors. You can be killed by five thunderbolts or by a multitude of swords. By the sounds of it, I reckon Red Pole gave Pixie the sword treatment. You could say she was poleaxed.’
Rebecca looked amazed. ‘You seem to know a hell of a lot about triads.’
Chin gave a wry smile. ‘My family may have been in Australia for three generations, but we know what goes on in our community back home, especially in Hong Kong. Mind you, it’s no worse than the Italian Mafia, the Japanese Yakuza, bikie gangs, or other organised crime organisations. Triads are a tiny part of the Chinese culture but significant if you get caught up in them. In fact, some triads have gone on to become tongs in Chinese immigrant communities and are like social clubs, helping immigrants settle into their new country. Tongs aren’t involved in crime in any way. As for a triad in Adelaide—no way. Sydney and Melbourne—yes, there are influences, but not Adelaide. There’s some petty crime but nothing organised. That’s not to say visitors, who have links with a triad, don’t cross the borders or come in from overseas sometimes.’
‘Would Pixie being killed in this way imply she was a member of a triad? Could she have been killed for breaking an oath?’
‘Possibly. You don’t have to be of Chinese heritage to be in a triad, although you wouldn’t make it to the top—that is, 489, Master Mountain or Dragon Head—if you didn’t have Chinese lineage.’
‘What’s this obsession with bizarre names and with numbers?’
‘The naming is just part of Chinese mythology, but the reference to numbers has a long and interesting history. Basically the triads like to use Chinese numerology based on the 1000 BC divination text called I Ching. It uses a process called cleromancy to produce a random set of numbers. The numbers provide guidance for moral decision- making.’
‘Moral decision-making? That’s an irony, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes. The triads like to try to legitimise their existence by referencing the most ancient of Chinese classical thinking, but it is an insult to the wisdom of I Ching.’
‘So then, what are some of these rules?’ asked Rebecca.
‘The rules are based on a perverted form of honour: being loyal to other members of the triad; looking after members and their families financially and in other ways; and not stealing from, killing, or hurting other members. You don’t snitch, and you help any members in danger of being caught. Basically you can kill, rob, and extort anyone else except your clan. Ironically, if triad members treated everyone in society like they treat their own members and families, it would be a pretty good world.’
‘I’m not sure what Pixie did or what she was involved in, but someone didn’t want her around anymore. Either she was hooked up in some way with this White Lotus Society or it’s a cover. Someone may just want to get us off the scent,’ said Rebecca.
‘I wouldn’t chance it. If the White Lotus Society is in any way involved, you need to be careful. They don’t muck around. If they think you are on to something that might incriminate one of their clan, you’ll be hit by five thunderbolts.’
‘Oh great. I wonder what form that would take?’
‘Put it this way: I don’t think you would end up in one piece,’ answered Chin directly.
Rebecca looked at him, trying to work out if he was joking or not. She decided he wasn’t.
‘So, how will I find out more about this White Lotus Society? Is there anyone in Adelaide who could shed more light on triads?’
Chin sighed. He seemed reluctant to tell her anything more, but continued nonetheless.
‘This Sunday is Chinese New Year. You should come. Someone will be here who used to be a triad member. I won’t name the triad, but it wasn’t the White Lotus Society. In fact, his triad was an enemy of the White Lotus Society triad. He was a 432, a Straw Sandal, or liaison officer.’
‘But I thought you couldn’t leave the triad without being subjected to the old multitude of swords or thunderbolts?’
‘Straw Sandal is a doctor. When he lived in Hong Kong, he saved the life of Mountain Master’s daughter. A member of another triad had shot the young girl when she was on her way home from school. Straw Sandal just happened to be in a shop nearby and rushed to help, not even knowing it was Mountain Master’s daughter. He stemmed the blood flow and gave her CPR until an ambulance arrived. In gratitude, the Mountain Master granted Straw Sandal a wish. Anything he wanted was his. Straw Sandal chose his freedom.’
‘Wow, great story. What’s Straw Sandal’s real name?’
‘Dr Ken Wu. If you want I will introduce him to you on Sunday night. But remember, Rebecca, while Dr Wu moved to Adelaide some years ago and is no longer a triad member and no longer bound by the oaths, he has to be careful. He, more than anyone, knows the dangerous consequences of getting too close to triad business.’
‘I’ll be careful, Chin. I don’t want anyone else hurt, especially me,’ replied Rebecca as she eagerly eyed the food Fen placed in front of her.
Bar Torino
Rebecca licked the salt off her lips and felt the immediate urge to take another sip of the margarita, reminding herself not to gulp.
She looked around Bar Torino. Exposed
stone walls ran along one side of the room, with small black subway tiles and mirrors behind the bar on the opposite wall. The black marble bar top complemented the black-and-white tiles on the floor. The industrial light pendants with vintage globes emitted a soft, moody light. Rebecca thought the unusual combination of art deco and industrial styles worked.
Rebecca had just finished her first drink when Sue Barker walked in.
‘Over here,’ Rebecca waved. She stood to give Sue a hug.
‘How did your other interviews go?’ she asked as they both sat down.
‘Oh, fantastic. Walter seemed pleased. I hope I’ve done well enough to get a contract.’ She paused before adding, ‘Pity I seem to be benefiting from a tragedy. Poor Pixie.’
‘That’s just how it goes, Sue. News happens, and if you are on the spot when it does, you either go with it, or you miss the opportunity. Nothing can help Pixie now, apart from telling her story accurately and with respect. You have to try to keep your emotions separate. With any luck, we might even help find her killer.’
‘I know. But I knew Pixie. She was a colleague.’
Rebecca’s response was interrupted by the arrival of two of her oldest friends, Penny Tavanagh and Lisa Harrup. Penny rushed up to Sue and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘Good to see you, old friend. Oh, and you too, Rebecca,’ giving Rebecca a light peck on the cheek. Rebecca couldn’t help but feel like an afterthought.
Rebecca grabbed Lisa and gave her a hug before introducing her to Sue. ‘And this is my dear friend Lisa. Lisa Harrup, Sue Barker.’
‘How do you do?’ said Lisa, exaggerating her vowels to mask her northern suburbs upbringing. It was an upbringing she and Rebecca shared. Those who were educated at expensive private schools intimidated Lisa. Penny Tavanagh and Sue Barker not only attended an exclusive girls school together but were both enthusiastic members of the school’s Old Collegian’s Club. Unlike Lisa, Rebecca wasn’t easily intimidated.
‘I just can’t believe Pixie Browning is dead! She was such a gorgeous woman,’ said Penny as she sipped on her Spanish pinot gris. It had just been poured by a very nice young man wearing a leather butcher’s apron, and Penny’s eyes followed him as he retreated behind the bar.
‘What does gorgeous have to do with it?’ asked Lisa testily. ‘Are you saying her death wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t gorgeous?’
‘Oh please, Lisa. Don’t get defensive. You know that’s not what I meant. I just loved her style and fashion sense. The world’s lost not only a good golfer but also a fashion icon. It’s such a pity.’
‘I suppose you wear her label?’ said Lisa, rolling her eyes.
‘Just because you don’t play golf, Lisa, doesn’t give you the right to look down your nose at those who do,’ replied Penny. ‘And what’s wrong with wanting to look good on the golf course?’
‘Okay, you two. Play nice. I know you can. In fact, you can be very fond of each other when you try,’ said Rebecca.
‘Do you play any other sports, Lisa?’ asked Sue.
Rebecca was grateful for the change of subject. She knew Lisa coped with her anxiety by being aggressive to Penny. It wasn’t healthy for either Lisa or Penny, and Rebecca had been trying to get Lisa to recognise and break the habit, as well as encouraging Penny not to bite. She had had limited success on both fronts.
‘I play netball,’ said Lisa. ‘I couldn’t afford to play golf, especially not at one of the top private clubs. They wouldn’t let me join anyway. I’m not married to a doctor.’
‘Oh, come on, Lisa. You know that’s not true anymore. Women are now full members at most clubs, and it doesn’t matter a fig if you’re married or not, let alone to whom,’ said Penny defiantly.
‘Yeah sure,’ answered Lisa, not sounding convinced.
‘There’re a lot of courses in Adelaide that are very reasonably priced. Perhaps I could give you a lesson. You look like you could swing a club pretty well,’ said Sue.
‘Would you?’ Lisa said with a gulp. ‘That would be amazing.’
Rebecca smiled and took another sip of her margarita before ordering the charcuterie platter to share. She made a mental note to get one of her writers to do a story on Bar Torino as part of a feature on all the new bars popping up around Adelaide.
Being a Friday night, the bar was full and they had to talk loudly to be heard. Rebecca was tired and happy to take a back seat but she wished Gary was with her. She had missed him and wondered when they would next be together. She knew it would be awkward between them now that they were both working on another murder case: she as a journalist, he as a cop in charge of the investigation.
Her thoughts of Gary were interrupted when she looked up to see a handsome man striding purposefuly through the crowd, making a beeline for her table.
‘Rebecca,’ he said confidently as he picked up her hand and gently kissed the back of it.
The others stared.
‘Walter,’ said Rebecca. ‘Glad you could make it.’
She knew there was electricity between them, and it troubled her. She gestured to the others.
‘You know Sue of course. Walter Mildren, these are two of my oldest friends, Penny Tavanagh and Lisa Harrup. Walter is an executive with the American sports network ESPN.’
‘Pleased to meet you, ladies,’ said Walter as he, in turn, kissed the back of their hands.
‘Well, you’re a schmoozer,’ said Lisa bluntly as she pulled her hand away from Walter’s lips.
‘Lisa!’ said Penny. ‘Mind your manners.’
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ said Walter in his Southern American drawl. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind. You know where you stand.’
Lisa took a sip of her wine and rolled her eyes. Rebecca smiled at Lisa, not in the least concerned with Lisa’s rather blunt assessment of Walter. Rebecca knew Lisa well enough to know that she didn’t mean to be rude. She was just being honest.
‘I must thank you, Rebecca,’ said Walter as he looked her straight in the eyes.
‘For what?’
He placed an arm around Sue Barker. ‘For introducing me to this gem. She’s a natural. Did a great job of interviewing today and commanded respect. Including the interview with you, she knocked off five interviews in two hours. All different personalities and perspectives, well researched and superbly handled. I’m hoping it’s the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.’
‘No need to thank me. I’m just glad you have the nous to know you’re on to a good thing.’
Sue smiled broadly. ‘That’s great, Walter. Your praise means a lot to me.’
She raised her glass, and the others followed suit.
As they continued to chat, Rebecca heard shouting coming from the footpath. She could see that something was going on just beyond the picket-fenced boundary of the bar’s verandah.
‘What’s going on out there?’
Rebecca and Sue were already facing the street, but the others had to turn to see. A man was yelling obscenities and lurching around on the footpath.
‘Oh my God,’ said Rebecca as she put down her glass.
‘What?’ asked Lisa.
‘It’s Bruce Wells, Pixie’s stalker.’
‘Who?’ asked Penny.
‘This freaky guy goes to all of Pixie’s tournaments. He’s weird. I saw him on the course yesterday. I’m sure he’s a suspect.’ Rebecca rose from her stool and made her way out the front to hear what he was saying.
‘She’s a slut! She deserved to die!’ yelled Bruce just before he leant over the picket fence and spewed over the bar’s mascot, a small tin-metal sculpture of a bull.
‘Charming,’ said Rebecca.
‘Oh shit,’ said one of the patrons sitting with some friends at one of the bar tables under the verandah. ‘You’ve spewed on my shoes!’
Rebecca overhead one of the bar staff say he was going to call the police. At the mention of police, she thought she better call Gary.
‘Rebecca?’ Gary answered immediately.
‘I think you’d be interested in coming over to Bar Torino, Gary.’
Gary was quick to respond. ‘Absolutely, I’d love to catch up. I’m at work, just around the corner. I’ll be there in five minutes.’
‘But—’ said Rebecca, but Gary had already hung up. She was pleased he was so eager to see her, but he was going to be confused at what greeted him.
Bruce lurched to a table closer to the road and sat down. Rebecca decided to pounce. She walked up to Bruce and stood over him.
‘So, who deserved to die, Bruce?’
Bruce looked up at her. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
Rebecca reeled back at the stench of alcohol on Bruce’s breath. ‘Don’t you remember me? I was the marshal on the second tee block yesterday.’
Bruce looked confused and stared at her for a few seconds before spitting out, ‘Oh, it’s the bossy bitch.’
‘Who deserved to die, Bruce?’ Rebecca repeated her question.
‘Pixie fucking Browning. That’s who,’ yelled Bruce before belching.
‘And why is that, Bruce? Why did Pixie deserve to die?’
‘Because she was a slut! Fucked anything that moved.’ Bruce paused. ‘Except me! Bitch!’
Rebecca looked up and saw that she had the attention of a small crowd. Her party of friends appeared to be especially enthralled.
‘So did you kill her, Bruce?’
‘I gave her gifts. I gave her jewellery, flowers, chocolates, even silk underwear,’ he said through tears of rage, ‘but she just brushed me off. I wasn’t good enough for her. But I didn’t kill her. Some other lucky bastard did that.’
Walter Mildren walked up to Rebecca and took her by the elbow. ‘I think you should step back, Rebecca. I don’t think this is a good idea. The guy’s drunk and could be dangerous.’
Rebecca was irritated. She could take care of herself and didn’t need some paternalistic yank telling her what to do, even if he was cute.
A Royal Murder Page 6