by Holly Baxter
“He cares about you. He’s afraid for you. So am I. Two murders, Elodie. And others I just found out about.” He explained about the killings of Chinese victims, and the hushing up of their decapitation. “If this is being done by some secret society, it makes it even worse. Not one killer, but a group. No wonder the Chinese community has been too scared to tell anyone about ming dao. This is not some intellectual game. If they—whoever they are—killed Bernice, they could kill you, too. I don’t want that to happen.”
“You don’t?” She looked up at him.
He smiled, a real smile this time. “It would look lousy on my record.”
Elodie was oddly disappointed by this attempt at humor. “The only new things I’ve learned, thanks to Drew, are about these secret societies. They’ve had them for centuries now. They all have names, although not all of them are as dramatic as shining sword. Drew said one of the earliest ones was called The Red Eyebrows.”
“Good Lord.”
“I know. In the old days some of them were pretty lawless, but now most of them are benign, to do with merchants and charities and so on, sort of like men’s clubs we have that do good. Drew didn’t know much more than that. Except there’s something called Tongs and something called Triads—I’m not clear what the difference is. I can’t see Father Anselm until tomorrow. He’s in Chinatown, today.”
“Killing people?” Archie smiled.
She didn’t dignify that with a response. “And I apparently have to see him off-campus, at his home, because he’s on some kind of temporary sabbatical.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, he’s a priest. Anyway, Hugh is going with me. He promised.”
“And will you promise to tell me everything Anselm tells you?”
“Yes,” Elodie said. “I promise. Because of Bernice.” She leaned back in her chair. She was past the first shock of Bernice’s death. Hard, cold anger had driven out her sorrow, although she knew it would return. Now she felt only resentment that her friend had been killed so callously, and guilt…there would always be guilt. “You said you would tell me all you know about her death, remember?”
He nodded, reached into his pocket, and produced a glassine envelope containing the black and white photograph they’d found clutched in Bernice’s dead hand. “Know anything about this?”
She took it and looked closely. “What is it?”
“It’s hard to tell the size because there’s nothing else in the picture, but to me it looks like some kind of chess piece.”
“A Chinese chess piece?”
He shrugged. “I don’t even know if it’s Chinese.”
“It looks a lot like some of the things in Mr. Lee’s office cabinets,” Elodie said, slowly. “They were carved sort of like this, but not so—”
“Fussy?”
“Intricate,” she corrected him. She handed it back. “It’s very beautiful. If it’s as small as a chess piece, it’s amazing.”
He glanced at it again, then put it back into his pocket. “Other than that, and the details of the post mortem, which you don’t want to hear, we’ve drawn a blank. All we have is that she was in Chinatown at night for some reason, and she was killed. We didn’t find anything in the alley that told us any more. We think she was killed there, however, not somewhere else. It was a dead end alley, so she couldn’t have been taking a short cut. She must have gone in there with her killer, or met him there. The medical examiner said he was probably left-handed, from the angle of the cut, and maybe not much taller than she was.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Sherlock Holmes could have told you what he ate for breakfast,” Elodie said, disappointed.
“And where is he when you need him?”
She looked at her hands, which she was now embarrassed to see were grubby from writing with pencils all day. She moved them to her lap and looked up at him. “Bernice was frightened when I last saw her. Someone had tried to poison Mr. Lee. She said it was because of Suzy’s jade.”
“What?” He was shocked. “Poisoned? Nobody reported that.”
“No, Mr. Lee wouldn’t let them. She said he was frightened, too. But Marie heard her telephoning someone during the night and the next morning she was different. Told me to forget all about it. Said it was nothing. I never saw her again.”
“Maybe the guard was protecting him, then,” Archie mused. “So when Webster messed up their first plan, they tried poison, and scared him into sending Bernice with a picture of…Suzy’s jade? Is that what all this is about?”
“Maybe.”
“But they killed Bernice.”
She nodded, miserable again.
He stood up. “Come on, I’ll drive you home. It’s time Mr. Lee did some explaining.”
***
After dropping Elodie off, Archie drove out along Lake Shore Drive to the Lee house. It had taken most of his afternoon, but he had finally convinced a judge, an old friend of his father’s, to grant him an arrest warrant for Lee. It would help him to get into the house, at least, and finally talk to the elusive merchant. Lee would have the option of talking to Archie there, or downtown. It was the quickest way he could think of to force an interview. Deacon didn’t tell Brett or anyone else about the warrant. The judge was one of his private weapons, used only in emergencies. If that meant he and the judge were corrupt, so be it. Join the crowd, Archie, old son, he told himself. Join the crowd.
Mrs. Logie, the housekeeper, answered the door.
“I want to see Mr. Lee,” Archie said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee is not available.” She started to close the door.
“I have a warrant for his arrest,” Archie said, producing it. “He can talk here at his home, or accompany me to headquarters. His choice.”
She tried to stare him down, but didn’t succeed. Finally she stepped back, opening the door wider. “I’ll see if Mr. Lee will see you. He is not well.”
“Neither is Bernice Barker,” Archie said, angrily. “If he makes me wait more than ten minutes, I’ll call for backup and he can be taken downtown by force. As I say, his choice.” Bluff, of course, but she bought it. Strangely enough, law-abiding civilians usually did.
“Wait here.” She disappeared up the angular stairway, leaving Archie to look around the entrance hall. He hadn’t had much time to examine the house when he was here before. He had been surprised then that the house wasn’t more Chinese, but rather followed the current trend toward an angular moderne décor. On the other hand, the library décor where he and Brett had conducted their interviews had been more like an Englishman’s castle than oriental. Lee was certainly an odd duck, if only speaking architecturally.
But, when Mrs. Logie gestured for him to come upstairs and conducted him to a set of double doors, he was still unprepared for what lay within.
Here was China at last.
The walls were scarlet, the wood of the elaborately carved furniture was black, the carpet was heavily figured in pale colors, and the bed in the center of the room was hung with thickly embroidered golden silk. There were tables with bowls of flowers adding their fragrance to what was undoubtedly incense. The room was large, but felt somehow claustrophobic because it was so filled with furniture, and very warm. The bed, in particular, overpowered the room, it was so immense.
In the middle of the bed lay Mr. Lee, wearing bright yellow pajamas, looking like a fat Buddha at rest. His eyes were black as obsidian, set in a pale face, and his housekeeper had been right. He did not look well.
Archie had an strong impulse to throw open some windows and get some fresh air into the place, but he could see no windows, merely carved screens where windows might be.
“You have come to arrest me,” Lee said. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat were sore.
“I have come to talk to you,” Archie corrected him. He glanced behind him at the housekeeper. “Alone, if possible.”
She looked at L
ee. He waved a hand weakly, and she went out, closing the double doors behind her. Archie moved forward.
“Please sit,” said Lee.
Archie chose a small chair and brought it over beside the bed. “I can see you are not well.”
“A touch of indigestion.”
“I was told you were poisoned.”
Lee was startled. “Who told you that?”
“Bernice Barker.”
The black eyes widened. “You spoke to Bernice?”
“Not exactly. She spoke to someone else. And now she’s dead. Why is that, Mr. Lee?”
Lee looked away. “It is very complicated,” he said.
“I have plenty of time.”
Lee closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, but not to look at Deacon. “Do you know anything about China?”
“Not really, no.”
Lee smoothed the coverlet that lay across his ample middle. “I sell Chinese art objects,” he said.
“I know that. So did Webster.”
Again, Lee waved his hand as if motioning away an annoying fly. “No. He imported cheap everyday things. I do not. My wares are very expensive, Lieutenant Deacon. I sell only the best to the best museums and collectors. They are the only ones who can afford my wares in these hard times.” He stopped.
Archie waited, and finally Lee continued.
“The political situation in China at the present time is very complex. At the moment there is a nationalist government in power, but it is under constant attack from all sides. Japan wants to invade but hesitates. Russia and Germany, also. Many Chinese people want to reinstate dynastic rule, which at least was stable if not altogether salutary, but more and more want to follow the Russians into Communism. Communism does not believe in art, especially religious art, and a great deal of Chinese art has to do with religion.”
“Tell me about Suzy’s jade,” Deacon said, interrupting what looked like becoming a long speech about Chinese politics.
Lee was stunned. “How do you know about that?”
“I know you were planning to show your guests the other night something special in the jade line. I have learned it might have belonged to someone called Suzy.”
“T’zu-hsi,” Lee said, correcting his pronunciation. “The Dowager Empress. An evil, vicious and vain woman—perhaps even a murderess of her own son and others. She held the last power in the Manchu Empire and a more dreadful woman you cannot imagine. They called her the Dragon Empress, and the things she did are still whispered about. She was smart, though. Smart, sneaky, clever. She held the country together through fear and cunning. When she finally died, everything began to disintegrate.”
“She had jade?”
“Of course she had access to all the Imperial jade, a vast collection accumulated over centuries. But she also had a private collection of jade and jewels, mostly for her own adornment and pleasure, which disappeared when the Qing dynasty fell.”
“Stolen?”
Lee avoided his eyes. “One presumes.”
“And you have this jade?”
“I might.”
“Well, you either have it or you don’t.”
“I have some jade which might be part of that fabulous secret collection,” Lee said, carefully. “It was smuggled out of China by…an interested party, and conveyed to me for sale to the highest bidder.”
“Smuggled out and smuggled in?”
Lee almost smiled. “Does it matter? The point is, getting it out of China was most difficult. And therefore the provenance is unproven.”
“Provenance?”
“Proof of its origin or previous ownership,” Lee said. “It is reputed to be part of T’zu-hsi’s treasure. That aside, it is sufficiently exquisite in its own right to command a high price regardless of its lack of provenance.”
“And who took it out of China? Was it Webster?”
“He had a part to play in the negotiations, yes, but it was far too much for him to handle. He came to me. Arrangements were made. The jade arrived safely and is presently in my strong room.” He finally focused on Deacon. “I have new guards,” he said, pointedly. “American guards.”
“You think your guard shot Webster on purpose?”
“Of course he did.”
“And was that because of shining sword?”
Lee said something terse in what Deacon assumed was Chinese. It didn’t sound like poetry. “You know a great deal,” Lee Chang snapped. “How do you know so much?”
“I do my research,” Deacon told him, leaving Elodie out of it.
“You have interesting contacts, then. No Chinese told you about Shining Sword, did they?”
“No. Is it a secret society?”
Lee regarded him with interest. “I had not thought the Chicago police files to be so extensive.” Deacon shrugged, and Lee gave him a little bow. “You impress me, Lieutenant. Ming dao is indeed a secret society, as you call it. One of the most terrible and feared in all China today. It is quite new and largely made up of criminals and assassins, and is allied with the Communist cause. So far in this country it has only reared its wicked head here in Chicago, for some reason. I am sure if it is not stopped it will spread to other American cities with Chinese inhabitants. God help them if so.”
“And this group kidnapped Webster?”
“They followed the trail of T’zu-hsi’s jade to him, undoubtedly. They would have wanted to know where it is now. Some others have been involved in the transport of the jade. There is no knowing how much he told them of the chain—possibly up to the fact I now have it. It’s worth a very great deal of money to them. Money for a Communist takeover of China. They are fanatical. I can only assume they tortured him but somehow he escaped. He came to warn me.”
“About?”
“I have no precise answer for you, as the guard shot him before he could speak.”
“The guard has disappeared. We can’t find him anywhere. He may no longer be in the country. How did you come to hire him?”
Lee was silent for a moment, considering the question, then paled, and hissed like a snake between his teeth. “So,” he whispered. Suddenly he shouted, making Deacon jump. “Mrs. Logie!” The double doors opened instantly, and Archie realized the housekeeper had been standing immediately outside all the time. “Bring Helen Chou to me.”
Mrs. Logie looked troubled. “She isn’t here, sir. She left just after the Lieutenant arrived.”
“Where did she go?”
“I have no idea. One minute she was there in the office, and the next she was gone. I saw her car go down the drive a few minutes ago.”
Lee hissed again. It was quite an extraordinary sound. “So—it was she who was the snake in my bosom. She brought the guard to me, said he was a cousin, and needed the work. I wondered at the time, for I didn’t like the man, but I needed someone, and Helen said he was trustworthy.” He looked at Mrs. Logie with a new apprehension. “My keys…”
“I have your keys, Mr. Lee,” Mrs. Logie said, quietly. “I have kept them with me ever since you fell ill. She could have taken nothing. Found nothing.”
Lee sank back against his pillows, relief momentarily replacing the anger and fear, leaving him looking older, paler, and more ill than ever. “Helen wanted to go as the go-between with the ming dao and now I see why. But I sent Bernice thinking they would not dare harm an American. When they saw she was not Helen—.” He raised his hands and let them drop limply onto the coverlet.
“Now they will try again,” he said, half to himself. “Helen is of no more use to them. I must warn the General.”
“The General?” Deacon was growing more and more confused.
“They are implacable. They will make a new plan. They want the jade and will strike again and again until they have what they want. It is hopeless.”
“We can protect you, Mr. Lee. We can protect the jade,” Deacon said, eagerly, volunteering the entire Chicago police force. “Let us
help.”
Lee stared at him. “But how can you?” he asked. “How will you tell the villains from the honest people? To you we all look alike.” And slowly, quietly, and then with increasing despair, he began to laugh.
Chapter Sixteen
Elodie came in the front door and encountered Maybelle about to go out the same way. “Where are you off to?”
Her older sister wasn’t dressed up to her usual evening standard but instead was attired in a sports outfit of sweater and slacks, which showed off her admirable figure to great effect. “I’m going to play miniature golf with Mr. Neal.” Maybelle ducked her head to check her reflection in the entry mirror, and bared her teeth to check for lipstick smears.
Elodie frowned. “I thought Mr. Neal was married.”
Maybelle tossed her hair and lifted her chin. “So?”
“Does Mumma know?”
Maybelle relented. “It’s not just me, silly, it’s the whole office. This new place has opened up near his house, and he’s invited everybody along, that’s all.” She fixed Elodie with a sane and serious look. “I’m not an idiot, Ellie. I know what I’m doing.”
“Are you sure?” Parker Neal was Maybelle’s boss, and Elodie had met him once. He was handsome, charming, and very very rich. He was also very married to a well-known local society girl.
“It’s not Mr. Neal I have my eye on,” Maybelle said. “It’s Jim Beattie, from Accounting.”
“Ah.” Elodie was relieved.
“Anyway, we have to support Mr. Neal because his wife has left him,” Maybelle tossed over her shoulder as she closed the front door.
Alyce looked up from her usual place beside the radio, and grinned. “She’s just teasing you, Ellie. You know she wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not so sure anymore,” Elodie said, putting her hat and coat in the closet.
“Oh, Ellie…” Alyce said, appalled. “Maybelle…”
“It’s not Maybelle who worries me. It’s everything…people just aren’t who they pretend to be these days. Archie was telling me he met the sweetest little woman last year—but he had to arrest her because she’d chopped up her husband with an axe. He says he doesn’t know the honest policemen from the dishonest. Everybody seems to be wearing masks these days.”