Strachan took them and strode over to where the gardener was leaning on his bamboo brush.
Danilov turned back to look at the bench. Such a beautiful spot. Why would anybody want to despoil it with a corpse? And his mind wandered back to another park bench in another beautiful park; Elsie Everett lying dead, her throat slashed to the bone. It couldn’t be the same killer, could it?
Strachan coughed. ‘The gardener says he’s never seen them before. The paths are swept every day.’
‘I think our killer placed them here for us to find, Strachan.’
‘Why, sir?’
Theatrically, Danilov looked behind him. ‘You ask me, and I ask who?’
Strachan coughed once again. ‘One other thing, sir. The gardener tells me there was a commotion yesterday, just after noon.’
‘The discovery of a dead body is not normally described as a “commotion”, Detective Sergeant Strachan.’
‘No, sir. He said they found a dead snake yesterday, over on the far side of the Country Club, near the road, just before the body was discovered.’
‘A dead snake? Do they find many dead snakes in these parts?’
‘He said it was the first one.’
‘Strange, Strachan. This investigation is getting stranger and stranger.’ He checked his watch. ‘Let us go. Dr Fang will be waiting for us and you know how he hates to be kept waiting.’
‘I do, sir. Time is bodies, he always says. For the rest of us, it’s only money.’
34
‘I’ve an appointment at 10.45.’
Miss Cavendish checked in the book. ‘You’re five minutes early, Inspector Cartwright. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.’ She leant forward and whispered, ‘He’s a bit of a stickler for punctuality. Can’t be early, can’t be late.’
Cartwright drummed his fingers on the desk. At exactly 10.45, the intercom on the desk buzzed into life. A tinny voice said, ‘Show Inspector Cartwright in, Miss Cavendish.’
She pointed to the door.
Cartwright tapped gently on it, waiting for the word ‘Enter.’ He felt like a schoolboy going to see the headmaster because he had farted in class.
He knocked again. This time the answer came loud and clear. ‘Come in.’
Chief Inspector Rock was sitting behind his desk, his back as straight as a ruler. The desk itself was pristine, with not a paper, pencil or piece out of place.
Rock indicated the bentwood chair in front of the desk. ‘Cartwright, you wanted to see me.’
Straight down to business; he doesn’t hang around, this one. ‘Yes, sir.’ He coughed twice to clear his throat. ‘As you know, I and my partner, Charles Meaker, were severely underused by your predecessor.’
‘Why was that?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I think we had different approaches to policing…’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, sir. I don’t want to speak badly of Chief Inspector Boyle but he was very old school, sir.’ He paused for a moment to let the implications of the statement dig their way into Rock’s skull. ‘He didn’t like to plan or institute programmes, sir. He was much more of a “fly by the seat of your pants” type of copper.’
‘The old school.’
The points seemed to have struck home. ‘So myself and Charlie, I mean Charles Meaker, would like to be more involved, sir. We feel we have a lot to offer with our experience of planning and researching major cases.’
‘I thank you for your offer, Inspector. It’s not often that a detective asks for more work.’
‘I know, sir. But with your arrival, and the implementation of better, more modern methods of investigation…’ Cartwright paused once again to let the flattery sink in. ‘…I know we can do far more to advance the apprehension of criminals, sir.’
Rock sat back in his chair. ‘Were you thinking of any area in particular?’
Cartwright matched his body language. It was an old trick taught to him by a bent sergeant in the Military Police. ‘Always sit the same way as the tosser you’re interviewing, George. Puts ‘em at ease. Makes ‘em feel unthreatened. Then, you stick the knife in, understand?’
He understood.
‘I was thinking we could be useful on the assault and murder of the young woman, sir.’
‘Danilov’s case?’
Cartwright pretended to be surprised. ‘Is he investigating it, sir? We could be useful in the planning and research. Help with the legwork. Danilov’s a bit of a loner, sir. Sometimes, he gets in over his head and I get called in to help him out. It happened a few times when Chief Inspector Boyle was around.’
Rock sat forward and Cartwright matched his position. ‘Danilov’s a good officer, but I heard he was a bit of a maverick, not a team player, hides information from the rest of his colleagues.’
Cartwright held his arms up, the picture of innocence. ‘I couldn’t say, sir. But, between you and me, Chief Inspector Boyle was far too lenient with him, gave him far too much rope, sir.’
Rock picked up his pen. ‘Danilov will be fine as long as he is controlled and monitored properly. I’ll think about it and let you know, Cartwright.’
‘And then there’s the strange report that the woman was shouting his name as she ran naked down the street.’
‘I read about that.’
‘I’m not one to gossip, sir, but Danilov hasn’t seen his wife for six years. You know how some men are. I wonder if she was his girlfriend, sir. I mean, why else would she be shouting his name?’
‘That’s an interesting point, Cartwright. Rock wrote in the notebook in front of him
‘Thank you, sir. Just one more thing…’ Time to remind the prick what he owed George Cartwright. ‘If you do place me on the investigation, please don’t mention anything to anybody, sir. I wouldn’t like the other detectives to think I was getting preferential treatment just because I was by your side during the Étaples incident. In fact, I don’t want anybody to know about that difficult time at all.’
He could see from Rock’s face that the memories of that day were still vivid. Enjoy the fear, you bastard. I saved your bollocks that day, and now it’s your turn to pay me back.
‘I’ll think about it, Inspector Cartwright,’ Rock stammered. ‘Danilov could certainly do with some help. It’s a complex case and the more minds we have working on it, the better.’
Cartwright stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, sir. I’ll let you get on. I’m sure you’re a busy man.’
Rock tapped the file in front of him. ‘Policy doesn’t implement itself, Cartwright. It will be a pleasure working with you. It’s good to hear there’s another copper who is up to date with the latest investigative practices.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘I won’t mention to anyone we know each other. Better to start with a clean sheet, don’t you agree?’
Got him, hook, line and sinker. Cartwright shook the hand. ‘Of course, sir. We won’t mention Étaples, ever.’ Well, not today anyway.
Cartwright left the office, closing the door gently behind him.
Miss Cavendish was applying a bright-red lipstick to her mouth. ‘Finished already, Inspector Cartwright.’
‘Finished, Miss Cavendish.’
35
They stood outside the morgue as the traffic raced past, inches away from them. Danilov was finishing one of his roll-ups before entering the sterile cleanliness inside.
Entering the morgue always made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the presence of dead bodies; he had spent most of his life surrounded by death. It was the contrast between the pristine whiteness of the place and the chaos and dirt a foot away from the door, outside on the streets of Shanghai.
He tamped the cigarette against the wall and placed the end in his pocket. ‘Let’s go in, Strachan, Dr Fang will be waiting for us.’
The detective sergeant followed him as he pushed through the doors. Dr Fang was standing in the middle of the autopsy room, dressed as usual in his uniform of white coat over a tweed suit, with a red bow-tie to set it
all off. His face was round and calm, as one would expect from somebody who spent their day inhaling formaldehyde. However, there was a schoolmasterly efficiency about his manner which contrasted with his habit of constantly pushing his glasses on to the non-existent bridge of his nose. The habit of an errant schoolboy. Somehow the two antagonists both inhabited the body of the pathologist.
It was the schoolmaster they met now.
‘You’re late, gentlemen.’
The large clock with its roman numerals was just ticking over to 10.04.
‘I’m busy. There are six customers waiting for my services.’ He pointed to the other metal slabs in the morgue, each of which was covered by a white sheet with a corpse vaguely discernible beneath. ‘I do not like to keep my customers waiting.’
Danilov was tempted to say it wouldn’t matter to them if they were waiting for the next hundred years. But he held his tongue. There was no point arguing with Dr Fang; any words would be like water running off a roof. ‘We’re sorry, Dr Fang, we were unavoidably detained.’
‘Hrrrmph,’ was the doctor’s reply. He pushed his glasses back on to the place where the bridge of his nose should have been, and peered through them at Strachan. ‘Welcome back, Detective Sergeant. How’s the throat?’
Instinctively, Strachan fingered the scar over his Adam’s apple. Dr Fang had performed an emergency tracheotomy on him two years ago. It had left his voice deeper and older, but it had also saved his life. ‘Fine, Doctor. No problems.’
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. My condolences for your mother. I’m sure she was a fine woman. From Soochow, wasn’t she?’
‘She was born there.’
‘Was she related to Tsai Han Liang?’
Instantly, Strachan bristled at the name. ‘He was her grandfather, Dr Fang.’
‘Hmmm, difficult man but a brilliant scholar.’
‘So I’ve heard, sir…’
‘I remember…’
‘Shall we get on, Dr Fang?’ Danilov was aware of Strachan’s sensitivity with regard to his family. ‘We have so much to do.’
‘Of course, Inspector. We have two bodies to see this morning. You’ll be pleased to hear I found the time to look at the woman from Shanghai General. Only preliminary findings, though. I reserve the right to change my report later.’
‘Of course, Doctor, but examining both at the same time will help immensely.’
Dr Fang sniffed. ‘I thought it might. We’ll look at the body from the Country Club first, shall we?’
Danilov nodded even though he knew the question from Dr Fang needed no answer. They were going to look at whatever the doctor had decided to show them first.
Dr Fang pulled back the white linen cover from the corpse like a magician revealing one of his best tricks. The white skin of the body was covered in thin horizontal black lines where the blood had congealed along the arms and legs, with fewer on the body itself. A large Y section ran down the centre of the corpse, with its two points on either shoulder, ending in the space below the belly button.
Danilov let his eyes wander up to the large gash in the throat. The wound had been cleansed of blood. He could see the ragged edges. This wasn’t a sharp, clean cut like those on the body. It was a vicious slash, as if the killer wanted to do as much damage as possible.
The face above the gash in the throat was serenely beautiful: high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, full, sensuous, bow-shaped lips. A woman’s face on a man.
The plaster of Paris had been removed but pieces of it still adhered to the ear and chin. ‘Who is he, Doctor?’
‘I was rather hoping you were going to tell me, Inspector. Shall we call him John Doe until a more accurate name has been discovered?’
Danilov nodded.
Dr Fang spoke aloud as he wrote in his file. ‘Name: John Doe. Age: unknown.’ He looked up from his notes, pushing his glasses back up towards his forehead. ‘Cause of death was a single trauma to the throat, severing the aorta, trachea and Adam’s apple. He died almost instantaneously.’
Danilov looked at Strachan. ‘Time of death?’
‘Hard to say. Ambient temperature affects the rate of decomposition and the onset of rigor mortis. But I would say at least eight hours before he was brought in to the mortuary.’
‘And the wounds on the body?’
‘I counted one hundred and eighty-three separate cuts to the arms, hands, legs and feet and one deep cut to the throat. They were clean, sharp scores cause by a thin knife, scalpel or razor blade.’
‘Have you seen anything like this before, Doctor?’ Danilov knew this was a leading question but he had to get the doctor to give his opinion.
The doctor scratched his head. ‘Sometimes, we see similar cuts in knife fights caused by cutthroat razors, but never this many. I know where you’re heading with this, Inspector. Is it similar to the murder eighteen months ago of Elsie Everett?’
He held up another file lying next to the body.
‘I’ve checked my notes from that autopsy. The position, depth and angle of the cuts are similar, although there are more this time. The cut across the throat is exactly the same, probably committed with the same, or a similar, blade. I believe we discovered the previous murder was committed on a hill of knives. This man,’ he pointed at the corpse with his pen, ‘was almost certainly killed in the same way.’
‘A copycat killer?’
Dr Fang pushed his spectacles back on to the bridge of his nose. ‘I couldn’t possibly say, Inspector. That is in the realm of speculation, and…’
‘You only deal in facts,’ interrupted Strachan.
‘Quite correct, Detective Sergeant. Facts and facts alone.’
‘Are there any other facts you have found in your examination, Doctor?’
Again, Dr Fang pushed the black-framed glasses back towards his forehead. A smile crept across his face like a cat stalking a small bird. ‘Four facts you might find useful, gentlemen.’
There was a pause as Dr Fang waited for encouragement. Danilov understood the good doctor was a master at dramatic tension. An actor who revelled in being onstage, bathed in the limelight. ‘Please let us know what they are, Doctor.’ He fed the man his cue.
The doctor leant forward and moved the victim’s head with his gloved hand. ‘See here, gentlemen, on the neck below the ear…’ He pointed with his pen once more. ‘Two characters carved in the skin. I noticed them when I removed the plaster of Paris.’
‘What do they say, Strachan?’
‘They are the characters for France, sir, the country’s name.’
‘Not “retribution” or “justice” like before?’
‘No sir, definitely not.’
‘But implicit in the character for France is the word law or justice, is it not, Detective Sergeant?’
‘Yes, Dr Fang.’ He turned back to the inspector. ‘Fa Guo is France. “Fa” is the homonym for law or justice.’
The doctor smiled as if giving a lecture to a particularly stupid group of first-year medical students. ‘A homonym is a word that sounds the same but may be pronounced differently. In Chinese, we often use wordplay based on the similar sounds of words and their characters.’
‘Are these the only characters carved on the body, Doctor?’
‘As far as I have discovered, Inspector.’
Danilov nodded again.’And the other facts?’
‘Discoveries might be a better term. The second discovery was that a cast of plaster of Paris covered the face. Common or garden stuff, found in any hospital or pharmacy. Made competently and applied to the face with some care.’
‘Why do you say it was applied carefully, Doctor?’
‘See the eyes? The skin beneath them is extremely sensitive and two eyepads were placed there to protect it and the eyes.’
‘Any fingerprints?’
‘I doubt it, Inspector; the pads looked clean. However, I have sent them to the lab for testing.’
Danilov turned to Strachan. ‘Follow up. Make sure the l
ab doesn’t drag its feet.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Make-up was applied to the body after death. That’s the third discovery if you are keeping count, Detective Sergeant Strachan. Not all over, just in parts across the upper chest, the arms and the legs, covering some of the cuts. A foundation cream and powder. Again, I’ve sent some samples to the lab.’
‘Why would the killer cover some of the body with make-up?’ Danilov asked.
‘That is for you to find out, is it not, Inspector?’
‘It is, Doctor, it is indeed. And your fourth discovery?’
The doctor became excited once again. ‘Ah, this is the most interesting. I only found it when I broke the fingers. You’ll remember the hands were clasped when the man was brought in; rigor mortis had already set in. I found this in his grip.’ With a pair of tweezers he held up a white pawn.
‘It looks like something from a chess set,’ said Strachan.
‘I see you have kept up with your board games, Detective Sergeant. It is indeed a pawn from a game of chess. Made from wood, oak by the look of it, but I’m sure your people will tell you more.’ Dr Fang smiled, pleased he had surprised the detectives. ‘Shall we move along to our second body, the woman from the hospital?’
Danilov nodded, his eyes fixed on the white pawn.
The doctor moved to the next table in the row. Danilov and Strachan followed him. Again, he removed the white cloth covering the body with a theatrical flourish.
Danilov looked at the face. The bandages had been removed and the hair brushed back off the forehead. ‘I know this woman.’
Both Strachan and Dr Fang stared at him.
‘She helped with the investigation into the Lee murders. She told me where Gordon Cowan was hiding.’
Dr Fang picked up a file from near the head of the victim. ‘Can you tell me her name?’ His pen was poised over the form.
Danilov searched his memory. ‘Sally Chen, I think it was. A taxi dancer from Canton. No family in Shanghai. She was the girlfriend of Inspector Cowan. They lived on Chao Fong Road.’
The Murder Game Page 10