They didn’t answer him back.
38
‘I need to see the Princess.’
‘Now, sir?’
‘Now, Strachan. You wait here for Dr Fang’s men. Afterwards, go back to Central and follow up on everything I have asked you to do. Everything, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir. What time will you be back?’
Danilov looked at this watch, a present from Elina. ‘I won’t be long. Around four. I want to see everything we have so far. And check with the Chinese authorities if Li Min has received any visitors recently.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, don’t stand there like a peasant with piles. Get a move on, man.’
Strachan turned and left quickly, without looking back.
Danilov was left in the tent with the two French detectives. He took one last look at Lieutenant Deschamps, still staring straight into space, a wet sheen beginning to form on his face and drip on to the uniform jacket, his mistress, Rossana, sitting beside him. They looked like a couple sitting on the steps of the War Memorial, resting their legs after a long day of walking around Shanghai. As if they were waiting for something or somebody. But waiting for who or what? That was the question.
He ducked through the flap of the tent. The ambulance from the morgue had arrived. Strachan was helping the men unload their stretchers.
Danilov walked past them and across the road. The Bund was as busy as ever with people hurrying to the various banks lining its wide thoroughfare or rushing to the piers where the ferries waited to take them across the river.
Nobody was paying attention to the tent around the War Memorial and the flock of police waiting there. No wonder the killer had been able to deposit the bodies without worrying about being seen. This was a place where everybody was so obsessed with their own business they had little time for the affairs of others.
At the corner of Edward VII, he spotted a beggar sitting in the shade, his filthy clothes wrapped around him and a red tin placed next to a once-white placard at his feet. The man had one arm resting on his leg. The other was missing, the sleeve of his dirty coat pinned up to the shoulder.
Danilov walked over and stood in front of him. These beggars had their own patch, defended and protected with all the ferocity of a dog defending a bone. The man lifted his head as Danilov approached, his ragged black hair coming down in chunks over his eyes. The eyes, Danilov could see now, were milky white with a tinge of blue and green like the softest of opals.
Danilov knelt before him and said in his best approximation of Shanghainese, ‘You should be more careful.’
‘What? Whazzat?’ The man’s head swivelled around, trying to find the location of the inspector.’
‘I’m here, but you know that already, don’t you?’
‘Whazzat?’ The man reached his arms out to touch the inspector.
‘You’re one of the King of Beggars’ men, aren’t you? You can take the caul fat out of your eyes, if you like.’
The beggar smiled. ‘How’d you know?’
‘It’s my business to know.’
The beggar gently removed the caul fat from his eye. ‘Bloody stuff beginning to sting. Had this in me eyes for two days.’
Danilov knew the King of Beggars and his tricks well. His men placed the lacy fat that lined a cow’s stomach in their eyes to give the appearance of glaucoma. According to the King, it increased takings by at least fifty per cent every day.
‘Were you here this morning?’ the inspector asked when the man had finished blinking his eyes.
‘Here, ev’ry morning. Ev’ry day. And ev’ry evenin’.’
‘Did you see anything this morning?’ Danilov recognised the stupidity of the question as soon as it had escaped from his mouth.
‘I see nothing. Not when I got this stuff in me eyes,’ the man cackled, putting the used bits of lacy fat in his mouth and chewing. ‘But I hear ev’ryting.’
‘What did you hear?’
The man lifted his red metal cup and waved it in front of Danilov’s face. Danilov dug deep into his pockets and produced a dollar. A fortune for a man like this. He dropped it into the cup.
The man picked out the coin and felt it with the ball of his thumb like a Mahjong player reading a tile. He dropped it back into the cup, listening to the sound of the coin chink at the bottom. He smiled and shook the cup again. The few coins rattled around in their tin coffin.
Danilov dug deep into his pockets once more and dropped all his change into the man’s cup.
Another smile crossed the man’s face. ‘Heard a car in mornin’. Big car.’
‘What time?’
‘Time? Time means nothin’ to me. Before sun rose. Always feel sun on skin, even in win’er.’
Danilov moved in closer, trying to understand the man’s broken accent. ‘A big car?’
‘Big. Engine loud. Very loud.’
A lorry passed in front of them. ‘As loud as that?’
‘No, not that loud. Bigger than car.’
Danilov thought for a moment. ‘Anything else you remember.’
‘Three men. Heard three voices. Carryin’ sometin’.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Heard ‘em speakin’. Thought summat was gonna happen at soldier’s place. Lots of people come. Make lotta money.’
‘Three men?’
‘You no hear so good what I say?’
Danilov stood up. ‘Thanks for your help. You here every day?’
‘Every mornin’. Ev’ry evenin’. Don’t move. Nobody can nick me patch. Good patch this.’
‘I might need to see you again.’
The man rattled his tin. ‘You always welcome. You gots money, you always welcome.’ He cackled at his own joke as Danilov walked away to find the Princess.
‘Come again, and don’t forgets your money,’ the beggar shouted after him, before reaching into his dirty bag and pulling out a fresh piece of caul to put in his eyes.
39
‘Hello, Detective Sergeant Strachan.’ Miss Cavendish popped her head around the door of the detectives’ room. ‘Is Inspector Danilov around?’
Strachan stopped compiling all the reports he had received from Dr Fang and the lab. ‘He’ll be back at three, Miss Cavendish. He’s gone to a meeting.’
She sidled into the room, taking a quick look around to check it was empty.
‘They’re all at lunch.’
Miss Cavendish sat in Danilov’s chair, behind his tidy desk. ‘I wish I could have lunch, but Chief Inspector Rock never stops. You know he was here till eleven last night? Going through files, he was. Expected me to stay too.’
‘He works extremely hard, Miss Cavendish.’
‘Doesn’t eat either. I tried to get him some food from the canteen. You know what he said?’
Strachan sat back. If he was going to be interrupted, at least he could listen to what she had to say. ‘I haven’t a clue, Miss Cavendish.’
‘He said “eating slows the mind”. Well, I never, Perhaps he expects me to starve too.’ She fingered the string of pearls twisted just below the roll of fat that constituted her neck.
‘Sounds like the inspector.’
‘Two peas in a pod.’
‘Indeed, Miss Cavendish. Did you have a message for Inspector Danilov?’
‘It nearly slipped my mind. Chief Inspector Rock wants a meeting on the murder in the Country Club at five o’clock. The inspector, yourself, Inspectors Meaker and Cartwright to attend.’
‘Sounds official. Danilov won’t be happy. He hates working with other people. He just about tolerates me on a good day.’
‘I’m sure he appreciates your work. You’re so good at your job; even the Chief Inspector said so.’
‘Thank you, Miss Cavendish, but I wish it came from Inspector Danilov.’
‘He’s another one who doesn’t know how to say thank you.’ Miss Cavendish rubbed her nose and her voice dropped in tone. ‘How are you bearing up?’
S
trachan looked surprised.
‘I mean about your mother. It was a terrible tragedy. I hope you’re not missing her too much.’
Her words cut Strachan to the bone. He hadn’t thought about his mother all morning, but now she was here in the room with him once more. He felt his throat tighten.
‘It’s an awful thing to lose a mother. Mine’s still alive, of course. She’s a bit doolally now, but she can still make up a foursome at bridge. Ask her what she did three minutes ago and she hasn’t a clue, but she remembers every hand she ever played. Told me once about…’
Strachan stopped listening to Miss Cavendish as she prattled on. He was dreading going home this evening to face that house again. People always talked about going home to an empty house after somebody died, but it wasn’t true. You always went home to a full house. One stuffed with memories and the ghosts of the departed.
‘….Isn’t that true, Sergeant Strachan?’
‘Isn’t what true, Miss Cavendish?’
‘The older we get, the more we become like children?’
‘I wouldn’t know, Miss Cavendish.’
‘I suppose not, since you’re so young.’ She stared off into mid-air. ‘Old age sort of creeps up on you. One moment you’re young and happy and carefree, and the next the body is screaming it can’t walk another step. Or your can’t remember where you put the keys. A sad state of affairs, but as my first Chief Inspector said at his retirement, “Age is disease for which there is no cure.”’ She stood up. ‘Can’t chat with you all day; the Chief Inspector will be bellowing for me. I’m not going to work late tonight, though. It’s bridge night and I can’t let my mother down. She loves her bridge, she does.’
She walked over to the door, ‘You won’t forget to tell him, will you?’
‘Five o’clock. Chief Inspector Rock’s room. Meeting about the case.’
‘You still have a good memory, Sergeant. But you would, wouldn’t you? You’re still young.’
She closed the door behind her and Strachan was left alone in the room with his files. For a second, the image of his mother dressed in her favourite black shawl flashed in his mind. Mustn’t think about her now, not now.
His stomach began to rumble. The one thought that consoled him was that the inspector was also unlikely to be eating lunch, food not being one of his enthusiasms.
He began to feel sick. Perhaps, a bowl of noodles and some pork baozi from one of the local hawkers would settle his stomach.
He picked up his hat from the stand next to the door. As he was about to leave, the phone rang on his desk.
40
At that exact moment, Inspector Danilov had just picked up a plump, steaming piroshki. A bowl of them had been placed in front of him, along with a glass of Russian tea, only ten seconds before.
Princess Elena Ivanova Ostrepova sat opposite, her eyes waiting for his judgement. ‘He’s a new chef. Used to cook for Count Rostov in St Petersburg. The count was famous for having one of the best tables in the city.’
Danilov could smell the flavours of the piroshki; its thin skin glistened with a beautiful sheen. He bit into it and was immediately transported back in time to his home in Minsk. His wife sitting opposite him, waiting for him to eat after a long day in the police department. Letting him kill the first pangs of hunger before she asked the questions that were her nightly ritual. What had he done that day? Where had he been? What had he seen?
The skin of the piroshki melted across Danilov’s tongue to be replaced by the soft, salty earthiness of the cabbage and pork. He swallowed, but the tastes remained on his tongue like a party guest who stayed to drink the last of the wine.
‘Perfect, Princess. As good as I remember. Better than I remember,’ he corrected himself.
She sat back and folded her arms across her small chest. He always thought the Princess was like a perfectly formed tiny bird, with grey hair, powdered nose and red-rimmed beak.
‘I’m glad you like them, Inspector. Eat, and eat some more. When you have finished, you can tell me why you are here. I’m sure it’s not for my piroshki.’
‘You know me so well, Princess. I will tell you, but first let me try a few more.’ He picked up another little parcel of the exquisite snack. It tasted better than the first, the juices filling his mouth with memories of home. A sip of tea and he would begin work. Shame – he would have preferred to spend the afternoon in the Princess’s cafe, eating some snacks, playing a game or two of chess and chatting with his host.
In the far corner of the cafe, somebody had claimed mate and a heated argument ensued. The Princess indicated with a small lift of one delicate eyebrow that her waiter, Yuri, was to stop them making a racket.
The giant man strolled over to the table and stood in front of it, his large belly drooping over the waistband of his trousers. Instantly, the argument stopped. The Princess nodded twice in their direction and another game was set up.
‘So what can I do for you, Inspector?’
‘As ever, Princess, I would like to pick your brains.’
‘First the piroshkis and then my brains; you are hungry this afternoon, Inspector.’
‘Starving and starved, Princess.’
The Princess was an important source of information for him. In addition to the cafe, she had her fingers in many businesses in the city, some legal and some on the borders of illegality. She owned at least three bars in Blood Alley, the main drinking street in the French Concession, as well as a variety of opium dens, brothels, clubs and gambling establishments.
How had a princess with royal blood become involved in such trade? Danilov never asked. It would betray the relationship they had created over many years.
‘We would all like information, Inspector. Knowledge is power.’
‘And lack of knowledge is weakness?’
‘Lack of knowledge is stupidity. What would you like to know, Inspector? I’m thinking it would be something along the lines of whether there have been any other murders besides the ones at the Country Club, and those of Lieutenant Deschamps and his mistress?’
‘You are well informed, Princess.’
‘My “little ears” tell me what is happening. A shame about Rossana. A beautiful woman.’
‘One of your “little ears”, Princess?’
‘She occasionally passed me tidbits. Men can be terribly vocal during a night of passion. The lieutenant was no exception.’
‘Why was she killed?’
The Princess shrugged her small, elegant shoulders. ‘I do not know, Inspector. And I do not know who did it. If I did, he would not be alive as we speak.’
‘You’ve heard nothing?’
She shook her head. ‘I will let you know immediately if I do, expecting nothing in return.’
‘Not like you, Princess.’
The face that had been soft and welcoming seconds ago suddenly became hard and cruel. ‘I want this man dead, Inspector. Do you understand? I want his body ripped to shreds and the pieces thrown to the dogs. Rossana was one of mine. We do not let their deaths go unpunished.’
‘You must let me arrest him, Princess.’
‘I cannot promise. But I will let you know if I hear anything.’
Danilov stood up.
‘You have not finished your piroshki, Inspector.’ The Princess pointed to the bowl in front of her.
‘I’m no longer hungry, Princess. I think this man, or men, will commit more murders.’ He leant in and whispered to her. ‘Be careful, Princess, I think we’re all in danger. This man will stop at nothing.’
Her eyes stared coldly. ‘I’m not afraid of any man, Inspector. Let him do his worst.’
‘Call me at the station if you hear anything, anything at all.’
She nodded but Danilov saw the jaw tighten once more.
‘I beg you, Princess, call me, it’s…’
He was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The Princess’s eyes flicked over to the new arrival. Danilov turned too and was surprised to
see his detective sergeant standing in front of the door.
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there are two pieces of news I thought you should know.’ Strachan stopped talking and looked at the Princess.
‘Don’t waste time, tell me now,’ Danilov said impatiently.
‘They’ve caught Johnstone, sir, at the cruise terminal.’
‘Good, about time. What’s the other news?’
‘Li Min has been found stabbed to death in prison. Stabbed through the heart.’
41
They were met by a burly customs officer with a broad Birmingham accent and a belly to match. ‘The name’s French, how’d you do?’
He stuck out his bear-sized hand and Danilov was forced to shake it. ‘The prisoner?’
‘He’s being held in one of our search rooms. Don’t you worry, he’s being well looked after.’ He led the way down the long gang wharf that led to the ship, turning left just before they were about to board the walkway up to the ship.
‘How did you arrest him?’
The customs officer tapped the side of his nose. ‘With this. Can smell ‘em a mile off, me. This one had guilty written all over his sweaty mug. We searched him and found the money in here.’ French handed over a brown leather suitcase, fastened in the centre with a black strap, to Strachan. ‘We were about to let him go. It’s not illegal to carry money out of Shanghai, and he did have a ticket for Hong Kong. Then one of the men, Huang, a bright chap, remembered your poster. The rest, as they say, is history.’
Johnstone was being held in a small room off the main customs area. French knocked on the door. It was immediately opened by a young Chinese officer.
‘I demand to know why I’m being held. That money is mine. You have no right…’
Johnstone was on his feet shouting, his face red with anger. As soon as he saw Danilov he stopped mid sentence, his mouth open wide.
‘Thank you, Mr French. My detective sergeant and I will take it from here.’
‘No worries. I enjoy helping out. Beats working for living.’ French closed the door behind him.
The Murder Game Page 12