The Murder Game

by The Murder Game (retail) (epub)

  ‘You can’t do…’

  Johnstone began to speak and Danilov silenced him with an upraised hand. ‘Please sit down, Mr Johnstone.’

  The inspector removed his hat and coat slowly, watched by the suspect all the time. He took the suitcase from Strachan, placing it on the table in front of them.

  ‘Where did you get this money?’

  ‘It’s mine. I earned it. Wages owed to me.’

  Danilov picked up a wad of used notes. ‘Over two thousand dollars, owed to you?’

  Johnstone looked down. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled.

  ‘So this has nothing to do with the theft from the Sinza Refuge yesterday?’

  Johnstone said nothing, staring down at his feet.

  Danilov began to roll a cigarette, taking his time to make the white tube as neat as possible. Just before he was to light it, he looked directly at Johnstone and said, ‘Why did you kill them?’

  A drop of sweat fell from the man’s forehead, running down his face, to the collar of his shirt and on to his shoulder. ‘Kill who? I didn’t kill anybody at the refuge.’

  Danilov counted the victims off on his hand. ‘Sally Chen, an unknown man, Lieutenant Deschamps and Rossana Gurdieva. Four people, cruelly murdered. Why did you do it?’

  Johnstone laughed, looking from Danilov to Strachan. ‘You’re joking, right’

  Neither of the two detectives said anything.

  Johnstone held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Listen, I admit I may have taken more money than I was owed by the refuge, but it was a genuine mistake.’ He smiled his most charming smile. ‘I’m sure I can sort it out with the ladies.’

  ‘And the murders, can you sort them out too?’

  Johnstone’s eyes opened wide. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You think I committed a murder?’

  ‘Not a murder. Four murders.’

  He laughed again, looking incredulously from Danilov to Strachan and back to Danilov again. ‘I didn’t kill anybody. Can you imagine someone like me committing murder?’

  Danilov nodded slowly. ‘You’d be surprised the number of killers who tell me that, Mr Johnstone. Nobody is a murderer until they kill someone.’

  Johnstone shook his head. ‘No, no, no, you’re not fitting me up for this. I stole the money, I’ll admit that, but I didn’t do no murders, not me, nowt to do with me.’

  As he became more agitated, the shallow veneer of Johnstone’s Home Counties accent vanished.

  ‘Why did you kill them?’

  ‘I’m telling you I didn’t do nowt.’

  Danilov stood up to go. ‘One last question, Mr Johnstone. Where were you yesterday?’

  ‘With my girlfriend, one of your Russians, all day.’

  ‘And in the evening?’

  ‘All night as well. A farewell present.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Johnstone.’ Danilov picked up the suitcase and left the room.

  ‘Is he the one you’re looking for?’ asked French.

  Danilov shook his head, blowing out his sallow cheeks. ‘He stole the money, but I don’t think he’s our murderer. Too much anger and not enough coolness. I also remember where I’ve seen him before. He’s wanted for theft in Singapore. Another mission house, I think. Our Mr Johnstone makes a very good fake vicar. We’ll arrest him for theft. Strachan?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Check out his alibi and ask Sergeant Wolfe to send some coppers to pick him up. Meanwhile, if you could detain him, Mr French.’

  ‘Happy to oblige. Beats dealing with passengers.’

  Danilov looked at his watch. ‘Come on, Strachan, we have work to do.’

  He picked up his hat and coat, walked out of the room, down the corridor and on to the bustling quay. All the time, Danilov was silent, deep in thought.

  ‘What do we do now, sir?’

  ‘Now, Strachan? We work smarter.’

  ‘But what about the case, sir? Our only witness has died. Li Min has been killed. And you said Reginald Johnstone had nothing to do with the murders. We don’t have any suspects, sir. We’re back to square one.’

  ‘Not at all, Strachan. We know three people who are innocent.’ Danilov placed his hat back on his head, adjusting the angle so that it had a certain rakish charm. ‘Chief Inspector Rock is waiting for us. Time to find out what else has been discovered.’

  42

  With Strachan in tow, Danilov knocked on the Chief Inspector’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ was the sharp response.

  Danilov entered to find Meaker and Cartwright already inside, talking to the Chief Inspector.

  ‘Sit down, Inspector. I’ve been filling these two in on the case. Your notes were precise, Detective Sergeant Strachan, a textbook entry.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Strachan was pleased with himself.

  They both found seats close to the door. Without waiting, Chief Inspector Rock launched into his speech. ‘We have two bad murders on our hands. The worst I’ve seen since the Croydon poisonings of 1928. The woman was…’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have four murders on our hands,’ said Danilov.

  Rock turned over pages in the file. ‘I don’t understand; there’s no mention of other murders here.’

  ‘I’ve just come back from the French Concession, sir. The victims were a Lieutenant Deschamps and his mistress, Rossana Gurdieva.’

  Meaker nudged Cartwright. ‘Them French, can’t stop ‘em, hey; like frogs up a bloody pump with the women.’

  Rock stared at Meaker sourly and seemed to sit up straighter. ‘Inspector Meaker, we will have no salaciousness in my office. May I remind you we are talking about people here.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  The stare at Meaker continued, until eventually Rock turned back to face Danilov. ‘Carry on, Inspector.’

  ‘The bodies were found this morning by a street cleaner at the War Memorial.’

  ‘On the French or English side?’ asked Cartwright.

  ‘I don’t understand. Please explain,’ said the Chief Inspector.

  Cartwright sighed as if talking to a ten-year-old. ‘When the Memorial was built in 1924, it was constructed at the meeting point of the French Concession and the International Settlement. The jurisdiction of the police force depends on which side the corpses were discovered.’

  Rock frowned. ‘Victims, Inspector Cartwright. Please use the correct terminology.’

  Cartwright nodded.

  ‘The victims were found on the side of the Memorial, not in any jurisdiction.’

  ‘But the French found them, right?’ asked Cartwright aggressively.

  ‘They did.’

  ‘It’s their problem. Nothing to do with us.’ He stroked one palm against the other, doing his impression of Pontius Pilate.

  ‘Now, it is our problem. Both bodies are at present being examined by Dr Fang.’

  ‘Why’d you stick your nose in, Danilov. It’s nothing to do with us what happens to a Frenchman and his floozie,’ said Meaker.

  Rock held his arms up, demanding silence. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, we will work together. We have forgotten one important question. Inspector Danilov, why do you think the murders are linked?’

  Danilov exhaled. Rock was sharp; his question was the correct one. ‘Because, sir, they copy a series of murders we investigated two years ago.’

  ‘Explain, Inspector,’ said Rock.

  ‘Sally Chen died from a series of knife cuts. Exactly the same as another woman, Elsie Everett, in 1928. The unknown man in the Country Club was killed in the same way. The lieutenant and his mistress probably died from hypothermia…’

  ‘Hypo what?’

  ‘They were frozen to death, Inspector Meaker,’ answered Danilov bluntly.

  ‘Are you sure the murders are linked, Danilov?’

  ‘I am, sir. We will have concrete proof when Dr Fang completes his autopsy.’

  ‘The pet doctor…’ Meaker whispered to Cartwright.

  ‘How will an autopsy he
lp you know the murders are linked?’

  For the first time, Danilov heard a note of scepticism in Rock’s voice. ‘Because I expect to see Chinese characters on the body of one of the victims, sir.’

  ‘More hocus pocus, Danilov?’

  The inspector ignored him. ‘We are meeting Dr Fang tonight, sir. I will confirm then whether the murders are linked.’

  Rock glanced at Inspector Cartwright. ‘And if they are not, Danilov?’

  ‘I’m certain they are, sir.’ Danilov stared at Cartwright, who just stroked his broad moustache.’

  Rock sat back in his chair. ‘If Danilov is right, and we will know soon, this investigation is becoming more and more important.’ He adjusted his tie, making sure it sat exactly in the centre of the two points of his collar. ‘Danilov and Strachan, you will attend the autopsy this evening with the doctor. Meaker and Cartwright, you will find out all you can about the victim at the Country Club. I want to know who he is.’ Rock looked at the file. ‘You two will also follow up on Sally Chen, find out her acquaintances, who she knew and who were her friends. There must be a link between the victims, something that ties them together. Once we find the pattern we will be on our way to catching this murderer.’

  ‘Patterns… yes, sir.’ Cartwright sniffed as if a bad smell had crept up his nose and kicked his septum.

  ‘Both parties will report back to me here at nine sharp tomorrow morning…’

  ‘But sir,’ interrupted Danilov, looking at Meaker and Cartwright, ‘I prefer to work with Strachan or alone.’

  ‘There has been too much “working alone” in this department. We are a team. Crimes are solved with teamwork not by mavericks. Policework is about plans and procedures, not about Sherlock Holmes performing party tricks.’

  ‘But, sir…’

  Rock held up his hand. ‘That is why I am taking over the leadership of this investigation.’

  ‘But you can’t…’

  ‘I can and I will, Inspector. If you disagree, you may be happier sitting behind a desk issuing dog licenses. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘But sir, I knew one of the victims…’

  Rock’s eyebrows both rose. ‘You knew one of them, Danilov? All the more reason why I should lead this investigation.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Case closed. The decision has been made. I will see all of you in my office at nine tomorrow. Do not be late, gentlemen.’ Chief Inspector Rock pulled out a new file and began reading it.

  Meaker and Cartwright both stood up and filed out of the door. As he passed Danilov, Cartwright leant over and whispered, ‘That’s you properly stuffed, you Russian twat. Done up like a kipper you are.’

  ‘If you must mix your food metaphors, Inspector Cartwright, at least do so when you haven’t been drinking.’

  Meaker pulled Cartwright away. ‘He’s not worth it, George. Them Russians never are.’

  Cartwright wrestled his arm away from his colleague and sloped down the corridor. ‘I’ll swing for you, Danilov. You mark my words. I’ll swing for you.’

  43

  ‘What are we going to do now, sir?’ Strachan asked.

  Danilov was rolling another cigarette. ‘About what?’

  Strachan shrugged his shoulders. ‘About the investigation. And Chief Inspector Rock. And Inspector Cartwright. And having no suspects.’

  Danilov put the cigarette in his mouth and brought the flame of the lighter to the end. It flared briefly before glowing brightly as Danilov inhaled. Three concentric smoke rings were blown up into the air, rising gracefully to the tanned ceiling.

  ‘We are going to do what we do best, Strachan. We are going to investigate these killings and ignore the games of others. “You cannot pull a fish out of a pond without working hard.”’

  ‘I suppose not, sir.’

  ‘I want you to check if there was any link between Sally Chen and Rossana Gurdieva, Deschamps’s mistress. Did they know each other? Had they worked the same clubs? There may be a link between these victims.’

  ‘I thought the other inspectors were assigned to look into those women, sir?’

  ‘They were, but those two couldn’t investigate their own armpits. I prefer you to do it.’

  ‘Is that a vote of confidence, sir?’

  Danilov blew another three smoke rings towards the ceiling. ‘Unfortunately not, Strachan. You are the only person available.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘As my father always said, “One must stretch one’s legs according to one’s clothes.”’

  There was a quick knock and Miss Cavendish popped her head around the door. ‘Good, you’re both still here.’

  ‘How can we help you, Miss Cavendish? Another meeting with Chief Inspector Rock?’ Danilov said wearily.

  ‘No, Inspector. Just the one at nine tomorrow in his diary at the moment.’ She produced two copies of the North China Daily News from behind her back. ‘These are newspapers from yesterday and the day before. I couldn’t help but read the report Detective Sergeant Strachan placed on my desk last night…’ She giggled nervously. ‘And it started me thinking.’ She opened one of the newspapers. ‘Here, on page seven, I saw this strange notice.’

  Danilov leant over and read it. At the bottom of the page, inside an ornate Chinese border, was a short message.

  ‘A man, blond on blond,

  Of music and life is fond,

  From the floating world did leave,

  A slice in time his life to grieve,

  The beautiful country at noon was born,

  No traveller returns to mourn.’

  ‘Yesterday, in exactly the same place, I saw this one. I must admit I was intrigued, and when I heard you discussing the murders with the Chief Inspector I thought it might have some bearing on the case.’

  She passed over the other newspaper, open again at page seven.

  Danilov snatched the paper from her and scanned the page. It was in the same position at the bottom but different this time.

  ‘Two lovers, money joined,

  Pleasure taken, pleasure purloined.

  From France, a soldier came,

  From the steppes, his lover tame,

  At two, they did live once so jolly,

  Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.’

  ‘Could they be linked to your murders?’

  Danilov stood up to give Miss Cavendish a big hug, stopping himself just as his arms wrapped around her. He stepped back and coughed. ‘Thank you, Miss Cavendish. This is wonderful.’

  She gave a little cough too, behind a small white fist. ‘Glad to be of help. Now, I’m going to my bridge night with my mother. I’m not staying here all night to keep the Chief Inspector company. Goodbye.’ She popped her handbag on to the crook of her arm and waved, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Thank you once again, Miss Cavendish,’ Danilov shouted to the closing door. He picked up the newspapers and read them again.

  Strachan joined him from his desk. ‘What do they mean, sir?’

  ‘They mean the killer is playing with us, taunting us. You see, these notices were placed before the bodies were found. He’s giving us clues, Strachan.’

  ‘Why, sir?’

  ‘He wants to challenge us, Strachan. To see if we are clever enough to find the victims before they die.’ Danilov stopped for a moment and stared into mid-air, before slowly whispering, ‘He’s challenging me to find them.’

  ‘But there are only two notices, sir, and yet we have four victims?’

  ‘The second notice obviously refers to Lieutenant Deschamps and his mistress.’

  ‘It does, sir?’

  ‘It does, Strachan. But you are right, if these notices refer to our victims, it means we are missing one. Why?’

  ‘And which victim doesn’t have a notice, sir?’

  Danilov stared at Strachan. ‘For once, Detective Sergeant, you are asking the right questions. But I’m pretty sure it’s Sally Chen.’

  ‘Why, sir?’
<
br />   ‘Good question, Strachan.’

  ‘Shame I don’t have any answers, sir.’

  ‘They will come. You carry on finding a link between the two women. I’m going to the offices of the North China Daily News. Meet me at 8.30 outside the morgue. Don’t be late. One other thing…’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Check the other papers, including the Chinese dailies. Make sure we haven’t missed anything.

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  Danilov put on his old, threadbare coat. Elina had been threatening to buy him a new one, but he liked the lived-in feel of this one. Like himself, it had seen a lot of life and lived to tell the tale. He popped his hat on his head. It was even more worn than his coat, but it sat comfortably at the point where the hairline met the forehead, adding to his aura of shabby alertness.

  ‘I’ll see you at the morgue, sir. Twice in one day. Dr Fang will be pleased.’

  But Danilov was already leaving the detectives’ room, the roll-up cigarette still burning in the ashtray on his desk.

  44

  Danilov walked along the Bund towards the North China Daily News offices as the sun began to set.

  He loved this part of Shanghai. The broad thoroughfare bustled with people, traffic and noise. Rickshaw drivers hunting for customers, continually shouting ‘Ride, ride’ to all those too well dressed to be walking. Ancient sampans, bobbing up and down with the rise and fall of the waves, as they had done for years, and would continue to do for eons to come, relentlessly ferrying passengers, cargo and livestock from the freighters moored in the river to the wharves on its banks. Coolies singing as they unloaded the tramp steamers, dreaming of their next pipe of opium with every step and every sack. And the dapperly dressed movers and shakers of Shanghai, looking for the finance for their next deal, hurrying down the Bund into the myriad banks lining its busy pavements.

  Three loud whoop-whoop noises echoed off the stones of the banks and commercial houses facing the Whampoa. In the centre of the river, a British warship was tying up at its appointed buoy. Streamers fluttered from its bow to its stern, and sailors lined the decks, all standing at attention facing the city. Three more blasts came from the whistle next to one of its funnels.