by M J Lee
Perhaps they would do the same for him if he brought this foreign devil back to the shore? He looked up and saw the lights of the tall stone buildings along the Bund shining through the last remnants of the fog. One of the lights seemed to be flashing off and on, beckoning him to come back.
That was it for Ah Nan, the gods had spoken. He would take the body back to the shore and see what the big noses gave him. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t need to go looking for crabs this year.
DAY THREE
Chapter 53
Danilov stared into the white face of Inspector Cowan. One lifeless green eye stared back at him. Nothing remained of the other except a small round hole, surrounded by reddened, charred flesh. A drop of dirty water still hung from the long, patrician nose, but the lips had lost all their redness, becoming almost grey-blue in the soft morning light of autumn. Below the chin, the fabric of the tarpaulin created a ruff around his neck like a shirt from a seventeenth-century painting.
He stood upright and stretched his aching back. He could still taste the opium in his mouth, its sweetness coating his teeth. After he had returned to the apartment, he hadn’t slept at all, thinking of his daughter and what he was to say to her. The words went round and round in his mind, swimming like a shoal of silver fish.
He hadn’t seen her that morning before he left the apartment. The call had come in that a body, possibly Cowan’s, had been found in the river. He had rushed out before she had risen, thankful to be away.
Once again, he wished his wife was in Shanghai with him. She would know exactly what to do, what words to say to salve their broken hearts.
Beyond the grey waters of the river, the sun was just rising over the muddy fields of Pootung, only broken up by two factory chimneys belching sand-coloured smoke into the morning air.
Danilov heard Strachan coming down the wooden wharf behind him. ‘Anything from the boatman?’
‘Not a lot, sir. He found the body last night while fishing over there.’ Strachan indicated to a point in the middle of the Whampoa River, halfway to Pootung. ‘That was around 2 am but we’re not sure of the exact time because he doesn’t have a watch. He brought it ashore here and reported to the harbour master. He was on the ball and called us in.’
‘It was lucky he did. Usually, too many floaters in the harbour to bother.’
They were standing on the small peninsula of land that jutted out into the Whampoa where it met Soochow Creek. Danilov looked back towards Garden Bridge and couldn’t help but remember the night last year when he had shot Allen dead. He had no qualms over the man’s death. He had murdered five people and deserved to lose his own life
Next to him, was touching the small scar on his throat. ‘Get the body over to the morgue, Strachan, the good doctor will want to examine it while it’s still fresh, or relatively fresh.’
Danilov heard another set of steps coming down the wooden walkway, heavier, slower strides.
‘Good morning, Danilov. Or I should say, it’s not a good morning.’
Danilov turned to find Boyle standing in front of him.
‘Yes, sir. You’re not in your office?’
‘Correct, Danilov. I do believe this is the first time I have ever seen you surprised.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, it’s just…’
Boyle knelt down next to the tarpaulin. ‘Is this Inspector Cowan?’ Boyle lifted up the cotton cloth that covered the man’s face and instantly jerked back.
‘Yes, sir. Discovered by a boatman in the river.’ Danilov pointed out the spot in the river. ‘If he found the body there, it must have drifted down with the tide from the wharves in the French Concession.’
‘It could have been thrown from a boat, Danilov.’
‘I suppose it could, sir, but I would bet your last dollar that it was thrown from one of the wharves in the French Concession. Easier to do, and if they had used a boat why not take him further out towards the river mouth?’
Boyle scratched his bald head and forced himself to glance back at the body. ‘Strange way to die, Danilov. Looks like an execution.’
‘I agree, sir. This was a professional job.’ He turned to his detective sergeant. ‘Strachan, get a move on and get the body to the good doctor, we have work to do.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We need to talk, Inspector Danilov.’ Boyle took hold of the Inspector’s arm and moved him away from the body, up the wooden steps. ‘You warned me he was in danger, but I refused to believe you. If I had then…’ His voice trailed off.
Danilov remained silent. Now was not a time to speak.
Boyle pointed to the grey tarpaulin being loaded onto a stretcher by Dr Fang’s men. Water poured from the fabric onto the wooden deck.
‘Get whoever did this, Danilov. I don’t care what you have to do, or what resources it takes, but get the killer.’ Boyle’s voice was shaking with anger. ‘Cowan may have been a brute and a liar, but he was still one of us.’
‘Yes, sir.’
A flash went off behind them, followed by another, and another. Danilov could see a mob of reporters arriving, being held back from the murder scene by a line of uniforms. The photographers were jumping in the air to get a better shot.
‘Upstairs already know about Cowan’s death. I have to see them later this morning.’ He scratched his head once more. ‘It’s not looking good, Danilov. They won’t give us much time before they bring in somebody to replace you and me.’
‘How much time do I have, sir?’
Boyle scratched his head once again. Danilov could see the livid red weals on the scalp. One scratch had begun to bleed. ‘I can hold them off until tomorrow night, I think. After that…’ Boyle shrugged his shoulders.
More flashes went off as Cowan’s body was carried on a stretcher through the pack of reporters to the waiting ambulance. A vague memory appeared in Danilov’s head. Quick blazes of light interrupting his dreams of his wife. ‘I know I’m close, sir. Cowan would have told me everything but without him…’
Boyle wasn’t listening. He was staring at the ambulance as it pulled away from the wharf, chased by the photographers shooting through the darkened windows. ‘You know, Danilov, the Shanghai Police has been my life, my family, ever since I came here in ’07. I wonder if it’s all coming to an end.’
‘What, sir?’
He waved his arms to take in the Bund and all of Shanghai that lay behind it. ‘This, our world. It all seems to be changing so fast. I remember when policemen were respected. When the sight of a bobby on the street was welcome, a friend coming to help out. Now, I wonder if we are just the lid on a jar of chaos. The last seal that prevents everything descending into anarchy.’
He turned back, a look of surprise on his face as if realising for the first time that Danilov was standing there. ‘Solve it, and solve it quickly, Danilov. Neither of us has much time left.’
Chapter 54
Cowan’s death had pleased him.
He was sure it would keep the police busy for a couple of days. Keep them away from the Lees’ house while he sorted out a few minor details.
He had gone back there yesterday to check on the place. It was easy to do, even the policeman guarding it wanted to chat with him.
The young constable said that a new Inspector, Danilov was his name, a Russian, was looking into the case.
Another stupid policeman. Where did they find them? In the bars of Blood Alley. The dregs of an Empire. The sweepings of Imperial Russia.
Nobody would catch him.
Nobody.
As he was talking to the policeman, a young maid came out from the neighbouring house. She gestured for him to come over to her door.
‘Do you have anything for me?’
‘Nothing, miss, not today.’
She leant in closer, whispering so the policeman guarding the house could not hear. ‘Anything for Ah Ching?’
‘Who’s Ah Ching?’
‘The maid from next door.’
‘Nothing for he
r either. I thought the maid from this house had gone away?’
‘She’s with me. Hiding from the police. Are you sure you don’t have anything for her?’
‘I’ve got nothing.’
‘Well, if anything comes, just give it to me. I’ll see she gets it.’ She turned to go back into her house.
‘Why is she hiding from the police?’
She lowered his voice. ‘That’s the Lee house,’ she whispered. ‘Ah Ching was there on the night of the murders. She saw the killers.’
He stopped breathing. ‘She saw them?’
The maid was in the house. She had seen Cowan and me. Instinctively, he turned away from the maid so she couldn’t see his face, mumbling, ‘If I get anything for her, I’ll give it to you. Got to be off now.’
He left as quickly as he could, without looking back. Had the Lees’ maid seen him? Had she remembered who he was?
She was hiding from the police so nobody had spoken to her yet. He needed to sort this out.
But first he’ll deal with Zhang.
The words of Mr Zhang came back to him. One word, in particular, ‘terminate’. Not a good word for a man in his profession to hear. He was the one who did the terminations, not anybody else. How dare Zhang threaten him?
This job was becoming extremely messy.
He didn’t like messy.
Chapter 55
Danilov and Strachan walked up the red-carpeted steps of the mansion on Route Henry and into a white marble lobby. The Chinese characters for Three Friends were inscribed in large gold strokes on the wall facing them.
‘Why are we here, sir?’ asked Strachan.
‘It’s time to put the cat among the pigeons, Strachan.’
They were greeted by an elegant young Chinese woman in a flower print chi pao.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’
‘We would like to talk to the Chairman of the company.’
Two young well-built men stepped out from the back. Danilov could see something large and bulky beneath their jackets.
‘And who shall I say you are?’
‘Inspector Danilov and Detective Sergeant Strachan of the Shanghai police.’
Another two men stood behind them, blocking their exit. ‘You are in the wrong area, gentlemen,’ the receptionist said pleasantly in perfect English, ‘this is Route Henry in the French Concession. You have no jurisdiction here.’
‘We would still like to meet your Chairman.’ Danilov felt Strachan shifting nervously beside him, his body turning to face the bodyguards and his arm reaching inside his jacket.
‘I won’t be a moment, gentlemen. I’ll see if he is available.’ The receptionist climbed the stairs leading up to the second floor and vanished behind an ornate door.
The four guards didn’t move at all, just stood there staring. Strachan relaxed a little, allowing his arms to hang by his sides, but still ready to react in an instant.
The mansion was decorated in sumptuous taste. The finest Carrara marble, a red velvet sofa and matching armchairs, a fragrant bouquet of fresh flowers graced an ormolu side table. Two large scrolls hung down the walls on either side of the staircase.
Danilov couldn’t read what they said, but he was sure they promised eternal prosperity and wealth for all those that worked there. He walked closer to the scrolls. As he did, one of the guards moved to place himself between Danilov and the stairs. Strachan moved to the side of the Inspector and the other guards took two steps closer.
Danilov smiled and gestured for Strachan to stay where he was. He walked up to the scroll and studied the cartouche at the bottom. ‘Who is the calligrapher, Strachan?’
Strachan joined him, bending down to examine the scroll intently. ‘It’s Tsai Hsiang, sir, one of the masters of the Song Dynasty, I think.’
‘It’s exquisite.’ Only the best for the Three Friends. Opium was an extremely lucrative business.
He knew from his own experience how compelling was the lure of the fragrant smoke. How the dreams entranced and beguiled him into nestling in their sweet arms. He would have to stop soon, for his daughter’s sake.
He didn’t know if she were going to speak to him again. He wished he had handled it better. He would try to make it up to her this evening, try to understand what she felt.
‘Gentlemen, the Chairman will see you now.’ The receptionist had appeared from nowhere at the head of the stairs. The guard stood aside and Danilov and Strachan walked up to join her. She pushed open the door.
‘This way if you please.’
They walked down a long corridor with dark, oaken double doors at the end. On each side, Chinese scrolls lined the walls, the black and white of the paper giving an elegant contrast to the scarlet carpet beneath their feet.
The receptionist opened the doors. ‘The Chairman does not speak English, I will translate for you if that is agreeable.’
Danilov liked the punctiliousness of her English. So precise, it felt like she had learnt it from reading Dickens or Conrad. Not unlike his English. A second or even third language learned through books, too many books.
They walked into an enormous, high-ceilinged room. More Chinese scrolls lined the walls. More flowers decorated ornate ormolu tables. More Ming vases relaxed on spindly-legged high tables.
On the far side, a small Chinese man dressed in a beautifully tailored Mandarin coat and soft slippers sat in an armchair. Two more bodyguards stood behind him.
The man put down his Chinese newspaper and spoke to the two detectives. He didn’t bother to get up. ‘The Chairman welcomes you to his humble company,’ the woman translated.
The two detectives advanced to where the man sat. Danilov could see that he had a round head with closely cropped hair. Two immense ears with full, heavy lobes stuck out from the side of his head like wings on an aeroplane.
This was Du Yue Sheng, he thought, the leader of the Green Gang, who owned the French Concession and most of Shanghai. No wonder he had the nickname ‘Big Ears Du’, it suited him. According to the Princess, they ran everything from prostitution to opium to taxis to clubs to casinos to restaurants. If it moved, they had a share of it. If it didn’t, they still had a share of it.
And this little man with big ears was the leader of it all.
From far away he looked lost, like a grandfather who had misplaced the grandchildren and couldn’t find them anywhere. But then Danilov looked into his eyes. Dead eyes with no life in them. No passion. No feeling. Nothing. It was as if they were the eyes of a lizard, not a man.
For the first time in a very long time, Danilov felt uneasy.
Du spoke again and gestured to a red velvet sofa that was opposite him.
‘The Chairman wondered if you would like to take a seat or if you were not staying long?’
Danilov moved over and sat down on the sofa. Strachan remained standing behind him.
As if by magic, a maid with a pot of tea and just two cups emerged and placed one in front of Du and one in front of Danilov. Between the cups, she laid a purple clay Yixing teapot and three small plates of snacks; some watermelon seeds, some pickled cucumbers and four chickens’ feet in a dark chili sauce. Finally, she put down a pair of jade chopsticks in front of both men, resting on stands carved in the shape of a dragon.
‘Please enjoy a few simple snacks.’
‘I’m not hungry, thank you,’ said Danilov. He looked around the elegant walls with their stark calligraphy. ‘You have a beautiful office,’ he told the Chairman.
Du replied in a deep, gruff voice with a heavy Shanghai accent.
‘The Chairman says that it is adequate, but he is bored with it. He will have it knocked down soon and replaced with something more fitting for his company.’
‘What a waste,’ said Danilov.
The Chairman ignored him. Leaning forward, he picked up one of the chicken feet and put it in his mouth. Chewing and sucking, he spat the small knucklebones onto the table. Danilov and Strachan watched as he ate.
The bodyg
uards watched the two detectives.
The receptionist finally spoke as the Chairman spat the last bone onto the table and sat back. ‘How can Chairman Du help you, Inspector Danilov?’
‘I’m investigating the murder of the Lee Family, they were killed last week.’
Chairman Du began to speak, interrupting Danilov. The interpreter immediately translated. ‘The Chairman wonders what you are doing in the French Concession as the Shanghai police have no jurisdiction here.’
‘We are just making enquiries about the case...’
Again, Du interrupted Danilov as he began to speak, his eyes staring directly at him. They were small and dark, lacking any sort of emotion or life. Again, the image of a lizard eating its prey came into Danilov’s head.
The interpreter translated again. ‘The Chairman is sure that the French authorities would not be too happy to learn that an English police inspector was violating their territorial integrity.’
‘I have spoken to Commissioner Renard and he is content that I continue my enquiries on French soil,’ Danilov lied. At the mention of the French Commissioner’s name, the lizard eyes blinked slowly, once.
Danilov pointed to the telephone, sitting beneath one of the Chinese scrolls. ‘Please call the Commissioner if you would like confirmation.’ He stared at the lizard eyes, daring them to call his bluff. They blinked again.
Du spoke.
‘The Chairman would be happy to help the Inspector with his inquiries if it is in his power.’
‘Please thank the Chairman for me. As I said, I am investigating the murder of the Lee family. Is it true that Mr Lee worked for the Three Friends Company?’
Du spoke and the interpreter translated. ‘The Chairman is devastated by the death of his esteemed colleague, Lee Hsiao Fong and his family. Mr Lee worked for the Three Friends in a relatively minor position.’