Death In Shanghai

by M J Lee

  As if by chance, they walked past a row of carts selling all the tastes of China: pungent preserved bean curd, steaming pots of pig’s giblets, Cantonese Xiao Mai, a sizzling wok full of Ma Por To Fu, a string of glutinous rice cakes wrapped in lotus leaves dangling from a rattan roof, noodles of all shapes and sizes waiting to be thrown in vats of boiling clear soup, and golden glazed ducks hanging by their necks waiting for the burly cook to chop their heads off.

  ‘You wouldn’t like to eat would you, Strachan?’

  ‘After the morgue, a bowl of noodles would settle my stomach, sir.’

  Danilov sat down at one of the small bamboo tables that surrounded each stall. The cook ran over and greeted them. ‘Can I get anything for you, sir?’

  ‘A cigarette and a pot of tea will be enough for me. I ate my fill at your uncle’s. But eat away, Stra-chan. Don’t let me put you off.’

  Strachan ordered a few dishes from the cook.

  ‘While you are waiting for the food to arrive, let’s talk about the case. We now know why the killer is committing his murders. He sees all the people he’s killed as criminals who deserve to be punished. That’s important, Strachan.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The tea arrived. The cook set two glasses in front of the detectives and filled them half full. Strachan washed a pair of chopsticks in his glass and threw the tea away. ‘Can’t be too careful, sir.’

  ‘No, Stra-chan. Not with a deranged killer on the loose. We also know that he carves the characters into his victims to mark them.’

  ‘Just like the preacher, tattooing his disciples, sir.’

  ‘Exactly. Then he puts them on display. He’s proud of his work. He believes this is his mission in life. And in death.’

  The noodles arrived. Strachan immediately began to assemble them into a nice ball in his bowl and shovel them into his mouth with the same vitality as a stoker feeding coal into the engine of a ship.

  ‘He obviously knows a lot about the secrets of his victims. He knows their lives, their habits, their thoughts. How, Strachan, tell me that?’

  Strachan lifted his head from his noodles for a second. ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Neither do I, Strachan, not yet. But we will find out.’

  ‘That’s good, sir,’ said Strachan between spoonfuls of soup. Then the soup spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand?’

  ‘What’s that, Stra-chan?’

  ‘Well, sir, if our prostitute was Russian…’

  ‘She was. Her name was Maria Tatiana Stepanova.’

  ‘Yes, sir. If she was Russian, why did she write a message in English as she was dying? I mean you don’t get anything more English than “HATE ALL”, do you?’

  Strachan returned to his bowl of noodles, slurping his soup. Inspector Danilov leant over and planted a kiss on the top of his head. ‘Brilliant, Stra-chan. You are brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  Strachan looked at his bowl of noodles, pleased with himself. ‘It’s because you don’t eat, sir.’

  ‘I need to see someone and then go back to the station. I’ve got an idea who the killer is. We’re close to Garden Bridge so it should be easy to get a cab. You’ve still got to finish the interviews of the people at the tea dance, haven’t you?’

  ‘Just one more to go, sir – the young man.’

  ‘Well, get a move on, we haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Getting a move on, sir.’

  Chapter 29

  ‘I’m so glad you could see me at such notice.’ Danilov took his hat off as he entered the office. The secretary closed the door behind him.

  Councillor Ayres continued writing, ignoring the interruption. Richard Ayres stood up from his seat in front of his father’s desk and held his hand out. ‘Good to see you again, Inspector. Please sit down.’

  Richard’s father looked up from his documents. Behind him, the view of the Whampoo was stunning. Ships of all shapes and sizes swarming over the river; small bum boats, dirty tramp steamers, elegant yachts, sea-wasted junks, ocean-going liners and, in a row down the centre of the river, a fleet of warships, their decks covered with bunting, their guns pointing towards Shanghai.

  Danilov heard a cough.

  ‘How can we help you, Inspector? If it’s about this girl, Elsie…?’

  ‘Everett…’ Richard leant forward and interrupted his father.

  ‘Yes. Elsie Everett. My son has told you all he knows. He doesn’t have anything else to add.’

  ‘Thank you for making the time to see me. I know you are a busy man, Councillor Ayres.’

  ‘I’ve given you fifteen minutes and then I have another meeting. With the American Consul.’

  ‘Once again, I thank you for the time. I asked to see you both this time.’

  ‘How I can help with a murder investigation is beyond me.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I’m sure you can, Councillor.’ He sat down on the chair next to Richard.

  The desk in front of him was extremely tidy. A small stack of documents on the left, another stack on the right, a blotter, two pens and a telephone was all that cluttered the pale oak. There was no ashtray so he decided not to roll a cigarette. Councillor Ayres sat facing them, his back to the view and his face in the shadow of the light from the picture windows.

  He turned to Richard. ‘Could you tell me about your movements last night, Mr Ayres?’

  Richard glanced at his father. ‘I went to the Shanghai Club at seven, had a spot to eat. Father joined me at nine. We ate a little more and drank a nightcap at the Long Bar. Then we both went home. A very quiet night, Inspector.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ The words from the Councillor had a hint of menace in them.

  ‘Last night, there was another murder. We believe it was the same man who killed Elsie Everett.’

  ‘You’re talking about Dr Renfrew?’

  ‘How do you know who was murdered, Councillor Ayres?’

  The Councillor smiled smugly, reached down into his waste paper bin and pulled out a copy of the morning newspaper. He threw it on the desk. ‘I would think everybody in Shanghai knows, Inspector, if they read the news.’

  The newspaper on the table shouted up at Danilov.

  CHARACTER KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

  Somebody was leaking information to the press. The papers seemed to know more about the murders than he did. It was time to wipe the smile off that smug face. ‘And where were you last night before 9 pm, Councillor?’

  The face smiled back at him like a tiger who’s just spotted a goat tied to a post. ‘Are you accusing me of murder, Inspector?’

  ‘No, sir. Just asking a few questions. If you would answer. Please.’

  The smile appeared on the Councillor’s lips once again. ‘If you must know, I was in a Council meeting.’

  ‘You stayed in the Chamber the whole time?’

  ‘The whole time. The meeting went over. Mrs Harbottle insisted on putting a vote on the motion of introducing prohibition into Shanghai. Damn fool woman. It would be the death of the place.’

  ‘So you stayed until 9 pm.’

  ‘One hundred other people were there. Perhaps, you would like to ask them if I stayed?’ He put the cap back on his fountain pen and laid it at the head of the blotter. ‘Now, if there is nothing else, Inspector, I need to go to my next meeting.’

  He stood up, blocking the light from the windows. A black silhouette against the window, strangling the view of the river and the Bund.

  Danilov remained seated. ‘There is one more thing, Councillor Ayres.’

  ‘Make it quick.’

  ‘Do you know a Maria Stepanova?’

  The Councillor sat back down in his chair. The view of the Whampoo appeared again. Danilov noticed a boat had just left one of the liners packed with tourists eager to spend their money in the shops of Shanghai.

  The Councillor’s green eyes stared at Danilov for a long time. ‘Never heard of her.’

  ‘Are you sure, Councillor? You’ve neve
r met a woman with that name?’

  The smile appeared again. ‘Never, Inspector. One of your Russian friends is she?’

  ‘No. Actually, she was found in the French Concession ten days ago. Drowned in a barrel of pig’s blood.’

  For a second the smile vanished. Councillor Ayres returned to stacking his papers. ‘As I said, never heard of her. Now, if you will excuse me, Inspector, I have another meeting. Richard, will you show the man out?’

  Richard got up. ‘This way, Inspector.’

  Danilov put his hat on and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned back. ‘I will check with the one hundred witnesses, Councillor Ayres. I do hope they confirm what you told me.’

  He opened the door. A secretary was waiting outside, his coat in her hands.

  ‘Any news about Elsie, Inspector?’ Richard asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Ayres, we are pursuing a few leads but nothing concrete yet. I’ll let you know just as soon as I have something.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector. Elsie didn’t deserve to die like that.’

  ‘Nobody deserves to die like that. Not even a Russian prostitute.’ He walked out of the wood-panelled office and hurried down the marble stairs. Paintings of Councillor Ayres’ predecessors lined the walls.

  He needed a cigarette and the fresh coal-scented air of Shanghai. Anything was better than the atmosphere in that office.

  ***

  ‘This man has killed five times already, there can be no more.’ Boyle slammed his fist down on the table. ‘I’m getting pressure from upstairs to solve this.’ Boyle scratched his head just above the left ear. Flakes of his scalp fell like snow onto his shoulders. ‘And Dr Renfrew was not without his supporters in the Council, despite his criticism of them.’

  As Boyle became more angry, the odour of his cologne filled the room, a mixture of sweetness and sweat.

  ‘It’s a difficult case, sir. The killer is clever and sophisticated.’

  Boyle slammed his fist down on the table again. ‘I don’t want to know how clever he is, I want to know how caught he is.’

  Inspector Danilov was standing in front of Boyle’s desk. There were no offers of cigarettes or cigars this time. In fact, there wasn’t even the offer of a seat.

  ‘We have a few leads we are pursuing, sir.’

  ‘A few leads? Is that all? When this man was killing Frenchmen and prostitutes nobody cared too much, but girlfriends of upstanding members of the community, that’s a different matter. And now, it’s members of the clergy. What is the world coming to, Danilov, when the vicars of Christ are murdered in cold blood on the streets of Shanghai?’

  ‘We think he wasn’t murdered on the streets, sir, but in a much more secluded spot.’

  ‘Don’t be literal, Danilov, you know what I mean. Such killings are not good for business or our reputation. The Chinese will lose all confidence in us.’ Once again, he scratched his head. More flakes of scalp fell onto his shoulders. A red blotch appeared on his head where he had scratched. ‘For God’s sake, man, I’m even hearing rumours the vicar was dismembered.’

  ‘His arms and legs were amputated, sir. Then he was displayed at the entrance to the Shanghai Racing Club.’

  Boyle shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear the gory details, Inspector, I just want him caught, is that clear?’ Boyle paused and removed a speck of scalp from his desk blotter. ‘You have two more days, then I’m calling Charlie Meaker in.’

  ‘Meaker is a fool.’

  ‘He may be a fool but he’s a man who gets results.’

  ‘He’ll just pin it on anybody who’s stupid enough to get in the way. Don’t you realise this killer isn’t going to stop until he’s cleansed the world? He thinks he’s Yama, for God’s sake, the judge of the underworld.

  ‘I don’t want to hear any Chinese mumbo-jumbo from you. The man’s just a killer like all the others. Charlie Meaker has some interesting ideas. Thinks the case could be political, wants to get Allen involved.’ Boyle lifted his head and stared straight at Inspector Danilov. ‘I’m giving you one last chance. Don’t let me down.’

  ‘Politics has nothing to do with this. It’s personal. He’s cleansing Shanghai.’

  Boyle stood up. ‘You have two days, Inspector Danilov,’ he said formally, ‘then I’m calling in Meaker to take over. Ye gods, man, even the French have been calling me.’

  Danilov knew the interview was over, there was no more point arguing. He picked up his hat from the stand near the door. Boyle pretended to be reading some memos. Danilov thought about turning around and trying once again to explain to his boss that Meaker would get it all wrong. But he knew he was fighting a war which he could not win, Meaker had already seen to that.

  Miss Cavendish was waiting for him as he left Boyle’s office. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing, Inspector Danilov, the voices were raised, you see.’

  ‘I understand, Miss Cavendish.’ Danilov glanced down at the hat in his hands. The silk band was stained with grease and sweat. It had even begun to seep into the fabric of the hat itself. Had his standards deteriorated so much in Shanghai? What was becoming of him?

  ‘This came for you.’ She reached beneath her desk and produced a Manila envelope with ‘Internal’ stamped across it.

  Danilov opened the envelope and saw another move from Allen. Kh1. He’s getting better, but I’ve still got him, black is ready to move in for the kill. He quickly wrote Qh6 check and placed the sheet of paper with their moves back into the envelope. ‘Would you be so kind as to give this to Mr Allen?’

  ‘Of course, Inspector.’

  ‘I need to send a couple of telegrams.’

  ‘I’ll get the post boy to attend to you.’

  ‘Right away, please.’

  ‘He’ll be there before you can roll one of your cigarettes.’ Miss Cavendish chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Are you going to beat him, Inspector?’

  For a second, Danilov wasn’t certain whether she was talking about the chess match with Allen, or the killer.

  He thought for a moment, and answered, ‘Yes.’

  ***

  ‘Oh, it’s you again, what do you want this time?’

  Sergeant Wolfe had glanced up to see the Giant standing in front of his desk, blocking out the light on his log book with his shadow. The Giant spoke a few incomprehensible words in an even more incomprehensible dialect.

  Sergeant Wolfe sighed, it wasn’t going to be his day. He took the telephone off the hook and rang through to the detectives’ room. Danilov answered almost immediately.

  ‘It’s that bloomin’ Giant. He’s here again, after the reward, I bet.’

  ‘What giant?’ asked Danilov.

  ‘The one who came in two days ago. George Cartwright interviewed him. About the murder.’

  ‘Which murder? And who interviewed him?’

  Sergeant Wolfe sighed again. Sometimes, it was harder dealing with the stupidity of the detectives than the waifs, strays and dog eaters that came into the reception of Central Police Station. He wished he was back at home, sipping a nice cup of tea and putting his feet up in front of the fire. A hot buttered crumpet wouldn’t go amiss too. Goes well with a cuppa does a buttered crumpet.

  He decided to start again from the beginning with Danilov. ‘The Giant. The boatman from the creek. He came in two days ago as a witness to give information about the murder there. You asked people if they had seen anything, remember? George Cartwright interviewed him. Said he was working with you.’

  ‘Working with us?’

  ‘That’s right. He wants his reward.’

  ‘George Cartwright wants a reward?’

  ‘No, the bloomin’ Giant wants his reward. He’s the bloomin’ witness, ain’t he?’

  ‘But we’ve heard nothing. Cartwright didn’t say a word.’

  ‘Well, your Giant is standing here in front of me.’ The Giant was still blocking out his light. ‘He’s big too. Dunno how he fits in a bloomin’ boat.’

  ‘Keep him there. I�
�m coming now.’

  ‘You’ll need an interpreter. Dunno what sort of language he speaks, but it’s nothing that nobody else understands. The interpreter from last time is around somewhere. I’ll get him for you.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘Did you get the telegram as well?’

  ‘What telegram?’

  ‘The telegram that came for you.’

  A loud, exasperated sigh at the end of the phone. ‘I know nothing of any telegram.’

  ‘What’s Cartwright playing at? You can’t trust nobody to do nothing these days. Do it yourself, that’s my policy. Always has been and always will be.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  Sergeant Wolfe put the telephone down. By way of sign language and lots of finger pointing, he eventually got the Giant to stand in the corner out of his light. It was going to be another one of those days, he thought. ‘Who do I have to kill to get a cup of tea around here?’ he shouted to the crowd in front of his desk.

  Nobody responded.

  ***

  ‘Good afternoon, my name is Inspector Danilov. You are Mr Hung, the interpreter?’

  Danilov gestured for the interpreter and the Giant to sit at the table. The Giant tried to slide his knees under the desk, but they wouldn’t fit, so he adjusted his seat before eventually getting comfortable. Danilov was about to start when the Giant moved again, this time putting one foot up on the chair and hunching over his leg. The image of a gargoyle from Notre Dame in Paris flashed through Danilov’s head. ‘This man lives on the creek?’ he asked.

  ‘He does.’

  ‘Ask him to tell me everything he saw.’

  ‘He’s already told you everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry but this is the first time I’m meeting this witness.’

  ‘Not you personally. You, the police.’ The interpreter waved his arm to indicate the building around them.

  Danilov smiled. ‘I’m afraid we will have to go through the questions once more. I would like to hear the answers for myself.’

  ‘Well, it’s your time and money.’

  ‘Actually, it’s the Municipal Council’s money. But you are correct, it is my time, so please ask the witness the question.’