“That’s none of your damned business. I lend my car to whoever I want.”
“There has been a bad accident and it hasn’t been reported. That is a serious offence, Mr. Wade.”
That was a fact, Wade thought. All members of the diplomatic corps had been repeatedly warned that any infringement of the traffic regulations unless reported could be a serious offence. He thought viciously: serves the punk right! Smashes my car and then walks off! They’ll chew his damn cars off!”
I lent it to Steve Jaffe,” and he gave Jaffe’s address.
“Thank you, Mr. Wade,” the Inspector said and wrote the address in his notebook. “I regret having to trouble you. I may have to trouble you again later. May I call at the Embassy?”
“Oh, sure,” Wade growled, “but not before half past ten, and don’t try to drag me into this! I just lent my car. If Jaffe was mug enough to have had an accident, you can’t blame the.”
“May I ask why you lent him your car, Mr. Wade?”
“Because his own car had broken down and he had to go to the airport.”
The black eyes staring so intently, flickered slightly.
“The airport? Are you sure about that, Mr. Wade?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“The accident took place on the Bien Hoa road. As you know it is the wrong direction for the airport.”
Wade moved impatiently.
“I’m telling you what he told me!” Was he with someone?”
Wade was quite sure it was no business of the Saigon police whether Jaffe had a girl with him or not. He was damned if he was going to give them any information not relating to the accident.
“He might have had a car full of Chinese coolies for all I know.”
Again the little black eyes flickered.
“Did he in fact have Chinese coolies with him, Mr. Wade?”
“I don’t know who he had with him and I don’t give a damn!”
“Then he did have someone with him?”
“I tell you I don’t know! I’ve had enough of this! I want to go back to bed!”
The Inspector bowed.
“I understand. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I will see you later in the day. Thank you for your assistance,” and turning he left the room.
When Wade heard the front door close, he drew in a long breath of relief. He turned to the bedroom to find Ann Fai Wah standing in the doorway, glaring at him.
“You bring the police to my home!” she said viciously. “Never will you come here again! Get out!”
“Who would want to come here again?” Wade snarled.”
“Who are you kidding, you yellow fake?”
She began to scream abuse at him, half in Chinese, half in French, but Wade was too tired and angry to care. He pushed past her into the bedroom, collected his coat, and with her still screaming at him, he stamped out of the apartment.
When he reached the street, he realized he had to walk home. When he finally reached home, he discovered Ann Fai Wah had stolen all his money from his wallet.
It certainly had been one hell of a night.
2
A police car pulled up outside Jaffe’s villa and Inspector Ngoc-Linh got out. He signed to the uniformed driver to remain where he was and then walked up the drive to the front door.
He didn’t expect to find Jaffe there. He had already formed an opinion as to what had happened to the driver of the wrecked Chrysler, but he had to make sure.
The outrage at the police post had been discovered fifteen minutes after Jaffe and Nhan had ridden away.
Hearing the sound of the distant explosions, two policemen on road patrol had ridden fast to the post. Fortunately, they found the telephone was still working, and in less than twenty minutes, a number of Security police, including Inspector Ngoc-Linh, had arrived on the scene.
Apart from the wrecked Chrysler, it seemed to be a typical Viet Minh demonstration although it was unusual for the bandits to leave any of their own dead behind in an attack of this kind.
The presence of the Chrysler baffled the Inspector, but now that he knew Wade had lent the car to Jaffe, he was satisfied that Jaffe was either dead or had been kidnapped.
He rang on the front door-bell and it didn’t surprise him that there was no answer. He was turning away when he saw Dong Ham come around the side of the villa from the cookhouse.
He listened to the old man’s anxious story with attention and interest.
This story intrigued the Inspector who could make neither head nor tail of it.
“And Mr. Jaffe?” he asked. “Did he go out?”
“He went out at six, taking his car.” Dong Ham said, his wrinkled face screwed up with alarm.”
The Inspector turned over in his mind what he had heard, but he still couldn’t understand what it was all about.
“You have the key to the villa?” he asked finally.
Dong Ham handed him a key.
“You haven’t been in there?”
“No. I am the cook. I have no business inside the villa.”
The Inspector balanced the key on the palm of his hand while he considered what to do. Entering property rented by an American could cause a diplomatic incident, but in view of what he had learned, he decided he was justified in seeing if the house-boy was in the villa or not.
He told Dong Ham to remain where he was, then walked around to the back door, unlocked it and entered the kitchen. He saw the step-ladder leaning against the wall. He then entered the sitting-room and looked around. Everything there seemed in order except a broken drinking-glass and a damp patch that could be whisky on the floor.
He went into the hall, opened the front door and beckoned to Dong Ham who came up the steps reluctantly.
“Have you ever been in here before?” the Inspector asked.
Dong Ham said he had been in twice to help Haum move some furniture.
“Go in there and tell me if you see anything unusual in the room.”
Dong Ham entered the sitting-mom and looked around.
Immediately he pointed to the picture on the wall. That, he said, he hadn’t seen before.
The Inspector examined the picture which didn’t appeal to him. This would explain why Haum had fetched the ladder and the hammer.
Having solved that little problem, the Inspector dismissed it from his mind and proceeded to look over the villa. He opened cupboards in the kitchen and in the sitting-room, then finding nothing to interest him, he went upstairs, leaving Dong Ham in the hall.
A quick glance into the bathroom showed him everything was in order and he moved down the passage to Jaffe’s bedroom. He found the door locked. It was unusual, he thought, frowning at the door, to lock a bedroom door and to remove the key. He tapped on the door and listened, but heard nothing. Then he stepped silently to the banister rail and looked down into the hall to make sure Dong Ham was still there, seeing he was, he took a pick-lock from his pocket and unlocked the bedroom door.
He entered the bedroom. The contrast of the stifling passage and the cold bedroom made him shiver slightly. He looked at the big clothes closet and his intent black eyes flickered. He tried the door and found it locked. Using the pick-lock, he opened the door.
Dong Ham waiting in the hall, nervously picking at the hard lump of skin on his hand, could hear the Inspector moving about upstairs. The old man watched anxiously. He was quite certain that something very bad had happened to Haum whom he liked.
It was a good half hour before Inspector Ngoc-Linh came down the stairs. Dong Ham watched him come; he could read nothing from the brown, expressionless face.
“I will be returning,” the Inspector said. “In the meantime no one is to enter the villa, and that includes you. Is that understood?”
Dong Ham nodded. He was too frightened to ask the question that was tormenting him.
The Inspector waved him out of the villa, then following him, he locked the back door. He called to the uniformed driver who got out of the ca
r and hurried to his side.
“You will remain here and see no one enters the villa,” the Inspector said. “You will let no one see you, unless of course, you have to prevent them entering. I may be two or three hours, but I will return.”
Leaving the driver staring suspiciously at Dong Ham who blinked at him uneasily, the Inspector walked to the car and drove rapidly away.
3
Colonel On-dinh-Khuc, Chief of Security Police, sat in a high-back, heavily carved wooden chair and breathed gently through his wide spread nostrils.
He was a grossly built man with a round hairless head, narrow cruel eyes, thick lips and big flat pointed ears. Half Chinese, half Vietnamese, he had the worst features of both races, both in his nature and in his appearance.
For six years he had controlled Security Police with an iron hand, but there were certain influential politicians who were determined to get rid of him, and this he knew.
They argued that he had long since served his purpose. He had been useful before the regime had been finally established, but his methods were so grossly uncivilized and his mentality so brutal, he could now very easily bring the regime into international disrepute. The sooner he went and a more acceptable man found the better.
This campaign to get rid of him was steadily gaining ground. Colonel Khuc was a man of extravagant tastes and vices. Compulsory retirement was the only thing he feared. Once he was deprived of his office, the large income he extorted from thousands of peasants and Chinese coolies who had reason to fear the police would come to an end. He would have his pension to live on and nothing more. The thought of living at such a reduced scale continually tormented his mind.
This Monday morning, he had been awakened from an opium-drugged sleep by a terrified servant who had been forced to do so by Inspector Ngoc-Linh.
Colonel Khuc had told himself that if Ngoc-Linh had come on anything but emergency business he would make him regret his rashness to the end of his days.
He had got out of his silken bed, put on a black silk kimono with a gold dragon embroidered on the back and had moved silently on bare feet into his study where the Inspector was waiting.
Until his servant brought him a glass of tea and had gone away, Colonel Khuc had ignored the Inspector who stood motionless in front of the vast carved desk.
The narrow black gleaming eyes had finally moved to the Inspector’s face.
“What is it?” the Colonel asked softly.
If there was one thing he could do better than another, the Inspector could make a concise report. He had the ability to marshall all the important facts and to bring them out dearly, quickly and in their right order.
Colonel Khuc listened without interruption. From time to time he sipped his tea, but apart from the movement of his thick arm, he sat motionless.
When the Inspector ceased to speak, Colonel Khuc continued to stare at him without seeing him while his brain raced over the facts given to him.
The Viet Minh attack and the kidnapping of the American were matters of routine. They had happened before “and no doubt, they would happen again. Apart from a face-saving show of activity which would lead nowhere, there was nothing the Colonel could do about it.
But why had this American murdered his houseboy?
This was something that would require the most cautious and careful investigation. The American must have had a very good reason to have done such a thing. Before the murder became public news and before the American Ambassador was informed, Colonel Khuc was determined to know what this reason was.
“What do we know about Haum?” he asked.
“I came to you immediately, sir,” the Inspector said. “I have had no time to check his record card.”
Colonel Khuc rang a bell on his desk. The door opened almost immediately and his secretary, Lam-Than, came in.
Lam-Than was a tiny man with a slight limp. He had been the Colonel’s creature for a number of years. It was said that there was nothing too bad, nothing too disgusting, nothing too degrading he wouldn’t do for the Colonel. He was feared and hated by all members of the police. It was said it was he who obtained opium for the Colonel; the very young girls who were sacrificed to the Colonel’s depravity, and it was he who organized the extortion system that provided the Colonel with his wealth.
This tiny man limped to the Colonel’s desk and stood waiting.
“I want all the information you have on Steve Jaffe, an American working with American Shipping and Insurance Corporation; on his houseboy Haum; on his cook, Dong Ham, on Haum’s girl, My-Lang-To,” the Colonel said, then turning to the Inspector, he went on, “Wait here.”
He left the room, followed by Lam-Than who ignored the Inspector.
When the door closed, the Inspector remained motionless, aware of the real possibility that one of the Colonel’s spies was watching him through some concealed peephole.
He remained motionless for twenty minutes, then Colonel Khuc returned, showered, shaved and wearing an immaculate lounge suit.
The time by the ornate gold desk clock was five minutes past six.
“We will go to the American’s villa,” Khuc said. At this moment Lam-Than came in.
“You will come with me,” Khuc said.
The three men went out to the Inspector’s car. Khuc and Lam-Than got in the back while the Inspector slid under the driving wheel.
At this hour only the coolies and the market vendors were moving on the sidewalks. No one paid any attention to the black Peugot as it swept along the empty streets.
Khuc said, “What do we know about Haum?”
“He was a good citizen,” Lam-Than said. “He was studying political science. He was a supporter of the regime. He has never been in debt. We have nothing against him.”
“Was he a homosexual?”
“Most definitely not. We have absolutely nothing against him.”
Colonel Khuc frowned. His first thought had been that Haum and this American had had an unnatural association, Haum had attempted blackmail and the American in a fit of rage had killed him. Obviously, it wasn’t as simple as that.
“The cook?”
“He is a very old man and he has had nothing to do with politics for the past twenty years. At one time he was cook to the French Ambassador during the French regime. He is suspected to pro-French tendencies, but we have nothing further against him.”
Colonel Khuc stroked his fat, flat nose and looked sideways at Lam-Than who was staring at the back of Inspector Ngoc-Linh’s head.
“And the girl?”
“Politically nothing. However, there is a rumour that her father has had incestuous relations with her. This is probably true. Her father is a degenerate.”
Again Colonel Khuc stroked his nose.
“So we would have a reasonable excuse to get rid of these two?”
“Yes, we could get rid of them,” Lam-Than said. The Inspector, listening to this conversation, moved uneasily. There were times when he wished he did not have to work for Security Police.
“Now tell me about the American,” the Colonel said.
“He follows closely to the usual American pattern,” Lam-Than said. “He drinks too much. He chases women. He is non-politically educated. He has been divorced. He is short of money. He goes often to the Paradise Club to satisfy his sexual appetite.”
“Nothing else?”
Lam-Than shrugged his shoulders.
“He is an American. There is nothing else.”
“He isn’t a homosexual?”
“No.”
The Colonel frowned.
Then why did he kill the boy? he asked himself. What could be the reason?
There was silence in the car for the few remaining minutes before it pulled up outside Jaffe’s villa.
The long street was deserted, and after a quick look to right and left, Colonel Khuc got out of the car and hurried up the drive with the Inspector and Lam-Than at his heels.
The Inspector was pleased that his d
river didn’t show himself. He led the others around to the back door where the driver was standing with his back against the cookhouse door which was closed.
As soon as the driver saw the Colonel he came to attention and stood rigid, his eyes round with fright.
“Has anyone been here?” the Inspector asked.
“A girl,” the driver said, scarcely able to form his words so great was his fear of the Colonel. “Her name is My-Lang-To. She wanted me to enter the villa. I have locked her and the old man in the man’s sleeping quarters.”
“Did she say why she wanted you to enter the villa?”
“She said something has happened to her fiancée. She is sure he is in the villa.”
The Inspector looked at the Colonel for guidance.
“That is all right,” the Colonel said. “I will speak to her when I am ready.” To the Inspector he said, “We will go inside.”
The Inspector unlocked the back door and led the way into the sitting-room.
The Colonel and Lam-Than looked around the room. Lam-Than immediately walked over to the smashed drinking glass on the floor and stared at it.
The Inspector said, “He was probably drinking when something happened to startle him and the glass slipped out of his hand.”
Lam-Than looked at him, his evil face sneering.
“Surely that is obvious,” he said. “What would be more helpful is to know what happened to make the glass slip out of his hand.”
“Is that the picture the American and the boy put on the wall?” the Colonel asked, pointing to the picture. “It is a poor thing. Why should he want to hang such a thing on his wall?”
“Americans have very little taste,” Lam-Than said. “The picture probably reminded him of a girl with whom he has had an association.”
“Had he any particular girl?” the Colonel asked, turning to the Inspector.
“I don’t know, sir, but I will find out,” the Inspector replied.
“Do so. It could be important.”
Lam-Than was moving around the room like a cat that smells a mouse.
“There is a lot of plaster dust here,” he said. “Have you observed that, Inspector?” He bent down and made a long mark with his finger on the floor that revealed the floor was covered with dust. He straightened and stared at the picture, then he looked at the Inspector. “Please do me the favour of leaving the room,” he said, his acid voice suddenly sharp.
A Lotus for Miss Quon Page 7