Shanghai Story: A WWII Drama Trilogy Book One

by Alexa Kang

  Miriam put down the menu she was holding. “Eden, we’d like to talk to you about your articles too.”

  “Yes?” Eden unfolded her napkin.

  Miriam, Yuri, and Igor all looked at her.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Miriam exchanged a glance with Yuri. “Forgive us if we’ve misunderstood, but your articles about the case sound to us like you’re trying to get that Nazi vindicated.”

  Eden stilled her hands. “Well, maybe he should be vindicated.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Yuri asked.

  “There’s a good chance he’s innocent. I’ve made discoveries that point to another suspect.”

  “How can he be innocent?” Igor slammed his hand on the table. “You saw what happened at Cafe Louis. And look at the way she was killed. Who else could’ve done such a sickening thing?”

  Eden grabbed the napkin on her lap. “We’ve all been very upset about Lillian’s death. I want to get to the truth. I want to find her killer. My own investigation has led me to believe that the Nazi might not be her murderer.”

  “You think you can do a better job than the police?” Yuri scowled.

  “Yes.” Eden lifted her head. “The police have done a lousy job if you ask me.”

  “So the only thing that matters is what you believe? It doesn’t matter that we all saw that Nazi trying to intimidate Lillian. It doesn’t matter that the police have caught him and questioned him, and the Police Commissioner himself has practically affirmed his guilt. You think you, a junior reporter who has only been on the job for a few months, who has been in Shanghai for less than a year, can find the truth when nobody else can.”

  Eden winced. That hurt. After all this time they’d worked together to promote the causes for the Jewish Defense League, Yuri was questioning her abilities. He didn’t have faith in her.

  Miriam put her hand on Yuri and held him back. “All we’re saying is that you might want to consider how what you’re doing is affecting our community. Even if you believe someone else killed Lillian, you don’t have to take it upon yourself to speak up for the Nazi. That’s not your job. None of his people will thank you for it.”

  “I don’t expect the Germans or the Nazis to thank me. I’m not doing this for them. If Johann Hauser is found guilty and he didn’t do it, the real murderer would get off free. I can’t let that happen.”

  Her friends remained silent. She could see the skepticism on their faces.

  She took the napkin off her lap and put it on her plate. “I think I’m going to go. I’m not feeling very well suddenly. You all enjoy your dinner.” She got up and left the table. None of them made any attempt to stop her.

  Outside, a chilly gust of wind swept by. Eden grabbed the collar of her coat to keep the air from slipping through to her neck. How did it get so cold so fast?

  31

  That Fateful Night

  All night long, Eden tossed and turned in her bed. Miriam, Yuri, Igor. None of them knew how much it hurt her when they doubted her. Were they right? Was it wrong of her to defend Johann Hauser’s innocence?

  She stared at the ceiling in the dark. What if her theory was wrong? What if Hauser did kill Lillian? As much as she denounced the SMP for accusing Hauser without proof, she had no proof either that Roland Vaughn was the killer. If she were to continue to press her case, she needed a clear conscience. She would never forgive herself if Hauser got away with murder because of her.

  She had to talk to Hauser again. She needed to know for certain he was innocent.

  The next day, she went again to where Hauser was being held. After all the articles she’d written disparaging the SMP, there was no way Inspector Bonham would let her see Hauser. Her best hope was to pretend to be a visitor to the prisoner. Maybe, just maybe, she could get past without anyone suspecting anything.

  Her hope was dashed as soon as she saw the officer at the front desk. He was the same guard who’d been in the room when she last came to interview Hauser.

  She steeled herself and went up to ask to see the suspect anyway.

  The Chinese man who served as an SMP officer clearly recognized her. “Sorry, miss. No one’s allowed to visit him without authorization. The Commissioner considers him a high priority prisoner.”

  Eden was about to give up, but remembered the concierge at the Metropole. She took a ten dollar bill—no twenty—from her purse and quietly set it on the desk.

  The officer eyed the money. He quietly slipped it into his pocket. “Thirty minutes. That’s all the time you can have.”

  Eden dipped her chin and followed him. She’d learned now. In Shanghai, money spoke louder than anything.

  The change in Johann Hauser’s appearance shocked Eden when he came into the interrogation room. A full beard had grown on his face. His uniform, soiled and wrinkled throughout, hung loosely on his body. Had he lost weight?

  The Chinese guard left and closed the door.

  Slouching, Johann dragged himself to the table and sagged into the seat.

  “Are you all right?” Eden blurted out. She hadn’t expected to see him like this at all.

  He stared at her with his bloodshot eyes, then lolled his head. “What do you want?”

  “The same thing I wanted last time. The truth.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. If you’re innocent, you shouldn’t be suffering here. It should be the one who killed her.”

  He gazed at her, his mind seeming more focused. “I read your articles. They don’t give me much here. The food’s rotten. Foul rotten. The water’s dirty. Never a shower or a change of clothing. Bugs and rodents crawl everywhere. But they give me newspapers. Stacks and stacks of newspapers. Guess they want me to see what the whole world is saying about me. I’m evil incarnate.” He sneered. “They’re sloppy though. They send some Chinese prison guard to bring the papers. The idiot doesn’t even read or speak any foreign languages. Your articles got thrown into the mix. I’m surprised. You could’ve vilified me like everybody else. Is your mind just too puny to understand I’m not someone you should help?”

  Ignoring his remark, Eden asked, “Will you tell me what happened that night?”

  “I don’t know what happened. I told you. I didn’t rape or kill her.”

  “Then what were you doing that night?”

  His face twitched. Resentment flared from his eyes. “Like I told them, I went on a long meditative walk along the Whangpoo River. I was back at my billet by midnight.”

  Eden scratched her temple. The Whangpoo River? Surely someone would have seen him if he were there. “You were alone all night? No one can verify where you were?”

  “If someone could, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  Why deflect her questions with a question? If she were in his place, she’d be thinking of anyone and everyone who could vouch for her whereabouts. Street vendors, tourists, laborers. Heck, even beggars and vagrants.

  If she were in his place . . .

  “I was wrongly accused once,” she said. “The Chinese police arrested me. Granted, it wasn’t murder, but they were ready to throw me in jail. Whatever I said, no one would believe me. The people who accused me of wrongdoing even found a false witness to lie against me. I was lucky I knew someone who could get me released.” She tried to look him in the eye. “If you can consider that I want to help someone else in the same predicament, would you tell me what really happened?”

  His brows eased. His chest heaved as he scrutinized her.

  “When you came last time, I didn’t trust you.”

  Eden didn’t reply, but held his gaze.

  “I’m still not sure I do. But if you mean what you said, all right, I’ll give you a chance. Bear in mind, though, no one can know what I’m about to tell you. Otherwise, I could’ve defended myself already.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do I have your word?”

  “Yes.”

  Johann straightened up in his seat. “I’m a drive
r for Oberst Hermann Krüger, a Wehrmacht colonel.” He paused.

  “Go on.”

  “Every Sunday evening, I drive him to a place out near Soochow Creek. A little lane house with a sign in Chinese. He said he needed acupuncture treatments. Sometimes a Eurasian boy—maybe eighteen, nineteen—would come out to greet him. He’d be in there for hours, which should’ve been a tip-off. But I’d been in China only a few months, so what did I know about acupuncture or all this voodoo the Chinese practice? He always came out grinning like he’d found paradise. I guessed they must be working magic in there.”

  He paused again. Eden listened intently.

  “One time, I drove him there after dinner. Maybe it was something I ate. I started getting a stomach ache. It got bad enough that I went inside. I wanted to ask him if I could be relieved and call him a taxi. An amah opened the door. I told her the Oberst’s name. She only spoke Chinese, but she brought me to a room. And there he was, in bed, on top of the Eurasian boy. I feel sick just talking about it.” His face contorted in disgust.

  “And then what happened?”

  “I went back to the car. I sat there. I just wanted to throw up. He came out soon after, looking flustered. I was still in shock. I opened the door for him and drove him back. Neither of us spoke on the way. When we arrived and I opened the door to let him out, he shoved a wad of bills in my hand.” He made a nauseated face.

  “Why didn’t you report him?”

  “Report him? My word against an Oberst? Who’d believe me? He could turn around and accuse me of anything, including insubordination.” He clenched his fists. “That night, I went back to my billet and threw up. I lay in my bed, feeling sick as a dog. For a long time after, I was depressed. How could he? He betrayed everything we stand for. How could he live with himself? Later, I discovered someone had been making unusual deposits into my bank account. I don’t know where the deposits came from. The bank couldn’t tell me for sure either. All they could do was trace it back to a German resident’s account, but when I tried to find him, he didn’t even live here anymore. By then, I could guess it was hush money. The Oberst continued to have me drive him every Sunday. I kept my mouth shut. Not for the money, but because no one would believe me anyway. Besides, what kind of damage would it do to the army’s morale if this got out? I couldn’t have told anyone for that reason alone.”

  Eden lowered her eyes, trying to take it all in. “What you’re saying is, you’d driven Krüger to his lover the night Lillian was killed. I don’t understand. Why didn’t Krüger come to your defense? He knew where you were.”

  “Come to my defense? The first thing he did after my arrest was to save his own ass. He told the higher-ups he’d sent me home early at 5 p.m. He said he’d spent the evening writing a letter to his wife. Since they locked me up, he’s been talking the loudest about how horrified he is that I’d raped the girl, that I’d copulate with a Jew.” He glared up at Eden. “Now how do you think you can get me out of this?”

  He was right. She couldn’t. If he disclosed the Oberst’s secret to the public, the SMP and the British would only be too glad to have more salacious details to use against the Germans. One way or another, they would misconstrue the facts and find Johann guilty anyway. And he would risk humiliating those from his own country who were still trying to save him. If he did, they would abandon him for sure.

  “I need some time to think,” she said. “I am trying to bring the real killer to light.”

  “Yeah, you try and do that.” He crossed his arms.

  The guard who snuck her in opened the door. “Time’s up.”

  Johann gave the chair a defiant push and stood up. Before he left, a flicker of sympathy came to his face. “I’m sorry about what happened to your friend. No one deserves to be killed like that. Not even a Jew.” He followed the officer out before she had a chance to respond.

  She gathered herself and took her leave.

  At the tram stop, she watched the people and cars coming and going on the streets. The tragedy of Lillian did not stop the world from moving on. Neither did the wrongful imprisonment of a man who had committed no crime. Their stories would soon be easily forgotten.

  What could she do to make this right?

  The corner of an old SMP flyer posted on the shelter of the tram stop asking for leads to another murder case fluttered as the tram arrived. The flyer offered a reward of a hundred dollars to anyone with incriminating information.

  Those sloths. So smug in their own little bubble. Their flyer didn’t even include translations in Chinese. How would any Chinese witness know to come forward?

  She let the other passengers jostle their way in before stepping onto the tram herself. The words of her next article began to form in her head. She needed to call the authorities out for their motives. Until she could find solid evidence to prove Roland Vaughn’s guilt, she had to try to keep the SMP in check.

  Are the SMP and Shanghai Municipal Council colluding to make Johann Hauser a scapegoat for political ends? The Council has plenty of reasons to accuse Hauser and find him guilty to flaunt the moral superiority of the British in the eyes of the international community. As the tensions mount between Britain and Germany, can the Council be trusted to deliver a fair trial? How could their evidence be complete when no Chinese witnesses have ever been questioned?

  32

  Princelings of Shanghai

  With great reluctance, Clark rang the doorbell to the Shen residence, a Victorian-style mansion in the southwest part of the city at the edge of Frenchtown. Like his family, the Shens could afford to keep their luxurious home amidst the newly-built multi-story buildings cropping up around them.

  While waiting for someone to open the door, he glanced at his watch, wishing time would pass quicker. He’d put off thinking about today for as long as he could. He reminded himself many times, this was worth the trouble in exchange for peace at home. His mother had been able to convince his father to give him more time, arguing that when he got married, he would no doubt lose interest in taking up jobs outside and return to serious work at their own company for the sake of supporting his own wife and children.

  The maidservant answered the door and brought him to the enclosed terrace, where Shen Yi and another couple were already enjoying their tea.

  “Guo-Hui! You’ve arrived.” Shen Yi sprung out of her seat.

  “How’ve you been?” Clark asked politely.

  “I’ve been fine. You haven’t come calling on others. Others think about you.”

  Clark forced out an apologetic smile.

  “Come here, let me introduce you.” She hooked her arm around his and led him to the table where a young woman was fanning herself and a young man was sipping a glass of cognac. “My best friend Su Kai-Lin and her boyfriend Cao Jun-Jie.” She gazed up at Clark. “This is my fiancé, Yuan Guo-Hui.”

  “How are you?” Clark gave a courteous smile.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Cao got up to shake his hand. His Rolex flashed out from the edge of his sleeve.

  “Today’s Kai-Lin’s Western birthday. We’re celebrating Western style today. Her real birthday is November 4th by the lunar calendar. We’ll have the real celebration with her family then.”

  Clark smiled at Kai-Lin. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, Yuan Guo-Hui.” Kai-Lin smiled back, lifting her chin but relaxing idly in her chair. “You finally appeared. Where has Shen Yi been hiding you?”

  “I haven’t hidden him. Guo-Hui’s a big busy person.” Shen Yi sat down and poured Clark a cup of English tea with lemon. From the assortment of sweets, she served him several cookies without asking him what he wanted and sliced him a piece of birthday cake. Clark thanked her nonetheless. It appeared they’d skipped over the Western tradition of blowing out the candles.

  Shen Yi put down the knife. “He’s a diplomat negotiating businesses with Americans.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” Clark tried to explain. “I’m not a diplomat.”

>   “Don’t be modest,” Kai-Lin said. “You make Shen Yi so proud doing big things. Not like him.” She closed her fan and poked Jun-Jie’s forearm with it. “He’s been relegated to being a supervisor. Not even a manager, only a supervisor in the small shipping division. It’s his own father’s company too. How humiliating.”

  Scowling, Jun-Jie took out his Cartier cigarette case and lit one with his matching Cartier lighter. “Why are you saying so much? I’m helping my father. The shipping division is where he needs me.” He held out his cigarette case and offered it to Clark. “Want one? It’s Dunhill.”

  Clark shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  Kai-Lin flicked her eyes. “You need to fight for your position in the family.” She turned to Clark and explained, “He’s the fifth son. He’s not even on the company’s board. His old father’s brain is confused. He let all of Jun-Jie’s older brothers grab all the top positions. It’s like his whole family is at war. Everyone is openly fighting for more and secretly battling one another. Each person is trying to squeeze out the others to eat up the largest share. His second oldest brother is the most ferocious. When it comes to money, he would disown his kin and six relatives. I keep telling Jun-Jie to assert his place while his old father still has half a sound mind or he’ll get nothing when his father dies.”

  Jun-Jie ignored her and picked up his cognac. Clark felt somewhat sorry for him. It must be uncomfortable to have his girlfriend discuss his situation so publicly in front of a near stranger. “I think you don’t have to worry about this,” Clark said to Kai-Lin. “A great man can yield and stand tall according to the situation. If the conditions at home aren’t optimal, there’s still a big world outside. Everywhere in Shanghai, there’s opportunity. Cao, have you considered branching outside and doing something on your own?”

  “Ha!” Kai-Lin laughed before Jun-Jie could answer. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the Yuan family’s only son. Sooner or later, the Yuan Enterprises will all be yours.” Her remark was so brazen and direct, Clark didn’t know how to respond at once. Shen Yi, however, beamed with pride. Kai-Lin opened her fan and continued, “Of course, you can have the luxury to work outside and dabble in fresh new things. The top seat of your family will be waiting for you whenever you get tired of everything and want to return to the nest.”