by Alexa Kang
33
Hitler’s Whore
The chances of catching Roland Vaughn seemed hopeless until Eden got the call from Officer Zhou. Not only had he found a witness, he had also invited the coroner to join in when they met at his office.
Clark, too, brought a surprising piece of news.
In the meeting room at the Chinese police station, Zhou offered the coroner a cigarette and lit it for him. The coroner took a drag and crossed his legs. “The cuts and bruises on the victim’s arms and legs are consistent with a struggle.”
“That sounds like Lillian,” Eden said. “She was feisty. She must have put up a fight.” She imagined Lillian struggling against Vaughn. Could that have been the cause of her downfall, that she dared to fight back?
The coroner stroked his mustache. “There were choke marks around her neck. I believe that’s what ultimately killed her. She was strangled. The cut down her torso looked like it was done postmortem. It was precise, like it was done by a surgical knife.” He spoke in a flat, unemotional tone, but Eden still felt ill. “I’d say whoever did this had had some type of medical training.” He blew out a puff of smoke. “The rest is all in my report.”
“Chilling,” Zhou said. “Miss Levine, do you have any more questions?”
Eden shook her head. Zhou thanked the coroner and saw him out, then closed the door. “I found the street cleaner who discovered the body. He doesn’t know much, unfortunately. But, after making some inquiries at the dairy shop, I was able to find the taxi driver who drove Lillian to Vaughn’s villa. It wasn’t the first time he had driven girls for Vaughn. It was a simple arrangement. He would pick the girls up at the dairy shop. When the girl was ready to leave, he would drive them back into the city and let them off in front of the Vienna Ballroom. He said the girls sometimes looked disheveled when he drove them back to the city, but he got paid and he didn’t ask any questions. Anyhow, he thought the girls were paid for. A few times, he saw them crying. He didn’t think they were raped.” He hesitated. “He thought maybe Vaughn made them do something deviant. Laowai, foreign men, he heard, had strange fetishes.”
Both Eden and Clark looked away, uncomfortable with broaching the subject.
“Anyway,” Zhou said, “he said he distinctively remembered he did not drive Miss Berman back to the city the night he drove her to Vaughn’s villa. He’d gone to get a bowl of noodles after he dropped her off, then returned and waited outside like he always did. Around nine o’clock, Vaughn came out and told him to go home.”
“So Lillian never left,” Eden said.
“Not with this driver, no.”
“At least we know where she went now.” Clark gave her an encouraging smile.
“No.” Eden shook her head. “That’s not enough. Where do we go now? We have no proof what happened to her after Roland Vaughn told the taxi driver to leave.”
Zhou glanced apologetically at her and Clark. “I’m afraid my sources have run dry. Unless more witnesses come forward, this is all we’ve got.”
Eden’s heart fell.
“There is one last resort,” Zhou said, hesitant.
“What’s that?” Eden asked.
“We can try offering a reward. Someone can post flyers offering a reward around the Jing ’An Temple area. The body was dumped there by someone. If we’re lucky, a witness may come forward.”
“I’ll do it,” Clark spoke up. “We’ll post a two hundred dollar reward for anyone who can offer any clue.”
“Two hundred dollars?” Eden asked. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It’ll be all right. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
“I wish you both good luck then.” Zhou handed Eden a copy of the coroner’s report.
“Thank you, Officer Zhou.” Eden accepted the report. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Don’t thank me,” Zhou said. “I’m doing him the favor.” He threw a glance at Clark.
Clark held his hand up in denial. But even if he wouldn’t take the credit, she knew she couldn’t have gotten this far without him.
They left the police station and strolled along the street. Clark wanted to tell her something else he wanted her to know. “Do you remember Mauricio Perez? The owner of Sambuca?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not just a bar owner. He trades in information.”
“What kind of information?”
“Any kind. Private records, government secrets, trade routes, and ship movements. Anything he can find, as long as you pay the price.”
“What are you saying?”
“I asked him to look into Roland Vaughn. It turns out, Roland Vaughn had been suspected of committing a series of rapes back in Manchester.”
“Manchester?” Eden stopped. “Clark! How much money did you pay to get this information?”
“That’s not important. Lillian died. The money’s nothing if we can bring the killer to justice.” He started walking again.
Eden glanced at him sideways. It sounded altruistic enough, but did he really go out of his way to do this for Lillian? He’d only met her once.
“In Manchester,” Clark continued, “several of the victims were brutally attacked when they tried to fight him off. Some of them required medical treatment afterward. That was how he got found out. The victims wouldn’t cooperate though. They didn’t want to stand trial and ruin their own reputations. He escaped and came to Shanghai before the Manchester police were able to arrest him and bring a case against him.”
“That’s terrible.” She held her hand to her mouth.
“In Shanghai, it’s even easier for him to get away with doing what he did. Here, he can rent a villa for a fraction of what it would cost him in England. No one would know what he’s up to there, and the Chinese can’t talk. The foreign authorities wouldn’t bother asking the Chinese about him anyway. And with so many girls from different foreign countries coming in and out of Shanghai, it’s harder for the victims to find out from each other what kind of man he is.”
“This man is a monster,” Eden said. “I will do whatever I can to get him locked up.”
Clark smiled. “I read your articles. I think you make a very convincing case. It’s very audacious of you to take on the SMP.”
Rather than cheering her up, the reminder grated on her. “My friends don’t think so. They think I’m sympathizing with a Nazi. They think I’m wrong to try to prove his innocence, even though now I know he is.”
Clark watched her. His eyes told her he understood. “It’s hard to do the right thing sometimes. I’ve learned that when it comes to justice, things are not black and white. There are times when you have no choice but to side with people who are everything you’re against. All you can do is trust yourself and remember why you’re doing what you do.” He gazed down, then looked up again. In a low, serious voice, he said, “I’ll support you all the way.”
His words struck the very depth of her heart. She needed to hear these words. It had been so hard, challenging the system all alone. She wanted so much to tell him how she needed him right now, if only she weren’t so afraid he’d back away like he had the last time. “Thank you,” she said as they slowly strolled back to his car.
With new leads in hand, Eden couldn’t wait to tell Zelik everything she’d discovered when she returned to her office. Finally, she had enough information to bring forth an alternative scenario of what might have happened to Lillian instead of the one the SMP had been alleging all along.
Zelik was in no mood to listen to her. The minute she stepped into his office, he began to complain. “This is getting out of hand.” He stood up and threw a stack of letters on his desk, startling her. “I’ve been an editor here for twenty years. I’ve never, never, gotten so many letters berating us for what we published. I’m getting non-stop calls, angry calls. I’ve been called every name in the book. People are calling the China Press Nazi propaganda. I’ve worked all my life to help our people and now I’m a traitor. A Nazi sympathizer. Read
ers are calling for me to step down. They say I’ve gone senile.”
He dropped back down in his chair. “What they say about me isn’t even the issue. I’m more worried about our paper. Do you know how long it took us to build our reputation? We’re losing our credibility and our readership over a Nazi. Is this worth it?”
“We’re not losing our credibility,” Eden said. “We’re the only paper that’s got the story right. We need to show the readers and make them understand that. Look, I’ve come to tell you, I’ve got reliable sources who can account for Lillian’s whereabouts the night she died. What I told you about her meeting Roland Vaughn was true. A concierge at the Metropole Hotel gave her a note Vaughn left for her telling her where to go. It was a dairy shop in the suburbs. She got there, and I’ve found the taxi driver who drove her from there to Vaughn’s place.”
Zelik put his pipe in his mouth and eyed her with doubt across the desk.
“There’s more. I found out the Manchester police had been investigating him for multiple rapes before he came to Shanghai. If you know anyone in Manchester, you can confirm our story. Plus, I have a copy of the coroner’s report.” She laid it on his desk. “One thing stood out. The cut down her torso was done with surgical precision with surgical equipment. It is impossible a Wehrmacht corporal, a driver, could’ve known how to do that.”
“Let me see that.” Zelik picked up the report and flipped through the pages. “It’s still not proof Vaughn killed her.”
“I’m working on it. Please. Give me more time. I’ll find the evidence. For now, we can run this story. At least, we can raise suspicions about the right perpetrator.”
He eyed Eden again and blew out a puff of smoke. “Fine.” He tossed the coroner’s report back to her. “But you better solve this case very soon. If we can’t show clear, convincing evidence that the Nazi didn’t do this, I’ll have to put a stop to this.”
Eden took back the report. Her hopes now rode on someone coming forward offering information in exchange for a reward. They had to find something to pin onto Vaughn, or else all her work would be in vain, and Lillian would never rest in peace.
She returned to her desk. The phone rang. It was Mrs. Berman on the other line.
“How could you?” The pain in her voice seared into Eden’s ear. “You were her friend. We depended on you to make her murderer answer for what he’d done. And you . . . you protect the Nazi?”
“Mrs. Berman—”
“How much are the Nazis paying you to write this garbage? How dare you betray your own people like this?”
“Mrs. Berman, if you’d just let me explain—”
“Why don’t you go back to Munich if you like the Nazis so much? Go. I don’t ever want to see you again, you two-faced tramp.” She hung up the phone.
Eden dropped her head into her palms. Hurting the Bermans was the last thing she wanted. If only they would listen to her.
She had to explain. Miriam. Maybe Miriam could explain the situation to the Bermans and make them understand. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“Miriam?”
“Eden?” Miriam sounded surprised.
“Miriam, I need your help. It’s a long story. Can you meet me for dinner tonight?”
“Tonight? I’m afraid I can’t. I’m going to the Jewish Defense League meeting.”
“There’s a meeting tonight? No one told me about it.”
A pause held on the other side. Eden didn’t need the answer spelled out. “I see.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, what you’re doing lately isn’t exactly defending the Jews.”
Eden bowed her head. All the fire inside her flamed out. “Miriam, do you believe me? I am trying to find the man who murdered Lillian.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing.”
Eden lowered her elbow.
“I have to go. I’m running late,” Miriam said. “Goodbye.”
Their conversation ended. Only the whirring sound of the dial tone remained.
She was all alone.
Dottie, the secretary, came over. “Eden? You have a visitor.”
Eden looked up. Standing in the waiting area was Isaac.
He gave her a timid smile. She tossed her head and invited him to come to her desk. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to walk you home.”
“Walk me home?”
“It’s five o’clock. Aren’t you getting off work?”
She checked the clock on the wall, then the pile of notes on her desk. It was useless. There was no way she could write anything tonight. “Sure, but, why did you come?”
“I thought you could use some company.”
Her heart softened. She could indeed. “Let me get my coat.” She took her purse, got her coat, and walked with him out the door.
“How’s work?” she asked him when they sat down on the tram.
“Good. I’m learning a lot, but the Chinese hospitals are crazy. There’s no real system or oversight. Some doctors are good, some are questionable. One thing that bothers me is when patients come in for surgeries, they have to give the lead surgeon a hongbao. It’s a little red envelope. The patient’s family stuffs it with money. Nominally, it’s for good luck for the surgery to go well. But if the doctor doesn’t get the hongbao, he won’t begin the operation.”
“What?” Eden exclaimed. “That’s unimaginable.”
“The doctor would say, without the hongbao, the procedure is not blessed with good luck, and they don’t want to risk something going wrong. Although, you got to wonder.”
Eden sighed. This city. Nothing was ever what it seemed. The myriad of tricks and games people played were tiring her out.
Isaac pulled his attention back from the window. “I read all your articles.”
“You did?” Eden sneered at herself. “Do you think I’m a traitor too?”
“No. But I don’t think it’s a wise thing what you’re doing. What do you get out of it? Everyone shuns you. Your friends don’t call you anymore. You’re never happy at home. You know why you don’t even go to the synagogue anymore.”
“I’ve been busy.” She brushed it off. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah.” He stuffed his hands into his coat. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Eden bit her lip and turned her face the other way.
Arriving home, they found a piece of paper taped to the outside of their apartment’s front door. On it was an illustrated sketch of her, naked on her hands and knees, in bed with Hitler, engaging in an unspeakable act. Above the sketch, someone had written in red, “Hitler’s Whore.”
Appalled, Eden stood still. Her entire body was shaking. Isaac whipped the paper off the door, tore it to pieces, and dumped it into the rubbish bin in the hallway.
“Don’t pay any attention to that.” He unlocked and opened the door. Eden felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.
In the living room, Dr. Levine was disinfecting a wound on Joshua’s knee while Mrs. Levine examined the hole in the leg of her son’s pants. Joshua was still whimpering when they walked in.
“What happened?” Eden asked. “Did Joshua fall and hurt himself?”
Her mother looked away and didn’t answer. Her father put away a cotton ball and said, “He got into a fight. Some kids threw stones at him when he was walking home from school.”
“They called me a traitor,” Joshua cried. “They said I’m a Nazi spy.”
Eden held her hands up over her face. When her father finished putting the bandages on Joshua’s knee, Isaac said to Joshua, “Don’t cry. Be a big man. Why don’t I take you for some ice cream?”
Joshua nodded. He rolled down his trouser leg and put on his coat to go out with Isaac.
“I can walk him to school tomorrow morning,” Isaac said to Mrs. Levine.
“Thank you, Isaac. I’d appreciate that.” Mrs. Levine squeezed out a smile.
After they left, Eden headed to her room, want
ing to be alone. Her father called her back, “Eden.”
She turned around.
“Maybe it’s time you stop.”
Eden didn’t answer.
“You know your mother and I are behind you a hundred percent. We know you want to get to the bottom of this, but maybe it’s time to let someone else do the job. Lillian’s dead. You can’t change that. Even if the Nazi isn’t the killer, he has his own people to fend for him.”
“Why can’t everyone understand? I’m not fending for him. I’m trying to bring a monstrous killer to justice.”
“You’re not the police. You’re a reporter. You don’t have to take it upon yourself to solve this case.” Her father closed his medical box. “I’ve lost all my Jewish patients. If it weren’t for the Chinese who still come to see me, I’d be out of a job. And think about your mother. Everywhere she goes, people point and whisper. Do you want to see her be treated like a pariah like that?”
Her mother turned her face. Clearly, she disapproved of what her daughter was doing even more so than her husband.
Eden stared down at her feet. Which way should she go? Forge ahead? Or turn around like her father said?
She walked away from her room and headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” her mother called after her.
“Out.” She closed the door. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was sure. The answer was out there. She only needed to find her way.
The Blackstone Apartments on Rue Lafayette was always Ava Simm’s residence of choice whenever she decided to spend a period of time in Shanghai. She preferred its French garden in the summer and the neoclassic architecture over the more modern buildings that had sprung up each time she returned for a visit. The swimming pool, especially, was something she could not do without.