The Killing Time

by The Killing Time (retail) (epub)

  A small man sat in the bentwood chair, his feet barely touching the floor. His body turned towards Danilov and he smiled, revealing a row of gold teeth. On his bald head he wore a flat tweed cap. He looked like one of those men in the American gangster movies that Strachan loved so much.

  ‘Only by reputation. We’ve never worked together before,’ Danilov finally answered.

  ‘I heard so much about you.’

  ‘All good, I hope, Inspector Nakamoto,’ said Rock.

  The Japanese man twisted his head to one side and sucked in his breath. ‘All… interesting,’ he said eventually.

  Chief Inspector Rock pulled a newspaper from his desk and threw it at Danilov. ‘Nakamoto-san came to show me this. But why my own inspector hadn’t informed me first, I’ll never know.’

  Danilov opened the paper. On the front page was a photograph of the boy laid out on the examination table in the morgue. The picture quality was not great, but the mutilations to the face, and the birthmark, could be seen. Beneath the morgue picture was a close-up of the stack of wood where the body was found. There was no blood on the wood, but the symbol could be seen clearly, with the Japanese Club in the background. The headline was worse: CHINESE BOY’S BUTCHERED BODY FOUND IN JAP TOWN.

  ‘What do you have to say, Inspector?’

  ‘Not a lot, sir. I revisited the building site where the body was discovered. The reporters were waiting for me. Somebody must have tipped them off.’

  ‘This is not what we need, Danilov. Given the… ’ Rock scratched his head and looked across at Nakamoto, ‘er… political situation at the moment, it is imperative for the social order of the settlement that this case be concluded speedily. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Of course, Chief Inspector, as soon as I have—’

  ‘Do you have anything to add, Nakamoto-san?’ Rock interrupted.

  Once again the Japanese man sucked in his breath. ‘The murder took place in Japanese section. My detectives will handle from now on.’

  ‘I don’t think it did.’

  The skin around Nakamoto’s eyes wrinkled. ‘I don’t understand, Inspector. Body found next door to the Japanese Club.’

  ‘But the murder didn’t take place in that location. There was hardly any blood on the wood stack, despite the cuts on the boy’s face. I think he was killed somewhere else and then dumped on the building site.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I ask my detectives to investigate. Perhaps they find something you missed.’

  Danilov played with the stained silk on the interior of his hat. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Inspector Nakamoto. The murder scene has already been destroyed. All evidence has been eradicated.’

  ‘What?’ Chief Inspector Rock exploded. ‘Who did it, man?’

  Danilov shook his head slowly. ‘The building site manager. He wanted to remove the bad joss.’

  ‘Bad joss! I’ll give him bad joss.’ Chief Inspector Rock pointed his finger directly at Danilov. ‘Arrest him now. It’s an offence to tamper with a crime scene.’

  ‘I don’t think it would do much good.’

  ‘Inspector Danilov correct, Rock-san. The reporters would find out and there be even more problem than now. However… ’ there was a long pause before Nakamoto continued, ‘I still like my men to handle case. It be easier for Japanese… ’ another long pause, ‘feelings, I think is word in English.’

  ‘Sir, there was another kidnapping of a young child this morning. From a school in the settlement, not in the Japanese part of town. I think the two cases are linked.’

  Chief Inspector Rock paused to think. ‘If this is a settlement-wide crime, Nakamoto-san, perhaps it would be better if Inspector Danilov continued to handle the case,’ he said tentatively.

  Nakamoto stood up. ‘If is your decision, Rock-san, then I sure you understand the… consequences.’

  Danilov reached over and took a pen and some paper from the neatly ordered desk. He quickly drew the symbol found near the body of the dead boy. ‘Have you seen anything like this before, Nakamoto-san?’

  The Japanese man stared down his nose at the drawing. Then his eyes flicked upwards and a broad smile appeared on his face, revealing a set of pure gold teeth. ‘Never, Inspector. Why you ask?’

  ‘Something similar was seen close to the body.’

  Nakamoto shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry, can’t help.’

  ‘Danilov, make sure you keep Inspector Nakamoto informed of all the developments in the case,’ said the chief inspector.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Nakamoto opened the door. ‘I hope you make the right decision, Rock-san. Political situation very tense. Slightest mistake could lead to… ’ again the Japanese inspector seemed to be searching for the correct word, ‘difficulty.’

  He touched his knuckles to the peak of his flat cap and smiled once again, revealing the gold teeth, before closing the door.

  19

  ‘We have a problem, Strachan.’ Danilov threw the newspaper onto his detective sergeant’s desk.

  Strachan picked it up, glanced at the photograph and began reading the story. ‘But… but how did they find out, sir?’

  ‘Can you check the Chinese papers? Have they picked it up too?’

  ‘I’m sure they have, sir. Once one dog has fleas, the rest will follow.’

  ‘That sounds almost Russian, Strachan.’

  ‘One of my mother’s favourite sayings.’ At the mention of his mother, the muscles of Strachan’s stomach squeezed together. She had been gone over two years now, but he still missed her every minute of every day.

  ‘What do you know of an Inspector Nakamoto?’

  ‘Not a lot, sir. Runs the Japanese section of the Shanghai Police, spends most of his time in Hong Kew investigating crime in the Japanese community. Extremely successful from what I understand. His area has the lowest crime and highest detection rate in the International Settlement. Why do you ask, sir?’

  ‘I just met him in Rock’s office. Seems like he wants to take over our investigation. Over my dead body. However, our boss has ordered that we are to keep him informed.’

  ‘Should I copy him on the daily reports I send to the chief inspector?’

  ‘No, Strachan. I’ll talk to him myself. Make sure you let me see the reports before they go to Rock. And if you forget to write them occasionally due to the pressure of work, then I’m sure you will be forgiven.’ The inspector sat down at his desk. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about our Nakamoto-san.’

  Strachan knew better than to say anything.

  Danilov scratched his nose. A cigarette was calling his name, but he resisted the urge. He had been smoking far too much lately, and Elina had spent this morning criticising him for it over breakfast with all the fervour of a devout Jehovah’s Witness. It felt like being clubbed around the head with a samovar.

  ‘What are the next steps on the kidnapping of the twin, sir?’

  ‘Her name was Annie, Strachan, let’s remember.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Anything from Intelligence?’

  Strachan held up a brown file. ‘They finally responded, sir, plus I spoke to Sergeant Wolff.’ He opened the cover. ‘I’m afraid it’s pretty thin, though the sergeant seemed to know more. No reported gang activity since June 1931, when a group of kidnappers from Hunan took at least three businessmen for ransom. The report suggests the figure was much higher, but only three definite cases could be confirmed. The kidnappers were captured after a shoot-out on Bubbling Well Road with the Rapid Action Force. One died in the gunfight; the other two members were sent back to the Chinese authorities, who tried and executed them. Before then, there was a gang from Kiangsi, but they were captured and executed early last year. Sergeant Wolff confirmed all this for me. He also mentioned a gang from Canton, but thought they had decamped to Hong Kong to enjoy the delights of the city.’

  ‘And after them?’

  Strachan threw the report onto his desk. ‘Nothing, sir. No recent kidnappings.
No gangs at large. Definitely no kidnappings or murders of children.’

  Danilov resisted the pressure inside his head to roll a cigarette. He pointed to the report. ‘That thing is useless. I’ve seen more intelligence in a Kharkov mule.’

  ‘Sergeant Wolff was much better, sir.’

  ‘Because he knows the people, Strachan. He’s not sitting behind a desk on the sixth floor.’ Danilov thought for a moment before asking the next question. ‘Do you think Annie’s parents will inform us if the kidnappers contact them?’

  ‘Honestly, sir?’

  Danilov nodded.

  ‘Not a cat in hell’s chance. In their minds. involving the police now would make no sense. Not good business.’

  ‘It sounds almost like a trade negotiation.’

  ‘It is, sir. With its own rules and regulations. None of which involve the police. In their minds, the only problem now is how to guarantee the return of their daughter while paying as little as possible. They may even hire a go-between.’

  ‘A go-between?’

  ‘One of the Green Gang – maybe even Du Yue Sheng himself – to negotiate with the kidnappers. He would take his own cut of the ransom.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Danilov with heavy sarcasm. ‘Everybody has to make something from the life of a young girl.’ Again the desire to smoke drifted like smog into his brain. And once again, he resisted the urge. ‘I’ve been thinking, Strachan. What if this wasn’t a kidnapping? What if it was something else?’

  ‘What else, sir? What reason could anybody have to kidnap young children and murder them?’

  ‘I don’t know. But we have the body of one young boy, missing an ear, lying in the morgue. Did the kidnapping go wrong? Did his parents not pay the ransom? Did the deal not go through?’

  The phone rang on Strachan’s desk. While he answered it, Danilov took the opportunity to roll a cigarette. Only the one, though; he did need to cut back. But it was at times like this, when a case needed the benefit of his mind, that tobacco helped him think.

  Strachan put down the phone. He turned to Danilov. ‘That was Dr Fang. Seems like you’ll be able to put that question to the dead boy’s parents yourself. They’ve just turned up at the morgue, demanding the return of their son’s body.’

  20

  Danilov finished another cigarette before entering the morgue. It steeled his body for the smells and loneliness he would find there, like a smoky armour inside his lungs.

  ‘Are they here?’ he asked Dr Fang.

  The pathologist pointed to a room Danilov had never noticed before, off the white lobby. ‘Apparently they saw the pictures in the paper. Not a pleasant way to see one’s own son. And before you ask, a technician sold the photos. A man who had been with me for nearly twenty years. He no longer works here.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to the technician, if I may.’

  ‘Why, Inspector?’

  ‘In all the time we have worked together, Dr Fang, this is the first time a member of your staff has betrayed your trust. I want to know why.’

  ‘Money talks, and people listen.’

  ‘I’d still like to talk with him.’

  Dr Fang pushed his glasses back up his nose. ‘I’ll find his address for you.’

  Danilov looked towards the closed door of the waiting room. ‘Let me speak to them first. If you could prepare the body.’

  ‘We’ve patched up the face as best we can, but it’s still not a pleasant sight. Perhaps that was the murderer’s intention.’

  Danilov frowned and removed his hat. ‘Come on, Strachan. Let’s get this over with.’

  They opened the door to the waiting room. Inside, the white colour scheme from the lobby was continued, with one solitary Chinese painting of a horse to break up the sterility of the walls. The husband and wife were sitting on two chairs, not looking at each other. A couch was pushed against the far wall, with a few medical magazines scattered across the top of a coffee table.

  As soon as they entered, the husband jumped to his feet. ‘I want to see my son.’

  ‘Please sit down, sir. The pathologist and his team are preparing the body for you.’

  At the word ‘body’, the woman began crying into her handkerchief. Danilov could see her eyes were red with tears.

  ‘This is intolerable. I demand to see my son, now.’

  The woman stopped crying and stared at her husband. ‘Sit down, you’ve done enough demanding.’ She spoke in English, with a strong American accent.

  Her husband cast a scornful look at her, but sat back down on the chair.

  ‘Just a few questions before we continue. What is your name?’

  The man looked away and stared at the wall. The wife answered for him. ‘Mr and Mrs Yeung Tong Chee. Our Christian names are Gladys and Thomas.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Yeung. Why do you think the boy is your son?’

  The woman wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in years. ‘We saw the picture in the paper. It has to be him. When he was taken—’

  ‘I told you not to tell them anything,’ shouted her husband.

  ‘Do not talk to me like that. I listened to you before and look what happened. While you were off wasting your time with your cause, we lost our only son.’ She began sobbing again, more loudly this time,

  Danilov waited for the tears to abate before continuing. The husband continued to stare at the wall, ignoring his wife.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Yeung, how can you be sure this is your son?’

  The woman stopped crying. ‘The picture in the paper. There was a birthmark on the shoulder… ’

  Danilov glanced across at Strachan. His detective sergeant was taking notes. He decided to plough ahead before Mr Yeung could stop his wife. ‘When was your son taken?’

  ‘On the twelfth of January. Two days later, we received a bloody ear in the post… ’ She broke down once more.

  The husband turned to face Danilov and Strachan for the first time. They could both see the pain on his face. ‘There was no ransom demand. There’s always a ransom… ’

  ‘You didn’t have any contact with the kidnappers?’

  He shook his head. ‘We found a go-between to get in touch with them. Then today we saw the picture in the paper… ’ His voice cracked and Danilov could see him fighting to control his emotions. ‘They didn’t give me a chance to pay. I would have paid… ’ His voice trailed off and he turned to stare at the wall again.

  Danilov nodded at Strachan. The detective sergeant left the room to alert Dr Fang. ‘We’ll take you to see him now. I have to warn you, his face was cut severely by his kidnappers.’

  The woman collapsed onto the floor. Danilov leapt forward and helped her to her feet, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘I could just take your husband; he could identify your son.’

  She looked at him through red-rimmed eyes. ‘I want to see him again.’

  He led her out of the room, with the husband following. Strachan stood in front of the entrance to the mortuary, holding the door open. Slowly, almost unwillingly, she walked into the room.

  Along three walls were arrayed rows of doors like lockers at a left-luggage office. Dr Fang’s assistant reached down and opened the bottom drawer on the left, sliding out a tray covered in a white sheet.

  The woman and her husband stood to one side as the assistant unfolded the sheet, exposing the face of the dead boy. Dr Fang had sewn up the cuts with small, almost invisible stitches, but still it looked like a human patchwork quilt.

  The woman buried her face in Danilov’s chest. His hand stroked the back of her head. The hair was thick and coarse, not like his wife’s at all.

  ‘I’m sorry I have to ask this question. Is this your son?’

  The husband nodded, still staring at the face of the boy. ‘It’s Chin Feng.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Fourteen. Only fourteen.’

  The same age as Danilov’s son when he died. The cruellest death. Someone had eras
ed his future just when he had all his life to enjoy.

  He nodded at Strachan, who led the husband from the mortuary. Danilov kept his arm around the woman’s shoulders, slowly escorting her to the exit.

  Behind his back, he could hear the sound of the rollers as the body was returned to its frozen compartment, the door closing with a final metallic click.

  21

  ‘Not easy, sir.’

  ‘No, the loss of a child never is.’

  Strachan realised his mistake immediately. ‘I didn’t mean to… ’

  Danilov held up his hand to stop Strachan apologising. Smoke from the cigarette held between the first two fingers drifted upwards and across his face. The air was cold, wet and damp, a typical Shanghai day in January. Even the street hawkers had decided to stay at home.

  They were standing in their usual place outside the morgue. The sun was going down to end another day, dipping early behind the tall black buildings lining the street.

  Mr and Mrs Yeung had already left. It had taken Danilov more than two hours to prise the details of the boy’s abduction from the father. All the while the mother sat sobbing in the corner, uncomforted by her husband.

  The boy had been taken from a park where he was playing with a friend. Three men had rushed in, ignored his friend, and covered the boy’s head with a bag, pushing him into the back of a black limousine. According to the maid who was there, the boy had fought them, kicking and screaming all the time, but they were too strong for him.

  The father, a manager at Xincheng Bank, had waited for the kidnappers to contact him without calling the police. Two days later, a letter in a plain envelope had arrived in the post. His wife had opened it, only to find a small bloodied ear wrapped in a sheet of paper.

  No message.

  No ransom demand.

  Nothing.

  To Danilov’s disgust, they had not even kept the envelope or sheet of paper.

  The father had then gone to an intermediary; he refused to say who. The go-between had promised a resolution of the matter after the payment of 250,000 dollars in silver. The money still had not been handed over when the wife saw the picture in the Chinese newspaper, Min Kuo.