Would he ever slow down?
The amah ran after him, her short, stubby legs stumbling along Bubbling Well Road. She was tired, more tired than usual. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, a sense of foreboding clouding her sleep. Should she go back to her village until the troubles were over? It might be safer, but the mistress was sure to sack her and what would she do then?
She was getting closer to him now; her legs weren’t moving quickly but at least they were still moving. Luckily, the streets were quiet, with fewer people than usual crowding the pavement, otherwise she might have lost him. And what would her mistress say then?
‘You can’t catch me, I’m Chang De Ching,’ he shouted over his shoulder.
After ten yards, he stopped running and struck a familiar pose from the martial arts movies that were all the rage. One arm was stuck out, the fist thrusting forward. The other was curled tightly backwards. The legs were bent and ready to strike. He pivoted and kicked out in her direction, only succeeding in falling on his backside on the pavement.
‘Be careful, master, don’t hurt yourself.’ The amah was out of breath as she ran to help him up. He shrugged off her hand.
‘Can we go to the chocolate shop at number 883? I want marshmallows.’
‘Wouldn’t you like tang hu lu instead? A proper Chinese snack. I’m sure Chang De Ching ate them.’
He stamped his foot. ‘I want chocolate. We’re going to live in America next year, my mummy said, so I need to get used to American food.’
‘Your mother also said I was to bring you straight home after your lessons. No side trips, remember?’
‘Ta ma de,’ the boy swore.
The amah rushed to cover his mouth. ‘Don’t you ever say that again, young master. It’s not polite.’
‘Master Wu says it all the time.’
‘Master Wu is an adult. You are only seven.’
‘I’ll be eight next month.’ He reached up to hug her. ‘Please can we go?’
‘OK, as long as you don’t tell your mother. She will sack me if she finds out.’ The amah was exhausted. Perhaps a cup of chocolate with the boy would help her rest and recover.
The boy struck another pose. ‘No she won’t. She knows I like you too much. I won’t allow it. And besides, marshmallows make you big and strong, Master Wu said so.’
‘I’m sure Master Wu said no such thing.’ She took his hand. ‘We’ll have to hurry if we are to go there and get home at the right time. No running any more. Promise?’
The boy held up three fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘What is this scout’s honour?’ she asked him as they hurried down the road.
Neither of them noticed the black car crawling along the pavement behind them.
Neither of them heard the squeal of brakes. Or the slamming of doors. Or the feet pounding on the pavement.
But the amah felt the kiss of a cosh against the base of her skull. Saw the boy being snatched up into the arms of a bald-headed man. Heard the fear in his cries as he struggled to escape.
What would the mistress say?
What would the master say when he came home from his newspaper?
These were her last thoughts as a face with a livid red scar beneath the eye came into view. She saw the glint of a long blade in the winter sun, gripped by a tanned hand.
And then she felt the blade enter her neck beneath the jawbone.
There was no pain. Why was there no pain? Her neck was warm and wet. Why was it so wet? And what was that sound in her head?
His lips came close to her ear.
‘Time to sleep,’ he whispered in the dialect of her village.
She was so tired.
Too tired.
She closed her eyes.
27
Du Yue Sheng kept court in a large mansion in the French Concession on Rue Henry. It was a three-storey building, opulent in an area seeing a vast amount of new development. Around the corner, Victor Sassoon had built Cathay Mansions and Grosvenor House, new buildings in the modern art deco style, providing places to live and play for the new elites of Shanghai.
In the midst of all the bustle of construction, the old mansion provided an oasis of calm and luxury. Danilov and Strachan entered the marble lobby and were instantly approached by four White Russian guards wearing military peaked caps.
The leader gestured for them to lift their arms to be searched.
Strachan pushed their hands away, stepping backwards.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector Danilov, but it is a rule. Nobody enters the chairman’s presence without being searched. A function of the fragility of the times we live in, I’m afraid.’
The speaker was a beautiful Chinese woman wearing a bright yellow qipao slit up the side to reveal the top of her thigh. Her face had all the hidden radiance of the finest porcelain and the austerity of the manager of a workhouse. She spoke with a vivid American accent.
‘You remember me?’
‘Of course, Inspector. We last met on September 28, 1929, I’m sure you remember.’
Two years ago, the inspector and Strachan had paid a visit to the Three Brothers Company investigating the savage murder of the Lee family. Du Yue Sheng had not been involved directly, but it turned out Lee was an accountant for his company, tasked specifically to make up the accounts of the many opium dens under its control. Danilov had managed to smash the operation for a short time, but within a week it had opened again at different addresses.
It was a short but sweet victory.
Danilov scanned his memory for a name. ‘Miss Lin, isn’t it?’ he said tentatively.
A smile creased the hard porcelain skin. ‘Well remembered, Inspector, but we will still have to search you both. Rules are rules.’
Danilov nodded at Strachan. The guard stepped forward and frisked the detective sergeant, removing his police-issue Webley from its holster and handing it to the young woman.
Danilov opened his arms. He never carried a pistol unless it was a necessity. The guard searched him before shaking his head at Miss Lin.
‘Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen. Chairman Du will see you now.’ She turned and walked up the stairs, her steps constrained by the tightness of the qipao.
Danilov could see Strachan watching her body as she moved up the stairs. He nudged the young detective sergeant with his elbow to stop him staring, and followed the woman.
At the top of the stairs they walked down a thick red carpet lining the wooden floor of a long corridor. On either side, calligraphy scrolls by Mi Fu, Wen Cheng Ming and Su Shi decorated the walls. Every ten yards, a Ming vase stood on a plinth, the glaze lustrous in the warm light of a concealed lamp.
Opium, as Danilov knew only too well, was an extremely lucrative business.
Miss Lin tapped twice on the double door at the end. It was opened immediately by a guard and they were ushered into the large salon.
Du Yue Sheng was sitting on a couch in the far corner of the opulently tasteful room. Unlike the last time they’d met, he wasn’t dressed as a typical Chinese Mandarin. Instead, this time he looked more like an English country squire about to go out for a stroll on his property: a beige waistcoat with gold watch and fob, a candy-striped shirt, maroon trousers that looked as if they were made from moleskin. And on his head, a soft cashmere cap, pulled jauntily to one side.
He didn’t look up as they entered.
Miss Lin announced them. ‘Inspector Danilov and Detective Sergeant Strachan to see you, Chairman.’
A pair of lizard eyes slowly recognised their presence. At either side of the eyes, two large ears stood out from a shaven skull. The nickname ‘Big Ears Du’ had been bestowed on the head of the Green Gang many years ago, when he was just a young thug from Gaochiao, beginning his rise in the docks and the underworld. A pale pink tongue flickered out of a dry mouth, licking thin lips. Danilov caught a fleeting glimpse of the teeth behind the lips. Large, yellow, some black, like decaying tombstones. This man was an opium user. Wh
at did he dream about when the sweet smoke filled his lungs?
Danilov walked across another deep carpet, a light shade of green this time, like walking on a lily pond. Chairman Du did not rise to greet him, or even acknowledge his presence.
Miss Lin poured some fragrant tea into the chairman’s cup and added more watermelon seeds to the bowl in front of him. A long, wrinkled, claw-like hand reached out, picking up a choice morsel and cracking it between the yellow teeth.
‘The chairman has agreed to meet with you, as a favour to his friend Chang Hong Lin. The chairman asks how he can assist the inspector.’
Danilov stood in front of the old man, his hat in his hand. The leader of the Green Gang hadn’t spoken, yet already his interpreter was asking questions.
‘I’ll come straight to the point—’
‘It would be best. The chairman does not have much time to spend on your enquiries,’ Miss Lin said.
The lizard eyes flickered minutely.
Did the old gangster understand English? Danilov wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Using an interpreter bought him time to consider his replies.
‘Well, Inspector?’
‘As you are aware, there has been a spate of kidnappings in the settlement recently—’
Miss Lin interrupted again. ‘Are you suggesting the chairman was in any way involved? I would like to remind you, Inspector, that Chairman Du is a well-respected and honoured businessman in Shanghai who sits on many philanthropic boards. He is also the head of the Anti-Drug Enforcement Agency in the French Settlement.’
That was the biggest joke of all. The French had actually appointed the leading drug dealers in Shanghai – this man and his partner, Huang Jin Rung – to run the anti-opium suppression efforts. The fox was guarding the hen coop.
Danilov smiled. ‘Let us be clear, Miss Lin. I know who the chairman is and what he does, so please let’s not play games. If there is one person who knows about crime in Shanghai, it is Du Yue Sheng.’
Miss Lin was about to answer when a claw was placed on the porcelain wrist. A slight blink from the lizard eyes and the chairman began to speak in gravelly, rough Shanghainese.
Miss Lin translated. ‘The chairman is aware of the kidnappings you mentioned, Inspector. He is also aware that an unscrupulous individual has been using his good name to reap money from the poor victims. The man has been caught and his errors pointed out. This will not be a problem again.’
Du placed another watermelon seed between his teeth as the young woman spoke, cracking it loudly.
Danilov decided to try a different tack: diplomacy. It wasn’t his strong suit. ‘In the course of his business activities… has the chairman come across any information that may lead to the arrest of the kidnappers?’
How strange, he thought: here you are asking for help from the biggest criminal in Shanghai. He realised he would do anything to save the young girl.
Again a brief flicker in the lizard’s eyes. The voice began speaking, with Miss Lin translating once more. ‘Kidnapping has a long tradition in Chinese culture… ’ a pause, ‘but given the present situation between Japan and China, any such activity is bad for business.’
Danilov laughed. ‘I would have thought the boycott of Japanese goods and the conflict between the Japanese and Chinese people was the perfect opportunity for men such as Du Yue Sheng to exploit suffering.’
The eyes did not blink despite the insult. ‘In Chinese culture, the character for “challenge” does have a smaller character within it: “opportunity”. Clever businessmen exploit every challenge looking for opportunity, Inspector Danilov.’
‘I’m not—’
Du Yue Sheng held up a long index finger and carried on speaking. ‘However, certain business activities are frowned on at times like these. The chairman is, above all, a Chinese patriot. His love for his country can never be called into question. He has no desire to see it drawn into a fight with Japan that it cannot win.’
‘He’d rather see it drown in a sea of opium.’
‘Such a false statement is not something the chairman expected from you, Inspector. But to return to your original question. The chairman has not come across any information regarding the kidnappers… yet.’
Miss Lin’s pause was interesting. Danilov asked his next question immediately. ‘If the chairman came into possession of information regarding the kidnappers, would he pass it on to the Shanghai Police?’
The answer was one word. ‘Yes.’
Danilov was about to ask another question when Miss Lin carried on. ‘The meeting is over now, Inspector; the chairman has other business.’
They were led into the long corridor, down the stairs into the marble lobby. Strachan was given his Webley back. It had been cleaned in his absence.
Miss Lin escorted them to the door. Danilov stopped on the steps outside. ‘How can you?’
‘How can I what, Inspector?’
‘How can you work for such a man?’
A small smile creased the porcelain skin around her lips. ‘Money talks in Shanghai, Inspector.’
‘No, Miss Lin, in Shanghai, it shouts.’
28
‘Come on, Strachan, we have work to do.’
Inspector Danilov was already seated in the front seat of the Buick.
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Where else? The station. When we get there I need you to call Mr Chen. Check if he has received anything through the post.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘The pattern with the previous kidnapping was that they received the body part after the third day. We still have time to save the girl if nothing has been received.’
Strachan wrote in his notebook.
‘I also need you to check up on the Nichiren sect. Find out all about them, and where they are based in the International Settlement. When we know the address, we’ll get the Rapid Action Force to organise a raid.’
‘We’re not going to interview them first, sir?’
‘No time, Strachan. The girl, she… ’ He left the rest of the sentence unsaid.
‘But the Japanese, sir. They are not going to be happy about us raiding one of their Buddhist orders. Chief Inspector Rock—’
Danilov slammed his hand down on the dashboard. ‘I don’t care, Strachan. A girl’s life is at stake.’ He made an effort to control his breathing. Getting angry at Strachan wasn’t going to help. He lowered his voice. ‘We’re finally making progress, but we have to move more quickly. And if that means upsetting the Japanese, so be it. Du Yue Sheng may deliver the information he promised, but we can’t rely on him. Understand?
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Look, Strachan. This is my decision and my decision alone. If Chief Inspector Rock is to blame anybody, it will be me. It’s my risk.’
‘No, sir. It’s our risk.’
He was just putting the car into gear when a loud hiss erupted from the police radio, followed by the immaculate vowels of Miss Cavendish saying, ‘How do you use this bloody thing?’
Strachan picked it up, pressing the talk button at the side. ‘Hello, Miss Cavendish, we can hear you loud and clear. Over.’
There was another long squawk from the radio. ‘Oh, jolly good, Detective Sergeant Strachan. You can hear my voice?’
‘Yes, Miss Cavendish, loud and clear. Over.’
‘Isn’t this amazing, the wonders of modern science. I can speak to him and he doesn’t even have a telephone.’ Miss Cavendish was obviously talking to somebody else.
Danilov gave Strachan a signal to hurry her up.
He pressed the send button again. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Cavendish? Over.’
‘The chief inspector asked me to tell you personally. There’s been another kidnapping. A young boy.’
Danilov and Strachan looked at each other.
‘Hello, Sergeant Strachan… ’ A short pause, and then she spoke to whoever was sitting next to her. ‘Are you sure this thing is working?’
‘Hello, Miss Cavendish?
We’re on our way. Over.’
‘Jolly good, the chief inspector will be pleased. There are two addresses. The crime was committed at 1079, Bubbling Well Road. The father, who reported it, is at the Min Kuo building.’
‘But that’s the offices of a newspaper,’ said Strachan.
After a long squawk, she finally replied. ‘The kidnapped boy is the son of the editor.’
29
They arrived at the Min Kuo offices forty minutes later, after a hair-raising race through the centre of the city, with the inspector hanging onto the strap above his head and urging Strachan to slow down at every opportunity.
Danilov had already suffered one nightmare ride to the scene of the crime on Bubbling Well Road. But by the time they reached the area, the only people remaining were the usual gawkers and hawkers, attracted by the promise of blood or the expectation of money.
The only witness who had been willing to talk had seen little and understood less. With the scene-of-crime team dusting the area for fingerprints and taking photographs, and the body of the dead amah sent to the morgue, Danilov decided it was time to submit himself to Strachan’s version of driving once more.
The offices of Min Kuo were in an uproar. Editors and reporters rushing everywhere, typewriters chattering, copy boys running, printers dancing between desks, galley proofs clutched in their ink-stained fingers.
Danilov and Strachan were shown into the editor’s office as soon as they arrived.
‘Who the hell are you?’ A young man, no older than thirty, hair unbrushed, jumped up from behind his desk and strode over as they entered, pushing his way through the people in front of him
Danilov showed him his warrant card.
‘About bloody time. What are you doing? When are you going to get my son back? What the hell is going on?’
The inspector held up his hands. ‘Please calm down and tell me what happened.’
‘My son has been kidnapped by the Japanese, that’s what happened.’
Danilov lowered his voice. ‘I need to know the details. Why don’t you sit down and tell me?’
The man ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What are you doing? Why aren’t you out there searching for him?’
The Killing Time Page 11