The Killing Time

by The Killing Time (retail) (epub)

  Mrs Chen glanced across at them. ‘My husband is on the committee.’

  ‘The committee?’

  ‘Organising the anti-Japanese boycott. He feels it is his patriotic duty. We have to do something to stop them, Inspector.’

  Danilov nodded and placed his hat on his head. ‘I’ll let you know about your daughter as soon as I can, Mrs Chen.’

  The brown eyes stared at him.

  He left without waiting for an answer, followed by Strachan.

  Nobody showed them to the front door.

  As he stepped out into the dark of the countryside, he took a deep breath of air. He didn’t want to smoke a cigarette.

  Not now. Not here.

  ‘The husband knows the editor of the newspaper, Shen Yang, sir.’

  The inspector sighed. ‘Which means he also knows Mr Yeung. It appears we have found our connection, Strachan.’

  ‘I thought you would be happy, sir.’

  ‘If this is political, it will be lot more complicated and far murkier than we ever imagined.’

  A cough. The nervous tic again, taking Danilov out of his thoughts.

  ‘I took the liberty of arranging a meeting later with the girl I saw last night. I’ve brought the mug shots for her to look at. I thought she might be able to help us.’ A tentative smile dangled on the edge of Strachan’s lips.

  Danilov thought for a moment. For the first time, Strachan was beginning to show some initiative. ‘A good idea. You meet with her.’

  ‘You don’t want to come?’

  ‘Not this time, Strachan. I have some thinking to do.’

  They walked down to where they had parked the Buick. Danilov stopped for a moment and looked back at the house before he opened the passenger-side door. ‘We need to catch these men before they kill any more children, Strachan.’

  Sometimes he hated this job.

  38

  It was approaching four o’clock by the time Danilov and Strachan made it back to the detectives’ office. They had stopped at a stall near the Jing An Temple on Bubbling Well Road to feed the insatiable monster otherwise known as Strachan’s stomach with some shao lung bao, daan been and sheng jian bao.

  Danilov, of course, didn’t eat, preferring to drink tea, smoke cigarettes and think while Strachan tucked into the dishes on the table.

  ‘You’re not having any, sir?’

  ‘Murder always spoils my appetite, Strachan.’

  ‘It seems to have the opposite effect on me.’ Strachan picked up a large river prawn in his chopsticks and bit its head off, sucking the greenish juices loudly.

  ‘When we get back, I want you to check out the history and background of the three families involved in the kidnapping. Also, find out who the other members of that committee are. It’s time we warned them to guard their children. I believe these men will strike again.’

  ‘Murder another child, sir?’

  Strachan’s bluntness shocked Danilov into silence for a second.

  Had he become too involved with this case? Not dispassionate enough? Had the death of his son led him to miss something important?

  He shook his head. Focus, Danilov.

  ‘Why did the Japanese monk run away from you, Strachan?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I never had a chance to ask him.’

  ‘He had no need to run. All we would have done was ask him a few questions about the symbol. And yet he ran, why?’

  ‘A guilty conscience? He also removed his monk’s habit, sir. Beneath he was wearing ordinary street clothes.’

  ‘Interesting, Strachan. Why paint the symbol next to the bodies of the children?’

  ‘To show it was the sect’s work, like a trademark?’ The detective shovelled some more rice into his mouth.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Danilov stubbed his cigarette out in the last dregs of his tea. ‘Let’s go, we have work to do.’

  Strachan interrupted his eating for a moment, his chopsticks poised in mid-air ready to scoop a ball of rice into his mouth. ‘What are you going to do, sir?’

  Danilov thought about the reception waiting for him back at Central. ‘I’ll call Nakamoto. It’s time we asked him a few questions. I think he knows far more about this case than he’s letting on.’

  Strachan coughed twice. ‘If you have time, sir, I’d like to ask you something.’

  ‘Later. Let’s get back to the office; we have work to do.’

  But Danilov didn’t reach his desk or his telephone. As soon as he had crossed the lobby of Central Police Station, walked past the Sikh guard and entered the inner sanctum of the detectives’ room, Miss Cavendish pounced like a praying mantis.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for your return, Inspector.’

  ‘I would have thought you had better things to do.’

  ‘So would I, but not according to Chief Inspector Rock. He would like to see you right away, if not sooner. Those were his exact words.’

  ‘I’ll be along in a moment, Miss Cavendish.’

  ‘I prefer to wait. Last time I returned to my desk without you, the chief inspector bit my head off.’

  ‘Let us go and meet him. “However well you feed the wolf, he keeps looking in the woods.”’

  Miss Cavendish mimed a shiver running down her spine. ‘I do enjoy you speaking Russian. I wish I knew what it meant, though.’

  ‘It’s an idiom from the Caucasus. Some people will always ask for more, whatever you give them.’

  She opened the door and gestured for him to follow her down the corridor. ‘I think I much prefer it in Russian, Inspector.’

  ‘Most people do, Miss Cavendish. Can I ask why Chief Inspector Rock wants to see me?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to say, Inspector.’

  ‘But you will tell me anyway.’

  She turned back, covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, ‘It’s the papers.’

  For some reason, Danilov thought immediately of his cigarettes. He tapped his pocket and was reassured to find the solid weight of his cigarette tin still there.

  Miss Cavendish continued under her breath. ‘They are writing such horrible things about the case.’ She pushed open the door, walked past her desk and rapped on the glass window of the chief inspector’s office

  ‘Come,’ was the curt reply from inside.

  Miss Cavendish mouthed, ‘Good luck,’ and opened the door.

  ‘Finally you are here, Danilov. About time, too.’

  ‘I was with the parents of the young girl we found murdered in Quinsan Gardens, sir. Unfortunately, they live a long way away, in the Western District.’

  The chief inspector appeared not to hear. ‘While you have been away, all hell has broken loose.’ He threw a Chinese newspaper down on the table between them. ‘The editor whose son was kidnapped… ’

  A block headline in French provided a startling contrast to the Chinese characters: J’ACCUSE!

  ‘He knows his Zola.’

  Chief Inspector Rock’s fist crashed against the table, knocking over his pens and a bottle of ink. He ignored them. ‘I don’t care who he knows, Danilov; he’s accusing everybody. The Japanese for being child murderers. The Shanghai Municipal Council for aiding and abetting child murder. The police force for being in league with the Japanese. And finally you, Inspector Danilov, for actively covering up the murders.’

  ‘That’s madness, sir.’

  ‘Madness is correct. My phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.’

  For the first time, Danilov saw that the receiver of Rock’s phone was off its cradle and lying on his desk.

  The chief inspector noticed where he was looking and put the receiver back into its correct place. ‘But that’s not all. The commissioner is up in arms, Nakamoto wants to take over the case, and the head of the council himself has been on the telephone to me, warning of the dire consequences of failure.’

  Rock ran his fingers through his thinning hair. The nails were bitten down to the quick.

  ‘The other papers have jumped on the
story, too.’ He threw the North China Daily News and the Shanghai Standard onto the desk.

  Danilov read the headlines: MORE CHILDREN MURDERED. Below the block letters was an out-of-focus picture of Annie Chen hanging from the ornamental arch.

  ‘I won’t ask how they took this picture.’

  ‘Probably there before us, sir.’

  ‘Or somebody was bribed to let them get close.’

  Danilov shrugged his shoulders.

  Rock tapped the subheading beneath the picture: WERE JAPANESE BUDDHISTS RESPONSIBLE?

  Danilov scanned the article. It covered all they knew about the case, including the fact that the symbol belonging to the Nichiren Buddhist sect had been found close to the bodies. These leaks were becoming troublesome. Was it a member of the police? Or was it somebody else? Somebody who knew more about the kidnappings and murders than anybody else?

  ‘I don’t have to explain the seriousness of the situation, Danilov. Tension between the Japanese community and the Chinese has never been higher. This bloody boycott of Japanese goods is creating mayhem. The Japanese merchants have complained about intimidation and threats to their members. The Japanese admiral has made it clear that either we solve the problem, or he will land marines to solve it for us.’

  ‘Which problem is that, sir? I’m investigating the murders of three children, not a trade boycott.’

  Chief Inspector Rock exploded. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’ He brought out more papers, this time from the Chinese press. ‘These murders are making the situation even worse. The Chinese are inciting their people to punish the Japanese for this latest outrage against their children.’

  For a moment Danilov considered telling the chief inspector about the connection to the committee organising the boycott of Japanese goods. Then he decided not to. Later, when Strachan had finished his research, would be better.

  Rock stroked his neat moustache and adjusted his tie, trying to recover his composure. ‘How far have you got with the case?’ His London accent was more pronounced now, losing its smooth Home Counties pronunciation, becoming higher in pitch and more nasal.

  Danilov was forced to admit they hadn’t managed to progress far at all. ‘Three young children kidnapped and murdered, but no ransom note or communication from the kidnappers.’

  ‘Is that normal?’

  He shook his head. ‘I think two of the families may have approached an intermediary to act on their behalf, but the man was only after their money.’

  ‘And the Japanese connection?’

  ‘We’re looking into it, sir. Symbols were found close to the bodies. According to our information, these designs are connected to the Nichiren.’

  ‘Who the hell are they?’

  ‘A militant Japanese Buddhist sect, sir. It could be a coincidence… ’

  ‘But you don’t think it is?’

  Danilov shook his head. ‘The symbols were apparently painted in the blood of the children.’

  ‘Who would do that? A madman?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. Both murders were well planned. The bodies placed in the open where they were meant to be found. But they weren’t killed in those locations.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Livor mortis in the first boy’s body showed pooling along the back, sir. And there was too little blood. If—’

  ‘Spare me the details.’ Rock let out a long sigh, ‘I’m under immense pressure to turn this investigation over to Inspector Nakamoto to appease the Japanese members of the council.’

  ‘You can’t do that, sir.’

  ‘I can, Danilov. I think you forget who you are speaking to.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Please. I know I can solve this. The answer is so close… ’

  ‘The pressure is mounting. People are looking for a result.’

  ‘It’s my job to catch whoever kidnapped and murdered these children, sir, and I will do it.’

  ‘It’s our job, Inspector, not yours alone. I wonder if you are taking this case too personally.’

  ‘I’m not, sir. It’s a complicated case, with almost too many clues—’

  ‘Listen,’ interrupted Rock. ‘I know you lost your own son two years ago… ’

  ‘His death has nothing to do with this, sir.’

  ‘Hasn’t it?’

  ‘No, it hasn’t, sir,’ Danilov said vehemently.

  The chief inspector grunted. ‘I’ve made a decision.’

  ‘Please, sir, I—’

  ‘I could move you off the case, but I won’t. Not yet. You need to solve it, and solve it now.’

  The phone rang on the chief inspector’s desk. ‘I said no calls, Miss Cavendish,’ he shouted through the closed door.

  ‘The commissioner said it was urgent, Chief Inspector. I had to put him through.’

  Rock snatched the earpiece from the cradle. Immediately he began to sit straighter as he listened to the voice at the other end. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll go immediately, sir, and meet Inspector Nakamoto there.’

  He took a deep breath and slowly replaced the receiver. ‘You thought it was bad, Danilov. It’s now become ten times worse.’

  39

  The area around the San You towel factory was strangely quiet. Usually at this time in the early evening the streets were buzzing with workers rushing to get home, hawkers selling food, trinkets and medical cures, trishaw drivers touting for custom, and the blaring horns of cars trying to weave their way through the throng in front of the factory gates.

  The typical hustle and bustle of a Shanghai street near a busy factory.

  But this evening the area was empty. The killers had vanished into the dark alleys and back streets from where they had come. All that remained in front of the factory gates was the dead body of a monk, watched over by a group of nervous policemen.

  Strachan drove towards the cordon around the scene, and was waved though by a constable. As soon as he stopped the car, Chief Inspector Rock and Inspector Danilov leapt out with an energy that defied their age.

  ‘Where’s Nakamoto?’ shouted Rock.

  The Inspector detached himself from the group and strode over to the car. He touched the peak of his flat cap off-handedly, a vague salute to the chief inspector’s seniority.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Rock.

  ‘A mob of Chinese demonstrators attacked some peaceful Japanese monks on their way home. One man is dead, another seriously injured. The rest of the monks suffered minor injuries. They are on their way to hospital to be treated.’

  ‘Peaceful monks?’ asked Danilov.

  Inspector Nakamoto eyed him suspiciously. ‘These Chinese thugs have gone too far this time. They ran back towards the railway station,’ he pointed over his shoulder, ‘towards Chinese territory.’

  ‘Were there any witnesses?’

  Nakamoto smiled. ‘I questioned the monks, Danilov. The thugs came from inside the factory and attacked them without any provocation. They tried to defend themselves, but their attackers were too numerous.’

  ‘What were they doing in this area? It’s not close to the Japanese district.’

  ‘They were simply going home, Inspector, nothing more.’

  ‘And how did you find out about the incident?’ This from Chief Inspector Rock.

  ‘We were alerted by the local police. None of the monks speak English or Chinese.’

  ‘You arrived quickly, almost as if you were expecting something to happen.’

  Nakamoto bared his teeth. ‘What are you saying, Danilov?’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen.’ Rock stepped between the two men. ‘You are both officers of the Shanghai Police. You will treat each other with respect. Do I make myself clear?’

  They both nodded reluctantly.

  ‘Can you show me the body, Inspector Nakamoto?’

  The Japanese detective walked towards the factory gate without saying a word. Danilov and Rock followed him.

  A crumpled heap of dirty clothes lay on the pavement. One leg was bent backwards at an impo
ssible angle. A tattooed hand stuck out from beneath a frayed cuff, a large ring on the third finger with a red stone at the centre. The face was partially covered by the monk’s habit. All Danilov could see was a bald head and a large red welt above the eye.

  ‘The man was kicked to death. See the marks of the shoes on his clothes.’

  Danilov knelt down next to the body. There were the imprints of dirty soles on the monk’s arms, legs and chest. It had not been a quick or painless death. He had been set upon by a mob. And a mob without a brain, just a mind to kill.

  ‘The other monks said the thugs were shouting “Death to all Japanese”. A group of men carrying baseball bats seemed to be leading them, encouraging them to attack the monks, blaming them for the deaths of the children. Murders you should have solved by now, Danilov.’

  ‘That’s enough, Inspector Nakamoto. My men are working as hard as they can to bring the killer of the children to justice. If you have a problem with one of my team, you take it up with me, understand?’

  For a moment, Danilov thought the Japanese detective was going to accept Rock’s challenge. Then he shrugged his shoulders and stared off into the distance.

  Danilov returned to the dead monk’s body as Rock stood over both of them, clenching and unclenching his fists. He reached out and raised the man’s hand to look at it closely. ‘Is it normal for a monk to wear a ring? I thought they were supposed to surrender their worldly goods?’

  Nakamoto shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps it meant something personal to him.’

  ‘And this tattoo, what is it?’

  Nakamoto sucked in his breath. There was a long pause before he finally answered. ‘It’s the Japanese character for ronin.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Rock.

  ‘Samurai without masters in ancient Japan. They became bodyguards or mercenaries for rich merchants.’

  ‘So hardly a peaceful monk, Inspector?’

  With a speed belying his bulk, Nakamoto rushed forward to lift the cloth covering the man’s head. Rock jumped back, taken by surprise.

  ‘Nobody deserves to die like this, Danilov.’

  Six deep knife slashes cut through the battered and bruised face. The nose was spread and flattened, blood and snot dribbling from both nostrils. One ear was half torn off, dangling by a strip of skin. The lips were pulled back in a rictus of agony, revealing a single gold tooth in the centre of the mouth.