The Killing Time

by The Killing Time (retail) (epub)

  Danilov stubbed out his cigarette. ‘What’s it all about, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, they didn’t tell me. Far above my pay grade.’

  47

  The Japanese Naval Depot was also in Hong Kew, not far from the Japanese Club. Officially this was Chinese territory, but unofficially it was known as the Extended Settlement, and was under the control of the Shanghai Council. The Japanese had taken over control of the area by building their headquarters there.

  It was when they tried to cross Garden Bridge that Danilov noticed the difference from just a day ago. Yesterday, the bridge had been quiet, only a few people slipping past the soldiers guarding its approaches. Today, it was almost impassable due to the weight of refugees trying to cross the narrow span to apparent safety.

  The flood of refugees from the days before the troubles had become a torrent; whole families with all the goods they possessed loaded onto whatever moved. Rich people dressed in furs and fine coats were struggling with petty merchants, hawkers, sing-song girls, farmers and grandmothers, all fighting to get across the narrow walkway to safety.

  The detectives were driving against the one-way traffic. The ravaged humanity of China surrounded the car, slowly shuffling past as if it were one more meaningless obstacle blocking their path. It had taken them nearly thirty minutes to cross from one side of Soochow Creek to the other, a distance of only seventy yards. And they had only managed with the help of a platoon of the Worcesters jostling people out of the path of the car with their Lee–Enfields.

  Once across the bridge, the area had also changed since Danilov had left just a day before. It now had all the surliness of an armed camp. Japanese marines were positioned at every crossroads. Japanese flags flew from each window. No people were on the streets, not even the usual women sweeping the six-foot way outside their shops.

  A company of marines dressed in their dark-blue uniforms with bright white spats were resting by the side of the road, scooping balls of rice from small bowls into their gaping mouths. An officer eyed the detectives suspiciously from beneath his soft cap. At one side, an artillery howitzer was parked, its barrel pointing towards Chapei and the tall tower of Shanghai North railway station.

  The place was quiet, watchful, waiting for something to happen, knowing that it would soon.

  Strachan drove past the building site where the body had been found. Had it been just twelve days ago? To Danilov, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since they had first seen the young boy’s body laid out on the steel table at Dr Fang’s. A lifetime that had seen two more murders of innocent children.

  The car turned left along Boone Road and then right onto North Szechuan, carefully avoiding the trams by driving on the left.

  As Strachan turned into the Japanese Naval Depot, he was brought to a sudden stop by a surly guard carrying a rifle. On either side of the roadway, more marines dressed in blue lounged in front of sandbagged emplacements. Danilov could see the shiny metal barrels of machine guns behind the slits in the sandbags.

  Another squad of soldiers was carrying boxes of ammunition and placing them behind the position in neat square piles.

  Strachan pulled out his warrant card and gave it to the guard, who merely grunted and passed it to an officer. The officer nodded his head, the barrier was moved aside and Strachan was waved through to park in front of the entrance.

  The officer followed the car, handing Strachan’s warrant card back after he had parked.

  ‘You must be Inspector Danilov,’ he said, studiously ignoring Strachan. ‘I am Tanaka, aide-de-camp to Colonel Ihanaga.’

  ‘We have met before.’

  Tanaka’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in his breath. ‘So we have, Inspector, at the Japanese Club. You have an excellent memory. Please to follow me.’ He bowed slightly from the waist, turned and strode up the steps.

  Danilov began to follow him.

  ‘Shall I stay here, sir?’ asked Strachan.

  Danilov thought for a moment. ‘No, come with me, you might be useful.’

  Strachan looked up at the imposing structure of the headquarters and then at the blue-uniformed guards in front of the entrance. ‘I’d rather not, if that’s all right.’

  Danilov understood. This was the centre of Japanese power in Shanghai and these people had annexed a large portion of Chinese territory. Strachan was still half Chinese, after all.

  The officer waited impatiently at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Wait for me in the car,’ Danilov said. An armed soldier walked past staring at Strachan. ‘I wouldn’t move too far if I were you.’

  ‘I don’t intend to, sir.’

  Danilov started up the stairs. Before he reached the top, Tanaka turned and walked past a saluting sentry into the interior. The inspector hurried to catch him up. He stepped through the door but couldn’t see Tanaka. The lobby was full of officers carrying papers, and soldiers in blue and field green rushing around, a buzz of activity amplified by the high marble dome soaring over his head.

  ‘This way, Inspector. The colonel is waiting.’

  The officer was calling from a small office off the main lobby. Danilov followed him down a long corridor. On either side were pictures of the emperor: on a white horse, reviewing a parade, bending over maps, staring through thick glasses out into the distance; a thin, nondescript man who looked as if a fresh breath of wind would knock him over.

  Tanaka knocked on a large door. A muffled voice spoke in Japanese. He stepped back, allowing Danilov to enter first.

  The office was sparsely furnished. A desk, cleared of all papers; a bookshelf, the contents neatly filed by author; two hardback chairs, a large standing globe and, in the corner, sitting in an armchair, Inspector Nakamoto.

  For the first time, Danilov saw him without his cap. His head was round and smooth as a billiard ball.

  ‘We meet again, Inspector.’

  The voice came from behind Danilov. He turned to find Colonel Ihanaga standing beside another bookshelf, replacing a book.

  ‘Of course, you have met Inspector Nakamoto before?’

  ‘I have, but I am surprised to see him here.’

  ‘Why, Inspector? Don’t the British military authorities and the police work closely together? Many of your policemen are also members of the Volunteers. And isn’t there a special force of your Russian compatriots attached to the army?’

  ‘Nonetheless, I am surprised to see him here rather than in his office at Hong Kew station.’

  Colonel Ihanaga walked round to face Danilov. ‘I asked him to come. You see, he recommended you as the person to contact regarding a problem.’

  Danilov’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

  ‘You seem surprised, Inspector?’

  ‘The contrariness of humanity always surprises me, Colonel.’

  Nakamoto spoke from his seat in the armchair. ‘The colonel asked me who the best investigator in the Shanghai Police was… ’ A small pause, and then, ‘I told him that as far as I knew, it was you.’

  ‘But we have never worked together, Inspector Nakamoto.’

  Another pause, almost reluctant this time. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Danilov.’

  Colonel Ihanaga pulled out one of the hardback chairs. ‘Please sit down, Inspector.’

  What was going on here?

  The colonel offered him a cigarette. ‘These are Balkan, created specially for me. I’m afraid I picked up an affection for them living in London. I still have them sent regularly from Robert Lewis on St James’s Street.’

  Danilov remembered the distinctive aroma when he had met the colonel at the Japanese Club. He took one of the cigarettes and rolled it under his nose, the richness of the tobacco filling his nostrils.

  The colonel produced a lighter, lighting his own cigarette and Danilov’s. The first inhalation of smoke danced like a cloud wearing cotton-wool slippers down the inspector’s throat. For a moment he was entranced by the smoothness of the taste, before remembering where he was.

&nb
sp; ‘You haven’t asked me here to compliment you on the quality of your tobacco, Colonel.’

  The colonel stared at him, before answering coolly, ‘No, I haven’t, Inspector. My son has been kidnapped and I need you to find him before he is murdered.’

  48

  Danilov sat forward in his chair, the pleasure of the cigarette forgotten. ‘When was this?’

  ‘This morning. He was supposed to arrive at school for an early parade. We found the damaged car abandoned in an alley in the French Concession, the driver dead at the wheel. It had been attacked in broad daylight on Avenue Joffre. Nobody offered to help… ’ The colonel’s voice trailed off.

  ‘Your son is missing?’

  The colonel nodded.

  ‘Have you received a ransom demand? Any communication from the kidnappers?’

  ‘Nothing so far.’

  ‘So how do you know he has been kidnapped?’

  The Japanese policeman answered. ‘We were told that a Chinese man with a scar led the attack. The boy, Colonel Ihanaga’s son, was pulled from his car and thrown in the boot of another. It would seem to be the same man who carried out the other kidnappings. The ones you are investigating, Danilov.’

  ‘How do you know the details of my case? Nobody except Chief Inspector—’

  ‘The chief inspector was most generous with the information he shared. So you now understand why it is important you investigate, Inspector.’

  The tension and control that had suffused the room until now suddenly collapsed. The colonel spoke, his voice cracking with emotion. ‘If we are to get my son back alive, you are our only hope.’

  ‘There is one problem. If the incident happened in the French Concession, I’m afraid it is the responsibility of the French authorities… ’

  The colonel’s hand slammed the desk in front of him hard. ‘I do not care who is responsible, I want my son found. Is that clear?’

  Danilov stayed silent.

  The colonel picked up the telephone receiver. ‘If you need any more encouragement, I suggest you call your commissioner. He is aware of the problem and has promised me full cooperation from the Shanghai Municipal Police.’

  Danilov nodded. The colonel placed the receiver back on its cradle.

  ‘You have been investigating the kidnapping and murder of children in the International Settlement. A man with a scar seems to have been responsible.’

  Danilov took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘There have been three kidnappings we know of.’

  ‘There could be more?’ asked the colonel.

  ‘Possibly. We thought we had a strong lead, but it turned out to be a dead end.’ He considered telling them about the Japanese monk, but for some reason unknown even to himself decided not to.

  ‘I have read the autopsy reports, Inspector,’ said the colonel.

  ‘Chief Inspector Rock shared reports with me,’ said Nakamoto.

  ‘And you passed on confidential police information?’

  Nakamoto smiled and shrugged his shoulders. It was the most Western gesture Danilov had seen him give.

  ‘The children have all been found dead, with parts of their bodies removed.’

  Danilov nodded. ‘All except the last. The son of the editor of Min Kuo. Nothing was removed from his body.’

  ‘Why, Inspector?’ asked Nakamoto.

  It was Danilov’s turn to shrug. If these people didn’t already have the information, he wasn’t going to tell them. It was apparent they didn’t know the monk was involved. Neither did they know that all the victims were children of members of the same committee. Thank God Strachan had not completed his report before they were called away to the troubles.

  ‘These are not normal kidnappings,’ he said. ‘There is something else, something we haven’t discovered yet.’

  Colonel Ihanaga stared into mid-air. ‘So at the moment, you have nothing?’

  ‘The events of the last few days have prevented me from investigating. I was about to reopen the case when I was summoned here to meet you.

  The colonel’s shoulders slumped. ‘This is my only son, Inspector. His mother died three years ago. He is all I have of her.’

  ‘I understand, Colonel.’

  ‘So you see that we need to solve this and solve it quickly. The commissioner has spoken to Colonel Ihanaga, promising his full support. Neither the Japanese members of the council nor the commissioner will tolerate failure.’

  Danilov nodded.

  ‘Where do you intend to start?’ asked the colonel.

  Danilov thought for a moment. ‘At the car. I’d like to look at it with Strachan. And afterwards, go to the scene of the crime.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for Tanaka to show you the car and the place where the kidnap occurred.’

  Nakamoto sucked in air between his teeth. His head twisted sideways as he asked a question. ‘Strachan: isn’t he your Chinese detective sergeant?’

  ‘His mother was Chinese.’

  Another intake of breath. ‘Given political sensitivities at the moment, do you think it is correct for a Chinese policeman to be involved?’

  ‘If you want me to investigate, then I choose my team. Strachan is part of my team.’

  ‘That is your choice. And your responsibility, Danilov,’ interrupted the colonel, getting to his feet.

  Danilov rose from his chair too. ‘The trail is already going cold. I will start immediately.’ He strode towards the door, stopping as he touched the handle. ‘One last thing, Inspector Nakamoto: the monk who was killed was a member of the Nichiren sect, was he not?’

  Nakamoto smiled. The eyes behind their round glasses did not. ‘I believe he was.’

  ‘I want all the information you have on the sect. Where they are located, how many members, who their leader is.’

  ‘And why do you want all this?’

  ‘It’s for a line of enquiry I’m pursuing… regarding his murder.’

  ‘May I remind you, Danilov, that is my case.’

  Danilov held both arms out, palm upwards. ‘I will, of course, share any information I discover with you.’

  Nakamoto looked over to Colonel Ihanaga, who nodded.

  ‘I will look for it as soon as I return to my office.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector Nakamoto.’

  ‘One last thing, Inspector.’ The colonel almost whispered the words. ‘The Japanese government has requested an apology for the murder of the monk and for the gross violations of Japanese sovereignty by the boycott and seizure of our merchandise. Unless the Chinese authorities agree to these demands, we will have no choice but to arrest and punish the perpetrators of these outrages ourselves. Wherever they are hiding.’

  ‘Even if they have fled to Chinese territory?’

  ‘Even if they have fled to Chinese territory.’

  ‘That would mean war, Colonel.’

  ‘So be it. Japan has suffered far too much from the insults of these Chinese bandits. It’s time to put such crimes to an end.’ He began to pull on his white gloves. ‘In addition, if my son becomes another victim, I will make sure the people of Shanghai share his suffering. If necessary, I will bomb Chapei back to the Stone Age. Do I make myself clear, Inspector?’

  49

  It was dark.

  The kind of dark where he didn’t know whether his eyes were open or closed. He squeezed them shut and opened them again.

  Still dark.

  What time was it? How long had he been unconscious? He didn’t know. It could have been two minutes, two hours or two days.

  He was resting on his side on some straw, his hands tied behind his back. His arm rubbed raw where it touched the ground. Now it had gone to sleep, all feeling from his elbow downwards absent. He tried to shift his position once again, moving the pressure from his arm to his shoulder. That was better, at least for now.

  He would stick it for as long as he could before moving again. Moving hurt.

  For a second his mind flashed back to the accident. Corporal Mamuchi’s head h
itting the steering wheel, the spray of blood, the uniform falling to the ground. What had happened to his uniform? Was it still there in the back of the car? The rough hands reaching in to grab him. They had stuck something in his arm – a needle – and he had felt his legs lose the power to move, his arms the will to fight. He had woken up in the dark.

  It was still dark.

  Twice he had shouted to see if anybody answered.

  Nobody did.

  His voice echoed as he shouted. He must be in a large room with high ceilings. But he soon stopped shouting. The words hurt as they passed over his chapped lips.

  He shifted again until he was lying on his back with his bound hands beneath him. He couldn’t keep this position long, as his hands would become numb. He willed his mind to forget the pain, to think of the emperor, to be strong for the emperor. He was going to be a warrior, a samurai. A soldier must fight, must endure, must sacrifice if he was to survive in battle and retain his honour.

  One day he would be like his father.

  One day.

  He shifted position onto his other side as the pain in his hands became unbearable. That was better. He could lie like this for a while. This side of his body hurt less than the other.

  He flexed his numb hands against the cords binding them.

  No movement. No release.

  In the distance, the sound of footsteps, getting closer and then stopping.

  A loud click.

  His cell was filled with a bright white light, dazzling and exploding in his eyes. He closed them tightly. Still the light wormed its way through his eyelids.

  Footsteps outside.

  Was somebody coming in?

  The footsteps moved away again, becoming more and more faint.

  He opened his eyes slightly, slowly accustoming himself to the new brightness. The walls were bare plaster, a dirty off-white colour, stained by mould and fungus. The ceiling was far above his head, a single cobwebbed flex hanging down with a bare transparent bulb radiating light at the end. Beneath him the rough concrete floor was covered with dried rice stalks. A metal bucket lay three feet away.