The Russian Hill Murders

by Shirley Tallman

  When we stopped again, the driver helped me out of the carriage and into a building. Moments later, the scarf was removed and I found myself in the same amazing room I’d originally visited during the Nob Hill affair. That first time I’d been understandably frightened. Now, the familiar Chinese objets d’art and exquisite European and American paintings and sculptures seemed to greet me as old friends. Once again this anomalous yet harmonious blend of East and West made me feel oddly at peace.

  “Welcome to my home,” a cultured voice said in perfect English.

  I smiled to see my host, Li Ying, ensconced on his kuan moa chair, set on a raised dais. He wore a rich, dark green satin robe, exquisitely embroidered with a dragon and some Chinese characters I couldn’t decipher. As always, his black hair, which showed little gray, was meticulously shaved and oiled into a neat queue reaching to his waist. He returned my smile, his smooth, unlined face regarding me with a comfortable respect that belied the fact that we’d only met on two previous occasions. Indeed, our unusual relationship still mystified me. I don’t consider myself anyone’s fool; I had every reason to fear and distrust the infamous tong lord. Yet from our first meeting, I’d been irresistibly drawn to the man.

  “It is good of you to grace me with your presence on such short notice, Miss Woolson,” he went on in that assured voice I remembered so well. “Again I apologize for requiring you to wear a blindfold. I assure you it is as much for your protection as it is for mine. If I did not follow this practice with all my guests, I fear some of my more unscrupulous enemies would not hesitate to employ, shall we say, horrifying methods to ascertain my whereabouts.”

  I blinked, trying to banish the unsettling pictures that flashed into my mind at these words. “I understand, Mr. Li. Your man was very polite and, I might add, trusting.”

  His smile deepened. “You have shown yourself worthy of trust, Miss Woolson.” He pulled a golden cord hanging behind the dais, and an elderly manservant, wearing traditional black pants and tunic, appeared bearing a tray. Upon the tray rested the most beautiful tea service I had ever seen. The ebony teapot and tiny cups bore a hand-painted floral design at once vibrantly colorful and elegantly delicate and graceful.

  “I see that you appreciate my humble tea service,” he said, noticing my admiring glances.

  “It’s exquisite,” I exclaimed, holding one of the dainty cups up to the light. The tiny flowers and interweaving vines were perfectly rendered down to the smallest detail, as if by a master artist. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely.”

  “It was my father’s, Miss Woolson, and his father’s before him. It is one of the few possessions I managed to bring with me from China.” He smiled. “You will allow me to pour?”

  “Yes, Mr. Li, if you please.”

  As usual, we discussed inconsequential matters while we ate. It was only when the servant collected the tray that Li regarded me with serious contemplation.

  “I requested this visit to ask your help in a matter of some importance,” he said at last.

  My curiosity was piqued. I was eager, albeit a bit fearful, to hear what he had in mind. “If I can be of service, Mr. Li, naturally I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  To my surprise, he laughed. “Do not look so apprehensive, Miss Woolson. I would never ask you to do anything which went against your laws. Actually, I would like to engage your services as an attorney.”

  “An attorney?”

  He regarded me with his customary calm. “Yes—to defend Chin Lee Fong, who, as you know, has been arrested for the murders of Mr. Lucius Arlen and Miss Dora Clemens.”

  My mouth fell open in astonishment. “Mr. Li, surely you realize I only recently became a practicing attorney. Moreover, I’ve had no experience whatsoever in criminal law.”

  Li inclined his head, his serene expression unwavering. “I am fully aware of your qualifications, as well as your limitations, Miss Woolson.” A slight smile formed on those finely chiseled lips, and he tilted his head very slightly to the right. “I have also heard of your successful meeting with Mr. Henry Finney. Pierce Godfrey must be pleased. The new contract should save him a great deal of money.”

  I looked at him in astonishment. “How did you hear of that? Mr. Godfrey has gone to some effort to keep the negotiations secret.”

  Li’s smile broadened. “You should know by now that I receive my information from many sources. Perhaps you were not aware, but I have my own shipping interests to protect. Thanks to your counsel, I expect to increase my fleet by purchasing a number of surplus down-easters. At a considerable savings, of course.”

  It was my turn to smile. “I’m pleased to have been of service, even if inadvertently. Your ability to amass such confidential information continues to astound me.”

  “Information is power, and power translates into survival, both in Chinatown and in the environs beyond Dupont Gai.” His penetrating black eyes narrowed as he regarded me with frank appraisal. “You are a survivor, Miss Woolson, and like myself, you take pains to arm yourself with information. That is one of the reasons you will make a fine attorney for Chin Lee Fong.”

  “But a murder trial, Mr. Li. Surely you can find a more experienced lawyer to defend Mr. Chin.”

  “Perhaps. But even if I could convince a white attorney to take this case, his prejudice and distrust of the Chinese would work against Chin. You possess an innate sense of justice for the less fortunate, Miss Woolson. There is no doubt in my mind that you will work as tirelessly to defend Chin as you would any Caucasian.”

  That might be true, but a dozen reasons why I should not agree to represent the cook flashed through my mind, not the least of which were the difficulties I would face as a female attorney in an all-male courtroom.

  “Personally, I don’t believe Mr. Chin is guilty of either murder. But the evidence against him will be difficult to refute.”

  “It seems I have more faith in you than you have in yourself,” Li said, unperturbed by this argument. “You are Chin’s best hope—perhaps his only hope—of going free.”

  “What does he say about having a woman for an attorney?” I asked, realizing Li had not mentioned the cook’s preferences in the matter.

  He made a dismissive gesture with his well-manicured hand, as if the question were of no consequence. “Mr. Chin knows nothing of the American legal system. He is grateful to have such competent representation.”

  And that his legal expenses are to be taken care of, I thought, but did not say aloud. Sighing, I considered the wisdom of accepting a case that I had little likelihood of winning. I had to admit his argument that I might be Chin’s only hope was compelling. And I couldn’t deny a prickle of excitement at the opportunity to prove that women attorneys were as qualified as their male counterparts to defend a capital murder case.

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll represent Mr. Chin.”

  Li nodded his elegant head as if he’d expected nothing less. “Excellent. I am delighted by your decision.”

  Unfortunately, when I visited Chin the next morning at city jail, I was disconcerted to find that the cook in no way shared Li’s enthusiasm for my representation.

  “Never,” he ranted, when I presented myself for our first attorney-client conference. “I no want woman lawyer.”

  “Am I to understand that you refuse my services?”

  “Yes, yes, you leave. No come back. I get real lawyer. Man who get me out of here.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Chin.” Silently, I stuffed my papers back inside my briefcase. “I think you had best speak to Mr. Li about this, since he is paying for your defense.”

  The cook gave a little gasp at the sound of the tong leader’s name, and his face blanched, but he didn’t break his stony silence as I departed his cell.

  Well, I had done my best, I thought, joining a queue outside waiting for an approaching horsecar. Surely even Li Ying couldn’t expect me to force a client to accept my services.

  Pierce Godfrey took me to the
elegant Maison Doree for dinner. I’d never dined there, and I was pleased to find the cuisine more than lived up to its reputation. Despite the ambience and excellent food, I found it difficult to relax. Gazing at the handsome man seated across the table from me, I found it impossible to imagine him an embezzler, much less a murderer. Yet the main reason I had accepted his invitation was to learn if he was both those things.

  Pierce spent the first part of the meal thanking me again for my help in renegotiating the Finney contract, then went on to discuss several upcoming projects he had in mind. As I listened, I dreaded the moment when I’d have to shatter this easy camaraderie by asking him some hard, and personal, questions.

  To my surprise, Pierce himself opened the door to that particular avenue of conversation. When the dishes were cleared and the fruit and cheese had been served, he leaned back in his chair and said, “I hear there’s been some excitement at the hospital.”

  “I’m afraid so. There have been two suspicious deaths in the past few days.” I measured my words carefully. “Since Mrs. Godfrey’s passing, do you still have any contact with the new hospital?”

  “Sadly, no,” he answered smoothly. “Leonard told me the news. Is it true they suspect Arlen and that maid were poisoned?”

  “Yes, they do. Of course, the postmortem results aren’t in yet.”

  He looked genuinely bewildered. “But who would want to kill an accountant and a kitchen maid? It doesn’t make sense.”

  I studied his face over the candles, searching for any nuance that might give lie to this reasonable statement. I could detect none.

  “Speaking of your brother, how is he getting along since his tragic loss?”

  Pierce seemed to find nothing strange in this none-too-subtle change of subject. “He’s doing better, thank you. He misses Caroline, of course, but that’s to be expected.”

  If I was ever going to ask my question, I told myself, the time was now. “I understand you and Mrs. Godfrey were seeing each other—in a way that was rather more than brother-in-law and sister-in-law”

  Pierce’s fork stopped halfway between the plate and his mouth. “What did you say?”

  Clearing my throat, I repeated my question, then took a quick sip of wine to cover my discomfiture.

  He returned the piece of cheese, untouched, to his plate. “I knew you were outspoken, Sarah, but this goes too far.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Please trust me when I say I’m not asking this out of idle curiosity.”

  “Then what possible reason could you have?” Pierce’s voice rose sharply. A couple at a nearby table gave us surprised stares, annoyed, I’m sure, by this intrusion into their quiet dinner. Lowering his voice, he went on, “I can only think that you—” Abruptly, he stopped, and through the candlelight I saw his eyes widen in sudden comprehension. “Oh, I see. You think I had something to do with Caroline’s death. My, my, what a sinister imagination you have, Miss Woolson.”

  “If I’m mistaken about your sister-in-law, then please say so. If I’m not, then I’d appreciate an honest answer. When it comes to murder, I feel I—”

  “—have the right to ask anything you damn well please.” He stared at me for several moments, then took a sip of his wine. “All right, not that it’s any of your business, but I admit Caroline and I saw each other—in the way you not-so-delicately implied. It sounds sordid now, but at the time I think we imagined we were in love—at least, Caroline fancied she was. For my part, well, my sister-in-law was a very attractive woman.”

  “She was married to your brother!” I said, unable to keep the indignation out of my voice.

  “Leonard and I have always competed against one another.” He flashed that maddening smile of his. “The fact that Caroline was his wife, well—”

  I could hardly believe what he was saying. “Heaven help us! It was just another rivalry to you, wasn’t it?” This time I didn’t bother to mask my disgust. “Because she belonged to your brother merely sweetened the conquest.”

  He shrugged. “Men have dallied with women for less reason than that, Sarah. I’m sorry if it shocks you.”

  “A few minutes ago I would have said nothing could shock me anymore. Now—” I took myself in hand; nothing would be gained by succumbing to prudery, no matter how justified. “Your affair with a married woman is not the point.”

  “Ah, yes, back to murder. Whatever reasons you imagine I had for wishing my sister-in-law dead, you’re wrong. We had a falling out about a year ago. Caroline expected more of our—friendship than I was able or willing to give. Or perhaps I’d begun to experience the revulsion I see on your face right now. Sadly, the relationship had moved beyond the amusing flirtation we initially enjoyed.”

  “Was your brother aware of the affair?”

  He hesitated. “Not at first. Toward the end, I’m not sure. If he had suspicions, he kept them to himself.”

  “And now?”

  Pierce’s eyes met mine with a directness that was disconcerting. “I informed my brother myself, sometime after Caroline’s death. I assured him that the affair had been over for some months, and naturally I accepted full responsibility for what had transpired between us.”

  “How did Mr. Godfrey take this—confession?”

  His smile was derisive. “How do you think he took it? He was understandably upset, actually quite upset. But not particularly shocked. I rather think Leonard had some inkling of what had gone on between his wife and me, even if he chose not to speak of it.”

  “Which is why you finally told him yourself, isn’t it?”

  His eyes narrowed, and I caught a quick look of surprise. “What makes you say that?”

  “There was nothing to be gained, and certainly a good deal to lose, by admitting the truth unless you were fairly certain he already knew. By making a clean breast of it, you usurped his anger and invited forgiveness. The prodigal brother makes his amends.”

  His lips curved into the barest hint of a mocking smile. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but I knew I had guessed the truth.

  “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Miss Woolson?”

  I sighed. Frankly, I was disappointed. Not only because of Pierce’s cavalier behavior, but because he’d been less than honest with me—yet again. Moreover, despite several deliberate openings, he’d failed to disclose his joint ownership of the warehouse. What else was he holding back? I wondered.

  “I’m just weary,” I replied, more than ready to bring the evening to an end. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to take me home. I have an early morning.”

  Pierce studied my face for a long moment, then signaled the waiter and paid the check. Neither of us spoke as we entered his carriage and departed in awkward silence for Rincon Hill.

  A note awaited me at home, written in a precise, slightly spiky handwriting I recognized.

  Miss Woolson,

  Mr. Chin offers sincere apologies for his discourteous behavior this morning. He humbly asks that you meet with him again at your earliest convenience.

  The note was unsigned, but I had no doubt who it came from. Also in the envelope was a large amount of “one color,” the term the Chinese used to differentiate American dollars from their own, more colorful yuan. Counting it, I found I had been paid a retainer of five hundred dollars! Li Ying seemed determined to purchase the finest defense possible for Chin Lee Fong. A shiver ran down my spine, as I sincerely prayed I was worthy of such faith.

  May second meeting with Chin took place the following day.

  While the cook was slightly more forthcoming, it did little to reassure me about the probable success of his case. Patiently, I took him over the details of his acrimonious relationship with Lucius Arlen.

  “He was fool,” Chin pronounced, as if this were the only explanation required on the subject.

  “Yes, but what did he actually do to you?” I persisted.

  “Oh, he do plenty. Call me chink and yellow monkey, cut pay, call me thief. He no care how patients eat.
”

  “So you and he argued about this.”

  “Hah! We fight all time.” Chin made this sound like something to be proud of. “He say Chinese stupid. But I get him back.”

  My blood turned cold. “What do you mean, you got him back?”

  “I tell him to stay out of my kitchen or I fix him good.”

  Oh, wonderful, I thought, closing my eyes while I let this latest admission sink in. “And did Mr. Arlen stay out of your kitchen?”

  “Nah, he do as he please.” He grinned, and I realized with a start that this was the first time I’d seen the disagreeable man smile. “But I chase him with skillet. He run so fast!” Chin dissolved into a fit of laughter, delighting in the memory. “Not bother me again for long time.”

  Good Lord, I prayed. Has this man no idea how damaging this sounds? Doesn’t he realize how much trouble he’s in?

  The remainder of the interview went much the same. When I tried to point out the danger of repeating how much he hated Arlen, Chin didn’t seem to comprehend. He hadn’t killed the accountant, and that should be good enough for anyone. To his mind, the fact that he’d repeatedly threatened Arlen had no bearing on his current situation.

  Before I left, I made Chin promise not to discuss the case with anyone, including his jailers or any fellow prisoners. His reluctant agreement was hardly reassuring.

  “No one talk to but jailers,” he protested. “Why can’t I tell them about son-of-bitch Arlen?”

  When I’d exhausted every conceivable argument, I left the stubborn cook to stew in his own juices—pun intended.

  Difficult as Chin was proving to be, he wasn’t the only challenge facing me as I prepared for trial. Rumors of my new client had spread like wildfire, speedily reaching Joseph Shepard and the firm’s other senior attorneys. I knew the time of reckoning had arrived when a delighted Hubert Perkins cheerfully summoned me to Shepard’s office.