The Chinese Tiger Ying

by Larry Darter

  “This is Lee’s car all right,” I said pointing to the sticker.

  “He must have walked to the store or something,” Mona said. “There are lots of shops within walking distance.”

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Maybe Lee has phoned our office by now, or will show up for his shift this evening.”

  “I sure hope he is okay,” Mona said.

  I took a plain white business card from my front pocket. The card had only my name and office phone number printed on it. I handed it to Mona. “Would you be kind enough to check Lee’s flat again later to see if he’s back?” I said. “If he shows up here, I’d appreciate it if you would ring me at the number on the card.”

  “Sure, I’ll check the apartment again before I get off work this afternoon,” Mona said.

  “Thank you for your help,” I said. “I must be off now.”

  Mona nodded. “No problem,” she said. She turned and walked back toward the office. I walked back to where I’d parked the motorbike wondering where Lee Tran had gotten off to. If he had stolen Tiger Ying, he could have taken a taxi to the airport and left the island with it by now for all I knew.

  Five

  After leaving Tran’s flat, I felt I’d done enough sleuthing for the first day on the case and rode home. I wanted to spend time on the beach and possibly have a swim while I waited for Jackie to call. Having an Irish ancestry on my mum’s side, I had fair skin and had always been given to burning when I spent too much time in the sun. Once I’d managed to get a decent base tan after moving to Honolulu, I tried to spend enough time on the beach to maintain it.

  Once I had the motorbike stowed inside the garage, I went inside the house and changed into swimming togs. I grabbed a towel, my beach mat, mobile, and a bottle of Corona Extra from the fridge. Then I went out the back and crossed the lawn to the beach behind the house. I sat on the mat, watched the waves breaking on the sand, and sipped the cold beer.

  After finishing the beer, I went for a swim. Once I felt pleasantly fatigued from the swimming, I returned to the beach. I stretched out on my stomach on the mat to get some sun. Having slept fitfully the night before, I dozed on and off laying in the warm sunshine.

  Around three o’clock, I picked up my belongings and walked back to the house. After showering, I made some blue cheese on toast. I wasn’t hungry, but hadn’t eaten anything all day. The mobile rang. I picked it up from the kitchen benchtop expecting it was Jackie ringing. But, when I looked at the screen, I was surprised to see that it was Mike Young calling. I answered.

  “Hey, Mike,” I said.

  “Some rowers sculling on Ala Wai Canal discovered the body of the security guard you were looking for floating in the water near McCully Street bridge,” Mike said.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “Are you certain it’s him?”

  “The medical examiner will have to establish positive identification,” Mike said. “But, there was a wallet in the corpse’s back pocket with a Hawai’i driver’s license issued to Lee Tran.”

  “Ahkay, guess that's it then,” I said. “I found his address and went to his flat on Keeaumoku Street. His car was there, and I managed to get a staff member to let me in when I got no response at the door, but he wasn’t there.”

  Mike read off an address, I assumed from Tran’s license. “Is that the address you went to?” he said.

  “Yep, that’s it,” I said.

  “And you looked around the apartment?” Mike said.

  “Yes, as much as I could considering the woman from the office was there with me.”

  “Did you see any blood stains or signs of a disturbance?” Mike said.

  “No, the flat looked normal,” I said. “We looked in every room. There was no blood. Why do you ask, Mike?”

  “We believe someone killed Tran elsewhere and then dumped his body in the canal afterward. We’ll check the apartment, but I was curious whether you’d seen anything while you were there.”

  “Nothing suspicious,” I said. “But there was one thing. Tran's security guard uniform and gun belt were in the bedroom, but the holster was empty. Did you find a gun on the body?”

  “No,” Mike said.

  “I only had a brief look about,” I said. “It wasn’t as if I could do a thorough search with the staff member present.”

  “Okay,” Mike said. “It seemed a coincidence that the guy you asked me about this morning turned up dead in the canal. I wanted to see what else you knew about him.”

  “Can you tell me how he died?” I said. “You seem certain it was murder.”

  “Someone shot him in the chest with a small caliber handgun from the looks of it,” Mike said.

  “Ahkay,” I said, “any chance you would be willing to share the details once the medical examiner has done the autopsy.”

  The line was quiet, but I didn’t think Mike had disconnected.

  “I get it you aren’t keen to do me favors, Mike,” I said. “But, Tran’s death might be connected with the case I’m working on.”

  I heard Mike exhale. “How?” he said.

  “Tran may have stolen a valuable Chinese artifact from the shop my client owns,” I said. “The person who killed him might have been an accomplice or maybe a potential buyer.”

  “What makes you believe Tran took the artifact?” Mike said.

  “I don’t know that he did, but he was on the premises in his official capacity the morning it went missing,” I said. “He had means and opportunity.”

  “Okay,” Mike said. “If you have information that helps with my investigation, once I get the medical examiner’s report, we can meet and share what we’ve got.”

  “Ahkay, quid pro quo is it?” I said.

  “Can you think of any other reason I’d be interested in helping you with your case?” Mike said.

  “No, actually,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Mike said. “I’ll be in touch.” The line clicked off.

  Mike had been hurt when our dating relationship ended. I got that. But, I hadn’t intended things to turn out as they had. I was so over his attitude. He was only being a dick. I found it so childish. Mike needed to harden up. I started to tear up yet again. For fuck’s sake. I was so over it. Why could anyone be bothered having a relationship I wondered. To me, relationships seemed nothing more than a source of unwelcome misery and sadness.

  Jackie rang me a half hour after I’d talked to Mike. She asked me to come for drinks and dinner. I told her I didn’t feel up for going out. She persisted, trying to talk me into it. I wouldn’t change my mind. I felt shattered and wanted to be alone. After agreeing I’d consider shifting the drinks and dinner to the following afternoon, we said goodbye, and I disconnected.

  I put on a pair of comfy track pants and an old sweatshirt. I got a glass and a bottle of rum from the cupboard. Then I sat on the couch watching a sappy chick flick on Netflix and drank the liquor. Mostly, I cried and felt sorry for myself. Maybe Jackie had been right when I’d stopped by the hangar. Maybe I did need to see a therapist. I only seemed to feel worse, not better after the gloominess had hit.

  The next thing I knew, I woke up on the couch. The television was still on. I picked up the remote and switched it off. I picked up my mobile to check the time. It was after four in the morning. The rum bottle on the coffee table was empty. Groaning, I forced myself to get off the couch and walked unsteadily to the bedroom. I got my kit off and got into bed. I fell quickly back into a drunken sleep.

  It was after ten on Friday morning when I woke up. I had a sore head, and my mouth was as dry as desert dust. When I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed, the room started to spin. I sat there on the side of the bed until my alcohol-induced vertigo subsided enough for me to feel confident I could stand and walk without falling.

  When I walked into the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the open blinds of the east facing windows seemed violent. My body ached. My stomach felt a bit upset. I poured a tall glass of pineapple juice to quench my thirst.
I popped two slices of bread into the toaster. I munched on the dry toast and drank the juice while leaning against the benchtop.

  It was my habit to work Monday through Friday when I had a case. I had no illusions I’d be working this particular Friday. I felt like a failed suicide attempt. After refilling the glass with juice, I sat down at the dining room table. My laptop was there, so I opened it up. The binge drinking episode from the night before left me no doubt that I needed to find a therapist. I typed “therapist for depression” into the search bar. The helpful search engine added “near me,” and I hit the enter key. A link to a 24-hour depression hotline was at the top of the search results. I was packing a sad, but I wasn’t suicidal, not yet. I didn’t need that. Next, there was a list of Honolulu psychiatrists and psychologists with a helpful map above with the little red icons to mark the locations of their offices.

  I didn’t know whether I needed a psychologist or psychiatrist as a therapist. After giving it a think, I looked for a psychologist. Going to a psychiatrist somehow seemed an admission I was mental. Hoping a psychologist would suffice, I used the scientific approach to choose one to call. I picked the first name on the list, Gerald Nix, PsyD. After a brief search, I found my mobile on the coffee table in the lounge where I’d left it the night before. I carried it back to the dining room table and dialed the office number on the laptop screen for Dr. Nix.

  A woman answered the phone. I told her I wanted to make an appointment. She asked me a few questions, and we established my primary complaint was depression. The woman asked if I could come in at two o’clock. There had been a cancellation. Bloody hell! I’d hoped to have at least the weekend to work up my courage before having to attend an appointment. I told her I could be there at two. With the appointment booked, I ended the call. Given the severe hangover, I felt it was at least a small victory getting that much accomplished.

  Six

  Even though it was mid-afternoon when I was ushered into Dr. Nix’s office by his receptionist at two, he looked as fresh as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His tanned face even looked freshly shaved. Dr. Nix had an athletic build. His sandy brown hair was combed straight back. There were a few wrinkles and creases around the outer corners of his mouth and brown eyes. The eyes were thoughtful and radiated such warmth I found it remarkable. He had one of those rare smiles with qualities of both amused friendliness and perpetual reassurance in it, the sort you don’t come across often. His brown tweed jacket appeared freshly pressed, his white oxford shirt crisp. He wore a blue and yellow striped tie, tied in a perfect Windsor knot. A pair of round gunmetal gray wire-rimmed glasses were perfectly set on his face. I estimated him to be in his mid-fifties. The man was immaculate.

  Once I was seated across the desk from him in a dark leather covered, over-stuffed chair, he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. O’Sullivan.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m happy to see you too, Dr. Nix. But, I prefer T. J. to Ms. O’Sullivan if you’re okay with it.”

  Nix gave me an encouraging smile and leaned back slightly in his chair as if settling in to listen, keen to hear about all my problems. “That’s fine,” he said. He didn’t ask me to call him Gerald. When Nix didn’t say anything more for several moments, the silence left me feeling a bit off balanced. Not knowing how therapy worked I didn’t know whether he’d begin by asking a question or whether he simply expected me to start talking. Maybe he was waiting for me to say why I’d come to see him. But then he broke the awkward silence.

  “Tell me why you’re here,” he said. His smile looked a bit more amused now, but still friendly and reassuring.

  “I’m almost thirty-seven,” I said. “I seem to find having a proper relationship somewhat problematic. I expect if I’m meant to meet someone and have kids, I better get on to it soon.”

  Nix smiled again. “You still have a few years,” he said. “It isn’t unusual for women to wait a little later in life to have children than was customary in times past.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway if I can’t sustain a proper relationship with a partner,” I said. “I’m not keen to be a single mother. I’m not even certain whether I want to have kids, actually.”

  Nix nodded as if it were perfectly normal for a woman to be unable to have a functional relationship and to reject the idea of bearing offspring.

  “I don’t know anyone like me, well except for my best mate Jackie,” I said. “But, I don’t think she wants to be in a relationship, anyway.”

  “Trust me,” Nix said. “Many men and women have difficulty with relationships.”

  “The whole thing makes me sad because I can’t seem to work out what to do,” I said.

  “What would you like to do?” Nix said.

  “I’d like to learn how to function in a proper relationship so I can stop packing a sad,” I said. “And, there is this guy in Los Angeles I fancy quite a lot. But, he already has a partner and is unavailable. I’m having a difficult time coming to grips with it, and it has left me feeling gloomy and miserable.”

  There I’d said it, as bloody ridiculous as I knew it all had sounded. I gripped the arms of the chair to stop myself from making a quick dash out of the office.

  “That must be painful for you,” Nix said.

  “It is.”

  “Tell me about that,” he said.

  I told him how I’d met Malone—how we had worked together, how I’d literally thrown myself at him before learning he was already in a relationship, and how even though I’d accepted it on one level, I thought I was in love with him and couldn’t seem to move past it all.

  “What do you suppose brought it on?” Nix said.

  “Developing feelings for Malone you mean?”

  Nix nodded.

  “I’m strongly attracted to him,” I said. “He is very self-sufficient, but also attentive, and caring. He is someone I can easily imagine having a great relationship with, even having kids to if he wanted it.”

  “Hardly seems fair,” Nix said.

  “What?”

  “That Malone is already with someone else when he seems so perfect for you.”

  “Yes, it is bloody unfair,” I said.

  Nix was quiet. I was quiet. At least he seemed to understand my situation and felt empathetic.

  “Has Malone ever said anything to you or behaved in such a way he caused you to feel he reciprocated your affections?” Nix said after a time.

  “No. Not exactly. I mean to say Malone has something of a flirty personality and I’m certain he likes me. But, he is an honorable man and was upfront with me about his relationship from the start. He never led me on if that is what you’re asking.”

  Nix nodded.

  “He’s very attentive and caring as said. That’s why I’m confident he does care for me.”

  “Attentive?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in affectionate?” Nix said.

  “Yes, but in a friendly sort of way if I’m honest about it. We’ve never slept together or anything like that.”

  “Any reason then to believe Malone might leave his current partner for a relationship with you?” Nix said.

  I sighed. “No, he’s never said or done anything to give me that impression.”

  Nix nodded. “So, it’s all been a little one-sided.”

  “Sure, but if he left her, and we were together I know I could be everything he needs and Malone is everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”

  Nix leaned forward slightly. He put his fingertips together in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. He tapped his steepled forefingers against his chin softly for a moment.

  “And every time you see him, you want him even more?” Nix said.

  “Exactly,” I said. “I moved here from Los Angeles for that reason, to put distance between us. I believed I was getting over him. But, he called and asked for my help on a case recently. We’re both private investigators. We spent considerable time together in New Zealand on the
case. Seeing him again brought all the feelings right back to the surface.”

  “That must have been frustrating,” Nix said. “And now you feel bad?”

  “It’s breaking my heart,” I said. “But, in my lucid moments, I can see Malone has become almost an obsession.”

  “Obsession?”

  “Yes, I feel like some mad stalker chick, though without the calling and texting him a hundred times a day. I don’t do that. I haven’t had any contact with Malone since I got back from our trip to New Zealand.”

  I started to cry. I tried to stop, but couldn’t. Dr. Nix pushed a box of Kleenex across the desk to me. I used them and continued talking, making a weak effort to pull myself together."

  “Do you think it’s an obsession?” I said.

  “The difference between obsession and love is reciprocity,” Nix said. “Given what you’ve said, there doesn’t seem to be reciprocity here.”

  “I know,” I said between sobs. “It seems I’m only projecting my own hopes and dreams onto Malone.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Nix said.

  “I don’t know, he just seems so perfect as a partner for me,” I said.

  Nix nodded sagely.

  “I’ve never felt like I needed a man to complete me,” I said. “I mean to say I’ve dated a lot of guys and enjoyed it, but it was always only good fun, never anything serious. Until I met and married my husband.”

  “Husband?” Nicks said.

  “Yes, I was married to an amazing guy, David, for three years. He worked for the government and was killed on a trip to Afghanistan around eight years ago.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Nix said. “It’s very difficult losing someone you love.”

  “Yes, it’s been bloody hard,” I said wiping my runny nose on a tissue. “I didn’t think I’d ever want to have another relationship after losing David. But then I met Malone.”

  Nix nodded thoughtfully.

  “You think I can be helped?” I said.

  “I’m sure you can,” Nix said. “The problems you have aren’t unique. All it takes for therapy to succeed is a good therapist, and a patient with the courage and will to work on the issues. I’m a good therapist. I’m confident you have the rest.”