The Best Laid Plans

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  Without a word, Fu-hao set up his table with his ink and paper, just outside the room, at the door’s entrance. From here, he had an unobstructed view and could easily hear Lu’s documenting of the crime scene.

  Lu nodded to his brother. Zhang entered the room, taking his position by the body, but out of Lu’s way. Ma sidled up to Fu-hao and stood near him.

  Lu pushed back his gown’s flowing sleeves and squatted down next to the victim. He grasped the left wrist. “His body is already stiff. He’s been dead several hours. He must have been stabbed in the early morning.” He had Zhang remove the man’s shirt. “One exceptionally deep stab wound. The killer must have been strong. The wound appears to go into the rib cage.” He leaned over and picked up the knife. After examining it and the wound, he handed it to Zhang. “Keep this as evidence. The knife is covered in blood and matches the wound in size and shape. It must be the murder weapon.”

  Fu-hao’s brush swept across the page as Lu described the body’s condition and the knife.

  Shen, the innkeeper, and a cluster of other diners, stood in the hallway close behind Fu-hao, a mute audience peering into the room.

  Zhang turned the body over, exposing the man’s face and open eyes; he appeared to stare at the doorway as if in surprise. With a collective gasp the gawkers drew back. Lu glanced over and caught sight of the innkeeper’s faint figure looming in the darkened hallway. “Innkeeper He, can you identify this man?”

  “It’s Huang Chi-chao, a merchant from Guangdong Province in the south. He arrived yesterday,” the innkeeper said, his voice high and quivering.

  “Did he have any bags with him when he took the room?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. He had one small bag.”

  “A small bag? If he was a merchant, where were his wares?”

  “He said he’d sold out and was returning home.”

  Lu again glanced around the bare room. If the merchant had sold all his wares, that meant he was carrying a lot of money along with his traveling credentials.

  Standing, Lu instructed those in the hallway: “You must all assemble in the dining room, where I will hold the investigation. If any of you try to leave the premises without permission, I will have my men hunt you down as a guilty party.”

  An excited mixture of anxiety, anger, and fear rose from the darkened, hollow space behind Fu-hao.

  “Do I make myself clear?” Lu asked, his tone brooking no argument.

  A chorus of, “Yes, Your Honor,” replied. The shuffling of feet told him they were leaving. Only Shen remained in the shadows.

  “Ma, search each guest’s room looking for Huang’s bag, his credentials, and for any large sums of money. Zhang, you come with me.”

  Fu-hao gathered up his materials. Lu closed the door behind them and moved quickly through the hallway, Zhang, Fu-hao, and Shen in tow. When Lu appeared at the dining room door, men were sitting at the tables scattered around the room. They rose as one when Lu entered. The innkeeper, his son, and a serving girl stood near the kitchen door.

  Lu chose a table near the back. Fu-hao set up near him and prepared fresh ink. Once Fu-hao was ready, brush in hand, Lu called the guests, one by one to come forward to be interrogated.

  None knew the deceased or had any useful information. Once Lu finished interviewing the last guest, he called for the maid. Pale and trembling, she glided forward, taking small steps, and then dropped to her knees, giving him a deep bow.

  Lu reminded her of the importance of telling the truth to the court and the severity of the crime if she did not. In a scarcely audible voice, she bowed again and said she understood.

  “Did you know the victim?” Lu asked.

  “I served him last night, as I did the others.”

  “Who else was with him?”

  “Innkeeper He, his son, His Honor Shen, Huang Da-xin—His Honor’s traveling companion—and…” she hesitated.

  “Yes. Tell the truth.”

  Her eyes flitted from Lu toward his brother recording her words. “Your Honor’s Court Secretary,” she said.

  Lu stared hard at Fu-hao.

  “I was gambling with them last night,” Fu-hao said, grimacing. “But I left them to the game and went to bed early.” At Lu’s scowl, he hastily added, “Well, relatively early. Before anyone else did at any rate. She’ll—” he jerked his head in the maid’s direction—“tell you.”

  Lu looked to the maid for confirmation.

  “Yes, Sir. He did leave early. The others continued drinking and gambling.”

  “When did they break up?” Lu asked.

  “They gambled until late into the night. Everyone lost—except Chi-chao. He boasted of his luck and drank a full cup of wine after each win. Finally, quite drunk, he announced he’d finished playing, ending the game. I don’t know what happened after that. I was told to leave, that I was no longer needed.”

  Lu called the innkeeper. “You were among the gamblers last night?”

  Hands clasped over his belly, the innkeeper bowed several times before Lu. “I did play and I lost a small amount, but I didn’t hurt the merchant Huang. I had no reason to. He was my customer. I know nothing about what happened after the game broke up.”

  “Is there anything else you can add?” Lu asked.

  The innkeeper paused for a moment, as if thinking. “When the victim signed in and found out another Huang had taken a room in my inn, he went on about Guangdong, his home area. He bragged that the Huang surname was well-known throughout the province and what a strong and prosperous lineage it was. Then later, after dinner, he mentioned that he recognized Shen.” He pressed his lips together in a tight line, then said. “He told me to be careful of the man, but we were interrupted before he could say why.”

  “What nonsense,” Shen shouted. “How dare you involve me in this despicable matter.”

  “Silence,” Lu said. “You will have an opportunity to tell the court your version.” He was glad Shen was only an official appointee. If he had already been entrusted with the office and taken up the position, the court would not be allowed to interrogate him. At least not without going through a long and complicated procedure to first strip him of his position. The law was originally designed to protect the status of the office. Unfortunately, an unintended consequence was to virtually give officials immunity from the law.

  Lu asked the innkeeper a few more questions before releasing him and ordering Shen to step forward. As Innkeeper He and Shen passed each other, Shen glared at him.

  “I admit I gambled and lost heavily to merchant Huang, but I had nothing to do with his death.”

  “How did you expect to pay off your gambling debt?” Lu asked. He’d noticed that Shen’s clothing, while decent, was too ample for the man’s slender frame. The garment’s poor cut suggested that this newly appointed official had yet to make his fortune.

  Shen bowed. “Because merchant Huang respected the hardworking members of the legal system, he did not hold me to my debt. Instead he forgave it all.”

  “You’re claiming merchant Huang didn’t expect you to repay any of your debt. Not in any way?” Lu asked, probing. It was not uncommon for people to try and ingratiate themselves with various officials or other government workers. However, this type of arrangement could be considered a form of bribery and disqualify him from office.

  Jutting his chin out, Shen drew himself up. “Yes, Your Honor. Such was his level of respect for our Emperor and his hardworking officers.”

  At this sanctimonious comment, Lu gazed at Shen for a few moments before asking: “Did he give you a note forgiving the debt?”

  Shen nodded and reached into his sleeve. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, opened it, glanced at it briefly, and presented it to Lu.

  Lu took the rice paper and read it. The note did, indeed, absolve Shen’s debt to merchant Huang. Lu placed the note on Fu-hao’s table as evidence. He released the Chief of Police appointee.

  As Shen bowed and backed away, Lu called for Da-xin, Shen’
s traveling companion. At this, Shen paused and clasping his hands before him, said, “Please don’t bother with Huang Da-xin, Your Honor. He is a simpleton who is given to exaggeration and poor judgement. I doubt he can be of any help in our investigations.”

  Judge Lu stared hard at Shen.

  Flicking his hands, as if to wipe away his comment, Shen went on. “Of course, I don’t mean to tell Your Honor what to do. I only wanted to alert you to the kind of man Da-xin is—to avoid any future embarrassment to the court in case his words were taken to have real meaning.”

  “If he is a simpleton, as you say, why have you chosen him as your companion?” Lu asked.

  “I am assisting my brother who owes a debt to Da-xin’s father and who has business in Hunan. His father didn’t trust him to travel alone. Since we happen to be going to the same place, it seemed reasonable for him to travel with me.”

  Lu nodded and waved him aside. “Huang Da-xin, approach the court,” he ordered, again.

  A thin man with a nervous twitch attacking his left eye shuffled forward. Lu made a note of his uncontrollable eye. While the tic could signify a guilty conscience, it could also reflect nervousness at being involved in this legal situation. The law assumed guilt and guilty involvement until proven otherwise. Guileless or not, Lu mused, Da-xin appeared to be aware of the power of the law.

  “You understand the importance of your telling the truth, do you not, Da-xin?” Lu asked.

  “Yes,” the man said. He gripped his hands together at his waist, but he couldn’t hide his jacket’s shaking sleeves as his arms quaked unbidden.

  “Did you know the victim, Huang Chi-chao?”

  “Yes. No.”

  “What is it? Yes or no?”

  Da-xin blanched. “No, although I have seen him. He’s from my ancestral family’s town in Guangdong.”

  “Guangdong is in the southeast. Zhejiang is the province north of it. Why were you in Zhejiang?”

  “I wasn’t in Zhejiang. Master Shen and I have been here for many months. Traveling along the Gan River.” Da-xin fell silent and seemed to study the ground.

  Lu was beginning to think Shen was right: Da-xin was simple and an unreliable witness. He cast a quick glance at Shen, who frowned at his fellow traveler. Lu was about to release Da-xin when the man spoke up.

  “Chi-chao didn’t recognize me, but he knew Master Shen. Everyone knows Master Shen. His family was once one of the most important in our town.” He paused again and nodded at Lu with a shy smile, as if that said it all.

  Lu caught Shen shaking his head and opening his eyes wide as if incredulous at what he was hearing. Lu took this to mean Shen placed no credence in what his companion said. Lu decided to move on to the next interview. If needed, he’d delete Huang Da-xin’s testimony later.

  Next, Lu called the innkeeper’s son, He Rong, before the court.

  The young man strutted out from the sidelines, all sullenness gone. He seemed determined.

  Lu let him stand before the court for several minutes before addressing him. He had learned early on how important silence was as an investigatory tool. It intimidated people and opened them up in a way that court ordered torture could not. “You were among the last to see Chi-chao before his death. Tell me what you know. Remember, if you lie or leave anything out, you will suffer the consequences.”

  Rong took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and, looking at Judge Lu’s chest, proceeded. “Sir, both my father and I gambled with the victim and the others as reported. Only Chi-chao seemed lucky at gambling. We all lost. I played for the first couple of turns and had to quit because I had no more money. My father, Sir Shen, your court reporter, and Da-xin continued playing. Since I couldn’t play, I went to bed. The others remained gambling and drinking after I left.” By the end of this tale, his bravado had slipped. He shifted his eyes to his feet. Even in the room’s dim light, the sweat shone on his forehead. “That’s all I know.”

  Lu’s dark eyes burrowed into the young man. “Tell the court everything,” he said, leaning toward him.

  Rong shot a look at the line of men pressed along the side wall, his father and the other gamblers among them. He turned back to Judge Lu.

  “I did go to bed. I sleep in the kitchen, but their noise didn’t keep me awake. Later—I’m not sure how much later—my father came in. He was furious. He said he’d lost and lost. He had been sure he’d win back his debt, and he’d put our inn up as collateral.” Rong shook his head. “He lost that too. He gambled our life and lost.” His voice hardened.

  The silence in the room was oppressive. Whether the weight came from the innkeeper’s bad judgement or from sympathy at his bad karma, Judge Lu couldn’t tell. Nevertheless, an over-powering pressure filled the room.

  Rong closed his eyes. “He said…he said he’d kill that son of a turtle before he’d turn his inn over to him in payment for the gambling debt. And then he grabbed a knife and ran back out into the dining room.” He gulped air. “I think…I think he killed Chi-chao.”

  A gasp went up from the men watching. Then as if in a rolling thunder, a stream of curses erupted aimed at the innkeeper’s son. To accuse his own father of a crime was the ultimate act of betrayal, an unforgivable act. The men’s immediate, unthinking reaction, flooded outward, washing over the space and filling it with bile.

  Stunned, Lu sat ramrod straight on the rustic stool. When he had demanded Rong tell everything, he hadn’t expected this. He looked over at the gamblers: Innkeeper He frozen in place, Shen smirking, and Da-xin staring in wide-eyed disbelief. True or not, Rong’s testimony put both him and his father in the center of the law’s target. Innkeeper He for murder. His son for breaking with the country’s laws on filial behavior. The law would not countenance a son’s betraying a father. Even a guilty father. The first duty to all sons was to their parents. That before all else. Everyone—the Emperor, the country—knew that no one could survive in a world where children turned on their parents. Filial piety was the first commandment among all commandments.

  Judge Lu ordered Zhang to arrest both the innkeeper and his son and recessed the court. He whispered to Fu-hao that he was to meet him upstairs in his room. He stepped away from the table and left. As soon as he’d disappeared upstairs, pandemonium broke loose.

  The uproar filtered in through the cracks around Lu’s door. He couldn’t close it out. He didn’t want to close it out. The chaos was an acknowledgement of the disruption in the universe’s moral order. The law he represented affirmed that order’s existence. Of the certainty that there was a right and a wrong. Rong’s declaration of his father’s guilt upended the entire universe’s moral order.

  And it was Judge Lu’s job to right the world again.

  Almost as soon as Lu entered the room, Fu-hao followed, papers in hand. He dropped them on a stool and started to speak. “I—”

  Lu interrupted. “Go and find Ma. Bring back anything he’s discovered.” He swept a hand over his brow. “Let’s hope he’s found something. Whatever it is, it will help us put a picture of this murder together.”

  “Right,” Fu-hao swung around, reversing his steps.

  Lu paced the tight space. He needed more information, more evidence. Rong’s testimony meant a death sentence for both of them. The innkeeper for murder. The innkeeper’s son for such an egregious unfilial act. The law would not be merciful to either. He tapped his hand against his chest. There was something wrong here. He felt it. But he needed more information. Evidence.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Fu-hao returned with Ma in tow. Ma carried several packets which he extended to Lu. “I found these in Sir Shen’s room.”

  Lu unwrapped the larger package and reviewed the documents within. They were the official certificates of office and traveling papers for the Chief of Police appointee. As he read through the papers, Lu’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Without comment, he handed the documents to Fu-hao and opened the smaller bundles. In one he found two slips of rice paper stating that Hua
ng Da-xin and Huang Min-feng were residents of a town in Guangdong. The second bundle held the identity paper and travel documents for merchant Huang Chi-chao.

  “Where did you find these?” Lu asked.

  “All three packets were in Sir Shen’s room. The larger package was on his bed; the smaller packages were hidden against the far wall under his bed.”

  Lu stood. “I’m reconvening the court’s questioning. Fu-hao, prepare your desk. Ma, bring in Shen. Zhang, bring in the prisoners.”

  As they reassembled in the crowded dining room, the noise level muted to a barely audible level. The once welcoming room now appeared less inviting. Uncomfortably warm, the stench of stressed-induced body odor mixed with that of old cooking oil and onions.

  “Silence,” Lu ordered. “Bring Huang Da-xin forward.”

  “Da-xin, you say your home area is in Guangdong and your residency documents, which I have here, agree with that,” Lu said. He laid a hand on the rice paper spread out on the table. “Now tell me, do you know a Huang Min-feng?”

  The slender man nodded, grinning. “Yes, Your Honor. He’s my older brother.”

  “Is he in this room?”

  He nodded again.

  “Point him out to the court.”

  The man hesitated.

  “Point him out to the court,” Lu repeated, more sternly.

  As if in slow motion, Da-xin pointed across the room to Sir Shen. A burst of voices met Da-xin’s revelation. Shen stiffened and his eyes darted toward the door, where Ma stood guard.

  “Sir Shen, come before the court,” Lu said.

  Shen strode forward. Only the slight drop of his shoulders gave any indication of a change in his demeanor. He bowed and waited.

  Lu assessed the men, standing side by side, before him. Now the similarity in their short, thin eyebrows set in round faces and their slender, strong builds was obvious. Lu had no doubt they were, indeed, brothers.