A Drop of Chinese Blood (35 page)

I could see he was disappointed. “Something wrong?”

“It’s Rason, and it’s causing me more headaches than anything. I’m supposed to be at the end of my career, ready to retire, but what do I get? Rason.”

“You’re the third person who said ‘Rason’ when I mentioned sea lions. What am I missing?”

“Nothing. There’s no direct link with sea lions. But in this case, if you know a little, you know a lot. It’s all about context. Rason shows up in your reporting, doesn’t it?”

“Now and then.”

“That means you know the place has a lot of people salivating. The triads are already there.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“The Mongolians are doing some light-footed reconnaissance.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fascination? It’s a port, not very big.”

“Oh, you been there?”

“A flying visit, you might say.”

“Meaning, you were in North Korea after all.”

“Sort of like Lenin going back to Russia in a sealed railway car. Only in my case, it was a shipping crate.”

“Enough.” He stood up. “I can’t write this down because no one will believe it.”

“You’re not leaving, are you? This is getting to be an illuminating session, lots of clarity. How about we leave something vague, a loose thread here or there? Think anyone would mind?”

“They don’t like loose threads in Beijing anymore. They used to; I don’t know what happened. Damned shame. Though I can tell you, they want to know what happened to that state seal. They don’t want that left flapping in the breeze.”

“I have a theory, if you want to hear it.”

He sat down again. “This is going to be good. I’ll bet you and your uncle kicked it around already.”

“Can you pocket those pistols or something? They make me nervous.”

He put the pearl handle in his pocket. “This other one is yours. Want it back?”

Not in a thousand years was I going to be caught holding a pistol alone in the same room with a grizzled special section squad leader. “No thanks. You keep it. I’ll get another one later if that’s how things break.”

He shrugged. “Have it your way.” He put my pistol in his other pocket. “You were saying?”

“It’s only a theory. It ties together, though, especially if you figure in Miss Du.”

Chapter Four

The next afternoon, all four of them were in the library, seated uncomfortably around my uncle’s desk. We only had three chairs, not counting the one where my uncle was sitting. That left Gao on the stool with the poplar seat. He still owed us money, and his left ankle was still in a cast.

I was standing behind Miss Du in case she jumped up and moved menacingly toward my uncle, as she had in our first meeting. She had on a peek a boo lace dress—made especially for her in Yunnan, she told me at the front door. My uncle seemed very uncomfortable at first when she came in and sat down. Each time he looked at her, he glanced at Madame Fang first.

Wu had joined us. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but my uncle told me not to worry. Wu stayed in the background, leaning against the bookcase closest to the door. The last to arrive was Ping Man-ho, wearing his trademark Hong Kong suit. In honor of the occasion, he sported a dove gray shirt with a pale green tie. Gao muttered under his breath when Ping appeared, but Ping paid no attention and seated himself comfortably next to Miss Du. She studiously refused to acknowledge his presence, which made me think they had crossed paths once upon a time.

As soon as Ping was seated, my uncle cleared his throat. “I’m grateful to you all for coming with no more than the normal complaints,” he said.

“No speeches, just tell us what this is about, OK, and let us go home.” Gao looked over at Madame Fang. “Some of us have to work for our food, you know.”

“Ha!” Madame Fang hurled this at my uncle. “I wish you’d told me who was going to be here. I might have made other plans.”

My uncle put up his hand. “Enough. I didn’t invite you here because I expect you to become friends, though I think you are all acquainted in one way or another.”

Four sets of eyes instantly turned to examining the floor; three pairs of lips compressed into thin frowns. The exception was Ping Man-ho, on whose handsome face there lightly danced the briefest of self-satisfied smiles. I didn’t know why my uncle had insisted I make sure he was in attendance, though Wu’s interest in Ping and Li Bo-ting’s odd reaction when I’d mentioned his name at the dumpling restaurant told me it wasn’t just because of his taste in suits. Whatever the reason, I found myself watching him closely.

“I, for one, would like to know what this is about. You owe me a report. You promised a report. Instead, I have been brought against my will to a meeting with people I wouldn’t otherwise ask for the time of day.” Miss Du did not single out any of the others. It was a sort of blanket petulance.

“How nice of Your Highness to put up with us.” Gao appeared to take in Miss Du’s outfit for the first time. “You have enough money; next time, OK, why don’t you buy the whole dress?”

My uncle rapped his knuckles on the desk. “This isn’t a primary school play yard. We have a number of things to discuss. At the conclusion, I expect we will have the answers to several important questions.”

“What questions? I don’t have any questions, OK?” Gao said. “And since I don’t, I’ll take my leave, OK? Some people in here, OK, owe me money, and I can’t afford to sit doing nothing.” With some effort, he pulled himself up and looked around for his crutches, which I’d put in the hall so he couldn’t bolt out of the room.

“Sit down. You will speak only when I tell you to, and you aren’t going anywhere until I say you can.” My uncle sounded completely in charge. Madame Fang shivered slightly with what I took to be excitement at this display of authority. She had on a necklace with two strands of pearls, and she fingered one of them provocatively before dropping it onto her blouse, which was some sort of satin, designed to make clear what she wanted to make clear.

Miss Du craned her neck around and looked at Wu. “Who is that man and what is he doing here? Is he one of the private investigators you’ve hired to pad the expense account? Has he got any credentials, or shouldn’t I ask?”

Wu didn’t bother to respond. He simply looked at Miss Du as if he’d dealt with her type plenty before. My uncle rapped his knuckles on the desk again. “Mr. Wu is competent, knowledgeable, and experienced. He has a special interest in these proceedings, but he isn’t a direct participant. So you might as well pretend he isn’t there and face me. I’m the one who is going to ask the questions, and I’m going to listen very carefully to your answers.”

My uncle took a small box out of one of his desk drawers and put it on a shelf behind his chair. “You may think you don’t have to answer the questions I am going to ask, but you would be wrong. Major Bing”—he indicated he was referring to me—“is fully empowered to enforce the rules of interrogation.”

I put on an impassive face. There are no “rules” of interrogation, and I had no power to enforce anything that took place here. I couldn’t step on anyone’s hand or slap anyone around. My job was to keep the four of them seated and sufficiently intimidated so they would jump through whatever hoops my uncle produced. What those hoops were I didn’t know for sure, since he hadn’t told me what to expect. If something happened, I could take care of the two women and Gao with no trouble, but Ping looked in pretty good shape and I didn’t want to have to tangle with him if I could avoid it. I’d been knocked around plenty for one month already.

“The first order of business”—my uncle peered grimly at each of the four in turn—“is to inform you that Naranbaatar is dead, murdered most foully.”

This news was met with blank stares. My uncle did not seem surprised. “You perhaps knew him as Y, or possibly even K. Ring a bell?”

Wu shifted uneasily. He didn’t like public airing of dirty MSS laundry; he liked even less the batting around of cryptonyms, even the most obscure, in front of the unwashed. Besides Wu’s unease, I sensed something else in the room, a muffled spark of recognition, but it was snuffed out before I could catch the source. I glanced at my uncle to see if he’d been quicker than I was, but his attention seemed to be on other things, Miss Du’s dress for one.

“Very good.” My uncle closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “The man’s real name was Lu Xin. His death, as I said, was not pleasant. You wouldn’t want to shuffle off the mortal coil in that fashion, believe me.”

Madame Fang paled noticeably and drew a quick breath, though I couldn’t say her bosom heaved. Gao pursed his lips and attempted nonchalantly to scratch his neck. Miss Du uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, this time facing Ping Man-ho, who was otherwise occupied in swallowing.

“Anyone want to say a nice word about Lu Xin? Or should we leave the dead in peace?” My uncle waited. A piglet squealed from down the alley, but no one in the library blinked an eye. Finally, Ping Man-ho raised his hand.

“I have a question.” He turned to address Miss Du. “I take it this session is primarily your idea.”

“Not at all,” she replied coolly.

That cinched it. They knew each other. This was not a woman who replied coolly to strangers. She scratched their eyes out.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use some context,” Ping Man-ho continued. “Perhaps we should ask Inspector O to give us a few minutes of background, as much as he can, of course. If he is working for you”—again he turned to Miss Du—“there are no doubt limits as to what he can say about a client. Am I right, Inspector?”

“Let’s get something straight.” My uncle pointed at Ping, then at Gao, then at Miss Du, and finally at Madame Fang. “I’ll decide who gets context, how much, and when.”

Madame Fang shivered again.

“To continue, Lu Xin—and I already know that each of you had a connection with him, so I am disappointed but not surprised that none of you spoke up to mourn his passing—died in Mongolia.”

“I didn’t kill him, OK? What the hell is this about?” Gao looked suspiciously around the room. “At least two people here, OK, owe me a lot of money. Why don’t we talk about that, OK?”

“And you owe money to several others, as you perfectly well know.” My uncle wagged his finger at Gao. “I think Mr. Wu may want a word or two with you when we’re through here.”

Gao craned his head around to get a good look at Wu. He didn’t appear happy with what met his eyes. Wu took a small notebook out of his pocket and held it up for Gao to see. That seemed to make Gao even unhappier.

My uncle rapped the desk. “As long as you’re paying attention, Gao, have you ever been to Mongolia?”

“Me?” Gao turned around on his stool and faced the front. “Are you crazy? Why would I want to go to Mongolia?” He was so stupefied that his normal verbal tic dropped away for a moment. “Mongolia? You kidding?”

“I don’t mean recently. Recently you’ve tended your business here in Yanji, is that right? Still, a career path is long and winding. Perhaps yours wound through Ulan Bator?”

“Yeah, sure, OK, this is my home, OK. So it’s not a fancy place, OK, like some people have.” His eyes darted around the room. “But I don’t bother anyone. And I wasn’t ever in Outer Mongolia.”

“What about Inner Mongolia?”

“I was in the army, OK?”

“You were mostly in the stockade, from what I’ve learned.”

“I was in the army in Inner Mongolia. There’s nothing there. Nothing. It drove people crazy, OK? Some guys took up with sheep. I took up gambling, developed a skill for myself, OK? I wasn’t going to fix jeeps my whole life. I don’t bother anyone.”

No,” my uncle said, “I suppose you don’t, unless they happen to owe you money.”

Gao shrugged, as if bothering people who owed him was as normal as rain.

“You said a couple of people in this room are in your debt. Who are they?”

I thought someone would jump up to protest, so I leaned forward, prepared to move quickly, but nothing happened. Silence descended. There must have been a shortage of piglets, because no sound came from the outside either.

Finally, Miss Du squeezed out a tear. “You’ve probably already checked. All right, yes, I owe him some money.”

“Some!” The word half lifted Gao off the stool. “Some! She owes—”

“Be quiet, Gao, or I’ll have Major Bing put some of this special tape on your mouth.” My uncle opened his drawer and retrieved a roll of black tape. “Please, Miss Du, go ahead.”

“Lots of people go to Gao’s. At home, I know where the skunks are, but I’m not from around here so I didn’t know what a racket he was running. Someone asked me to go along with them to Gao’s, so I went. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone.”

“Nothing wrong with owing money, dear, as long as you owe it to the right sort of people,” Madame Fang said evenly. “Of course, it’s always better if they owe you.” She patted Miss Du’s hand, which I thought for sure would start World War III. Instead, Miss Du put her arms around Madame Fang’s neck and began to sob loudly.

“Wouldn’t have bet on that, would you, Bingo?” Gao turned and grinned quickly at me. “Anyone mind if I smoke?” He took a Cleopatra from his shirt pocket, sniffed the tobacco with satisfaction, and stuck the cigarette in his mouth.

“No smoking in here or in the lavatories.” My uncle motioned for me to relieve Gao of his cigarettes. “Someone get Miss Du a handkerchief. Ah, thank you, Ping Man-ho.”

Ping Man-ho had handed Miss Du a sparkling clean, perfectly folded, white linen handkerchief. She blew her nose and handed it back.

“Miss Du, if you feel up to it, can we proceed? I didn’t inquire how much you owed, I merely asked to whom. We now know Gao holds some of your IOUs. Do you owe anyone else?”

Miss Du’s expression suggested she was considering her response. “Do you mean anyone else in this room, or just anyone else?”

“I think that will do as an answer.” My uncle rested his eyes on Ping Man-ho. “You had something to add?”

Ping shook his head. “Nothing, Inspector.”

“Can we take a break? I think it’s time for a break.” Madame Fang made a grab for control. “Coffee and cookies would be nice, if you have any. Also, I wouldn’t mind going to see a man about a dog.”