More Deaths Than One (8 page)

“Are you going to call him?”

“No. He makes me uncomfortable. Golf wasn’t
the only pleasure he found in Thailand. He often boasted of
threesomes and sexual exploits involving pain—not his own, of
course. I never met his wife, but I felt sorry for her.”

“He sounds like the kind of guy who thinks
his infidelities don’t count in a foreign country.” She set
Dunbar’s cards aside, then studied the driver’s license, library
card, social security card. When she finished, she turned sideways,
pulled her legs onto the couch, and sat cross-legged, facing
Bob.

“Forgetting about the obituary that didn’t
appear in the paper around the time of your mother’s first death,
it does seem as if you’re the real Bob Stark. Or one of them. But I
don’t see what that has to do with people hunting you. If they were
at the airport waiting for you when you got to Denver, it means you
had to come to their attention before you got back to the United
States. What were you involved with in Thailand?”

Bob gathered his papers and replaced them in
his wallet. “Nothing. I lived a very quiet, serene life.”

Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “Serenity is a
big thing with you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s something Hsiang-li and I had in
common.”

“How did you two meet? If he’s as
uncommunicative as you, how did you ever get to know each
other?”

“I went to The Lotus Room one day, attracted
by its architecture. It was white and had a gold tiled roof with
curled eaves, like a one-tiered pagoda. When I stepped inside, I
found boisterous college students on spring break. Before I could
leave, I noticed a door leading to an enclosed courtyard, and I
went out to investigate. Eight-feet-tall, one-foot-thick walls
muted the incessant noise of the traffic. Enormous flowerpots
containing bushes, small trees laden with fruit, and an incredible
array of flowers obscured the walls.

“In the center of the courtyard I saw a round
pool laid with tiles shading from pale sea green at the rim to dark
forest green at the bottom, making it appear fathomless. Pink and
white lotus floated on the surface of the pool, and iridescent fish
darted among them. Tables and chairs ringed the pool, but no one
sat at them.

“Hsiang-li came out, wearing rich green
pajama-like pants and a thigh-length tunic decorated with gold
metallic braiding. He said, ‘You like beautiful things,’ with an
inflection that made it not quite a question nor yet a statement. I
agreed, and the two of us contemplated the pool in silence for a
long time. Then Hsiang-li nodded at me, saying, ‘Enough said,’ and
went back to work.”

Bob stopped. “How do you do that?”

Kerry’s eyes widened. “Do what?”

“Get me to talking. I don’t like to talk,
especially not about myself, yet when I’m with you I chitter like a
cricket.”

She laughed. “Maybe, but you still haven’t
told me what you did in Thailand.”

“Nothing much. I worked for Hsiang-li. I
painted. I explored the city. I went for long runs. Sometimes I had
drinks with a friend. I led a very quiet life.”

“People don’t hunt down others for no reason.
You must have been done something.”

She propped her elbows on her knees, put her
fists to her cheeks, and stared at him.

He tried to picture his life from the outside
in, the way she would see it, rather than from the inside out the
way he saw it. After a while his lips quirked in the faintest of
smiles.

“Well, there was that one thing.”

Chapter 7

Kerry’s eyes danced. “With you there’s always
that one thing. ‘My mother passed away, and oh, yes, she’s already
dead.’ ‘I went to the funeral, and oh, hey, I was already there.’
‘I’m a mousy little fellow who’s led an uneventful life, but oh,
gee, someone’s out to get me.’”

Bob’s lips twitched.

“Aha!” She held up four fingers. “Smile
number four. Before you know it, you might even laugh. Or not.” The
levity disappeared from her voice. “I guess you don’t have much to
laugh about. So, what’s this one thing?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have all night.”

Bob drew in a breath. “Shortly after I met
Hsiang-li, he mentioned that his restaurant used to be a quiet
place, but a couple of years previously all these loud young people
started to congregate there. When he said he didn’t know why, I
told him a guidebook called A Pauper’s Guide to Thailand listed The
Lotus Room as one of the cheapest places to eat. He got very still.
Then, in a quiet voice, he told me that in China an Old Master Cook
is a national treasure. His father had been an Old Master Cook and
so had his father, and before he left China, Hsiang-li had been on
his way to becoming one, too. He couldn’t believe people came to
his restaurant for the cheap prices and not for the great
food.”

“Why did he leave China?” Kerry asked.

“He was on Mao’s list of people to be
purged.” Seeing her mouth forming the question, he said, “I don’t
know why. Neither did he. But that’s another story. I suggested he
triple or even quadruple his prices. People who appreciated good
food would still come, and the others would find another cheap
place to eat. I also suggested fixed rates to attract
businesspeople who were too busy to haggle over prices but couldn’t
stand the idea of anyone paying less than they did. He didn’t say
anything, but after that his prices crept up until his became one
of the most expensive restaurants in Thailand.”

Kerry laughed. “When you said long story, you
meant long story.”

“Perhaps I should stop.”

“No, don’t. I was teasing you.”

“All right. When I finished eating that day,
Hsiang-li asked if I would do a favor for him. He had a delivery to
make at the Sheraton Hotel across the street, but he couldn’t leave
right then and had no one else he could trust. I agreed. He reached
under the bar for a parcel about the size of a brick, wrapped in
brown paper and tied with a string.”

“Oh,” Kerry said, her voice flat. “I bet I
know what was in the package.”

“I thought I did too,” Bob admitted.

“And you took it anyway?”

“I trusted him, so I gave him the benefit of
the doubt. A week later, he asked me to make another delivery,
which I did, but the third time I asked if the packages contained
drugs. ‘No drugs,’ he assured me. ‘Then what?’ I asked. ‘Stolen
merchandise?’ He smiled at me and said, ‘In a way.’ ‘In what way?’
I asked. I told him I’d been in the army for two years and had no
intention of spending any more time in mandatory confinement,
especially not in a Thai prison. He smiled at me again and said, ‘I
am glad to hear you say that. Come, I have something to show
you.’”

“What?” Kerry asked when Bob paused. “What
did he show you? Was it stolen merchandise?”

Bob held up a finger. “Hsiang-li unlocked a
door behind the bar. It led into a cool storeroom containing his
back stock of liquor, beer, and wine. He turned on the light,
stepped aside to let me enter, and locked the door behind us. A few
steps took him to a rack half-filled with dusty wine bottles. He
pressed a spot on the wall next to the wine rack at about knee
height. The entire rack swung out to reveal a solid metal door with
a combination lock on it, like the door to a bank vault. He fiddled
with the lock for a few seconds, then opened the door.”

Seeing the rapt expression on Kerry’s face,
Bob feigned a yawn. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“You can’t stop now,” she exclaimed. “That’s
not fair.” Then her mouth dropped open. She threw a pillow at him.
“You’re teasing me.”

“A little.”

She grinned impishly. “It’s those hidden
shal-lows again. I never know when they’re going to ooze to the
surface and amaze me. So, what was in the room?”

“Antiques. Old pottery, Thai bronzes,
wood-carvings, porcelain figurines, jade Buddhas, heavy gold
jewelry. One display case contained several small, very old, highly
glazed figurines. All were the same color—pale tan with sepia
accents—and all looked as if the same long-forgotten artist had
made them. A few were realistic depictions of animals, like the
ornate elephant in full regalia, while others were fanciful
creatures such as unicorns, griffins, winged dragons pulling
chariots, and eagles with peacock feathers.”

“They sound beautiful,” Kerry said.

“They were. I wanted to ask Hsiang-li about
them, but he stared into the case with such a look of sorrow on his
face that I couldn’t intrude.”

“Did you ever find out about them?”

Bob nodded. “But not then. Hsiang-li roused
himself, and pointed out various porcelain bowls. Bencharong,
Sawank’alok, celadon.”

Kerry tilted her head. “Celadon? Isn’t that a
pale green cracked glaze? I’ve seen it in import shops.”

“You probably saw Thai celadon, a
repro-duction made by following the original Chinese method of
glazing with natural wood ash and firing it in a white heat kiln,
so it looks exactly the same as the ancient Chinese celadon.
Hsiang-li’s celadon bowls, however, were some of the original
pieces made in China. They were more than two thousand years
old.”

“You never answered my question,” Kerry
said.

“Which question?”

“Was it stolen merchandise?”

“No. All of it had been legally purchased
from legitimate dealers and people who needed money so desperately
they had to sell their family heirlooms.”

“So what did Hsiang-li mean when he said that
in a way it was stolen?”

“Because the people who bought it thought it
had been.”

An uncertain look crossed Kerry’s face. “They
thought it was stolen, and they still bought it?”

Bob nodded. “Hsiang-li told me people go to
Thailand expecting to buy cheap antiquities. One way to get them to
pay what the objects are worth is to make them believe they’re
stolen. People are willing to pay a lot of money for stolen
merchandise, perhaps because they feel they are getting away with
something.”

Kerry spread her hands. “I don’t get it. How
did he make people believe the stuff was stolen?”

“Bribery, mostly. Periodically he paid cops
to arrest him on charges of selling stolen antiquities. They always
dropped the charges, of course, but word got around. Secret
meetings, hushed phone calls, sur-reptitious hand-offs, and other
clandestine activities also helped get the point across.”

“That hidden room probably helped, too.”

“He didn’t bring customers there. He told me
he’d never take the chance of showing the place to anyone who
seemed willing to break the law.”

“Was pretending to sell stolen property worth
it?” Kerry asked.

“Hsiang-li thought so. Mao Tse-tung killed
off perhaps sixty million Chinese and forced millions of others to
flee their homeland. All they had left were the few treasures they
managed to take with them, and Hsiang-li wanted to make sure they
got the true worth of their heirlooms. He also bought antiques from
dealers, added a hefty profit for himself, and sold them to rich
people who still paid less than if they got them through one of the
big international auction houses.”

Kerry’s brows drew together. “So what does
all this have to do with the guys who are after you?”

“Maybe nothing. You’re the one who wanted to
know what I did in Thailand. But I haven’t reached the end of the
story.”

Kerry uncrossed her legs, and stretched them.
Then, curling up again, she said grandly, “You can continue
now.”

“About three months ago, when I passed the
door to Hsiang-li’s office, I heard voices inside. Since I
understand a little Chinese, I knew someone was threatening
Hsiang-li. I stepped into the office. Two Chinese men of average
size with calm demeanors and very cold eyes leaned toward
Hsiang-li. Their hands hung loosely by their sides, but their
postures seemed menacing. They didn’t look like typical bruisers.
They wore expensive business suits and appeared well bred,
educated. They glanced at me. One said, ‘Oh, the kwai lo.’ Then
they turned their backs on me. Hsiang-li hunched in defeat, and I
knew something dangerous was going on.”

Kerry gave him a questioning glance. “How did
you know?”

“Kwai lo is the Chinese name for barbarian,
an insult of the highest order. To keep the back turned is a sign
of disrespect. In this case, the insult seemed to be directed not
so much at me but at Hsiang-li as my mentor. They spoke awhile
longer in Chinese, then they started to leave. One man looked back
and said, in English, ‘As we have explained, we’re consolidating
the antiques business. We want you to join us or get out. We have
excellent sources for new antiquities, and we don’t want or need
the competition. If you do as we say, your American dog will be
safe.’”

Kerry shot bolt upright. “What? They
threatened you? Yet when I asked what happened in Thailand, you
said, ‘Nothing.’ How can that be nothing?”

“Because Hsiang-li did what they wanted.”

“He closed his antiques business to protect
you?”

“I told Hsiang-li he didn’t need to give in
on my account. If I left he would be safe, but he said he had other
reasons for closing.”

“Who were the men? Triads?”

“Maybe. Hsiang-li called them thugs in
business suits. When I reminded him that he’d dealt with people
like that before, he said, ‘No, these men are different. Their
power is far reaching.’ When I continued to protest, he told me all
things must end. If it weren’t those men, there would be others.
Penalties for dealing in stolen antiquities had become severe in an
attempt to stem the flow of Thailand’s heritage out of the country,
and jealous business rivals would be glad of an opportunity to turn
him in.”

“But he only pretended to sell stolen
anti-quities,” Kerry said.

“It didn’t matter. He became too successful,
and he made enemies.”