Murder In Chinatown (27 page)

“Did something happen to him?”

Minnie nodded. “When Mr. Malloy…when he starts asking Charlie questions, Harry…” She made an incoherent sound and pressed the fingers of one hand against her lips to stop them from quivering. After a few moments, she continued. “Harry, he started shouting and tells him to leave Charlie alone. He says…” Minnie’s face contorted with pain at the memory, and the words caught in her throat.

But Sarah was pretty sure she knew what Harry had said. “He said he’d killed Mr. Wong, didn’t he?” Why else would Malloy have arrested him?

“But he never did it!” Minnie cried. “He couldn’t have! He’s just a boy!”

Boys killed every day, as Sarah knew too well, but she wouldn’t say that to Minnie. “Why would he want to kill Mr. Wong?”

“Because…” Minnie had to fight for control again. “Because John killed Angel.”

“But I don’t think he did,” Sarah said in confusion. “And neither does Malloy.”

Minnie looked at her in despair. “Harry said he did. He said that’s why he killed him.”

Sarah rubbed her temples and wondered if there was any chance this was all a bad dream and she’d wake up soon. “All right,” she said patiently. “So Harry confessed to killing Mr. Wong, and Mr. Malloy arrested him. Why did he arrest Charlie, too?”

“Because when Harry said he’d killed John, Charlie said that wasn’t so because he’d done it himself!”

Malloy must be fit to be tied, Sarah thought. The only good news was that at least one of them was surely innocent.

“This is all my fault!” Minnie wailed as new tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I should’ve given him away!”

“Given who away?” Sarah asked in confusion.

Minnie shook her head. “It’s my punishment. Angel dying, that was my punishment, and now I’m losing Harry, too. I should’ve given him away!”

“Given
who
away?” Sarah repeated impatiently.

“Harry!” Minnie cried. “I should’ve given him away! I didn’t know what it would be like for him!”

“Are you talking about him going to jail?” Sarah tried, unable to make any sense of it at all.

“No! I…Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I did a terrible, wicked thing. It was years ago. I got in a family way with Harry, and the boy, Harry’s father, he ran off. I didn’t have nobody to take care of me, and Charlie…Well, I tricked him. He thought the baby was his, and I never told him any different! People made fun of me for marrying a Chinese, but Charlie was that good to me, so I didn’t care, and I got to keep my baby!”

Sarah could only stare at her. No wonder Harry didn’t look the least bit Chinese. She’d thought it an accident of nature that he resembled his mother so much more than his father. Everyone else must have thought so, too.

“No one can blame you for that,” Sarah told her kindly. “You aren’t the first woman to lie about—”

“But I never knew what it would do to Harry,” Minnie said, the tears still streaming down her cheeks. “He was almost ashamed because he didn’t look Chinese enough, like he was afraid Charlie wouldn’t love him because of it! He tried to be just like Charlie. He was even
more
Chinese than Charlie was, even though he hated being different. I saw it in him, but there was nothing I could do, except…”

“Except tell him the truth,” Sarah finished for her.

“And I couldn’t do that, could I?” Minnie asked, her eyes pleading with Sarah to confirm it. “I couldn’t break Charlie’s heart!”

Sarah reached over and took Minnie’s hand. “None of that matters now, Minnie. What matters is saving what’s left of your family.”

“How can we do that?” Minnie asked in despair.

“By finding out the truth.”

F
RANK WAS BEGINNING TO WONDER IF THE
C
HINESE
were naturally prone to confessing to murders they hadn’t committed. He hoped nobody would tell George Lee about Wong’s murder until he’d had a chance to at least sort through the current batch of confessions.

Donatelli had gone with him to the Lees’ flat earlier, and he was still marveling. “Which one do you think really did it?” he asked Frank for what seemed like the hundredth time. They were sitting in the detectives’ room, discussing their strategy.

“I told you, we’ll figure it out,” Frank snapped.

“But how? And what if we can’t? Do we arrest both of them for it?”

Frank gave him a pitying look. “If we can’t figure out which one did it, we’ll have to let them both go.”

“That don’t seem right,” Donatelli protested.

“Maybe you think it’s better to lock up somebody who’s innocent instead.”

“But the innocent one asked for it,” Donatelli reasoned.

“Being stupid still isn’t against the law,” Frank said. “If it was, we’d have most of New York in custody. And until it is, we’ve got to let the stupid ones go.”

He didn’t like it. “Then how do we figure out who did it?”

“
We
don’t do anything,” Frank told him impatiently. “
I
will interrogate them, and
you
will listen and learn.” Frank stood up and headed for the stairs to the basement, Donatelli on his heels.

Harry Lee was pacing around the small room when they opened the door. He stopped abruptly and looked at Frank and Donatelli with undisguised terror. Still, he jutted out his chin defiantly and said, “I killed Mr. Wong. You can let my father go.”

“Sit down, Harry,” Frank said. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

“But I already told you—”

“Sit down!”

The boy sat so quickly, he almost upset the chair. His hands lay on the table, closed tightly into fists, and his young face was pale. He was wearing Chinese clothes today, not the ugly sackcloth but a blue silk shirt and black, baggy trousers. His head was bare, and his notorious hat with attached queue was nowhere in sight.

“Tell me what happened,” Frank said when he had seated himself across the table from the boy.

Harry swallowed loudly as he worked up his nerve. “I…I went to Mr. Wong’s house,” he began. “After I got back from here, that is. My mother told me to go find my father and tell him George was arrested, but I went to Mr. Wong instead.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you go to Wong’s house?” Frank asked patiently.

“Because…because I knew he was the one who’d killed Angel.”

“How did you know that?”

“I told you before, he’s got to be the one. He’s the only one who hated her enough.”

“Why did you go to see him then?”

Harry frowned. He was trying to think. “I…I wanted to get him to confess. I knew George didn’t do it, and I didn’t want him to be in trouble.”

“Did you think Wong would confess to a murder just because you asked him real nice and said please?” Frank asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

The color rose in the boy’s face, but he didn’t back down. “He killed her. Admitting it is the honorable thing to do.”

“People don’t usually do the honorable thing if it’s not in their best interest,” Frank remarked. “I don’t think it was in Mr. Wong’s best interest to go to jail.”

“That’s what
he
said!” the boy claimed. “He wouldn’t do it, not even to help George! It made me mad, so I hit him.”

“What did you hit him with?” Frank asked.

“The poker,” he said without hesitation. “The fireplace poker. I hit him on the head with it.”

“You must’ve been pretty mad.”

“I was. He killed my sister!”

“Where were you standing when you hit him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, were you in front of him?”

He blinked while he thought this over. “Yes,” he decided. “I was standing in front of him. I told him he was going to hell for killing my sister, and I hit him over the head.”

“And he just sat there and watched you?” Frank asked in amazement.

He knew he’d said something wrong, but he didn’t know what. “He’s a coward,” he said. “He was too scared to put up a fight.”

“Then what did you do?”

“What?”

“What did you do after you hit Wong over the head.”

This question aroused Harry’s suspicion, but he couldn’t figure out why. “I…I ran out. I went home.”

“Did you go out the front or the back?”

“I…The back. I didn’t want anybody to see me.”

“I guess that explains why nobody saw you,” Frank said, glancing at Donatelli.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Just what I said.” Frank rose from his chair.

“Are you going to arrest me?” Harry asked almost desperately.

“Sure,” Frank lied.

“And you’ll let my father go?”

“I’m going to see him right now,” Frank assured him. “You wait right here.”

As if he had a choice, Frank thought with irony as he waited for Donatelli to lock the door behind them.

“He didn’t do it, did he?” Donatelli asked with a trace of disappointment.

“Why not?” Frank asked to test him.

“Wong was hit from behind,” Donatelli recalled. “If the boy had stood in front of him, he would’ve seen it coming and fought back. He would’ve put his arm up, at least, to block the blow.”

“What else?”

Donatelli thought for a moment. “The killer washed the blood off of him before he went out. The boy didn’t know about that. He did know about the poker, though,” he added. “How could he?”

“I’m sure everybody in Chinatown knows it by now. Ah Woh knows what happened. Everybody would want to know how Wong was killed, and he doesn’t have any reason to keep it a secret.”

Donatelli nodded his understanding. “So I guess that means Lee did it.”

Frank sighed. “The way this case is going, I wouldn’t count on it.”

Charlie Lee was sitting very straight in his chair at the table, and when they came in, he stood. He’d dressed in a hurry this morning, but he’d taken some time while he was waiting for them to adjust his business suit and tie his tie and smooth his hair. It was good strategy. How you looked affected the way people treated you. Charlie wanted to be treated well.

“Sit down, Charlie,” Frank said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Frank sat in the chair opposite him. When they were both settled, Frank took the opportunity to study him for a moment. His dark eyes were clear, and he returned Frank’s gaze boldly. He wasn’t afraid, and he was very determined.

“Some witnesses saw you going into John Wong’s house yesterday,” Frank began.

“That is correct. I visit him,” Charlie confirmed.

“Why did you visit him?”

“I…I talk to him…about Angel.”

“What did you talk about?”

Charlie was a better liar than his son but still not very good. “He say he kill Angel.”

“He confessed that to you?” Frank asked in amazement.

“Yes,” Charlie said confidently. He’d thought this through. “I cannot help. I hit him.”

“What did you hit him with?”

“Poker from fireplace.”

Frank glanced meaningfully at Donatelli.

“Didn’t he try to stop you from hitting him?” Frank asked.

“No. Too fast. He surprise.”

Frank nodded his understanding. “I don’t guess I can blame you. I’d probably do the same thing if a man told me he killed my child.”

Charlie nodded back, satisfied that Frank believed him.

“Then what did you do?”

“What?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

“What did you do after you killed Wong.”

“I…I go out. Walk home.”

Frank glanced at Donatelli again, and this time caught a look of dismay on his handsome face. He bit back a smile and crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Lee, you know your son Harry also confessed to killing Mr. Wong.”

“I know,” Charlie said anxiously. “But he no kill. I kill John. You let Harry go.”

Frank didn’t move. He continued to stare at Charlie. Charlie bore it well for a minute or two, but eventually, he started to fidget nervously.

“Harry no kill,” he repeated, almost plaintively.

“Oh, I know he didn’t,” Frank said, surprising him. “He couldn’t have. He didn’t know enough information about how Wong was killed to be the murderer.”

Charlie stared at him open-mouthed.

Frank pretended not to notice his astonishment. “The thing that’s bothering me is why he’d say he did when he didn’t. Do you have any idea?”

Charlie continued to gape for another moment before closing his mouth with a snap and straightening in his chair again. “No,” he said simply.

“My guess is that he was trying to protect you.” Frank gave him a minute to think this over and realize what a loving sacrifice the boy had made for him. The realization drained Lee’s face of color and his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

Then Frank waited for another minute to give him time to realize that if Harry was innocent, he’d confessed to a murder he didn’t commit for no reason at all and was now in a lot of trouble. Then he said, “Charlie, I know you didn’t kill Wong either. If you keep claiming you did, I’m going to have to lock you up and the real killer will go free. Is that what you want?” Frank was getting tired of explaining this.

“I…No!” he exclaimed. “I not want that. Harry really did not kill?” he added.

“No, Harry didn’t kill anybody. Now tell me the truth. Why did you go see Wong yesterday?”

This time Charlie decided to cooperate. “He telephone. He tell me come and talk.”

This wasn’t what Frank had expected. “Wong sent for you?”

“Yes. He say he sorry.”

“For what?”

“For Angel,” he reported sadly.

“Did he kill her?” Frank asked in amazement.

“No, no,” Charlie said, shaking his head vigorously so Frank would understand. “But he know who did.”

“And he told you who it was?”

“No, he no say,” Charlie reported with a trace of the frustration Frank was feeling. “He say he tell police only. He want tell me he sorry first.”

Now Frank was thoroughly confused. “If he didn’t do it, why would he be sorry?”

Charlie shook his head again, slowly this time. “I not know. He say it his fault Angel die. He say I understand later.”

Frank swore under his breath. The killer must have realized Wong had figured it out and decided to silence him. But who was he and how did he know Wong was going to betray him? And how had Wong figured it out when Frank couldn’t? He was missing something, some clue that he should have seen and didn’t. That was the only explanation.

“What time was it when you saw Wong?”

“Ten o’clock, maybe,” he said uncertainly. “Maybe eleven. Not sure.”

So Wong was alive then and dead by three, for what that was worth. If Frank only knew who had visited him after eleven, he might have some useful information.

Someone knocked on the door, making Frank wince. He glanced at Donatelli, who shrugged. “Maybe George confessed,” the younger man said with a sly grin and opened the door.

The officer outside said, “Somebody to see you, Detective.”

“A Chinese man?” Frank guessed.

The officer scratched his head. “No, two white women. One of them is Mrs. Brandt.”

Frank looked at Charlie. “The other one is probably Mrs. Lee.” He turned back to Donatelli. “Get the boy. We’ll turn them both loose and send them home with her.”

Donatelli went out.

Charlie stood, pulling himself up to his full height. “Thank you, Mr. Malloy.”

Frank glared at him. “Just don’t waste my time again, and keep that boy of yours out of trouble.”

Charlie nodded once. “I will.”

Donatelli brought Harry into the room. The boy still looked frightened. “Papa!” he exclaimed in surprise when he saw Charlie. “I thought you were going to let him go!” he said to Frank.

“I’m letting you both go,” Frank said. “But the next time you lie to me, I’m going to lock you up and forget about you for a couple days.”

The boy’s gaze darted to Charlie and back to Frank again. “You’re letting both of us go?”

“That’s right. Your mother is upstairs waiting for you. Take her home and don’t come back here.”

The boy still didn’t understand, but Charlie took him by the arm. “Come,” he said and drew the boy out of the room and down the hall. Harry was asking questions, but Charlie silenced him with a stern command, and then they were gone.

Frank rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

“What about Mrs. Brandt?” Donatelli asked.