I peered into Ernie's locker. Jorgenson shone the flashlight in. Propped up on a set of folded fatigues was Herman's phony American passport and the wad of Korean and U.S. bills. I counted them. They hadn't been touched.
But the jade skull was gone.
Jorgenson reached in and lifted out a felt purse. "What's this?"
I snatched it out of his hands and examined it. I saw the neatly embroidered Korean lettering: Choi So-lan.
I pulled back the strings of the purse, opened it, and turned it upside down. Out fluttered two handfuls of freshly shorn black hair.
"Looks like somebody cut their hair," Jorgenson said.
I nodded.
"Not that chick who was looking for Ernie?" Jorgenson asked. "If she cut off this much hair, she must be bald by now."
I nodded again, thinking of Choi So-lan. Of Lady Ahn. Of Mi-ja. Of Kublai Khan's jade skull. "I think you're right, Jorgenson. She's bald all right. As bald as a Bride of Buddha."