“And Chau was your move?”
“Xi kept telling Jin he should ignore the rumors, that the paintings were obviously fakes and any notice they paid would do nothing but stir up interest in them. Jin was unhappy but he agreed that he didn’t want to draw attention. Someone poured another round and the talk moved on to other things.
“And I thought, well, okay. The PRC government looking for these paintings did have the potential to raise the paintings’ profile. Xi was right about that. But if collectors were already looking, one more collector wouldn’t matter.”
“So it wasn’t about their value? And it wasn’t about making a name for yourself?”
He smiled. “It absolutely was, both things. But their value’s not in money, it’s in the PRC’s diplomatic face, and the name I’m looking to make isn’t in the art world.”
“If you had the paintings, what would you do with them? Take them to Xi, at the Consulate?”
“No, to Jin. If I went to Xi he’d go to Jin, and that would get him some of the credit, diluting things for me.”
I nodded, considering that. “Speaking of Xi, Mr. Jerrold, how did Xi find out about me and why did he want me to stop?”
“I don’t know about the first. The second, I suppose it’s because, as he said, he thinks making waves is the wrong approach.”
“It was a lot of money to stop some waves that might turn out not to matter. His, I wonder, or the PRC’s?”
“Well, probably his. Like what I gave you was mine. The PRC isn’t that free with its purse strings.”
I sat back. “All right, Mr. Jerrold. Here’s what I think we can do. The paintings are fakes but they’re about to be authenticated. Then they’ll be shown.”
“I thought you said you might be able to stop that.”
“We’ll be able to keep them off the market. Maybe not to stop their being shown. But they’ll be discredited and the whole thing will look like a high school prank. But you can still be a hero.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“The paintings have poems on them. Chinese classical paintings often do,” I added loftily. “Since the Yuan Dynasty.”
“I do know that much, Ms. Chin.”
“These particular poems are by Liu Mai-ke. Mike Liu.”
“Ah.” Jerrold rubbed at his chin. “Ah, damn.”
“It’s true, then? That might be a problem?”
“Chau and Liu, together? A dissident double-team. Jin’ll hate it.”
“If it turns out the paintings will be shown, I’ll warn you and you can warn Mr. Jin. Or tell your boss to warn him. At least it won’t be a surprise. The PRC can prepare a response. That should win you points.”
“Interesting thought. Not as many points as I’d hoped for from this, but it can’t hurt. Although if you told me where the paintings are—”
“Not going to happen.” I pointed to the money-stuffed envelope on my desk. “You can take that back if you want to, but right now that’s all you’re getting. If things change, I’ll call you.”
He eyed me. “They might?”
“You never know.”
* * *
Chinatown’s so near NYU that we walked up. As we neared Dr. Yang’s building I called his office. First hurdle jumped: he answered. I asked in a breathy voice for an appointment because I was an undecided student looking for guidance about my major. He blew me off, suggesting—really, ordering—that I talk to Dr. Somebody Else. Didn’t matter, though. By then we were in the building and we knew he was, too.
We caught him eating lunch behind his desk: pork dumplings from the Rickshaw truck accompanied by green tea in a rough pottery cup. The room smelled terrific, salt and onions, very homelike, but the comforting nature of his lunch mellowed Dr. Yang out not one bit.
“What are you doing here, Jack?” Dr. Yang lowered his chopsticks to glare at us.
“We know what’s going on,” Jack said without preamble. “We want to help. We have a plan.”
After a moment: “Get out.”
“No.” Not only didn’t Jack leave, he sat. I admired his courage and then realized I needed to do something, too, so I parked on the other chair. Bill wandered over to the window to look down at the world. “We’ve just come from Anna’s,” Jack told Dr. Yang. “We knew about the paintings before we went, the phony Chaus. We found out about them more or less the same way Doug Haig did. Anna tried not to tell us anything but she was too upset to fake it. We know what Haig wants and we can stop him.”
That was a tricky amalgam of three-quarter truths, but we wouldn’t get anywhere if, as it was threatening to, the top of Dr. Yang’s head blew off.
Dr. Yang, stiff-arming his desk, said in a voice he was obviously trying to control, “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. Or who’s involved. I fired you for a reason. Keep out of this, Jack.”
“You fired me to protect Anna. That’s what I’m trying to do. And we do know. Government people from all directions. Chinese gangsters. And Doug Haig. We can deal. We’re just asking you not to do anything right now. Haig wants you to appraise and authenticate the fake Chaus. Just stall him. That’s all.”
After a six-ton silence, Dr. Yang, oddly, picked up on just one of Jack’s points. “Government people?” He stared as though Jack had turned into a Klingon. “What do you mean, government people? They went to you? You didn’t tell me?”
“Not to Jack. To me,” I said. Dr. Yang snapped his head toward me. His expression made me think I might be a Klingon, too. “From two governments. My client, who isn’t a collector. He’s with the State Department. And a fellow from the Chinese Consulate, too.”
Fury, bafflement, fear, and a need to know battled it out on Dr. Yang’s face. Maybe because he was an academic, the need to know won out. “From the Chinese Consulate? Who?”
“He said his name is Samuel Wing, but we think it’s really Xi Xao.”
It seemed to me a light dawned in Dr. Yang’s eyes and was quickly not extinguished, but hidden. “What did he want?”
“You know him,” I said.
“Don’t be ridiculous. How would I know him? What did he want?”
“He wanted me to stop looking for the Chaus. Who is he?”
“To stop, on behalf of the Chinese government?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me he was a diplomat. He gave me a phony name so I wouldn’t find out. But on the other hand he said he was representing ‘interested parties,’ and he threatened me. Who are his interested parties?”
“He threatened you?”
“If I kept looking. And offered me a lot of money if I’d stop. Why does he care?”
“If he didn’t tell you he was a diplomat, how did you find out?”
“Why do people keep asking how I find things out? I’m a private eye. Like Jack. Like Bill. People hire us to find things out. I looked into Mr. Wing because I don’t respond well to being threatened. Or to being bribed.”
“Like me,” said Jack.
“Or me,” said Bill.
“I can go to the Consulate and ask him what’s going on. Or you can tell us. We want to help. Please let us. Tell us who he is. Tell us why he cares.”
“No.” Dr. Yang looked us over. “You can’t help. You can only create a disaster out of what’s already a bad situation. Clearly worse than I thought, and I can tell you it was already grim. The State Department man. Does he want you to stop looking, too?”
I didn’t anwer, just met his angry eyes. If there’d been a heat differential between our glares there’d have been a thunderstorm in the middle of the room. Surprisingly, Bill stepped in.