“It's not unreasonable. Further on?”
“Elementary. Chen-senior and Lee carry the body across the path – into the Lee's shack. The distance is less than two yards. Five seconds – and they are done. Mister Lee writes the Chinese saying. Or selects the appropriate one from his collection, it does not matter. Although it seems to me that he was writing it himself, so it took some time. He probably knows calligraphy. At this point, here comes our birthday-boy Tan, so Chen and Lee think that all is lost. However, they get lucky. There is no dead body in the shack, and Tan is confused. He jumps on the bike and rides away – to clarify the address. Lee runs to the shack to hang the scroll. Chen-senior wipes the floor. After that, we have a couple of options. Chen Te-Sheng may leave at once, or Lee hides him in his shack till the evening. And in the night, Lee quietly gets into the Chen's shack to recover the scroll. And he scatters the books, to make it look like a burglary.”
“You are so cool at making versions!”
“My To-Ma-Gochi helps.”
“The only way to prove everything – is to go right now and confront Mister Lee.”
“Not right now.”
“Why?”
“One. We must finish our coffee. Eat the brownie, I am full.”
“And two?”
“Two. Lee is not home yet.”
“How do you know?”
“Put yourself in his place. One tiny room, the dead body in the corner. You can't open the door and the window. How long can you sit like this?”
“You are right, as always.”
“I think Lee volunteered to your search team today in order not to be at his house in the morning. What a perfect excuse! Where is our Mister Lee? He's usually at home in the morning? Here he is: on the rice paddies, helping the Police. And more to that, he has joined the search to find a good spot to dump the body tonight. Some place that has been thoroughly looked through, so nobody will look there again.”
“You are right! It was exactly Mister Lee who shouted today that there was a body under water, but there was just a snag. As if Lee lured Woxman into the ditch on purpose.”
“You see, everything comes together. Lee was conditioning the Deputy Investigator to have a negative reflex for the irrigation ditches. I will not be surprised if he dumps the body to that very Woxman's ditch. Do you remember the place well?”
“Sure thing, I remember. What do we do now?”
Kate looks at the phone's screen.
“We will go at half past nine. Before eleven, Lee will not dare to drag the body out. We have ninety minutes.”
“I understand we don't bother to call Woxman.”
“You understand it right. No way I share my deductions with this greedy bastard. He didn't want to share five shitty bucks with the wounded veteran, and my version is worth way more than five bucks.”
“Do you want to invite Tan instead?” As for this clown Woxman, I am not keen to see him around. Good that my dear little wife didn't know why I was ready to bit shit out of Mister Deputy Investigator today.
“Na-ah. Our birthday boy should have some rest. He had a rough day… That swine – almost got him crippled. Besides, Mister Lee is not dangerous. Doctor Watson can take his gun. Will you remember to take your gun, Watson?”
“As long as I have my shorts, Holmes, I have a back pocket, and as long as I have my back pocket I have something in it.”
“It was said not by Watson, but by Greg Lestrade, a Scotland Yard detective. And he had trousers, not shorts.”
“Only an idiot would keep the gun in the back pocket. Personally I stick the gun under my belt and cover the grip with my T-shirt. Difficult to see, easy to pull out.”
“Look who is teaching me how to hide a gun! OK, Watson, the quotation is accepted. Let's go into the house. I will give my tired deputy a refreshing massage.”
“It looks like not Tan but I is the birthday boy today. First the rabbit stew, and now – the refreshing massage. Plus the working version in the bargain.”
“But not for free, Mister Wile E Coyote, not for free. After the massage, you must chase the Road Runner, do you?”
I don't know about the cartoon characters, but this particular Wile E Coyote is ready to chase this particular Road Runner any time, no massage required. Despite my Road Runner has no legs, our chases are exhausting. The little shuck will be shaking, and the neighbors – watch it with envy…
***
By one o'clock I feel like an icicle. In Houston, the summer nights can be quite chilly, and not even counting all the moisture from the irrigation ditches. But worst of all are the goddamn mosquitoes. They sleep all day, and come out at night. The next time I will follow the example of Greg Lestrade and wear my gun with my trousers.
“How long, do you reckon?” - I whisper to Kate.
“God knows,” She whispers back, “I am afraid I've screwed-up with my version.”
We took our observation point at half past ten. My Police bike was chained in the China-Four (Kate was riding on the trunk, as usual). And from the Patch-Four we proceeded on-foot on the dirt paths between the endless veggie beds, fish ponds, and rice paddies. More precisely, I was on-foot. Kate was on her skate. In order not to make noise, she left her wooden blocks at home and wrapped her hands in old rags.
“What if he went through the other side?” I ask.
“I don't think he's bold enough to drag the dead body through the Patch common grounds.”
“Well. Let's do this. I sneak down the path and check. What if Lee is already at home?”
“And what do you do if he's at home?”
“I'll come back and we decide what to do next.”
“Sounds like a plan! Do you remember the shack?”
“I remember. After the communal latrines, there will be a storage shed. From the shed - the seventh shack on the left.”
“Excellent.”
It's a near-full moon, so the risk of stepping into some shit or destroying the veggie beds is null. Unfortunately, the narrow winding gap between the shacks, – something they call a footpath in these parts of the Slum – is pitch black. Good that Kate counted the shacks yesterday. I return from my scout mission almost running.
“Kate! Lee's house has a light inside. He is at home.”
“This means, Watson, that your Sherlock Holmes is no damn good. Let's go see Mister Lee. Get your back ready, detective.”
We have done it many times. I squat down and pick the skate. Kate wraps her arm around my shoulders. Three minutes later, I offload her at the Chen's shack stair.
“Scratch the door. Just be quiet, or we wake up the whole Patch,” Kate whispers into my ear.
I approach the opposite door, “Mister Lee? Open up, Police.”
“It's not locked, come in,” The voice from behind the door is without a hint of surprise or fear. It turns out that our prey has been expecting us. Impatient, Kate crawls across the dirt path.
A dim LED bulb barely illuminates a foot-tall tilted desk. Mister Lee sits on the tatami floor with brush in his fingers. An intricate hieroglyph is half-finished. This part our Sherlock Holmes has guessed correctly: he is an experienced calligrapher, no questions. Unfortunately, Kate's other guesses are not as good. For starters, there is no dead body in the shack.
“Welcome, Deputy Kim. Good evening, Missis Bowen,” Lee smiles to us, “You come to get my confession, do you?”
“How do you know my name?” Kate asks.
“Oh, everybody knows you! You're a local star. Even at the 'Fill the scavengers ask once in a while: is it true in the GRS you have a legless Police girl on a skateboard?”
“And why do you think we come for your confession?”
“Strange question. Why would the Police knock on your door at half past one in the night?” As if nothing has happened, he finishes his hieroglyph with two precise brush strokes.