“Happiness,” Lily said in English as she turned away in disgust.
“Did they succeed, sir?” asked Chen.
“No. Their ferocity grew beyond their understanding. They leapt from tall buildings, frothed from their mouths uttering incomprehensible omens of doom and prophecies of the future. One leader, in his ecstacy, sliced his daughter into pieces and threw the bits to his followers. They were so taken by their furor that bullets only slowed them. Death was their companion.”
Lines from Measure for Measure leapt into his head:
If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug her in mine arms.
Fu Tsong loved those lines. An awful thought flitted through Fong’s consciousness.
No one spoke. They could hear the hum of the building’s air intake system.
Finally Fong broke the silence. “You three can take a look at the recreation now. But be forewarned. The model’s potent.” Fong returned to his notes. “Lily, you take the film in the camera, try to get an analysis of the dirt from the runway and I want you to find out more about American patent law. If you need to get information in English, Lily, show me your translations before you send them off. Captain Chen, take the specs on that hoe thing and find out whatever you can on those old cartridges and the gun that might have fired them. Then locate the ship owner and try to figure out where the crew was during all of this. Maybe the owner supplied girls as well. Grandpa, find what you can about those ligature marks on the arms. Let’s see if we can narrow down the type of wire they used, if nothing else. Then get me as much data on the knife wounds as you can. As well, you can interview the restaurant owner who supplied the food.” Fong glanced down at a picture of the brown blotch on the rug near the bar room door. “Ask him about alcohol on board. While you’re with him, maybe he can address your complaints about the local cuisine. Let’s start with that.”
Chen got to his feet, but the other two didn’t move. Fong knew perfectly well what Lily and Grandpa were waiting for. At last he spoke. “I’m going to begin with the local Triad. I want to ask them about the burn marks.”
“The what?”
“The burn marks.” He paused for a second then continued, “After all the killing was done, the boat was torched. It was only the shoal and the ice that kept it afloat for a few days.” He tossed close-ups of the hull’s scorch marks on the table.
“Why, Fong?” asked the coroner.
Fong chose his words carefully. “When I look at that model and the photos I’m struck by many things, but the one impression that is strongest for me is that the entire crime site looks carefully planned. As if it’s an exhibit. I think it was done as a warning. I don’t think there’s any doubt that it was meant to be seen.”
“The positions of the victims, you mean?” asked Chen.
“That and the way they were killed. The whole thing looks like a bizarre object lesson.”
“That goes with the Triad motto on the overhead mirror,” said Lily.
“So, some hoodlums play show and tell. So what? What does that have to do with burn marks?” pressed the coroner.
“Maybe nothing,” replied Fong, “but why go to all that trouble to create an object lesson – then try to sink it?”
No one had an answer for that.
Fong walked toward the rusting barrels at the far end of the factory. He felt wobbly, as if something terrible was just around the corner – just far enough back in the shadows that its true form remained secret – for now, at least.
Without looking back he said, “I think its time I met with the local gangsters, Captain Chen.”
“You mean the Triads, sir?”
“Yes, the Triads,” Fong said; but what he thought was, “Even Chen realizes that there are many kinds of gangsters in this part of the Middle Kingdom.”
“Why didn’t the specialist just arrest some token Triad guys? The Triad leaders wouldn’t have cared,” said Lily.
“That’s another good question, Lily,” Fong said; but to himself he added, “That was the question.” Then he tried to put Lily’s question together with “Why design an object lesson and then try to burn it down?” And couldn’t.
CHAPTER TEN
Inspector Wang couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. He was seeing himself from above. He looked like a silkworm chrysalis in its hanging cocoon – fighting, battling, tearing – to get out. He took a deep breath. Silken threads filled his mouth and lungs. His screams were muffled by the wadding.
A light glared. He was suddenly on the bed looking toward the ceiling. Through the gossamer he saw a figure in white. A woman. A girl. She reached out and somehow touched his forehead through the material. Her hand felt cool. Lovely.
The syringe stung as it entered his arm. Then relief. As if the cocoon had been slashed apart, ripped open. And air entered him. He tried to say thank you, but nothing came out.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I can read your lips. Remember?”
He nodded.
“Use the button at your side next time. They’re putting you under again. If you need my help, you’ll have to use the call button. I can’t know you’re in trouble unless you buzz me. Understood?”
She wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the call button.
Don’t let go of my hand, he wanted to say. But all he did was look up at her.
She was a nurse, a different one. He didn’t recall being brought to the hospital this time. He’d lost track of the days. All he knew was that he was being put into some kind of time suspension again, that a vain battle against his passing was being fought. But despite these efforts, he was dying and he knew it. And his only hope for life was the plan that he’d set in motion in far-off Lake Ching. A plan that, because he was given so little time at the lake itself, needed a very talented investigator to complete.
Fong got out of the Jeep, more than a little startled where Chen had driven him. They were several kilometres into the countryside. The lake was well to their east. The road was crowded as they approached what looked like an animal theme park.
“The head of the Triad is going to meet me at a zoo?” he demanded.
“The leader, the Shan Chu, won’t be there.”
“I know that, Chen. Who is it, the Hung Kwan?”
“No. The White Paper Fan and the Incense Master.”
The Incense Master (Heung Chu) was in charge of ritual indoctrination and the White Paper Fan (Pak Tsz Sin) was the financial officer of the Triad. They were third and sixth respectively in the hierarchy of Triad command. Not bad, Fong thought.
“I asked them for higher up, but . . .”
“But we take what we can get when it comes to local Triads, huh, Chen?”
“At least they didn’t send the Grass Sandal.”
The Grass Sandal (Cho Hai) was the Triad’s mouthpiece. Fong had found in the past that the hardest thing about dealing with a Triad Cho Hai was stopping himself from knocking out the man’s teeth. Dental work was not Fong’s favourite topic, so he dropped the thought. “How deeply set is this Triad, Chen?”
“Deep. They were early in leaving the Kuomintang and aligning themselves with the People’s Liberation Army.”
“They could smell the winds that long ago?” Fong thought. He reminded himself to keep his cool with these men. He needed information, not more enemies. A man needed allies to survive in China.
Chen showed his ID, and he and Fong walked past a large line of Chinese men and women waiting to pay and enter the grounds. Naturally, many grumbled at Fong and Chen’s obvious queue-jumping, but few made noises loud enough to attract attention. Clearly, Chen and Fong were police officers – most Chinese citizens knew better than to make trouble for themselves with the local authorities.