Her assistant hung up the phone and turned to her. He kept his eyes down. “The body’s already been released, Madame Minister.”
“Well, that might bring this Zhong Fong to the island,” she thought. “Perhaps that’s best.” She raised her eyes to meet the assistant’s. “I want Zhong Fong’s file on my desk.” The man looked like he was about to kow-tow. “Now!” she shrieked.
As the man scrambled from her office, all she could think was that when she screamed she sounded like her mother, hands burnt from the boiling water from which she plucked the silkworm cocoons, and angry – her mother, so angry at her wasted life.
Then she picked up her private line and hissed, “Find Chen – find my son.”
Chen turned the factory lights off, plunging the space into darkness, then joined Fong, the coroner and Lily at the oval table. Once the coroner’s grumbling died down, Chen turned on the first of his overhead projectors. The transparency of the wide-angle shot of the bar room appeared full size against the wall east of the table.
The image was startlingly clear. “So that’s what a transparency does,” thought Fong.
Chen turned on his second projector. The image of the two murdered Americans lying on the bed filled the west wall.
“Who’d have guessed that the fire plug is mechanically inclined,” snarked the coroner, but there were traces of admiration in his voice.
Chen turned on the last two projectors, bringing to life the video room with the dead Koreans on the south wall and the runway room with the mutilated Japanese on the north wall.
Fong rose. He found himself literally surrounded by death. The bar room, the bedroom, the video room and the room with the runway – and him in the middle.
“Turn them off,” Fong said. His voice was harsh.
All four images disappeared. There was a moment of darkness then Chen turned on the factory lights, “I’m sorry, sir, I just thought . . .”
“Don’t be sorry, Captain Chen.”
“Shall I take down the projectors, sir?”
“No, leave them for now. Your work is good. Very good. But it gets us ahead of ourselves. Right now, I want the reports I asked you to prepare.” He looked to the coroner. “Well,” said the coroner, opening the notebook in front of him, “the guy who supplied the food for the boat party claimed that a boy came with the order and the money.”
“Did he have it delivered to the dock?” Fong asked.
“Yeah. And the guy was pissed off that they wouldn’t use his sons as waiters. The bandit claims he threatened to cancel the whole order.”
“And the Pope wears a dress,” said Lily sarcastically in English. All the men, Fong included, turned to her with questioning looks on their faces. Lily smiled. It occurred to her that this would be more fun if there were another woman around. She laughed to herself. What an out-and-out lie that was. She nodded and said in Shanghanese, “I don’t believe the restaurateur, do you?”
Fong compared “I don’t believe the restaurateur, do you?” with “And the Pope wears a dress” and, despite his comprehensive knowledge of both languages, could not find a single point of commonality between the two statements.
“Who was the boy who came with the order and the money?” asked Fong.
“The asshole didn’t know him. Said he looked retarded,” said Grandpa.
“From the island?” asked Fong, suddenly interested.
“Who knows?”
“So he cooked the food and brought it to the boat, right?”
“He prepared the food, Fong. Yes, he was very precise on that point. He prepared the food.” Each time the old man said “prepared the food” he lisped a little more.
“You make a terrifying homosexual,” said Lily. In response, the coroner added mincing to lisping.
“Who received the food at the dock?” asked Fong, trying to keep his temper in check.
“Not just food. Food and substantial quantities of liquor.”
“Okay, food and liquor. Who received them?”
“No one.”
“What?”
“He was instructed to leave it in a cart by the wharf.”
“Could he describe the cart?” asked Fong.
“He could and did – wood frame, wooden wheels, long timber poles to attach to an animal’s harness.”
“Great, that narrows it down to every farmer within a day’s ride,” snapped Fong.
The coroner began to chuckle.
“Something funny, Grandpa?” Fong demanded.
“Have you ever drunk champagne, Zhong Fong?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, this restaurateur was asked to supply champagne for the festivities.”
“So?”
“So, he was asked to supply it in bottles with twist-off caps.”
“So?”
“So, good champagne doesn’t come with twist-off caps. They have sealed tops and corks,” said Lily. Everyone looked to her. “As an attractive and available Han Chinese girl, on occasion I am treated to the delectations of the West – by boys.”
Fong was happy she hadn’t tried to say that in English. But he was concerned that things were getting out of hand. “So what, I repeat.”
“So,” Lily said in English. “Twist-off cheap, cheap. Why cheap, cheap for boat guys? No sense makes.”
Bad English or not, Lily’s point was made.
Fong began to nod his agreement as Chen and the coroner complained loudly about Lily’s use of English. In the midst of Lily’s repetition of her sentiments in Shanghanese, Fong said, “That’s how the poison got on board.”
“That would be my guess,” said the coroner. “Of course, it’s possible that the local cuisine killed these guys without the use of additives. It’s sure doing its work on me.” At that the old man’s flatulence filled the air.
“Nice, very. In a lady’s front, no less,” shouted Lily in English.
Fong grinned. Lily did not.
After a brief recess, literally to allow the air to clear, it was Chen’s turn to report on his conversation with the boat owner.
“May I point out something?”
“No,” snapped Fong, “just do what I asked, Captain Chen. Tell us exactly what was said when you interviewed the boat owner?”
“Exactly?” Chen asked.
It appeared to Fong that the man was blushing. He couldn’t guess why, so he bulled forward, “Word for word.”
Chen coughed into his hand to hide his embarrassment. Then he flipped open a notebook and read from his notes.
Q: Are you the owner of the boat that sank in the lake?
A: No.
Q: No?
A: This is China. No one owns anything.
Chen said, “He laughed then.” Under his breath he muttered, “He laughed a lot.”
Q: Are you in charge of the rental arrangements for the boat that sank in the lake?
A: Who the fuck are you?”
Q: I’m a police officer investigating the events that transpired on board that ship.
A: You talk funny and you are a seriously ugly puke.
“He stopped at that.”
“Did you threaten him, sewer rat?” asked the coroner nonchalantly.
“No,” Chen said threateningly.
“Let’s get on with it,” said Fong. “What happened next?”
“I showed him my ID.”
“Not the picture one, I hope,” gulped the coroner.
Chen looked to Fong. Fong shrugged in the coroner’s direction, “He’s overexcited because he’s out of town. What did you ask next?”
Chen took a deep breath and started again.
Q: So are you the person in charge of the boat?
A: I was.
Q: Was?
A: It’s sunk, gone, no more. So I’m not the person in charge of the boat anymore, am I? You going to write all this down?
Q: Yes. Who rented the boat from you?
A: A guy.
Q: Which guy?
A: The guy who rented the boat.