“You don’t have any customers,” I said to the bartender as I walked past him. “I’m not here.”
“So what else is new?” he said. “Don’t tell me, you just want to sit.”
No one came in at 4:30. A few minutes later, a wig poked through the door. “This the bar?”
“It’s not the bus station,” said the bartender. “Have a drink?”
The rest of the man stepped inside and immediately was searching the corners of the room. “Sure,” he said at last. I could tell from the way he moved that he’d seen me. “A bottle of vodka, if you please, senhor. And two glasses.”
He sat down at the table next to mine. “Sorry to have kept you, Inspector.”
“Not at all, Luís,” I said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
The bartender appeared. “Finnish vodka. The label came off the bottle, but I know it’s Finnish.” He put down the glasses. “Why don’t you sit together? That way I don’t have to wipe off two tables. I think there’s another bottle somewhere if you finish this one, so go ahead and drink yourselves silly.”
When we were alone again, Luís straightened his wig. “I love Brazilian girls, but they can be rough.”
“Already? You just got here. Besides, I thought you were Portuguese.”
“I am. But your consulate people were rejecting all Portuguese passports, wouldn’t even take any extra money for the visa. I figured it must be serious. That’s why I didn’t get here when I promised.”
“I didn’t realize you’d make the next flight. I was worried someone had come up behind you in a dark alley.”
“Nothing so dramatic. I went back to the office, rummaged around in the bottom drawer of my desk, and came up with something from Brazil. I nearly forgot I had it.”
“And the wig?”
“It wasn’t what I would have chosen if I’d had more time. Work with what you have-that’s what they teach us. It fit better in China. Something about the air here makes it slip.”
“What have you got for me?”
“You want to talk now?”
“This is good, better than going for a walk. That only attracts flies. Don’t worry about the bartender.”
“All right. It’s simple. Remember those security tapes I told you about? The ones taken in the hallway? I heard they were altered. New times put on. Who knows when that Russian girl was there? That’s not all that was fixed, I bet.”
“I think I know how to get something more on the tapes. But that still leaves a problem. Either he brought out a bleeding suitcase or he didn’t. What difference does the time make?”
“Maybe it wasn’t him that came out.”
I thought about it. “Back up a second. Has anyone seen him in the meantime?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Would you know?”
“I know people who would know.”
“Has anyone heard from him?”
“Messages, I’m told. I haven’t seen them. I haven’t asked to see them. I prefer not to see them.”
“Phone messages?”
“No.”
“So they’re written, these days maybe e-mail or whatever else they use. Birdsongs, I don’t know. Anyone could be sending them in his name. In other words, he could be missing.”
“Yes.”
“OK, so he could be dead.”
“Didn’t I imply that?”
“New problem: Who wanted him dead?”
“We call that ‘motive.’ ”
“The old rectification of names. Call it by its right name and it gets you most of the way you want to go. I call it someone-wanted-to-make-sure-he-was-out-of-the-way. I have my suspicions why they would want him on the sidelines. But dead?”
“Not just dead. Parked in a Louis Vuitton. I double-checked. They took out the hanger to make space.”
“Kim’s people, maybe. Pang’s people. That bastard Zhao. All of them could have done it. Personally, I think it was Zhao. Something this sick, it’s right up his alley.”
“Maybe. Each of them had reasons to get rid of him. Each of them had reasons to keep him around.”
“We call that motive.”
2
“Everyone was supposed to believe that no one had a reason to kill him, that anyone who thought about it needed him alive. But late at night, when everything was quiet and the branches were brushing against the windows in the wind, it occurred to someone that if he was around, there was always a chance he might turn out to be brilliant. What then? What if instead of chaos they ended up with stability? Maybe even recovery? What if he turned out to be charismatic? Even ‘capable’ could be a problem. They couldn’t risk the chance that a thirty-three-year-old might know what he was doing, might rally his forces and tell them to get out of his country.”
“So, she killed him, and they killed her.” Kang was sitting across from me in the restaurant on the second floor, except we had missed breakfast and so were picking at our lunch. “I needed him alive. Without him, we don’t have anyone to hold the flag.”
Kang had appeared that morning. There was a knock on my door at 10:00 A.M. and there he was.
“May I come in, Inspector?”
“Well, cut off my legs and call me Shorty.”
Kang gave me a puzzled look.
“I saw it in a movie a long time ago. I think it indicates surprise in the American West. Come in, absolutely. It says in the hotel rules I’m allowed to have visitors until ten P.M. Here, let me take your bag.”
Kang had a small nylon carry-on over his shoulder. “No, I’ll keep it with me.” He stepped inside and gave the room a careful once-over. “Nice place,” he said. “You think we can get some tea?”
I went to the desk and retrieved the room service menu. “It says here we can. All I have to do is dial six.” I dialed 6. “Yes, a pleasant good morning to you… Yes, I slept well… Yes, you can do something for me as a matter of fact. I would like two pots of tea.” I paused. “I see… Yes, it is after nine thirty. All right, two pots of coffee. Maybe some toast with strawberry jam as well?… Aha. I see. All right, blueberry will do fine. Thank you.” I hung up. “Ten minutes, they said. Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable. Take a shower if you want. Don’t mind the TV; they promised me the picture only goes one way.”