James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

Colonel On-dinh-Khuc, Chief of Security Police, sat in a high-back, heavily carved wooden chair and breathed gently through his wide spread nostrils.

He was a grossly built man with a round hairless head, narrow cruel eyes, thick lips and big flat pointed ears. Half Chinese, half Vietnamese, he had the worst features of both races, both in his nature and in his appearance.

For six years he had controlled Security Police with an iron hand, but there were certain influential politicians who were determined to get rid of him, and this he knew.

They argued that he had long since served his purpose. He had been useful before the regime had been finally established, but his methods were so grossly uncivilized and his mentality so brutal, he could now very easily bring the regime into international disrepute. The sooner he went and a more acceptable man found the better.

This campaign to get rid of him was steadily gaining ground. Colonel Khuc was a man of extravagant tastes and vices. Compulsory retirement was the only thing he feared. Once he was deprived of his office, the large income he extorted from thousands of peasants and Chinese coolies who had reason to fear the police would come to an end. He would have his pension to live on and nothing more. The thought of living at such a reduced scale continually tormented his mind.

This Monday morning, he had been awakened from an opium-drugged sleep by a terrified servant who had been forced to do so by Inspector Ngoc-Linh.

Colonel Khuc had told himself that if Ngoc-Linh had come on anything but emergency business he would make him regret his rashness to the end of his days.

He had got out of his silken bed, put on a black silk kimono with a gold dragon embroidered on the back and had moved silently on bare feet into his study where the Inspector was waiting.

Until his servant brought him a glass of tea and had gone away, Colonel Khuc had ignored the Inspector who stood motionless in front of the vast carved desk.

The narrow black gleaming eyes had finally moved to the Inspector’s face.

“What is it?” the Colonel asked softly.

If there was one thing he could do better than another, the Inspector could make a concise report. He had the ability to marshall all the important facts and to bring them out dearly, quickly and in their right order.

Colonel Khuc listened without interruption. From time to time he sipped his tea, but apart from the movement of his thick arm, he sat motionless.

When the Inspector ceased to speak, Colonel Khuc continued to stare at him without seeing him while his brain raced over the facts given to him.

The Viet Minh attack and the kidnapping of the American were matters of routine. They had happened before “and no doubt, they would happen again. Apart from a face-saving show of activity which would lead nowhere, there was nothing the Colonel could do about it.

But why had this American murdered his houseboy?

This was something that would require the most cautious and careful investigation. The American must have had a very good reason to have done such a thing. Before the murder became public news and before the American Ambassador was informed, Colonel Khuc was determined to know what this reason was.

“What do we know about Haum?” he asked.

“I came to you immediately, sir,” the Inspector said. “I have had no time to check his record card.”

Colonel Khuc rang a bell on his desk. The door opened almost immediately and his secretary, Lam-Than, came in.

Lam-Than was a tiny man with a slight limp. He had been the Colonel’s creature for a number of years. It was said that there was nothing too bad, nothing too disgusting, nothing too degrading he wouldn’t do for the Colonel. He was feared and hated by all members of the police. It was said it was he who obtained opium for the Colonel; the very young girls who were sacrificed to the Colonel’s depravity, and it was he who organized the extortion system that provided the Colonel with his wealth.

This tiny man limped to the Colonel’s desk and stood waiting.

“I want all the information you have on Steve Jaffe, an American working with American Shipping and Insurance Corporation; on his houseboy Haum; on his cook, Dong Ham, on Haum’s girl, My-Lang-To,” the Colonel said, then turning to the Inspector, he went on, “Wait here.”

He left the room, followed by Lam-Than who ignored the Inspector.

When the door closed, the Inspector remained motionless, aware of the real possibility that one of the Colonel’s spies was watching him through some concealed peephole.

He remained motionless for twenty minutes, then Colonel Khuc returned, showered, shaved and wearing an immaculate lounge suit.

The time by the ornate gold desk clock was five minutes past six.

“We will go to the American’s villa,” Khuc said. At this moment Lam-Than came in.

“You will come with me,” Khuc said.

The three men went out to the Inspector’s car. Khuc and Lam-Than got in the back while the Inspector slid under the driving wheel.

At this hour only the coolies and the market vendors were moving on the sidewalks. No one paid any attention to the black Peugot as it swept along the empty streets.

Khuc said, “What do we know about Haum?”

“He was a good citizen,” Lam-Than said. “He was studying political science. He was a supporter of the regime. He has never been in debt. We have nothing against him.”

“Was he a homosexual?”

“Most definitely not. We have absolutely nothing against him.”

Colonel Khuc frowned. His first thought had been that Haum and this American had had an unnatural association, Haum had attempted blackmail and the American in a fit of rage had killed him. Obviously, it wasn’t as simple as that.

“The cook?”

“He is a very old man and he has had nothing to do with politics for the past twenty years. At one time he was cook to the French Ambassador during the French regime. He is suspected to pro-French tendencies, but we have nothing further against him.”

Colonel Khuc stroked his fat, flat nose and looked sideways at Lam-Than who was staring at the back of Inspector Ngoc-Linh’s head.

“And the girl?”

“Politically nothing. However, there is a rumour that her father has had incestuous relations with her. This is probably true. Her father is a degenerate.”

Again Colonel Khuc stroked his nose.

“So we would have a reasonable excuse to get rid of these two?”

“Yes, we could get rid of them,” Lam-Than said. The Inspector, listening to this conversation, moved uneasily. There were times when he wished he did not have to work for Security Police.

“Now tell me about the American,” the Colonel said.

“He follows closely to the usual American pattern,” Lam-Than said. “He drinks too much. He chases women. He is non-politically educated. He has been divorced. He is short of money. He goes often to the Paradise Club to satisfy his sexual appetite.”

“Nothing else?”

Lam-Than shrugged his shoulders.

“He is an American. There is nothing else.”

“He isn’t a homosexual?”

“No.”

The Colonel frowned.

Then why did he kill the boy? he asked himself. What could be the reason?

There was silence in the car for the few remaining minutes before it pulled up outside Jaffe’s villa.

The long street was deserted, and after a quick look to right and left, Colonel Khuc got out of the car and hurried up the drive with the Inspector and Lam-Than at his heels.

The Inspector was pleased that his driver didn’t show himself. He led the others around to the back door where the driver was standing with his back against the cookhouse door which was closed.