James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

“That is true,” Nhan’s mother said. “Lies lead to trouble. We don’t want trouble in this house.”

“If you don’t tell this lie,” Nhan said desperately, “there will be bad trouble in this house.”

Her uncle put his hand under his coat and scratched his ribs.

“If the police question me,” he said obstinately, “I shall say you were out all night. In this way I shall not become involved in your trouble. Your mother must also tell the truth. I have always thought that American would get you into trouble. I wish to have nothing to do with the matter.”

“If you don’t do what I am asking you to do,” Nhan said hopelessly, “I shall lose my job and go to prison. There will be no money in the house at the end of the week and my mother will have to sell flowers again.”

Her uncle blinked. This he hadn’t thought of. He might even have to leave this comfortable home.

“No matter how wicked your daughter is, it would not be right for her to lose her job,” he said after some thought, addressing Nhan’s mother. “Besides, you have your sons to consider. If there is no money, who will feed them? Perhaps, after all, it would be better to tell this lie.”

Her mother had no wish to sell flowers again. With a show of reluctance, she agreed that perhaps her brother was right.

Watching them, Nhan saw with relief she had used the right tactics.

“Then if the police ask you you will tell them I returned at eleven and remained in bed all night?” she asked.

“If it will save this house the disgrace of you going to prison,” her uncle returned, “then we are compelled to tell this lie.” He turned to his sister. “Bring me the bamboo stick. This girl has a wicked devil in her. It is my duty to you and to your sons to drive this devil out of her.”

Her mother got up and went to the cupboard where the bamboo stick was kept. Her brother used the stick often on her three sons. She felt it was right for him now to use on her daughter.

Colonel On-dinh-Khuc bit into an apple while he studied the typed questionnaire Lam-Tham had handed to him.

The time was fifteen minutes past eight a.m. Much had been done since he had returned to headquarters. Dong Ham and My-Lang-To had been questioned. Haum’s body had been taken to the shattered police post and had been planted in the ditch near where the two Viet Minh bodies had been found. The President’s private secretary had been informed that the American had been kidnapped. The American Ambassador in his turn had been informed. Three officers of the U.S. Military Police had gone to the scene of the outrage where they busied themselves taking photographs, examining the Chrysler and consulting with the Vietnam police.

The Colonel munched his apple as he studied Dong-Ham’s replies to the questions put to him by Lam-Than.

“Not much here,” he said finally, putting the paper down on his desk. “We had better find this girl he mentions. She “probably knows nothing, but we’d better make sure. Someone is bound to know who she is and where she lives. Tell Ngoc-Linh to inquire at this club. They’ll probably know her name.”

Lam-Than inclined his head.

The Colonel dropped the apple core into the waste paper basket.

“Nothing of any value in the girl’s report,” he went on. “It is unfortunate she insists that the houseboy is still in the villa. The old cook seems to think so too.” He looked up at Lam-Than. “When it is known the boy went with the American and was killed by the Viet Minh, these two could make difficulties. If the American police have an opportunity to question them, the situation could become involved.”

Lam-Than had already thought of this difficulty.

“The old man has no relations,” he said. “There would be no complications if he met with an accident. The girl has a mother and father, but providing the matter is handled with care she could also be removed without difficulty.”

The Colonel stroked his fleshy jowls.

“I’ll leave it to you,” he said. “Arrange something. It is better for the State to have no complications.”

Lam-Than inclined his head. He picked up the two questionnaires and went out of the room.

A little after eleven o’clock, Inspector Ngoc-Linh arrived at the Paradise Club.

He was seen getting out of his car by Yu-lan, who pressed a button which lit up a red light in Blackie’s office, a warning that prepared him for the Inspector’s visit.

The Inspector found him reading the morning’s newspaper.

Blackie rose to his feet, bowed and offered the Inspector a chair. Yu-lan came in with two glasses of tea which she placed on the desk. She bowed and smiled at the Inspector who bowed in return, his face expressionless.

When she had gone, the Inspector sipped his tea, passed a complimentary remark about its quality, then seeing Blackie was waiting, he said, “You know an American gentleman: Mr. Jaffe?”

This was something Blackie was not expecting to be asked.

However his face remained bland and smiling although his mind was startled. He immediately remembered Jaffe’s strange hints about obtaining a false passport. Now here was the police officer inquiring about him.

“Ah yes,” Blackie said. “He comes here quite often.”

“Was he here last night?”

“Yes, I believe he was.”

“What time was this?”

“About nine o’clock. I can’t say I noticed the exact time.”

So Jaffe had been here, the Inspector thought, five hours after he had murdered the houseboy. What had he done in the meantime?

There was a pause, then Blackie asked, “Has something happened to this gentleman? I should be sorry if it had.”

“He has been kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits. You will read about it in tomorrow’s newspapers.”

To say Blackie was astonished would be an understatement. He stared at the Inspector in bewilderment.

“Kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits?” he repeated. “Where was this then?”

“You will read about it in tomorrow’s newspapers,” the Inspector said curtly. “There are certain things we wish to know about the American. What is the name of the woman he associated with here?”

Blackie’s eyes went dull. He reached for a cigarette and lit it.

“He associated with no particular girl,” he said. “He came here and hired any girl to dance with him he happened to fancy.”

“I have reasons to believe he favoured one particular woman,” the Inspector said. “I want to know her name.”

“If I could help you, I would,” Blackie said, bowing. “But I had no idea he was associating with one particular girl.”

“His servant says a girl used to come to his house two or three times a week,” the Inspector said, staring hard at Blackie. “He used to come to this club quite often. It is reasonable to assume he met the girl here.”

“I should be surprised if he did,” Blackie said. “My girls don’t sleep with Americans. It is possible he met this girl at some other club.”

“The girl has to be found quickly,” the Inspector said and got to his feet. “Extensive inquiries will be made. Are you quite sure you don’t know the girl? I ask you again because if later it is found that you did know her and you withheld this information deliberately from us, you will be in serious trouble. It would be a simple matter to close this club.”

Blackie was quite certain none of the girls working at the club would give Nhan away. The few Americans who came to the club probably had seen Jaffe with Nhan, but they wouldn’t know her name. He felt reasonably safe in refusing to be bluffed by the Inspector.

“If it will assist you, I will make some inquiries myself,” he said blandly. “It is possible someone I know will be able to help. If I get the girl’s name I will telephone you.”