David Rotenberg - The Lake Ching murders

“No one big was contacted? No Shan Chu or Fu Shan Chu?” These were the boss and the sub-boss. “Not even the Heung Chu or the Sing Fung?” The former was in charge of rituals and was traditionally third in command. The latter was fourth in command and looked after franchising the Triad.

“No, sir. The specialist didn’t think it necessary.”

Fong thought back to the Triad mark on the exterior of the boat and the slashed markings and message on the mirror. Then he thought of the four close-up photos of the broken chainlink on the Triad medallion.

Why four of the same thing?

Fong had dealt with the Triads in Shanghai. They were a sultry mix of ritual and fear-mongering. Women, gambling and extortion were their stock-in-trade. Not mass murder.

Triads had been active in China since 1674 when the Manchu invaders ended the Ming Dynasty. Myth had it that five monks established the initial five Triads to try and reinstate the Mings. Because the Ming family name was Hung and their royal colour was red, the Triads took both upon themselves.

The Triads played major roles in the Szechuan, Hupeh and Shansi rebellions in the 1790s, the Cudgels uprising in the 1850s, and in the Boxer Rebellion in Beijing in the 1890s. Dr. Sun Yat Sen, the founder of the Republic of China, allied himself with the Hsing Chung Triad in 1906 to begin the revolution that eventually led to the fall of the Manchu Dynasty in 1911. Sun Yat Sen’s successor, Yuan Shih Kai, openly worked with the Triads. When he gave way to Chiang Kai Shek, the doors of power opened to the Triads because the generalissimo was a high-ranking member of the Shang Hai Green Tang. From his capital in Nanking, Chiang led his Triad in battles against the Communists under Mao Tse Tung. During the Japanese occupation, the Triads collaborated with the enemy. Later they aided Chiang Kai Shek’s retreat to Taiwan.

However, by that time several of the “franchises” of the major Triads had thought better of their alliance with Chiang Kai Shek. The old generalissimo was obviously losing. The Triads from the interior, especially around Xian, cut a deal with the Communists. In return for their support against the nationalists, the renegade Triads were to be left to their own devices. As long as they were discreet.

Seventeen dead foreigners didn’t strike Fong as very discreet.

Fong looked at Captain Chen again. “How’d you get stuck with this duty?”

“I was first there. I took the call.”

Yes, but . . . the man was hiding something. Fong only took a moment to figure out what. Chen was young – and not unlike himself at that age – ambitious. Fong smiled.

“What, sir?”

“Nothing, Captain. I was young once, too.” Before Chen could question him on that, Fong continued, “What was this specialist like?”

“Old.”

The word came out angry. Chen had obviously not intended that and he quickly apologized for his disrespectful statement.

“It’s all right, Captain. The alternative to getting old is even more complicated to think about. What else about him?”

“He had white hair that he didn’t bother dying. His legs seemed unsteady. His face was broad. No wedding ring.”

“Accent?”

“He didn’t speak.”

“Huh?”

“He didn’t speak. He was a mute. He did nothing but write on his notepad what he wanted done.”

The mongoose stood on its hind legs beside Fong’s spine, tasting the air.

Fong turned away and looked around the deserted factory. What had they built here? Why was it closed? How many people no longer had work? What terror lurked in those corroding metal barrels? He walked past Chen to the array of photographs on the wall. Again he admired their precision. The ordered detail of the workmanship. Somehow familiar. “How tall was he?”

“Tall for a Han Chinese. Maybe five foot eight. Why? Do you know him?”

Fong shook his head, “How could I? China’s a big country. There are many crime scene detectives. Many experts.” Though something about this specialist did seem familiar. But a mute CSU guy? Whoever heard of that? “Did he have any visible scars?”

Chen nodded.

“On his neck,” he pointed to his throat just below his Adam’s apple. “It looked like a surgical scar. He signed the arrest warrant Inspector Wang.”

Fong told himself it wasn’t possible. Gunshots in the Pudong industrial area had ended Wang Jun. Besides, Wang was a common name. Shit, all Chinese names were common. Call out “Chan” in a crowded market and a hundred heads would turn. Fong considered it for a moment more then changed the topic. “Let’s get started. I want the photographs duplicated, the second set labelled then hung on the far wall.“

“I have access to photographic equipment, I could get full transparencies made, sir.”

Fong had no idea what transparencies were but said, “Fine. But first get all the dead men’s documents translated, catalogued and laid out beneath their pictures. All the evidence bags opened and associated with the correct victim. Locate the man who owns the boat. And the owner of the restaurant who supplied the food. And any dock worker who touched that boat that night. And everyone who might have been on the lake that night. And . . .” Fong looked up.

Chen was writing furiously. The Captain finally caught up with Fong and looked to him for further orders. “Something else, sir?”

“Yes, Captain Chen.” Fong held his breath and told himself that there was no other way. That he had to keep his eye on the goal – getting home. And there was no way to get back to Shanghai without finding who murdered those men on that boat. And there was no way to find that out without his people. Fine. He sighed. Just one problem. He wasn’t sure if he’d survive the beating that would no doubt follow his demand. But he saw no other choice available to him.

“What, sir?” asked Chen.

Fong took another deep breath and let fly, “Tell whoever runs you, Captain Chen or whoever the fuck you are, that I need my people from Shanghai to work on this or else they haven’t got a chance of finding out what really happened out on that lake. Get me Lily from forensics and the coroner from the Hua Shan hospital. Tell whoever it is that owns you that if these people aren’t here, I’m not working on this case.”

Chen’s mouth flopped open.

“While you’re at it, tell them that I need some chalk and a wide-topped desk, a model of that boat and, oh yeah, where’s the can in this place?”

Far to the east and north, the events in the deserted factory in Ching were being monitored closely. “Why would they resurrect the murderer Zhong Fong?” Her assistant’s question hung in the air as Madame Wu looked out her office window. She put her hands up to the cool glass and pressed. She had old peasant hands. Like her mother’s. But not scalded and blistered like her mother’s from picking the cocoons of silkworms out of vats of boiling water. She remembered the agony on her mother’s face as winter approached. She remembered the humbling poverty.

Then the Japanese and the resistance. And change.

She tapped the glass of her office window. “So many changes,” she thought.

Her assistant repeated his question. “Why would they resurrect Zhong Fong, Madame Minister?”

She didn’t answer although she knew the answer to his question. She was thinking about the principles of leverage. She had been trained as a civil engineer, after all. If I could stand on a platform far enough away from the Earth, I could move the planet by simply pressing down on a stick. Leverage and distance did that. The principle was sound. Positioning, not strength, determined victory.

“Could he be made to work for us, Madame Minister?”