David Rotenberg - The Lake Ching murders

It didn’t feel like any meeting Fong had ever attended. Why should it? Fong was now a convicted felon. He hadn’t even seen these people for five years. Then, of course, there was Chen. Who was he? Whom did he report to?

For his part, Chen felt out of place. The two new people totally ignored him and when they did take note of him they always spoke Shanghanese. On occasion they referred to him as “Shrug and Knock the Second.” They never explained the reference. Although he could understand their Shanghanese dialect, he was often lost with the complex slang. But he didn’t need to understand every word they said to know that they thought him nothing more than a local party hack. It angered him. It was wrong and it was stupid. If nothing else, he knew his way around this part of the Shanxi and he could be of real use to the investigation.

Fong turned to the coroner. He looked ancient – more ancient. Even five years ago he’d looked like he’d been recently exhumed. Now he smelled like it too.

Lily looked older too. She must be thirty-four by now, Fong thought. She still dressed exquisitely and entirely Western. She’d have to be accompanied out on the streets here. It wasn’t Huai Hai Road out the door. He watched her sip her tea. Her slender lips poised to accept the heat. Her deep, liquid eyes, eternally sad, now seemed at least a little bit at rest. His eyes drank her in – the arch of her hand, the curve of her fingers, the length of her neck. Then she smiled. “Talk time, short stuff.”

“No fair. I don’t understand English,” barked the old coroner. “You drag me all the way out to the very centre of nowhere and then talk that jibberish. It hurts the ears. Besides I don’t believe it’s really a language at all. When none of the black-haired people are around I’m sure that they speak Mandarin like everyone else. This English is just a big scam. It’s their version of a joke. Not funny. Stupid.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Fong in the Common Speech. “Let’s get started. I hope that by the end of the meeting we’ll know where to begin with this . . . thing.”

“Show us the model,” said Lily.

“Later. Last,” Fong replied.

“Why not now?” asked the coroner.

“Because I said so,” replied Fong. Reasserting his authority wasn’t going to be simple. Then he caught Lily’s eye. She approved. “Let’s start with the victims. That would be you, Captain Chen.” Fong was careful to use his full title.

Chen was anxious to make a good impression on these Shanghanese. He opened his book and readied his notes. “I was assigned to updating and collating material on the victims. I’m going to do this by country.” He looked up for confirmation. None was forthcoming so he put his head back down and read from his notes. “The Americans were both lawyers for a big firm in California. They were corporate litigators. Both specialized in something called patent law. I’ve got calls in to try to explain that to me.”

“Well done, fire plug, solid investigative work that,” snarked the coroner.

“It’s all I could find on short notice,” Chen snapped back. The air momentarily crackled with anger. Then Chen backed off. “I’ll find more in the morning, Grandpa.”

The coroner stared hard at Chen for what he considered an uncalled-for familiarity. Then he reminded himself that this was the country. “Grandpa?” he grunted.

Chen was about to apologize when Fong broke in. “Better than old fart! Any guesses what brought them over here?”

Shoulders were raised, heads shook, the usual blank looks that a Chinese person gives when asked about a foreigner’s behaviour or motives. They were baffling – beyond rational comprehension – completely inscrutable.

“Let’s move on. What about the Japanese?” asked Fong.

“Scientists,” said Chen, happy to get back to his notes. “I’ve just begun to piece together what kind of scientists they are – were. One was the head of the biology department at a major university in Tokyo. Another worked as a researcher for an industrial conglomerate.”

“What did he research, Chen?” Lily asked in her beautiful Shanghanese.

Chen had trouble with the Shanghanese idiom for a second then got it. “Genealogy. He researches genealogy.”

“Genealogy needs researching?” asked the coroner, hawking to get some unruly phlegm up his throat.

“Evidently, Grandpa.”

“I’m not your grandpa, Captain Chen,” the coroner said simply.

“There’s always something to be thankful for, huh?” said Fong. “What about the other Japanese?”

“Microbiologist, geneticist and computer analyst,” Chen said, flipping through his notes.

“Anything else on the Japanese?”

“Yeah, like where were they during the rape of Nanjing?” asked the coroner.

“They’re old enough to have been there. All of them,” said Chen.

“Then maybe they got what they deserved,” said the coroner bluntly. Fong looked at the old man. He’d known him for years, but really didn’t know much about him. Was it possible that he had lost people in the slaughters at Nanjing? Possible. Fong looked back at Chen. “The Koreans?”

“Industrialists. All three. They own scientific laboratories all over the stupid peninsula.” Chen looked up quickly to see if anyone was offended by his comment. No one was. “Government-backed corporations of some sort,” he added.

Fong noted the flare of anger when Chen spoke of Koreans. Interesting. He filed it away and asked, “And what about the dead Taiwanese?” This time it was he who was careful to hide the edge in his voice.

“A little of each. Some in banking, some in industry, some in science. One a lawyer.”

“I didn’t know that Taiwan had laws,” said Lily. They laughed. But none of them found it very funny.

Fong asked, “Which one was hung from the rafters?”

“The lawyer.” Lily, the coroner and Chen had spoken in unison.

“So, just looking at victims, what does this add up to?” asked Fong. He waited for a moment but no one spoke. “All right. How about something simpler: Why were those men on that boat?”

“They were celebrating.”

“I agree, Lily, but celebrating what? What had they accomplished that merited the reward of a celebration?”

This was greeted by a silence. Finally Chen spoke, “I don’t know, sir, but I’ve found something that I think might be important.” They all looked at him. “I think there was a Chinese man who’s not accounted for.”

“Maybe he was tossed overboard?” said the coroner and spat again.

“Maybe he wasn’t, Grandpa.” Chen’s voice was hard. Fong hadn’t expected this in the young man. He was evidently tenacious once he got his teeth into something. Like a short stumpy rat, Fong thought. Fong liked that but warned himself to hold off any judgement of the young officer until he knew more about him.

“What’s on your mind, Captain Chen?” asked Fong.

“The Taiwanese all stayed in Xian in one of the big tourist hotels. There were seven Chinese bodies found on the ship. They had reservations for eight rooms.”

“An extra room for the whores?” suggested Lily.

“Two of them bunking together for unnatural purposes?” asked the coroner as sweetly as a child asking for a second rice cookie.

“All indications from the boat suggest heterosexual dalliance. Besides that would have made for the use of six hotel rooms not eight,” said Lily, matching his smile with an innocent one of her own. “Having trouble with addition these days, Grandpa?”

“Grandpa from you too?”

“Seems to fit, Grandpa,” said Fong.

“Fine. I accept. I also vote for the room of whores that Lily is suggesting.”