M. Lee - Death In Shanghai

‘Yes, they did.’

‘What they meant was confirmed by Mr Chang. You took the persona of Yama to judge people.’

‘Not a persona, Danilov. I am Yama.’

‘Becoming Yama gave the killings meaning. But what exactly did they mean, that’s what I asked myself? What were the patterns in your crimes?’

‘I didn’t commit any crimes. I made judgements.’

Danilov carried on regardless. ‘Two witnesses at least gave me a sketch of your identity.’

‘That I was tall and European? That could fit 90% of the men in the Settlement.’

‘True, but how did the killer choose his victims? He obviously knew a lot about them. He had to be able to get the information from somewhere. It became obvious to me only someone in the police, judiciary or high up in government, would have access to this information. Victorov’s story led me to suspect Councillor Ayres for a while but it couldn’t have been him, no opportunity to kill the preacher and display his body.’

‘You met our Russian blackmailer? You have been a busy soul. Councillor Ayres was a silly man about that Russian whore. He told me about it and asked me to sort it out.’

‘Did he expect you to kill her?’

‘No, just pay her off. And make sure she stayed paid off. You know he rang me after your visit to his office? Stupid man. I told him Victorov killed her for the blackmail money.’

‘He believed you?’

‘He wanted to believe me.’

‘I thought so. But, in the end, it was two mistakes that gave you away.’

‘Mistakes?’

‘The first was putting the prostitute into the barrel whilst she was still alive.’

‘And the second?’

‘It was your smell.’

‘You’re lying, Danilov. How can a smell give anyone away?’

‘Your smell. The boatman reported it to me. It was your trademark. The scent of Parma Violets that you used to cover your breath. At first, I thought it was a strong cologne that the killer was wearing but Miss Cavendish showed me the truth.’

‘Miss Cavendish?’

‘You gave her some of your French sweets. Your Parma Violets. A distinctive aroma when they are chewed. The fisherman recognised the smell. And you left a packet in the taxi which you used to kidnap Elsie Everett.’

‘You have been diligent, Danilov. But it’s all circumstantial. You can’t prove anything. And, as you may have noticed, you are in my courtroom now.’

‘You worked in Washington before Shanghai, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, hated it and hated Americans. Far too direct for me.’

‘You killed there?’

‘She deserved it. Selfish, rotten, corrupt woman.’

‘Did you know a private detective followed you here?’

‘Anderson? A waste of oxygen. It was easy to keep him in girls and drink.’

‘I sent a telegram to the Embassy in Washington yesterday.’

‘You have been a busy little Russian, haven’t you?’

‘The only thing I don’t understand is how you chose your victims?’

‘They weren’t victims. They chose themselves. Being in Intelligence has its advantages. Reports crossed my desk all the time. But nothing was ever done. These people were committing crimes and getting away with them.’

‘Crimes? What had Henry Sellars done wrong? And Elsie Everett was just an actress and not a very good one.’

‘Henry Sellars stole from a church collection box. You should have seen how proud she was the night she died. Stepping out for the first time on the streets of Shanghai in her blue dress, leaning on my arm. Unfortunately for her, it was also her last time. As for Elsie Everett, she was the worst. I received a request from Scotland Yard to detain her. She had murdered one of her rivals. This actress had actually won the part in Shanghai not Elsie, so she was removed. Pushed in front of a subway train, if my memory serves me right. I thought I would save them the trouble, and the expense, of repatriating her. She appeared all sweet and innocent, did Elsie, but beneath the act was a tough bitch. She died well, though. Surprised me with her strength.’

‘And the preacher?’

‘For many years, he made the lives of young boys, including Henry Sellars, unbearable. He deserved to die.’

‘And me?’ Danilov stared Allen in the face. ‘I made a mistake. Work had engulfed my life, I had lost track of what was important.’

Allen held his hand up. ‘You are guilty of deserting your family and you live your guilt every day. You know you do.’

Danilov remained quiet.

Allen checked his watch. ‘The court session has ended, Danilov. I hope you enjoy your knowledge in the underworld. I’m sure it will be useful there. The jury has examined the evidence and found you guilty.’

Li Min scribbled in his book, ending his sentence with a lavish full stop.

‘The sentence of this judge is that you will be taken to your place of execution where your eyes will be gouged out. That being the punishment suffered by all those who desert their families.’

‘I was only doing my job,’ said Danilov.

‘And I am only doing mine.’

Allen looked at his watch again. ‘It’s four o’clock now, let’s carry out the execution in an hour. We can enjoy a pot of tea first. A trial always makes me thirsty. All the talking you know. Meanwhile, Inspector, enjoy your last hours on Earth. I’m afraid we don’t go in for any of that “last meal for the condemned man” rubbish in my courts. Experience has taught us death is usually less messy on an empty stomach. We’ll see you at five.’

Li Min rolled his manuscript up like a scroll and opened the door, flooding the cell with light.

Danilov took the chance to take a good look around him. The cell was about twenty feet square with black painted walls and no windows. The light source was a small hurricane lamp, set against the wall behind him.

For the first time, his head sunk to his chest. There seemed to be no way out of this cell.

He didn’t know how long he sat with his head on his chest, slumped forward in his prison of a chair. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Blood flowed from the cuts in his wrist and ran down his fingers. He could feel its sticky embrace covering his hands.

He lifted his head and summoned one last burst of effort, straining his arms against the ropes, feeling them bite into the wounds already there. He rocked back and forth, twisting his body from side to side, the ropes biting deeper into his wrists. There was some movement now. They didn’t grip his wrists as tightly as before.

He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the shafts of pain searing through his arms. The ropes give a little more. His arms and wrists could twist now, separate from the ropes, their grip no longer holding him like a vice. One last effort. The sweat ran down into his eyes. He wanted to wipe it away, to rid himself of its salty sting.

He jerked at the ropes, twisting his forearm to create space. He pivoted his elbow against the arm of the chair, gaining a little leverage at the expense of a vast amount of pain. Gritting his teeth, he forced his arms to revolt against the bite of the ropes.

One rope began to come loose. He could feel the skin of his right arm sliding through it. He twisted his arm harder now, forcing the rope to stretch, desperate to work it free.

‘You’ll never escape. Nobody ever does.’

The voice came from above and to his left. Danilov froze like a child caught doing something wrong. Slowly, he searched the wall with his eyes, not moving his body.

‘Li Min was a sailor in a previous life. Knows how to tie somebody up properly.’

Danilov searched for the source of the voice. His eyes scanned the black wall, looking for movement or a patch of light that would give away its position.