M. Lee: Death In Shanghai

If you never want to be noticed, just be bland, be ordinary. It was the same at the Front, just wear khaki like all the others and nobody could ever see the real you. Just another soldier they would say. Never noticed his face they would say. Well, you don ’ t, do you? Just notice the rank not the man, they would say.

Here, in Shanghai, he needed to cleanse the city of its degenerates, to remove the bloated maggots that fed on its flesh. He had made a start in other places, of course, but somehow, it never felt right. Meaningless deaths to salve an itch. There was no pleasure in it. But here, he had found his reason to exist. Perhaps the city had fed it, like a mould growing on a petri dish, concentrating the need like never before. And, strangely, Shanghai had made it so much easier to act. Here, everything was allowed, nothing forbidden, not even him.

He took out another cigarette and lit it with his gold Dunhill lighter. Time to play with her now. She deserved not to be kept waiting.

***

‘Are you both leaving? Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself. The dance doesn’t end for at least another half an hour.’

‘I need to check in at the office,’ said Richard, ‘you know how I’m expected to show my face every day. Ah Ching will have already finished everything, of course.’

‘And I’m feeling incredibly dirty, like I’ve been swimming in Soochow Creek. Horrible feeling,’ said Alfred.

She pouted, placing another cigarette in the ivory holder, leaning forward for Alfred to light it. ‘I’m not happy, but you can both make it up to me tonight at Ciro’s. It’s going to cost you a bottle of Belle Epoque and Lobster Thermidor.’

‘Can I at least give you a lift back to your place?’

‘No thank you, Richard. If you two are both leaving me, I think I’ll do a little window shopping. Dimitri has some new Art Deco pieces in from Paris. There’s this wonderful titanium bracelet that shouts my name every time I see it.’

‘I’ll get this.’ Richard took the silver plate off the table and checked the bill: $13.50. He quickly signed the chit, adding a dollar from his pocket as a tip.

All three got up and ambled towards the door. The waiters still danced frenetically around the tables. A black trumpeter, having received a smattering of applause for his solo, sat back down on his seat as the rest of the orchestra took up the melody. There were fewer dancers now but the short, shiny-haired man and his tall, grinning partner still beat their merry path round the outside of the dance floor, magically avoiding all the other dancers.

Before they had even reached the door, the waiters had removed the glasses, plates, tablecloth and half-drunk bottle of champagne, replacing them with a fresh supply of tableware from behind the counter.

The money had gone too. It had been removed first, of course.

Danilov stared out over the creek and onto the now empty ‘Beach of Dead Babies’. The sun was just going down over the post office on the other bank, casting an orange haze over the river.

‘I always like to come back to the scene of the crime afterwards, Stra-chan. It lets me see at it as the murderer knew it, without the crowds and the rest of the watchers.’

Life in the creek carried on as usual despite the excitement of that morning. The sampans wobbled in their ungainly way up to the Whampoo or down into the interior. The wharves bustled with sweat and energy as cargo was unloaded from the lighters that served the ships in the harbour. The young boy still sat on the prow of the boat playing with his dog, the tether attached to his foot.

The waves continued to lap the shores of the ‘Beach of Dead Babies’, where just eight hours before a body had lain with its belly slit open.

The hawker, with his fragrant pot of sweet potatoes, had vanished though, gone to ply his trade somewhere else.

‘It’s quiet, sir.’

‘It is if you ignore all the bustle and noise of the river.’

‘I meant compared to this morning.’

‘That’s the point, Stra-chan.’ He rolled a cigarette with tobacco from his tin. ‘I can see it as it was when the murder was committed.’ He brought the cigarette up to his mouth and took a long drag, coughing as he exhaled, clearing his lungs. ‘But of course, this wasn’t the primary murder scene. The body was carried here.’

Strachan stared out into the river. A sampan swam past the ‘Beach of Dead Babies’, almost touching the edge of the sandbank.

‘See the sampan, how close it gets to the area where the body was found?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Our victim didn’t just float there. It was carried out to the “Beach of Dead Babies”. Somebody must have seen it being taken there.’

‘I asked the local river people. Of course, nobody saw anything. But I’ve put the word out. Perhaps somebody will come forward.’

‘Remember there were no rat bites. It means the body hadn’t been in the creek for long. Thirty minutes at the most. Ask people if they heard or saw anything from 5.30 am to 6.00 am.’

‘I’ll get the local sergeant on it, sir.’

‘Make sure people know there is a reward for information. Five dollars should be enough.’

‘More than enough, sir.’ A lighter chugged past, its thin funnel sending out acres of grey smoke that stank of half-burned coal. Strachan flipped open his notebook, checking what he had written earlier that morning. ‘The victim’s body was weighted down with stones and placed on the sandbank.’

‘Interesting, you say “placed”, Stra-chan, because it was “placed”. We were meant to find it. The creek is one of the most open places in Shanghai, with constant river traffic. The body was bound to be found. In both senses of the word. The killer weighted it with stones so we would find it there. He didn’t want it to be washed down into the Whampoo. Why did he do that? What’s he trying to tell us?’ He exhaled a long stream of cigarette smoke and coughed again. A glob of spit formed in his mouth.

‘I don’t know, sir.’

‘But that’s what we have to find out, Stra-chan. That’s what they pay us to find out.’

‘I thought they pay us to find the killer, sir.’

‘We won’t be able to do that until we know why he does what he does, Stra-chan.’ He rolled another cigarette with tobacco from his tin. ‘I wonder why it’s called the “Beach of Dead Babies”.’

‘I asked the locals, sir. They told me it’s because of the local currents. All the unwanted babies placed in the river inevitably end up there.’

‘Like Moses.’

‘Exactly, sir. The river people adopt the male children as their own.’

‘And the girls?’

‘Apparently, they get taken to the orphanage, sir. Girls are just extra mouths to feed.’

‘Thank you for that, Stra-chan, remind me never to introduce you to my daughter.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Danilov knew he had made a mistake. He looked away, pretending to examine the wharves behind them. It was nearly four years since he had last seen her. Four years on April 26th. Strachan was still staring at the ‘Beach of Dead Babies’. Perhaps, he hadn’t noticed? Time to get him working. ‘The doctor said our victim was a male with a female appearance.’

‘I believe there are a few clubs catering for those sorts of tastes, sir. I could check them out. Show a few photographs around once they come back from processing.’

‘That’s a start. Check the registry of doctors. This man was already showing female characteristics, maybe he was already seeing a physician. Did you notice the absence of body hair?’

‘Could have been shaving, sir.’

‘Hair continues to grow after death. Yet there was none.’