David Rotenberg - The Hua Shan Hospital Murders

Lily watched the woman go and wondered how she managed to deal with so much sorrow on a daily basis.

Fong looked around the conference room. They already appeared as tired as he felt. A folder was open in front of Wu Fan-zi; the new head of CSU was to his left. Six detectives were seated around the room completing their interview notes. Lily sat to one side, sipping from a steaming jar of cha. Her exhaustion carved deep patterns on her face making her look severe, stern. Fong knew she’d rushed home yesterday to settle Xiao Ming in for a night with her mother and then returned to the lab to get ready for the meeting. He didn’t know about her early morning meeting with the head nurse of the Hua Shan Hospital’s abortion clinic.

All eyes slowly turned to Fong, and what little chatter there had been in the room died.

The silence that followed was rife with possibilities. Everyone at the large oval table knew that this was Fong’s first big case since his return from west of the Wall and his still shadowy success at Lake Ching. In the corridors of Special Investigations these events were collectively referred to as The Resurrection. Everyone also knew that there were many in the department anxious to see Fong fall on his delicately boned face.

The meeting room smelled of pungent cigarette smoke. Fong instinctively reached for his pack of Kents. But they weren’t there. He hadn’t smoked since he’d killed the assassin Loa Wei Fen in the construction pit in the Pudong. Fong cleared his throat and tossed two newspapers onto the large oval table. Instantly he was flooded with a memory of another time. Another newspaper he’d tossed on this very table. That newspaper’s headline had screamed: Dim Sum Killer at Large. Of course that had been over five years ago. Back when he still smoked Kents.

Lily’s voice cracked his reverie with her slightly lisped English, “Talk time, short stuff.”

That reminded Fong of yet another time – another table – another investigation. He smiled at his wife, then asked in English, “How’s our little girl?”

“Mother mine with. Miss you, though,” Lily replied in English.

Fong wanted to reply, “No. She misses you, Lily,” but didn’t when he saw a darkness cross the new CSU guy’s face. This was a multiple murder investigation, not a family gathering. Fong straightened his jacket, reminded himself that he had to lead all of them, not just Lily. As if he could ever really lead Lily! He turned to Wu Fan-zi, his fireman, and said in Mandarin, “You’re up.”

The block-like man looked haggard as he shuffled his papers. He opened his mouth then decided something or other and closed it. He smiled for no discernible reason, then said, “I’ve had to ask for help on this one. With Fong’s permission I sent my preliminary results to Hong Kong and they’ve responded with an initial critique. But they don’t want to work at a distance from the investigation.”

“What does that mean?” asked Lily drily.

Fong sighed, then said, “They want one of their people on the investigation team.”

“Well, they can’t have it,” snapped Lily.

Despite the People’s Republic of China’s takeover of Hong Kong, most of the officers around the table had been raised on a steady diet of hatred for the old English Protectorate.

“They can’t insist on being a part of this investigation, can they, Fong?” Lily asked.

“They can and I’ve already arranged for them to send over their man.”

Turning away from Lily’s angry face, he returned to Wu Fan-zi, “What’ve you got so far?”

Wu Fan-zi went through the complex mathematics of the blast. They all listened carefully. Finally Wu Fan-zi stopped reciting numbers and said simply, “It was a very strong, very controlled bomb – unlike anything we’ve seen here. It’s sophisticated in both its components and its execution. Only its detonation was simple. Then,” he said, “there’s this.” He took out a plastic evidence bag and emptied out three short metal threads on the table. “Phosphorus threads,” he said. “They were around the table – in a circle. Obviously those that ignited we don’t have, although we were able to spot several that had only partially burned. The pattern is clear. A circle around the operating table.” He pushed his chair away from the table and looked at Fong. “Phosphorus makes no sense. It couldn’t be part of the bomb but it must have been scattered by the bomber. The threads are small enough that I doubt anyone working in the operating room would have noticed them.”

“So, is there a question here, Wu Fan-zi?” asked Fong.

“Why would he bother, Fong? Phosphorus converts energy into light so quickly that it hardly gives off any heat at all. There’s almost no force released because all the energy is immediately converted into high intensity light.”

“So the phosphorus has nothing to do with the bomb?” Fong asked.

“Not as far as I can tell,” replied Wu Fan-zi.

Fong thought, “Maybe nothing to do with the bomb but definitely something to do with the bomber,” but all he chose to say was, “Okay. Let’s leave the phosphorus for now. Could the bomb have been purchased here?” asked Fong.

Wu Fan-zi thought about that then nodded. “Yeah, it could if you have the money and the contacts. It’s rare that a white man could be so well connected in the Middle Kingdom. Shit, even if Silas Darfun were alive today he’d have a tough time getting his hands on that stuff.”

The others gave short chortles, not real laughs.

“What we do know is that the bomb isn’t homegrown. We’ve got a pretty tight lid on all that. Government stockpiles are cross-checked constantly and it’s almost impossible to get the kind of materials necessary to make that kind of bomb here. Just try buying a large amount of bicarbonate of soda and watch what happens. The Internet sites are all monitored and all hits are traced. Hey-ka-ka-ka-kaboom.com seems to be the biggest but there’s seldom anything they get by us. The site has, in fact, been extremely cooperative – don’t ask me why. Besides, even if you ordered something from the Internet it still has to be delivered and we have that covered too. So that leaves us with an importer. My guess is the bomb came across the Russian frontier. But I doubt if it was Russian. They were never very clever with explosives. They always left that to the Czechs.”

“And the Bosnians,” added the CSU guy.

“True,” Wu Fan-zi responded.

“But it would still be so much easier to find this explosive in the West – and the note was in English, wasn’t it?” asked the CSU guy.

Fong ignored the question but asked one of his own: “Would it be hard to smuggle the bomb through airport security, Wu Fan-zi?”

“Yeah.” Wu Fan-zi wasn’t about to supply any more information on that topic but his terse answer bespoke inside knowledge.

“Hard or impossible?” Fong prodded.

“Impossible, Fong.”

The CSU guy looked away as Wu Fan-zi continued, “And the detonator, the timing device, the metal cage – all that couldn’t be smuggled in either. So it would all have to be obtained locally.”

“So the bomber’s entire kit would have to be bought here?”

“Yep,” said Wu Fan-zi, “maybe not homegrown but definitely home bought.”

Fong turned to one of the detectives, “Start with the cage the baby was-”

“Not a baby, Fong.” Lily’s voice was icy cold. In English she continued, “Xiao Ming is baby. This not.”

Fong quickly translated to the men around the table. He saw clearly that they were not interested in the difference that Lily was pointing out. Lily saw their resistance and slammed her hand, palm down, on the table and then said loudly in English, “Important, this!”