Peter May - The Firemaker

‘But once it’s dried, I’ll never be able to match the joins.’ The painter saw Li’s eyes widen with fury. ‘Okay, okay. I’m out of here.’ He scrambled down the ladder and began clearing his stuff.

Li took the old man by the arm and invited him to get down off his desk. ‘Tell my uncle thank you very much,’ he said, struggling to keep his anger under control. ‘But I have to work now, so you’ll have to go.’

‘I’ll send the painter back on the weekend,’ said the feng shui man.

Li drew breath sharply and clenched his fists at his side. ‘Just go.’

‘Okay,’ the feng shui man said. He looked around the office, and nodded, satisfied. ‘You feel mu-uch better now.’

And the crowd of detectives at the door parted, like the Red Sea, to let him through. Margaret stood smiling just inside the office. She might not have understood a single word, but she knew exactly what had transpired. The painter rattled his ladders, lifted his paint pot, and hurried out after the feng shui man. Li glared at the faces gathered round the door. ‘What are you lot looking at?’

Wu said, ‘Nothing, boss.’ He cast an appraising eye around the room, nodding his approval. ‘Bi-ig improvement.’ There was a splutter of laughter among the others.

‘Get out,’ Li said, shaking his head and restraining a smile, able finally, if reluctantly, to see a funny side to it. He called after them, ‘And if I get any more crap from you guys, I’m going to give that feng shui man every one of your addresses.’ He pushed the door shut.

Margaret said, ‘It is much better like this. Or, at least, it would have been if you’d let him finish painting the walls.’

‘Don’t you start.’ He looked at the piles of transcripts under the window. They seemed to have doubled in size since the morning. His desk was covered again with folders and papers. ‘Would you look at this stuff. I’m going to go blind with paperwork before we’re through with this investigation.’ There was a knock at the door. ‘What!’ he shouted.

Qian poked his head in apologetically. ‘Sorry, boss. Thought you’d like to see the preliminary reports from forensics. They came in by fax about an hour ago.’

Li grabbed the sheets and ran his eyes over the fax-fuzzy rows of tiny Chinese characters that delivered verdicts on the DNA tests and the spectral analysis of the blood from Chao’s apartment. He looked up at Margaret. ‘It was Chao’s blood on the carpet. And as near as they can determine, it was spilled some time Monday night into Tuesday morning.’

‘Which bears out your theory,’ she said.

He nodded, and paused to re-examine the fax. Then he met her eye, and there was a muted excitement in his voice. ‘The DNA from saliva traces on all three cigarette ends matches.’

‘Jesus,’ Margaret said. ‘So they were all murdered by the same guy.’

She sat at his desk, swivelling the chair slowly from side to side. The detectives’ office outside was empty. They were all in the meeting room with Li, reviewing progress. She looked at the ragged line on the wall where the fresh yellow paint stopped and the old paint began, and she smiled. His Uncle Yifu was certainly nothing if not persistent. She wondered if he had any idea how much it embarrassed Li, and from all that she knew of him concluded that he probably did. Her eyes fell on the faxes that still lay on Li’s desk, and she marvelled at how it was possible for people to read these strange and complex pictograms. She had read somewhere that although different languages were spoken throughout China, the written language, the characters, remained the same. They just had different words for the same pictures. Of course, standard Beijing Mandarin was now taught in all the schools.

From somewhere deep in the building she could hear the distant sounds of phones ringing, voices raised, the chatter of keyboards. She closed her eyes and started tumbling backward through a dark abyss.

She opened her eyes immediately, or so she thought. She had not realised how tired she was. Her brain was still not keyed to Beijing time. She looked at her watch and realised with a shock that she had just lost twenty minutes. She blinked and tried to make her mind focus on something. The cigarette ends. There was a pack of cigarettes lying on the desk. She picked it up and took one out. The tobacco had a strong, bitter, toasty smell. It made her think of coffee stewing on a hot plate. She examined the pale pattern on the cork-coloured tip, the brand name red on white just above it. A single cigarette end at each crime scene. Smoked by the same man. What was it that was so wrong about that? She knew, of course. No professional would be so careless. And yet they were professional killings. And then suddenly she had a revelation, and sat forward in the chair, heart pounding. It had only been obscure because it was so obvious.

The sound of voices came through from the outer office as the detectives returned from their meeting. Li appeared in the doorway.

‘I’ve just had a revelation,’ she said.

‘You hungry?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t heard

She hadn’t thought about it, but now that she did she realised that her stomach was growling. ‘Sure. Listen, this is important.’

‘Good. I haven’t eaten all day. We’ll get something at the stall on the corner, and then I’m going to the Ministry of Agriculture. If you want to come…’

‘Try keeping me away.’ She stood up. ‘Li Yan… Are you going to hear me out or what?’

He held the door open for her. ‘Tell me on the way.’ But, as he turned, the chain on his fob watch caught on the handle and broke. ‘Damn!’

She looked at the chain. ‘It’s just a broken link. It’s fixable.’

‘Later.’ He slipped it off his belt and dropped it into the top drawer of his desk. He saw she was wearing a wristwatch and tapped his own wrist. ‘You can keep me right.’

By the time they were out in the corridor she was having trouble keeping up with him. He seemed infused with a fresh energy and new determination. ‘I just put a stop to wasting any further time on trying to make some futile drugs connection. At least it’ll cut down on the paperwork.’

‘Li Yan… The cigarette ends…’

‘What about them?’

They were on the stairs now. ‘I think I know why he left one at each crime scene.’

Li stopped. ‘Why?’

‘Because he wanted you to find them. He wanted you to make the connection.’

‘Why?’ Li asked again.

‘I don’t know. If we knew that we wouldn’t be here. But it makes a hell of a lot more sense than believing that someone so careful and meticulous in every other respect would be so careless in that one.’

Li stood and thought about it. He was on the step below her, and she became aware that her eyes and his were on a level. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring off into the middle distance, lost in contemplation. It gave her an opportunity to look at him close up. The features she had first taken as ugly she saw now as strong. A forceful nose, a well-defined mouth, prominent brows, beautiful, almond-shaped eyes, a brown so deep and warm it was hard to distinguish the iris from the pupil. He had a strong jaw, dimpled at the chin, and his flat-top crew cut emphasised the squareness of his head. His skin was the colour of pale teak, and was remarkably unlined, except for the traces of laughter around his eyes and mouth.

He became aware of her looking at him, and for a moment they stood staring into each other’s eyes. And then he was overcome by embarrassment.

‘It’s an interesting thought,’ he said, almost dismissively. ‘But it doesn’t take us any further.’ He turned and resumed his progress down the stairs.