Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

The other detectives, listening intently to Sang, looked quickly to see Margaret’s reaction.

She shrugged. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘It simply means that the killer had access to the same murder weapon used in the first three murders.’ The detectives turned to catch’s Li’s reaction. But he was impassive. She added, ‘Is that all you have to tell me? Is that the sum total of your investigations over twenty-four hours?’

‘Of course not.’ Li looked more composed than he felt. She had been unfazed by the revelation about the murder weapon, and her calmly suggested explanation was so simple he wondered why he had not thought of it himself. But he knew the answer to that almost immediately. He had found it virtually impossible to believe that Yuan Tao had been murdered by a copycat, and in admitting that to himself now, realised he had been making a basic mistake for which his uncle would have derided him. He had made an assumption, and was trying to make the evidence fit the assumption. Assume nothing , his uncle used to tell him. Let the evidence lead to you the conclusion, do not jump to it yourself.

Margaret glanced at her watch with ill-concealed irritation. ‘Well?’ she asked.

And Li told her about the blue-black powder found in Yuan Tao’s apartment and the forensic confirmation, received less than an hour ago, that it matched similar coloured powder found on the trousers and in the treads of the shoes worn by Professor Yue. This caught her interest and she leaned forward. ‘And this powder is what, exactly?’

He pushed a small sample in a clear plastic evidence bag across the table. ‘Particles of fired clay. A kind of ceramic dust. You’ll find a more detailed breakdown among the documents we’ve provided.’

She frowned, examining the dark blue dust in the bag and thinking for a moment. Then, ‘What else?’ she asked.

Li said, ‘We found three bottles of vintage Californian wine in Yuan Tao’s apartment. Tests carried out this afternoon show that it is almost certainly the same wine that our first three victims had been drinking. The stuff that their killer spiked with the flunitrazepam.’

Margaret’s interest was well and truly ignited now. She forgot about the time. ‘ Three bottles?’

Li nodded.

She scratched her chin thoughtfully. ‘So … one for each of the remaining victims.’

‘We already have four victims,’ Li said. ‘And the countdown began at six.’

‘Humour me,’ Margaret said. ‘Assume that Yuan Tao was never on the hit list-’

Li interrupted. ‘You still think he was killed by someone else?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sure of it. I can’t tell you by who, or why, but the evidence seems quite clear to me. And if you rule him out, then there are still three victims out there, not two. And that’s why there were three bottles of wine.’

‘But why was the wine in Yuan Tao’s apartment?’ Everyone was startled by Sang’s sudden intervention. He seemed taken aback himself, and became immediately self-conscious. The other detectives asked him what he had asked. Still blushing, he told them.

Margaret smiled. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘But that question is still relevant whether or not you believe that he was one of the original intended victims.’ She turned back to Li. ‘Was there anything else in the apartment?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing relevant. Books, clothes, personal possessions.’

‘And this apartment that he rented privately — have you any idea why?’

Again, Li shook his head. ‘Detective Qian tracked down the owner. We interviewed him this afternoon. He claimed he had no idea that Yuan worked at the embassy — he was Chinese, had a Beijing accent. The owner says Yuan told him that he was lecturing at the university and only required the apartment for a few months. He was prepared to pay well over the going rate, so the owner didn’t ask too many questions.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘Yes,’ Li nodded. ‘He’s in breach of several public security regulations, but nothing more than that.’

‘Which brings us back to the question of why Yuan Tao felt the need to rent another apartment. Was he keeping a mistress?’

‘No.’ Li had no doubts. ‘There are no female traces in either apartment. But, in any case, Yuan Tao was not the type.’ He lit a cigarette, and wondered what it was he had gleaned about this man that made him so sure he had not been having an affair, or entertaining prostitutes. Instinct, he decided. ‘If I was to make a guess, I would say he rented the apartment so that he could come and go without being seen or questioned. Or perhaps receive visitors he didn’t want the authorities to know about.’

‘And he couldn’t do that at his embassy accommodation?’

‘There is a twenty-four-hour guard on the gate to the compound.’

Margaret nodded thoughtfully. ‘So why would he want to come and go without being seen or questioned, or have secret visitors?’

Li blew a jet of smoke at the overhead fan. ‘If we knew that, we probably wouldn’t be sitting here.’

Margaret suddenly stiffened and checked the time. ‘Oh, my God, I’m going to be late!’ She stood up quickly and lifted her bag on to the desk. ‘Is it possible for you to call me a taxi?’

Li and the other detectives were taken by surprise. They had anticipated that their meeting would go on for some time yet. ‘Where are you going?’ Li asked.

‘Beijing West Railway Station,’ she said. ‘My train leaves at ten to seven.’

Li looked at his watch. It was a quarter to six. He shook his head. ‘You’ll never make it. Not at this time of night. The traffic will be at a standstill. It’ll take at least an hour and a half.’

‘But the station’s not that far,’ she protested. ‘I could walk it in twenty minutes from my hotel. We got the train to Datong from there.’

‘No,’ Li shook his head. ‘That’s Beijing Railway Station. Beijing West Railway Station is way on the other side of town.’

‘Shit!’ Margaret cursed.

Li stood up and gathered his papers together. The other detectives took their cue from him. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, trying to sound as if he was indifferent to the answer.

‘Xi’an,’ she said. ‘To see the Terracotta Warriors.’

Li looked at her in astonishment. ‘On your own?’

‘No.’ She hesitated for just a moment. ‘Michael Zimmerman’s taking me.’

Li felt the colour rise on his cheeks, and he heard Sang translating for the others. He turned to them. ‘That’s all,’ he said curtly. Disappointed, they lifted their papers, nodded politely to Margaret and went out. Still feigning indifference, he said, ‘Michael Zimmerman … That’s the man you were with at the Sanwei tearoom last night?’

In spite of her anxiety about her train, Margaret had derived some small pleasure from seeing the colour rising on Li’s face at the mention of Michael’s name. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Are you going to call me a taxi or not?’

But he was in no hurry. ‘Who is he, exactly?’

‘I don’t really figure that’s any of your business, exactly,’ she responded tartly.

He shrugged. ‘Well, if I’m going to stick a flashing light on the roof of a police Jeep and get you to the station in time for your train, I think I have the right to expect a civil answer to a civil question.’

She smiled ruefully. He had trapped her. And if she wanted to catch her train … ‘He’s a TV archaeologist,’ she said.

‘A what?’ He had no idea what she meant.

‘He makes documentaries for television about archaeology,’ she spelled it out for him. ‘China is his speciality. He’s very popular in the States.’