Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

‘So you used the tape to replicate his murder of Professor Yue, to try to make it look as if they had both been killed by the same person.’

Michael nodded grimly. ‘We didn’t know about the other murders until we confronted him at the apartment at Tuan Jie Hu Dongli. That’s when we discovered that he’d already killed two other people.’

Margaret shook her head in disbelief. She had thought that she knew Michael. Never in her worst nightmare could she have dreamed him capable of this. ‘And you had no qualms about any of it?’

‘Of course I had qualms,’ he protested. ‘But you’ve got to understand, we had no choice. The smuggling of artefacts out of China is a capital offence. If the authorities caught us we would be executed. And we weren’t about to start having a whole lot of sympathy for Yuan Tao. After all, he was a murderer. He’d just killed three people. When the cops eventually caught up with him, it’d be a bullet in the head in a football stadium somewhere.’

His logic was impeccable, but Margaret still found it impossible to empathise. She sublimated her fear beneath a strange professional detachment. ‘How did you know that the fourth victim should be numbered with a three?’

He shook his head. ‘We almost didn’t. But in the apartment, along with the sword, we also found three lengths of silk cord, and three placards already numbered — one, two, three. We realised that he must have been counting down from six.’

‘And the drugs?’

‘They were there under the floorboards with the rest of the stash.’

‘And how did you force him to take them?’

Michael shrugged. ‘It was strange. I think he realised that there was not going to be any way out for him, and he almost seemed happy, as if we were relieving him of the responsibility of having to kill again. He suggested the vodka. He said the drug was more effective with alcohol.’

‘And it didn’t strike you as odd that it turned bright blue?’

Michael frowned at her. ‘How did you know that?’

‘It’s my job, Michael,’ Margaret said contemptuously. ‘Didn’t you think anyone would notice when they cut him open? Did you think he had duped his victims with a bright blue drink?’ She almost laughed. ‘He was leaving a message for us. A clue. And we had no idea.’ She thought for a moment. ‘And the nickname. Where did that come from?’

Michael looked perplexed. ‘We’d seen the nickname around Yue’s neck, and figured we should put one on Yuan’s.’

‘And you believed him when he told you it was Digger?’

‘We had no reason not to.’

Margaret shook her head in frustration. ‘We’ve been so fucking blind!’ she gasped. What was it Li was forever quoting his Uncle Yifu as saying? The answer is always in the detail . ‘Digger,’ she said. ‘That’s you. The archaeologist. Another clue we were too damned stupid to see.’ She looked at him. ‘So who was it who did the dirty deed? Who was it who actually brought the sword down on that man’s neck and cut his head off?’

‘It wasn’t me, Margaret. I could never have brought myself to do something like that.’

‘No,’ Margaret said. ‘You’d take the money, but you wouldn’t spill the blood.’ She paused, her thoughts racing, then turned on him. ‘And how did the murder weapon find its way into Birdie’s apartment?’

He shuffled awkwardly and scuffed his foot on the floor. ‘One way or another you kept me pretty well apprised of developments.’ He shrugged but wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘Jesus, Margaret, you told me yourself he was the number one suspect.’ He paused. ‘And his address was right there among the stuff we took from Yuan’s apartment …’

He glanced up to see the pain in her eyes. She turned away, tears filling them. Her disillusion was complete. She had trusted him totally. Just as she had trusted the other Michael in her life. And they had both betrayed her. She had never felt so utterly empty before. If she was to die now, then at least it would be an escape from her own extraordinary stupidity.

*

Li walked quickly, half running, through the shaded paths of the university campus. It was deserted in the afternoon heat, the first withered leaves beginning to drift from the trees on the edge of a warm autumn breeze. The guard at the gate had remembered Margaret arriving. But that had been this morning, and he had not seen her since, he said.

Li had first tried the archaeology department, but the pavilion was locked and deserted. Now he was following Margaret’s footsteps of several hours earlier, in search of the Arts building.

The afternoon sun slanted across the courtyard in front of the greybrick block, shadows lengthening as the sun slipped progressively lower in the sky. One half of the door stood ajar, and as Li climbed the steps, a young man emerged and almost bumped into him. It was Wang Jiahong, the surly lab assistant who had brought them here yesterday. He was startled, and his face coloured beneath his shock of black hair. He ran the back of a dirty hand across his forehead to wipe away a fine film of perspiration. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked. His voice carried more confidence than his frightened rabbit eyes.

‘The American lady I was with yesterday,’ Li said. ‘Have you seen her?’

Wang shook his head. ‘Here?’ he asked.

‘No, in fucking Shanghai!’ Li barked. ‘Of course, here!’

‘No,’ Wang said. And there was more than a hint of truculence in his tone.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. There’s nobody here but me. And I’ve been around all day. I’m just about to lock up. You can look around if you want.’

Li glanced at his watch. If she had been here at all, she must be long gone by now. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s all right.’

Wang stood watching Li out of sight as he retraced his steps towards the west gate. The reflections of weeping willows shimmered on Lake Nameless as the breeze ruffled the surface of the water. A bird swooped low across it, calling as it went, before veering off and rising skyward beyond the treetops. Li felt curiously deflated, and apprehensive. Where had Margaret gone? She had been on campus, certainly, but perhaps she had left by another gate. He took a small notebook from his back pocket, checked a telephone number and then unclipped the mobile from his belt. He dialled Mei Yuan’s neighbour and asked her to check if the yangguizi had come back yet. After a long wait Mei Yuan came to the phone to say that there was no sign of Margaret. Li sighed and made his way back to the west gate. He asked the guard again if he was certain that he had not seen Margaret leave. If she had left, the guard assured him, it must have been by one of the other gates.

Li was about to turn away in search of his Jeep when he caught sight of a familiar vehicle parked across the road, a vehicle he had seen just two days ago parked outside CID headquarters downtown. The red shi character on the registration plate filled him with a sudden sense of dread. And he knew that Margaret must still be here, and that her life was in grave danger.

By the time he reached the Arts building again he was breathless and sweating. The door was still ajar. Wang had not locked it as he said he was going to. Li made his way cautiously inside, down the darkened corridor to where light still fell out across the floor from the open door to the conservation lab. As he moved towards it, he heard a rustle of clothes and a shadow filled the light that came from the doorway. He had no time to move before Wang was upon him, pushing him back against the wall. A pain like a vice encircled his bruised ribs and he gasped, momentarily disabled. Wang sensed the moment, and took off like a sprinter from the blocks, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he hurtled down the corridor and turned out of the door. For a moment, as Li caught his breath, he contemplated going after him. Then he saw, through the open door, Margaret’s purse lying on the workbench in the conservation lab.