S Rozan - Trail of Blood

Here Stanley Friedman looked over his glasses, then went back to reading. “ ‘For four years following the Second World War, civil war raged in China. Occasional accounts of sightings of the Shanghai Moon reached the West, none verifiable. In 1949, as the Bamboo Curtain fell across the early days of the People’s Republic, the brooch was said to be in Kobe, Japan; in Bangkok; and in Singapore. Over the years stories have put the Shanghai Moon in such places as Taipei, Hong Kong, and San Francisco, and collectors have followed; but to date every search has been fruitless.’ ”

Finished, Friedman took off his glasses and passed the book to us. The glossy white page opposite the entry was conspicuously empty except for these words:

THE SHANGHAI MOON

VALUE: UNKNOWN

(NO ILLUSTRATION)

I looked up at Stanley Friedman. “This is what should have been with Rosalie’s jewelry? The Shanghai Moon?”

“Should, who can say? But this story, I heard it when I was young. Even then, I was a practical man. I paid no attention. It was a legend, you see, this gem.” He folded his glasses and slipped them into his pocket. “So for sixty years, no one sees these pieces that were Rosalie Gilder’s. Everyone starts to think like Stanley Friedman: They’re a myth, the Shanghai Moon’s a myth, it’s all a romantic story from bad times. But now? Suddenly, here they are, these pieces, and suddenly, your partner’s killed. These, they don’t look to me like something worth killing over. Especially, they’re not worth killing someone who hasn’t found them.”

“But the Shanghai Moon is?”

“Would I kill for it, or would you?” Stanley Friedman shrugged. “But if your partner had caught its scent-Ms. Chin, there are people who’ve been looking for the Shanghai Moon for a very long time.”

“It must be what Joel meant,” I said to Bill as the elevator started down. “He must have heard about the Shanghai Moon.”

“Maybe. But why would that be ‘fishy’?”

“Because Alice never told us about it?”

“She might not know. Just because it was Rosalie Gilder’s doesn’t mean it was found with this other jewelry.”

“True. But when the heirs were notified about the find, wouldn’t they have asked?”

“Maybe they never heard of it either.”

“That’s a stretch. You’ve heard of it.”

“It was one of those back-room legends in sailor’s bars.”

“With which you’re quite familiar, I’m sure.”

“Legends?”

“Bars. Did you ever meet anyone who saw it?”

“Not that I recall. Just guys whose buddies, captains, and pawnbrokers had. The drunker guys were, the more spectacular they claimed it was.”

“By which you mean the Shanghai Moon.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said as we issued onto Forty-seventh Street, “that besides taking up the use of four-letter words, you’ve developed a dirty mind.”

“Without you around someone had to provide the smut.” I sagged against the building, dismayed at the rush hour crowds. “God, I’m tired. I feel like my tank’s empty.”

“You’ve had a hard day.”

“No kidding.”

“You want a cup of tea?”

“Can I go home to bed?”

“Sure.”

“No, I can’t.”

We started along the block, looking for a place to try the tea option. We didn’t make it to the corner before my phone rang. I flipped it open and answered, sticking my finger in my other ear to hear better. What I heard was “ Lydia? This is Alice Fairchild.”

“ Alice!” I practically yelped. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” She sounded surprised at the question. “ Lydia, what’s happened? I’ve been in meetings, and I just got your messages. A police detective has been trying to reach me, too. Have they found Wong Pan? And the jewelry?”

“Oh,” I said. “No, I’m afraid not. Alice, there’s some very bad news. I’m sorry, but… Alice, Joel’s dead.”

I heard her quick breath. “What? Oh, my God! What happened?”

“Someone shot him. At his office, this morning.”

“Shot him?” Her voice rose a few notes. “This morning? But I just spoke to him this morning. Who? What happened?”

“They don’t know. That’s why the police want to talk to you.”

“To me?” A pause. “They can’t be thinking this has anything to do with the jewelry?”

“They don’t know.”

“But how? I don’t see-Had Joel located it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Had he found Wong Pan?”

“I don’t know, Alice. He called me, but he just said to come up. I don’t know why.”

“Oh, my God. What if he’d found Wong Pan, and Wong Pan-Yes, of course I’ll talk to the police, if it would help. I’ll call that detective right away. Will you come?”

“To see Mulgrew?” The idea did not fill me with delight.

“You might remember details I’ve forgotten. Of our discussion. Something that might have sent Joel off in one direction or another.”

I had to admit it was a good idea.

“I’m almost back at the Waldorf,” she said. “I’ll call him now.”

“I’m nearby. I’ll meet you there.”

I relayed this conversation to Bill, who’d steered me into a notch in a facade and planted himself between me and the surging crowds. We headed toward the Waldorf. Our steps fell into rhythm, as they often did; as it often did, that surprised me, Bill being thirteen inches taller than I am. “Hey, by the way,” I said, as we neared the hotel’s doors. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Showing up.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, “I was afraid it was too little, too late.”

“Almost. Not quite.”

I got no smile this time from the Waldorf’s doorman, who probably thought I shouldn’t be running around in wrinkled linen when I had that nice silk suit. Or maybe he didn’t like the looks of Bill. Bill can clean up well, but in general he’s not a Waldorf kind of guy. Nevertheless, a call from the desk to Alice ’s room got us an invitation up to a floor where the corridor was plushly carpeted and the walls layered in molding. I clinked a little brass knocker; the door opened right away.

“Oh, Lydia!” Alice pressed my hands in quick sympathy. “This is so terrible. I’m so sorry about Joel.”

“Thank you. Alice, this is a colleague of mine, Bill Smith. Bill, Alice Fairchild.”

They shook hands. Alice asked Bill, “Did you know Joel?”

“Yes.”

“Then my condolences on your loss, too. Sit down, please. Coffee and tea are on the way. Or would you like something stronger?”

“Aren’t we going to the precinct?” I asked.

“The detective’s coming here.”

“Mulgrew?”

“You sound surprised.”

“At him, for being so accommodating.”

“I think he thinks I’m a delicate lady of a certain age who might get rattled in a police station. Where he got that idea, I have no clue.” Her eyes twinkled. “But I’m sure it’s more comfortable here than there.”

The room was populated by carved furniture, brass lamps with pleated shades, botanical prints on striped wallpaper. Street sounds drifted up, muffled by glass and the soft purr of air-conditioning. I sat in a flowered armchair, but Bill leaned near a window, where he could look both into the room and out over New York.

“Tell me what happened,” Alice said.

I gave as clinical an account of Joel’s death as I could manage. Her hand went to her mouth when she heard I was the one who’d found him.

“That’s horrible! Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry.”

“He called me. He said something was fishy. He told me to rush up there.”

“Fishy? What was it?”