Jody Shields - The Winter Station

“I don’t know this Dr. Wu.”

“You’ll be introduced. Doctors can’t avoid each other in this place.”

“Dr. Wu may also be a surprise introduction for General Khorvat.” He crumpled the paper. “A body was discovered outside the Railway Club during the reception. A Chinese man.”

“Foul play?”

“I don’t know. Khorvat promised the body would be moved to the hospital for a postmortem, but it was lost en route. Blame the snow, the cold, the lack of competence. Or something more deliberate. No one is responsible for the disappearance of the body, apparently.”

“Do you believe it?” Messonier sipped his tea.

“I believe something is happening. I told you about the body outside Churin’s store. And two bodies found at Central Station.”

“Unusual number of homicides, even for Kharbin.”

“Homicides? I’m not certain.” The Baron fixed his gaze on the bookshelf behind Messonier. “Why wasn’t I notified about the bodies? Is there a secret about the identities of the dead men? Cause of death? Some clue left with the bodies? There must be a common thread.”

“Did you hear two dead men were found in Manchouli and Chalainor at the train stations? Deaths were also reported in Hailar and Puhudu. A friend at the Mukden hospital told me.”

“No, I hadn’t heard. Manchouli is north of us, several days away by train, near the border of Outer Mongolia and Russia. How did they die?”

Messonier shrugged. “Under investigation.”

The Baron’s eyes widened. He ticked off names on his fingers. “Manchouli, Chalainor, Hailar, Puhudu. The angel of death moved from town to town along the railroad. Then the angel brought death to us in Kharbin.”

Messonier cupped his hands around the teapot as if to anchor himself. “But what is the angel? Or who is the angel?”

“Someone hid the evidence from us.”

“From you. You’re the only one that noticed a pattern. It couldn’t be coincidence.” His voice trailed off. “You’re the chief medical officer. But someone isolated you from information. Perhaps someone from the CER or a government official made a decision without fully considering the implications. Or without consulting General Khorvat.”

“Or perhaps in consultation with Khorvat.”

“What next?”

“We try to stop the angel.”

“She was dressed in a pink kimono, lying on a tatami on planks in the main room. All the servants and guests at the inn had left.” The dwarf Chang sat across from the Baron in his office, waiting for tea, chair angled to catch the warmth from the corner stove. In another two hours, their breath would be visible in the large room after the balls of clay and compressed wood that burned to provide heat had cooled. “My source said the dead woman was an innkeeper on Koreyskaya Street. A Japanese woman.”

“Who’s your source? Who told you about this woman?”

“The cook. He entered the inn at number five Koreyskaya Street through the kitchen door. No one noticed him.” Chang paused to dramatize his account of the story.

“Then?”

“Then he watched from the kitchen and saw the men huddle around the woman’s body. Four men.”

“Russian or Chinese?”

“He couldn’t see their faces. They didn’t speak Chinese.”

“Maybe they spoke dialect. Or a code.”

Chang laughed. “The cook wouldn’t have the wit to notice a code. He was too frightened.” He struggled to shape his next sentence.

The Baron waited, affected by the other man’s unease.

“After the men left the inn, the cook crept out and looked at the woman. They had cut her open. Made a slit down the front of her body and then sewn her up.”

The Baron bent forward as if released by a spring.

“Then three strangers came in dragging a wooden coffin. The cook ran back into the kitchen. The men knew what to do, went straight to her body. They dropped the dead woman in the coffin and threw the bloody mat on top of her.”

The Baron’s gulp of tea was automatic. A warmth in his mouth without taste. “I heard what you said but don’t understand it.” The mutilation of a corpse wasn’t innocent. “You don’t know how the woman died?”

“No. But if she had been Russian, not Japanese, there would be an inquiry.”

“That’s certain. Did the men take anything from the inn?”

“The cook didn’t mention anything had been stolen. But he wasn’t the best witness. He’s afraid the woman’s ghost, her gui, will come back and haunt him.”

“You trust what he said?”

“I’ve watched expressions all my life. Who means to harm me. Who would mock me. No face is neutral. I say this not from complaint but because I’m a skilled observer.”

“Can I speak with the cook?”

“Vanished. Probably working at another inn.”

“So he won’t be found.” Another sip of tea. “Fortunately, whoever ordered the body cut up is unaware they’ve been discovered. We hold an advantage.” Although he focused on the dwarf’s face, his mind held the terrible image of a dead woman in a pink kimono.

“You have my silence.” The dwarf’s pledge was conditional, as it was likely he’d later embellish the story. “Maybe the dead woman was the mistress of a prominent man? A woman with secrets, murdered by order of an important official? Maybe the shame of pregnancy?”

The Baron made a decision. “The woman was dissected by someone trained in anatomy. A center vertical cut that opens a body takes skill. Bones protect the heart.” He drank again, slowly, to stimulate thought. “The body was mutilated in secret because what they did was wrong. Disrespectful. Chinese tradition forbids opening a body. Once their work was done, it was easy to get rid of the corpse.”

“Put a corpse outside and it will stay frozen until May.”

“Snow aids those with something to hide. But the body was dissected at the inn, so there were no witnesses, which wouldn’t be the case if it was performed at the hospital. The question is, who ordered servants and guests away from the inn? Someone knew to empty the place of witnesses.”

The dwarf hunched down in his chair. The room had grown slightly less warm. “The cook told me others had vanished from the inn before the woman died. A kitchen boy. A guest who paid for a week in advance then disappeared after two days. Without collecting a refund. Then the lady innkeeper. People on the street say Russians will kill all the Chinese in Kharbin by infecting them with a secret sickness. Or poison. They say many deaths have been hidden. The Chinese feel threatened.”

The Baron’s hand tensed around the teacup. His immediate impulse was to argue against these claims, but there would be time and information later.

He pictured a diagram of the situation. A large circle contained everyone who knew about the dead woman. A second, inner circle contained those who mutilated the woman’s body, placed it in a coffin, disposed of it. In the center circle was the organizer, the string puller, trap setter. Likely a Russian.

Early morning, an overcast sky, the Baron entered the inn at 5 Koreyskaya Street. Unlocked, the door opened into a dim central space. The lanterns were unlit. He sensed the room was large, judging by the temperature. He walked back and propped open the door with a chair so there was more light but there was no discernible change in temperature with the sweep of cold air into the room. The large unrecognizable shapes on the floor became overturned benches and a table shoved at an angle against the far wall. Dishes were scattered on the packed-earth floor. A scene of previous violence. The Japanese innkeeper’s body would have been situated here, in sight of the kitchen, directly under his feet in the center of the room. Blood would have soaked into the floor. What evidence did he imagine would be discovered? Perhaps a witness? He cursed his optimism.