2
Colonel On-dinh-Khuc bit into an apple while he studied the typed questionnaire Lam-Tham had handed to him.
The time was fifteen minutes past eight a.m. Much had been done since he had returned to headquarters. Dong Ham and My-Lang-To had been questioned. Haum’s body had been taken to the shattered police post and had been planted in the ditch near where the two Viet Minh bodies had been found. The President’s private secretary had been informed that the American had been kidnapped. The American Ambassador in his turn had been informed. Three officers of the U.S. Military Police had gone to the scene of the outrage where they busied themselves taking photographs, examining the Chrysler and consulting with the Vietnam police.
The Colonel munched his apple as he studied Dong-Ham’s replies to the questions put to him by Lam-Than.
“Not much here,” he said finally, putting the paper down on his desk. “We had better find this girl he mentions. She “probably knows nothing, but we’d better make sure. Someone is bound to know who she is and where she lives. Tell Ngoc-Linh to inquire at this club. They’ll probably know her name.”
Lam-Than inclined his head.
The Colonel dropped the apple core into the waste paper basket.
“Nothing of any value in the girl’s report,” he went on. “It is unfortunate she insists that the houseboy is still in the villa. The old cook seems to think so too.” He looked up at Lam-Than. “When it is known the boy went with the American and was killed by the Viet Minh, these two could make difficulties. If the American police have an opportunity to question them, the situation could become involved.”
Lam-Than had already thought of this difficulty.
“The old man has no relations,” he said. “There would be no complications if he met with an accident. The girl has a mother and father, but providing the matter is handled with care she could also be removed without difficulty.”
The Colonel stroked his fleshy jowls.
“I’ll leave it to you,” he said. “Arrange something. It is better for the State to have no complications.”
Lam-Than inclined his head. He picked up the two questionnaires and went out of the room.
A little after eleven o’clock, Inspector Ngoc-Linh arrived at the Paradise Club.
He was seen getting out of his car by Yu-lan, who pressed a button which lit up a red light in Blackie’s office, a warning that prepared him for the Inspector’s visit.
The Inspector found him reading the morning’s newspaper.
Blackie rose to his feet, bowed and offered the Inspector a chair. Yu-lan came in with two glasses of tea which she placed on the desk. She bowed and smiled at the Inspector who bowed in return, his face expressionless.
When she had gone, the Inspector sipped his tea, passed a complimentary remark about its quality, then seeing Blackie was waiting, he said, “You know an American gentleman: Mr. Jaffe?”
This was something Blackie was not expecting to be asked.
However his face remained bland and smiling although his mind was startled. He immediately remembered Jaffe’s strange hints about obtaining a false passport. Now here was the police officer inquiring about him.
“Ah yes,” Blackie said. “He comes here quite often.”
“Was he here last night?”
“Yes, I believe he was.”
“What time was this?”
“About nine o’clock. I can’t say I noticed the exact time.”
So Jaffe had been here, the Inspector thought, five hours after he had murdered the houseboy. What had he done in the meantime?
There was a pause, then Blackie asked, “Has something happened to this gentleman? I should be sorry if it had.”
“He has been kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits. You will read about it in tomorrow’s newspapers.”
To say Blackie was astonished would be an understatement. He stared at the Inspector in bewilderment.
“Kidnapped by Viet Minh bandits?” he repeated. “Where was this then?”
“You will read about it in tomorrow’s newspapers,” the Inspector said curtly. “There are certain things we wish to know about the American. What is the name of the woman he associated with here?”
Blackie’s eyes went dull. He reached for a cigarette and lit it.
“He associated with no particular girl,” he said. “He came here and hired any girl to dance with him he happened to fancy.”
“I have reasons to believe he favoured one particular woman,” the Inspector said. “I want to know her name.”
“If I could help you, I would,” Blackie said, bowing. “But I had no idea he was associating with one particular girl.”
“His servant says a girl used to come to his house two or three times a week,” the Inspector said, staring hard at Blackie. “He used to come to this club quite often. It is reasonable to assume he met the girl here.”
“I should be surprised if he did,” Blackie said. “My girls don’t sleep with Americans. It is possible he met this girl at some other club.”
“The girl has to be found quickly,” the Inspector said and got to his feet. “Extensive inquiries will be made. Are you quite sure you don’t know the girl? I ask you again because if later it is found that you did know her and you withheld this information deliberately from us, you will be in serious trouble. It would be a simple matter to close this club.”
Blackie was quite certain none of the girls working at the club would give Nhan away. The few Americans who came to the club probably had seen Jaffe with Nhan, but they wouldn’t know her name. He felt reasonably safe in refusing to be bluffed by the Inspector.
“If it will assist you, I will make some inquiries myself,” he said blandly. “It is possible someone I know will be able to help. If I get the girl’s name I will telephone you.”
The Inspector had to be content with that. When he had gone,
Blackie left the club and took a pousse-pousse to the house where Nhan lived. The time was a little after noon: a good time to call. Nhan’s uncle was at the Temple and her mother was with a neighbour across the street.
He knocked on the door. After waiting a few moments, he knocked again. Nhan opened the door. He could see at once that she had been crying and she seemed in a very nervy and frightened state.
“I want to talk to you,” Blackie said and moved into the room. “The police called on me this morning, making inquiries about the American.”
Nahn stared at him, backing away, her eyes wide with terror.
Without appearing to notice her terror, he went on, “They asked me the name of the girl who goes to his villa.”
Nhan leaned against the wall. She put her trembling hands behind her, out of sight. She continued to stare at Blackie. She seemed unable to speak.
“They told me the American has been kidnapped by bandits,” Blackie went on. “This I do not believe. I decided to see you first before I told them you are the girl they are looking for.”
Nhan closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. She still said nothing.
Blackie waited for a few moments, then asked, “Were you with him last night?”
Nhan nodded.
“What has happened to him?”
“We drove to the river and we talked until eleven o’clock. He drove me home and I then went to bed,” Nhan said in a quavering voice: the words came out so automatically Blackie was sure she had rehearsed and rehearsed them.
“Where is he now?”
There was a long pause before she said, “I don’t know.”
The fact that she looked so quickly away from him, told him she was lying.
He took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette and lit it. During this pause, he continued to stare at her and she seemed to shrivel under his stare.
“The police are anxious to find him,” he said. “They threaten me with trouble if I don’t tell them your name. If you know where he is and if you didn’t see him after eleven o’clock last night, I see no reason why I shouldn’t give them your name.”