* * *
The hospital cleaner was coming round. They’d found him unconscious, stuffed into a closet. He had a deep wound on the back of his head. Now he sat, frightened and bleeding, in front of Fong.
“Nothing. You say you saw nothing?”
“Yes, he hit me from behind. Don’t believe me? Look at my head.”
“Do you know when it was?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
“Before now.”
Fong looked at the man’s wrist. He had no watch. No doubt he woke with the sun and went to sleep when it got dark. As the head of housekeeping had said, “He’s a peasant.” Suddenly Fong envied him. “They’ll patch up that head of yours now.”
The man harrumphed.
Fong left the room and almost bumped into a cleaner’s trolley. It looked much like those used by chambermaids in big hotels. The bottom half of the thing was covered by sheets on both sides. Fong pulled back one of the sheets. There was lots of room to put a titanium cage there.
A patient in a chair across the way barked out, “Watchya’ lookin’ for? You lost your daughter or sumptin’?” Fong looked at the near toothless man. He had no clever retort, not even a snarly comeback. So he turned on his heel and headed out without saying a word.
* * *
As Wu Fan-zi drove up the ramp to the newly built Gao Jia Expressway, the Hong Kong specialist perused the new photos of the blast site that he had given her. Then she set them aside and concentrated on the latest facts and figures. It didn’t take her long to come to a conclusion. She let out a sigh.
“Yeah,” Wu Fan-zi said.
“Your figures are right?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yes, they are.” It wasn’t really an answer.
“Then it has to be an exotic,” she said. “The formula for force has been with us since that British guy ate that apple or whatever it was he did. Even in the matrix of relativity it still basically holds, especially in a confined space.”
He turned to her, “I know.” Wu Fan-zi slammed his ham of a fist down hard on the car’s horn. It blared and a path through the cyclists slowly opened.
“What are bicycles doing here? I thought this was an expressway.”
“This is Shanghai. Pavement is pavement here.”
Wu Fan-zi drove for a while then asked, “So which exotic?”
She thought about that for a moment then said, “I wonder if it matters.”
“How do you mean?”
“I assume all the exotics are available in Shanghai if you have the contacts to find them and the money to buy them.”
“True.”
“The contacts would be hard to generate but it could be done. But the money involved – I don’t know. Exotics are incredibly expensive, not to mention his little trick with the titanium cage.”
With a final honk they exited the expressway. A silence followed. Wu Fan-zi guided his car expertly through the thick traffic of Hong Qiao Lu moving toward Ya’nan Lu.
Finally she spoke, “Why not ignore the explosive for now and follow the money? You might get lucky.”
Wu Fan-zi almost had an accident as he hurtled the car across three lanes of traffic and screeched it to a halt on the sidewalk. He turned to her, “Explain.”
“The force co-efficient tells us that an exotic combustible was used. Right?”
“Right.”
“Exotic combustibles are expensive.”
“Right.”
“Whoever did this wouldn’t dare carry either the explosive or tons of cash into the country with them, would they?”
“Not if they were in their right mind.”
“Oh, I think there’s very little doubt he’s in his right mind. Not our right mind, but his.”
“Got that.”
“So if he didn’t carry the money he’d have to have it transferred to him here – no?”
Wu Fan-zi nodded.
“This is the People’s Republic of China, isn’t it?”
“Last time I checked.”
“Well, the last time I checked the People’s Republic of China monitored all bank transfers to and from foreigners. No?”
Wu Fan-zi was too busy calling Fong on his cell phone to answer the beautiful woman’s question. When he finished his call he looked at her. “What’s your name?”
“Joan Shui.”
“You look like an actress.”
“I’m not. I’m a cop. May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you married, Wu Fan-zi?”
The stolid man blushed. She liked him even more for that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The lobby of the Shanghai Hilton was awash with cops and hoteliers trying to give their information to those cops. In the midst of the mayhem Fong called in Wu Fan-zi’s suggestion to the section of Special Investigations that monitored banking transactions in and out of the Middle Kingdom. They promised to get right on it.
Fong sat back and watched the mounting chaos around him. He knew that nothing would come from the search for the American tourist with the camcorder or from the people looking into the bank transfers until morning. By midnight they should have some basic data. By dawn it could be narrowed down by removing those who weren’t in Shanghai on the appropriate days or in the case of the camcorder tourist, those who are of the wrong age. By midmorning they’d probably have a list of fifty tourists who vaguely fit the description and double that having hefty bank transfers during the appropriate time period. Preliminary interviews could start by mid- to late morning. There was nothing much for Fong to do until that time.
The banking information and the tourist with the camcorder were his best leads but they were hardly solid and he knew it. So he trebled the security forces at the sixteen hospitals that provided abortion services for the greater Shanghai area and left the Hilton lobby.
Shanghai was beginning to prepare for the evening. Young couples walked arm-in-arm and stole kisses in the shadows. Some right out in the light. How different they were from him and Fu Tsong when they were young and courting. He got into his car and radioed ahead to the nearest of the hospitals. The captain there reported that he had been supplied with a small corps of troops that he had stationed inside and around the hospital’s perimeter. Fong warned him not to talk to reporters. The man acknowledged that he understood. Fong ended his conversation saying, “I want any Caucasian found on the grounds or even near the hospital held for questioning. Is that clear?”
“Totally, sir.”
“Good. I’ll expect a report in the morning.”
“It’ll be there. May I ask a question – sir?”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“Do you think he’ll try again?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t think he’ll try again or no you don’t think he’ll try again because you know he’ll try again?”
Fong allowed a moment of silence then said, “Are you native Shanghanese, Captain?”
“Born and bred.”
“Me too, Captain – so you know the answer to your question, don’t you?”
“The latter.”
“You bet. Keep your eyes open – especially around surgery rooms with windows.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fong hung up and dialled the second hospital on the list. He went through the same procedure. After contacting the last of the sixteen hospitals he headed home. But even as he parked his car, he knew he wasn’t heading toward Lily and Xiao Ming. He was heading toward his one place of true calm, his only real sanctuary in Shanghai, the decrepit old theatre on the academy’s campus that had been his first wife’s, Fu Tsong’s, favourite place to perform.
While Fong waited for rehearsal to begin he leafed through the newspapers he’d bought outside the academy grounds at the kiosk run by the smiling boy with the bad teeth. Fong had bought papers there for years. Of late he’d noticed a distinct change in the young man. Now the boy called himself an entrepreneur and had raised the price he was charging for the papers. Fong wasn’t about to pay any more than was required.