“My father wanted a boy – he got me.”
Fong nodded. That happened. “How long have you worked for Mr. Cowens?”
“Three years now.”
“How good is his Mandarin?”
“He thinks it’s better than it is.”
“They all do, don’t they?” She nodded slightly. “Are you present for most of his business dealings?”
“Most but not all.”
“He illegally trades in antiquities.”
After a slight hesitation she said, “I have confirmed that in my statement.”
“You could go to jail for aiding and abetting his illegal activities.”
“I could go to jail for other reasons too.” She stared straight at him. Not so much a challenge as a weariness of fighting.
“Where does the money go?”
“What money?”
“The money he gets from selling the antiquities?”
“Some goes into the buying of other antiquities that he sells later.”
“And the rest?”
She paused and brought a hand up to her face. He noticed that her teeth weren’t good and although her clothes were clean and attractive they were excessively modest. Modest to his eyes, he reminded himself. She brushed her hand over the front of her skirt and said, more to her hand, than to Fong, “To government officials at first and later to older men and women.”
“What did he want from the government officials?”
“Access to information about Jews in Shanghai during the war.”
“He’s a Jew?”
She nodded.
“Did he get the information he was after?”
“I believe so. His family was here, in Shanghai, during the Japanese occupation and was forced into the ghetto.”
“As were many.”
Again she nodded.
“But now he’s moved on from greasing government officials to buying information from older men and women, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Which older men and women exactly?”
“Those who had worked for Silas Darfun.”
Fong looked at her as if she were mad. “Silas Darfun? The rich Long Nose who raised the orphans and had the Chinese wife?”
She nodded and turned her head to one side. “His house is up by the Hua Shan Hospital. It’s now the Children’s Palace.”
Fong knew that, but it had never had any relevance to him before. He knew that the mansion at Nanjing Lu and Yan’an Lu, now a training centre for artistic children, had originally been owned by a wealthy man with the unlikely name of Silas Darfun.
Fong thanked the translator for her help but as she got up to go he said, “I think it best that you leave your passport here.”
She reached into her handbag and placed her passport on his desk.
He was about to apologize and explain that it was just standard procedure then he remembered the smell of burnt bodies and decided to pass up the niceties.
Chen was at the door as the translator left.
“I hope this is good news, Captain Chen. With your face it’s hard to tell.”
“I’ve been told that, sir.”
“So?”
“We’ve been able to eliminate two of the five men. They were the husbands of women waiting for their wives to have . . . you know.”
“Abortions. It’s time that we all learned to say that word without flinching. So who’s left?”
Chen put three photos on the desk. Two were of middle-aged hard-faced men. One wore worker’s clothes and looked like he had some Uzbek blood in him. The other was well dressed and well groomed. The third man was younger. Much younger. He wore quality but not showy clothing. He carried a briefcase.
“A guess, sir?”
Fong didn’t know. It could be any of these guys or for that matter any of thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of others. “What about the unidentified women?”
“Would a woman do this, sir?”
Fong didn’t know that either. He thought not. But this blasphemy “stuff” was really beyond his comprehension. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I can’t think about that now.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be, Chen. You’re a terrific cop.” And Fong thought but did not say, “And a very fine man.”
Robert turned quickly when Fong entered the office.
“Sit,” Fong said in English.
Robert didn’t for a moment then did. “Who broke your window?”
“I did,” Fong answered.
“Why?” Robert said trying to be upbeat.
“Something pissed me off,” said Fong matter of factly. “Right now, you piss me off, Mr. Cowens.”
“Do I?”
“You do.” Fong flipped open a folio. “You have been illegally trading in antiquities in Shanghai for the better part of three years. Why?”
“To make money.”
“You make much more money from your law practice in Toronto.”
“There’s quite a large Chinese population in Toronto.”
“Is there?” replied Fong wondering what this had to do with anything.
“The largest in North America – mainly Cantonese, though.”
“Is that so?”
“I believe it is.”
“Are you finished with this?”
“This?” Robert queried.
“This stupid diversion. Are you finished with this?”
Robert nodded.
“Good. So why do you bother making pennies trading in antiquities in Shanghai when you make a fortune in your law practice?”
Robert smiled.
“Don’t smile Mr. Cowens, you are in very serious trouble.”
Robert’s smile went away but he was strangely not sad or even frightened. “I trade in antiquities to be able to find information about a family member of mine who spent the war in Shanghai?”
Fong nodded.
“My parents and their daughter Rivkah were in the Shanghai ghetto.”
Fong signalled him to go on.
“I believe my sister was left behind. I’ve been trying to find her or information about her. But it costs money. More money than I am allowed to bring into the People’s Republic of China so I go ‘antiquing’ to raise the money I need.”
So that was the missing data from Mr. Cowens’ file. It linked so many of the pieces together and, more importantly, removed any possibility that Robert might have something to do with the bombings. Of course that conclusion rested on the idea that Robert was telling Fong the truth. Fong would have it checked out but he doubted Robert was lying to him. It was writ large all over the man’s face. For a lawyer he was remarkably bad at keeping his feelings under wraps. “And have you found the information you seek?”
Robert allowed his hands to come up into the air and then flutter down. “No.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
Robert couldn’t believe his ears. Then he heard the edge in Fong’s voice. “And what do I have to do to gain your help in this matter?”
“You are a lawyer, Mr. Cowens.”
“It shows?”
Fong nodded but didn’t smile. He made a decision.
Robert spread his arms in submission then repeated his question, “What do I have to do to gain your help in this matter?”
“Help me find the man who is setting bombs in our hospitals.”
Robert was astounded by the request. “And how would I do that?”
“We believe he ‘antiques’ just as you do to raise his capital.”
Robert thought about that for a moment then rubbed his chin.
“Did you hurt yourself when you stumbled and fell to the pavement?”
Robert didn’t miss the use of the word stumbled in “stumbled and fell to the pavement” and realized his acceptance of that version of the story was part of the deal. Naturally – this was China, after all. “Yeah, a bit,” he said.
“Believe me, Mr. Cowens, that pain is nothing compared to what I can inflict upon you if you don’t help us find this killer.”
“That’s a very persuasive argument. Not elegant but persuasive.”
“I would have thought that helping you find information about your lost sister would have been incentive enough.”
“It is.”
“Good. I have no love of violence, Mr. Cowens.”
“Really! Do you carry a gun?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m an awful shot.”