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After an hour of surfing, I got tired of rehashes of the same rumors. Also, the aroma of greed, the focus on the guessed-at value of the brooch, began to bother me. Where was Rosalie in all this, these discussions of colors of jade? Where was Chen Kai-rong, where was the reason the Shanghai Moon had come into existence in the first place?

I logged off. It was possible this was nothing but a big waste of time anyway. Strictly speaking, only Stanley Friedman’s book even suggested a connection between Joel’s death and the Shanghai Moon. Fingering the jade pendant my parents gave me when I was born, I crawled into bed and fell asleep.

11

The Wonder Woman theme song jarred me out of an indistinct, menacing dream. “Oh ho,” I mumbled, finding the phone and sinking back into the pillow. “Hi, Benedict Arnold.”

Mary said, “Sorry to call so late.”

I checked the clock: not quite midnight. “I’m surprised you have the nerve to call me at all.”

“You’re mad I told Bill about Joel.”

“Good guess.”

“But that means you know I told him, which means he must have called you.”

“No wonder you have that gold shield.”

“So what happened?”

“He wormed his way into my office and into the case.”

“And into your heart?”

“Not so fast, sister.”

“Okay, but you’re working together again?”

“Until we find out who killed Joel. Then I’ll see how he’s behaving.”

“So I did the right thing.”

“You think I’d admit that?”

“I wouldn’t, in your position. Anyway, I really hope it works out. But Lydia, that’s not why I called.”

“If you’re checking up on me because of Joel, I’m okay, truly.”

“I still don’t believe that, but I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not why either.”

There was a tone in her voice I was finally awake enough to hear, and I didn’t like it. “Mary? Is something else wrong?”

“It sort of is. We identified my John Doe.”

“Hey, if I weren’t mad at you I’d say, ‘Great’! Did it make you look smart? Who is he?”

“Not that smart. He’s Chinese, but not an illegal. Not an immigrant at all. Lydia, he’s a cop.”

“A cop? You mean from another department, or from like the FBI?”

“I mean from China. From Shanghai.”

“A cop from China?”

“They’d made contact a few days ago, brass to brass, to say he was coming, but that kind of thing doesn’t trickle down to precinct level until the out-of-town cop gets here. This guy never got that far. Shanghai got in touch when he missed a check-in call home.”

“What was he doing here?”

“Chasing a fugitive.”

“And you’re calling me in the middle of the night to tell me this. Wait-the light is dawning. It was my fugitive? He was after Wong Pan?”

“Yes.”

“Oh boy.”

“Oh boy, what?”

“Probably nothing. But there may be more going on than you know about.” I told Mary what Stanley Friedman had told us.

When I was done she was silent for moment. “You’re kidding. A mysterious lost fabulous jewel?”

“Just keep an open mind.”

“If you say so. But you don’t know if Wong Pan has this jewel.”

“No.”

“Or if he does, if Joel knew that.”

“No.”

“Or if it has anything to do with this at all.”

“What happened to that open mind?”

“It’s still ajar. Right now I need to speak to Alice Fairchild. She doesn’t answer her phone at the Waldorf or her cell. How do I find her?”

“Mary, it’s midnight! Maybe she sleeps with earplugs. If you want her, go over there and bang on the door. That’s what Mulgrew would do. Speaking of Mulgrew, did you tell him about the Chinese cop? That’s his case, too, isn’t it?”

“Teed him off. He told me I should have figured it out sooner.”

“You should have?”

“And he’s still clinging to his messenger theory on Joel.”

“He thinks this can possibly be coincidence?”

“More like hopes. He did promise they’ll check the forensics at Joel’s office and the cop’s hotel room.”

“Well, I guess that’s all we can hope for. Mary? What was his name?”

“The Chinese cop?”

“Yes.”

“Sheng Yue. Why?”

“I don’t know. He’s dead. We should at least be calling him by his name.”

After we hung up I stared at the ceiling for a while. I thought about Joel, drinking coffee at the Waldorf; about Alice, remembering how I took my tea; about Rosalie and Kai-rong on the deck of an ocean liner. I thought about calling Bill, and while I was thinking, I suddenly found the room bright with sun. And though I hadn’t noticed myself sleeping, I’d woken with an inspiration. I groped for my phone and speed-dialed Mary. “The cop from Shanghai. Sheng Yue. His hotel room’s the one that was registered to Wu Ming? ‘Anonymous?’ ”

“Good morning to you, too. Yes, that’s right.”

“Why would a cop do that?”

“I wondered that. Probably, Wong Pan knew the Shanghai police were on his trail. Wong Pan’s a civil servant, he might even know Sheng Yue personally. So just in case.”

“Right,” I said. “Thanks.”

“ Lydia! Do not hang up! It sounds lame to me, too. What are you thinking?”

“I’ll tell you if it works out.”

“No.”

“Then come with me.”

“It’s a quarter to seven!”

“So what? Your shift starts at eight. Think of it as overtime.”

Twenty minutes later we were at the Midtown Suites, Mary knew what I was thinking, she’d made this official business, and she was telling me I was lucky she was letting me tag along.

“It was my idea!”

“You’re lucky you have good ideas.”

At the desk, Mary showed the pudgy, bleary-eyed clerk her gold shield. “You had a homicide here a few days ago.”

He nodded. “Five twenty-five. A Chinese cop, I hear.” His look said he was savvy enough to know that’s why two more Chinese cops were in his face right now.

“Were you on duty when the man who took that room checked in?”

“Of course. This is my shift. Midnight to ten.”

“Is this him?”

He peered at the photo. “Of course. Why?”

Of course. The photo was Wong Pan’s.

Out on the sidewalk, Mary called Mulgrew and read him the riot act. I was impressed; my regret was that I couldn’t hear Mulgrew’s end. When Mary lowered the still-smoking phone, she told me, “He says Sheng Yue answered the description of the registered guest.”

“Meaning he was Chinese.”

“This desk clerk who checked him in lives out in Jersey and was off by the time they found the body. Mulgrew asked if anyone still on duty had seen the registered guest. A room service waiter brought him a burger the night before.”