Ryker said, “Forensic evidence is being examined. Hotel staff have been questioned. We’re anxious to speak to the woman who was with him last night. At the moment she’s our prime suspect.”
Han took a half step toward Ryker. Seventy and frail looking, he nonetheless projected an intimidating physical presence. “Who is she? What is her name?”
“If I knew, maybe I’d tell you.”
“If you know, you will tell us!”
Lost Soul Fong said, “How about giving us some space here, grandpa? Getting a little crowded.” He put his hands on his hips, casually opening his jacket to reveal his gun in a hip holster and his detective’s badge clipped to his belt, a less than subtle warning. Lin knew that Han could easily snatch them both before either policeman had a chance to react. Now that would conjure an interesting situation. Han came down off his toes, stepped back to his former position and gave an apologetic half-bow, acknowledging his unforgivable lapse of manners.
“Where is my son now?” Lin asked.
“The coroner has him,” Ryker said. “As soon as they complete their examination they’ll release his body to your family.” He opened his wallet, took out a card and was about to offer this to Lin-but instead turned and offered this to Han, who took it and inclined his head. “The number’s on there. I’d give them until mid-afternoon. Lin Dan will be given priority but he isn’t their only client. We talked to his wife before we came here.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you for that. And for your courtesy. Of course I will inform her when the body becomes available. If there is nothing else, detective sergeant, my manservant will show you out.”
Han gestured to the door, after you, but Ryker said, “Perhaps you’ll permit me to ask a couple of questions, Mr. Lin.”
“What questions?” Lin regretted not taking up the gweizi’s suggestion to go somewhere where he might sit down. There were no chairs in the conservatory. A muscle above his right knee had begun to twitch uncontrollably and the weakness was spreading.
“You’ll appreciate we don’t get many incidents like this. Oh, they appear from time to time. You may remember the Bobbitt case? Wife attacked her husband with a knife after he beat her. He survived, and surgeons were able to make him whole again once they found his piece. But that was Virginia. We’re a little more civilized here; at least I like to think so. That’s why I was wondering, what with your family coming from China, whether the method of his…execution…was something you recognized? I mean no insult and I apologize if I offend you. But you’ll appreciate we’re investigating a murder. Your answer might give us a significant clue.”
Lin shook his head. It took tremendous effort. “I am neither insulted nor offended, detective sergeant. China is a country of many facets. Not all are pleasing to the eye. But the answer is no. I have not encountered such a thing before.” He had no wish to discuss Lin Jong’s death with these strangers. Enough that he had to answer questions from the Shanghai police who were even more insufferable than their Western counterparts.
Lost Soul Fong said, “You ever hear of Lin Yuk-sang?”
“I don’t know that name,” Lin said, although he did know it.
“It’s a pretty famous incident. Happened in Hong Kong, 1986 or ‘87. Lin Yuk-sang’s wife cut off his penis with a pair of scissors when she found out about his mistress. She flushed it down the john. I guess you’re not related.”
“My family is from Shanghai, not Hong Kong,” Lin said, hating him.
“Sorry for bothering you, Mr. Lin,” Ryker said. “I hope you understand the necessity of our intrusion. Please accept our condolences.”
“Maybe Mr. Lin knows what the message means,” Lost Soul Fong said, stopping Ryker as he turned away. A look passed between them and Lin seized its meaning at once: the gweizi hadn’t wished to bring up the subject.
Han obliged by demanding, “What message? What have you not told us?”
Ryker’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly as he surrendered to the inevitable and said, “A message was left on the wall of Lin Dan’s suite at the hotel. It was written in Chinese.” He glanced at Lost Soul Fong.
“Bu zhan bu he,” Fong said immediately.
Lin let the words wash over him. They unlocked memories he’d never expected nor wanted to review again. Parts of his life that he’d put inside black lacquered boxes, then put inside other boxes, never meant to be reopened.
“I’m told it translates to ‘No war, no peace,’” Ryker said. “Do you recognize the phrase, Mr. Lin? Does it mean anything to you?”
“I wish it did,” Lin said. “Especially if it has any bearing upon my son’s death. But I’m afraid I have no idea what it signifies. None at all.”
He was afraid that something in his tone might betray him, but to his relief they accepted the lie without comment and allowed Han to escort them out. As soon as they were gone Lin lurched for the door. He only just made it back to his study where he collapsed into his chair gasping for breath. He squeezed the arm rests until his fingers hurt and the room stopped spinning.
Both my sons are dead.
He wanted to cry but could not. Tears were a luxury he’d given up some time ago, as one of the many prices he’d paid so his family could survive the horrors of the Cultural Revolution and China’s agonizing metamorphosis into a dominant world power, a process that was still ongoing. How many had died during this bloody evolution? The numbers were huge and without meaning. But Lin remembered every single person whose death he had precipitated. How could he possibly forget? The trick lay in isolating these memories. Consigning them to the black lacquer boxes. Pushing them so far back into the darkest recesses of his mind that their murmurings would never bother him again.
Until something entirely unforeseen rose up to strike him on the face and demand the boxes fly open to reveal their grisly contents.
Bu zhan bu he. Lin almost giggled. So absurd. How many years now? How many years? And still the words had returned to haunt him.
He opened his eyes and found Alexsey standing there, his massive hands clasped over the swell of stomach that some might easily mistake for fat but was in fact solid overdeveloped muscle, like the rest of his outsized weightlifter’s body.
“Lin Yubo, I offer my condolences on the death of your son.” Alexsey’s coarse Russian accent had benefited from his time in the United States. So had Lin’s business dealings, thanks to Alexsey’s connections with Russian Mafiya and his friends in the military, which had smoothed out certain problems with deliveries and production behind what was left of the Iron Curtain.
“Who was with my son last night?” Lin said.
“I believe he took the usual woman back to the hotel.”
“Did you have anyone watching him?”
Alexsey stared at the floor. “A misjudgment on my part, for which I apologize.”
Lin slapped the top of his desk. “Nonsense. You were not to know someone intended Lin Dan harm. Find the woman. Han knows her name. If she has not fled the city then she will be with her friends, in Chinatown. Call me when you have found her.”
“You believe she killed Lin Dan?”
Lin pondered that question for a moment. “If not then she may know who did. She was with him. The police do not yet know her identity. I wish to speak to her before they do.”
Alexsey nodded understanding. As turned to go Lin added, “She must not be harmed. If it turns out she had a hand in my son’s death, I’ll deal with her myself.” Alexsey left the study closing the door silently, leaving Lin alone with his grief.