Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Perhaps I just believe in justice,” I said. “But you’re right. The case has nothing to do with me. I won’t bother you again.”
Twenty-six
I walked very fast down the rest of the Elizabeth Street, my mind brimming with things that I would have liked to say to the smarmy Captain Kear. No wonder Daniel didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. I was relieved that I had managed to keep my temper. And of course the moment I was safely away from the police station I had regrets about ever going there in first place. It hadn’t been the wisest thing to do. What if Captain Kear really did complain to the commissioner about Daniel? It wasn’t that long ago since Daniel himself had been suspended and in disgrace. I shouldn’t have done anything to further jeopardize his career.
More disturbing thoughts went through my head as I walked faster and faster toward Mott Street. I had been told that the Sixth Precinct officers accepted bribes from the Chinese community. What if Bobby Lee, or whoever the real killer was, was paying Captain Kear enough money to pin this crime on someone who couldn’t defend himself, like Frederick?
If I went to the Tombs, would they let me see Frederick, I wondered. Almost certainly not, and such an act would be bound to get back to Daniel. The only way I could make Daniel take over this investigation was if I could prove Frederick’s innocence or find out who really pushed Lee Sing Tai off that roof. And I really had no idea how to do that. But the one thing I could do was to see if I could rally the decent members of the Chinese community to help Frederick. Surely the Chius might know of a lawyer who would take his case?
I felt a growing sense of unease as I entered Mott Street even though the scene was livelier than usual today, with men sitting on stoops, standing outside restaurants drinking tea, or shopping at the stores that were all open in spite of the Labor Day holiday. Again I couldn’t see any women among the crowd until I heard a voice blaring from a megaphone and Chuck Connors came into the street with another of his slumming tour groups. Like the one I had seen before, this one was composed of more women than men and their eyes were wide with anticipation as they followed their leader into the forbidden world of Chinatown.
“I am going to show you a scene of such vile depravity that some of you ladies may need to find your smelling salts before we enter,” he was saying as he led them to the fake opium den. I have to admit that my curiosity was piqued. What did an opium den actually look like? As they disappeared into a doorway and down a flight of stairs, I acted on impulse and followed the last members of the tour. They were a young couple, the girl clutching her sweetheart’s arm desperately.
“Do you really think we should do this?” she whimpered. “What if someone tries to kidnap me? What if we breathe the opium fumes and we’re overcome or robbed?”
“I’m here to protect you, Daisy,” he said, looking down at her with concern.
“Will we not be putting ourselves in danger?” a woman at the front of the pack asked.
“Don’t worry, madam,” Connors replied in a low voice. “Those poor wretches we’re going to see won’t even notice we’re here. They are under the power of the drug.”
Our footsteps echoed down the narrow stairwell. At the bottom we came into a dimly lit area. Smoke swirled around one hissing lamp, so it was hard to see what lay beyond, but I could make out wooden platforms around the walls. Figures lay on them, some smoking from long pipes, others lying in a stupor. At intervals around the room braziers glowed. Although I knew it was not a true opium den, I felt a rush of fear. The air was cloying with scented smoke and suddenly I felt that I couldn’t breathe. I turned and tiptoed back up the stairs as Connors’s voice said in a hushed stage whisper, “They are all in the land of their dreams. For the moment they are happy. They have escaped from their troubles. But the moment the drug wears off, they will have to repeat the process. Once smoked, the drug takes over their lives. They will never escape from it, never be free.”
I came out into the fresh air and stood catching my breath, ashamed of my momentary panic. It wasn’t like me to be so easily frightened, especially when I knew that the scene had been staged for the benefit of the tourists and the moment they departed the actors would go back to their normal lives. But there was something about the place—some undercurrent of danger that I had picked up. I put it out of my mind and went straight to the Chius’ residence.
In response to my knock the door was opened by a tall young man. He was so like Frederick Lee in appearance that I gasped out, “Frederick?”
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, and I realized that the similarity was in the Eurasian features and this boy was younger and skinnier.
“You must be Mrs. Chiu’s son who is attending Princeton,” I said. “My name is Murphy. I wondered if I might speak to your parents?”
“Who is it, Joe?” a man’s voice called from beyond the screen.
“An Irish lady, dad. Mrs. Murphy,” the boy called back. “Wants to speak to you and mom.”
“From the church or the missions?”
“Didn’t say.”
“I’ll be right there,” the man’s voice said, and a slightly built Chinaman came around the screen, straightening his ascot.
I held out my hand to him. “Molly Murphy,” I said. “I had the pleasure of meeting your wife the other day and I wondered if I could have a word with you both.”
“Come in,” he said, ushering me through the hallway. “Aileen,” he called. “You’ve got company.”
“I’m just finishing up in here,” Mrs. Chiu’s voice came from the far end of the passage.
“Take a seat. She’ll be coming right away.” Mr. Chiu escorted me to the sofa. I sat. “If you’ve come to visit, I’m afraid this isn’t a good time. We’re just about to go out,” he said. Although his words were slightly clipped and staccato, his English was remarkably good. “We take a picnic to Staten Island with friends from church today.”
“How lovely. It’s a perfect day for a picnic,” I said. “I won’t keep you long. I came actually because I need some help and your wife is the only person I know in Chinatown whom I felt I could approach.”
At that moment Aileen Chiu came into the room, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her good clothes. “Sorry, I was just finishing making the egg sandwiches,” she said. Her face broke into a smile when she saw me. “Why, it’s you, Miss Murphy. How nice to see you again. But I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time. We’re just on our way out. We’re meeting friends at the Staten Island ferry. We always share a picnic with members of our church on Labor Day.”
“I’m sorry. Of course I won’t keep you then,” I said. “Perhaps I could come back later today when you get home?”
“We usually stay pretty late,” she said, giving her husband a worried glance. “What is this about?”
“You remember the young man you saw me with the other day, Frederick Lee?” I said. “You thought he was my sweetheart?”
“Of course I remember. I used to know his mother before she passed away, God rest her poor soul,” Aileen Chiu said.
I took a deep breath. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Frederick has been arrested for the murder of Lee Sing Tai. They are holding him in the Tombs.”
“Holy Mother of God,” Aileen Chiu muttered. “We heard about Mr. Lee being killed, of course, but I don’t think we knew he was murdered, did we, Albert?”
“There were rumors going around On Leong, but nobody knew anything definite,” Mr. Chiu said. “So they’ve arrested Frederick Lee, have they? That’s too bad.”
“I’m sure he’s innocent,” I said. “So I wondered if you might know how to obtain a lawyer for him. I don’t believe he’ll get a fair hearing otherwise. I suspect that Captain Kear wants to pin it on Frederick because he’s not connected to one of the tongs.”
“Captain Kear. I might have known,” Aileen Chiu said, smoothing her hands down her apron. “That man’s nothing but trouble. He’s given Albert his share of grief, hasn’t he, my dear, because Albert won’t go along with bribing the police.”
“Let’s not go into that,” Albert said curtly. “So Frederick Lee is being held in the Tombs and you want us to find a lawyer to represent him?”
“A good lawyer,” I said. “I just wondered if you knew such a person. I don’t know how much Frederick could pay, but I hate to think of him being browbeaten into a confession because he has nobody to speak for him.”
“Quite right,” Albert Chiu said. “Don’t worry, Miss Murphy. I will try to do something about this. I will ask my fellow church members today and if they can’t come up with anybody, then I will go to CCBA tomorrow. They will certainly find someone to represent him.”
“CCBA? What’s that?” I asked
“It is the Consolidated Benevolent Association. It looks after the welfare of Chinese citizens.”
“For a price,” Aileen muttered.
Albert frowned at her.
“Well, it does,” she said defiantly. “You have to pay CCBA if you want to open a business in Chinatown.”
“Isn’t that just like one of the tongs, then?” I asked.
“Oh, no,” Albert said. “It’s how the tongs started out. Now they’re too busy trying to destroy each other and demand protection money from us businessmen. At least the CCBA is not crooked. They will probably pay to hire a lawyer for Frederick Lee.”
“Unless someone in On Leong like Bobby Lee pays them not to,” Aileen said.
“Hush, woman. Do not speak of something you know little about,” Albert said. “My word is respected in this community. If I ask for help, I will receive help. You need not worry, Miss Murphy. I will do my best for a fellow Chinese.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
“How do they know that Lee Sing Tai was murdered?” Albert Chiu asked. “From what I heard, he fell from the roof where he had been sleeping.”
“Someone pushed him from the roof,” I said.
“How do they know this? Was there a witness?”
“He had a wound to the side of his head,” I said. Even as the words came out I realized that I was probably the one who had caused all this trouble. If only I had kept quiet about noticing the wound. If only I had not insisted that Lee Sing Tai had been murdered, then Captain Kear would probably have been happy to let the death be ruled accidental. As usual I had spoken too hastily, without thinking through the consequences, and it was my fault that Frederick Lee was now locked up in the Tombs.
“Is that so?” Mr. Chiu nodded. “So it is believed that someone struck him first and then threw him to his death?”
“You see, I knew it,” Aileen Chiu said triumphantly. “I knew there had been a death that night. What did I tell you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, we were sleeping on our roof too,” Aileen Chiu said. “And our Kitty woke up and said she thought she saw an angel. So I said to Albert—it’s come down from heaven to take somebody, you mark my words. And I was right.”
“Your Kitty saw an angel? On Mr. Lee’s rooftop?” I asked.
“She couldn’t exactly pinpoint it to Mr. Lee’s rooftop, but it was one of those buildings farther down the block. Her father thought she’d dreamed it, of course, but she was quite insistent. It was either an angel or a fairy, she said.”
“Did she say what this angel looked like?” I tried to keep my voice steady.
“A little dainty spirit thing, like a young girl with white wings, and it flew from one roof to the next.”
Twenty-seven
I ran all the way back to the El station on Chatham Square, driven by my anger. I stood, seething, on the railway platform, waiting for a train that didn’t come. Finally it dawned on me that today was a public holiday and the train schedule would be curtailed. I ran down the steps again, not willing to wait any longer, threw caution to the winds, and hailed myself a cab.
I had to get back to Patchin Place immediately. I had to confront her. I didn’t stop to think that if she had killed once before, most efficiently, she could do so again if cornered. I was so furious at having been taken in by her.
Poor little Bo Kei—please do what you can to help Frederick. I know he’s innocent.
Well, of course he was innocent if she had killed Lee Sing Tai herself. Unless she had persuaded or driven him to help her. She had demonstrated just how forceful she could be. And he was besotted with her. A man will do a lot for a woman he loves, especially if there is only one way for them to be together and that involved hurling her husband from a rooftop.
There was still the question of the big workman’s boots. Frederick was a clerk, and his sort didn’t wear hobnail boots. But then I had never actually studied his feet. He could have inherited the shoe size of his European mother. He could have worn those boots that night to throw us off the scent. I dismissed that notion right away. Who would be aware that the tar on the rooftop might become soft enough to leave imprints after a hot day?
But if Bo Kei had killed Mr. Lee, she would surely have needed an accomplice to help her carry the unconscious Lee Sing Tai to the edge of the roof. And in my cursory examination I had seen no sign in the dust and dirt up there of a body having been dragged. And what better accomplice than her beloved Frederick? I realized with utter mortification that I had probably been duped yet again.
No, that wasn’t quite true. I had made poor judgments. I had assumed that she and Frederick were innocent because they seemed like nice, wholesome young people. And yet Daniel had reminded me more than once that murderers don’t look like villains. I came to the conclusion that my anger was directed at myself as much as at Bo Kei.
As the cab came to a halt at the entrance to Patchin Place I felt a sudden spasm of fear. In my mind as I had traveled northward, Bo Kei had become a dangerous monster, not just a frightened and desperate girl. What if she had killed my friends—stolen their jewels and run off? I overpaid the cabby in my haste and teetered in my impractical lady’s shoes over the cobbles to their front door. Why, oh, why did they not make sensible shoes for women? I’d willingly have worn hobnail boots. I knocked on the front door, waited for what seemed an age, then let out a huge sigh of relief as Sid answered it.