Five-Ring Circus (25 page)

Aldwych shook his head. “No, but we didn't search the place. We just knocked on the door, they opened it and we walked in.”

“They opened it, just like that? They didn't ask who you were?”

“Oh sure. Blackie said he was the house maintenance man. They're not very smart, those kids. The girl opened the door right away and, like I say, we just walked in.”

“Were they surprised? Scared?”

“Yeah, I think they might of been. They recognized me, the two young blokes. They might of been upset, too, when they saw Blackie with his gun.”

“It'd upset me,” said Clements, then looked at Gail. “Okay, Gail, have a few words with Li Ping. Tell her she's got nothing to worry about.”

“Has she?” asked Gail.

Clements looked at Malone, then back at Gail. “That depends what Scobie's gunna ask her when he gets around to her.”

Gail nodded appreciatively, smiled at her two seniors, then went out and across to Sheryl and the young Chinese girl.

Aldwych said, “I can't get used to women Ds. They wouldn't of lasted a week in my day.”

“Some of them are tougher than we are,” said Malone. “I might give Constable Lee half an hour with you.”

“How'd you get on to the kids, Jack?” asked Clements.

“I'm sworn to secrecy.” Aldwych was enjoying himself, though disappointed. He was certain he would have got more out of Li Ping and her boy friends than the police would.

“Who rents them the apartment?” said Malone. “The manager said they just moved in there, no reference to him. It's owned by some firm called Hoop Investments. That wouldn't be you, would it?”

“You're barking up the wrong tree, Scobie.”

“
We do that quite a lot, but sooner or later we find the right tree. Come on, Jack, it won't take us long to find out who Hoop Investments are.”

Aldwych took his time; then: “Ray Brode.”

“Councillor Brode?” said Malone, and looked at Clements. “Why ain't I surprised?”

Aldwych was surprised. “You mean you knew he was mixed up in all this?”

“No, Jack. It's just that I feel we're in a circus and circuses are full of surprises. Don't you feel like that, Russ?”

“Oh, indubitably.”

“Indubitably?” Aldwych had a little difficulty with the word.

“It's the new Service policy,” said Clements. “We're supposed to sound as if we had a tertiary education.”

“All the lawyers who tried to send me to jail had tertiary education. Last count, three of
them
were in jail.”

The small exchange had relaxed the atmosphere. Malone, almost against his will and certainly against his training, had over the past few years come to accept Jack Aldwych. But he was under no illusion: the relationship was a cobweb spun over the past, but which still had menace for the present. If it came to a crunch, Aldwych would take care of Number One; others, including Malone, would be taken care of in another sense. It was politics of the personal, which can be just as self-serving as the other sort.

“Have you spoken to Brode?”

“No.” He had, but that had been months ago on the matter of the four extra levels on Olympic Tower. Madame Tzu had done most of the talking, but it was Aldwych's and Les Chung's money that had had the final word.

“Leave him to us, Jack.” Malone stood up, eased his back. This case was like cold weather, stiffening his joints. “We'll let you know if we get anything out of the Chinese kids. Oh, and tell Blackie to put his gun away in a drawer and throw away the key. Why didn't he hand it in during the gun amnesty?”

“
He must of forgot. He ain't as young as he used to be.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, indubitably.” His grin, if nothing else, was youthful.

When he and Blackie Ovens had gone, Malone said, “Why do I like the old bugger so much?”

“He's an honest crim,” said Clements. “If he was gunna stab you in the back, he'd turn you around first and tell you. This city's full of bastards who wouldn't do that.”

“I like you, too. You're such a comfort.”

He went out into the big room and across to where Gail, Sheryl and Li Ping sat at the desk. One or two other detectives were at their desks, but most of Homicide were out on other cases or, the dread of all cops, in court awaiting their call.

The two women detectives went to stand up, but Malone waved them down, took a chair and sat down with them, across from Li Ping.

“Have you told our two ladies anything, Miss Li?”

She was pretty in a flat-featured sort of way that only lately had he come to appreciate. Most of his life, from the time he had discovered girls, he had looked for fine bones, expressive eyes, preferably heavy-lidded, and a full sensual mouth. Not all the girls he had known had had those qualities, though most of them had been sensual in other places. Then Lisa, who had all the qualities, had come along and established his standard for all time. It was she, running Asian movies on SBS, the multicultural channel, who had pointed out to him that not all beauties were Western.

“What should I tell them?” It hadn't occurred to him to ask whether she spoke English; he chided himself for his stupid, narrow outlook. Her English was careful, though; or maybe it was just she who was careful. “I do not have anything to tell.”

Malone looked at Gail and Sheryl. “What have you asked her?”

“Only why she and her boy friends suddenly disappeared,” said Sheryl.

“And what did you say, Miss Li?”

“We were frightened. Very much afraid.” She did not appear very frightened at the moment,
though
she was not totally relaxed.

“What of?”

“The murders.”

“The Chinatown murders? Or the murder of your brother Zhang Yong?”

She looked sideways at him: carefully. “Who told you he was my brother?”

“Okay, not your blood brother. You were the adopted one. By General Huang. Right?”

“Who told you all this?” As if police were not entitled to pry into family matters.

“We told each other,” said Malone, and Gail and Sheryl smiled. “When did the general adopt you?”

“When I was very small, a baby. His wife wanted a girl. She was very good to me, till she died.”

“And things haven't been so good since then?”

She didn't answer, just sat staring at him:
decide your own answer.
He said, “Do you know who your natural mother was?”

“No.”

He fired an arrow wildly into the air: “Was it Madame Tzu?”

Gail and Sheryl raised their eyebrows, but he ignored their look. Aimless arrows occasionally hit a target.

But not this time: Li Ping shook her head at his stupid imagination. “You must be joking!” “Righto, let's say I am.” Then he stopped joking: “Where were you when your brother was murdered?”

It hit home; she flinched. “I—I was with my boyfriend.”

“Who is?” But he knew.

“Guo Yi.”

“And where were the two of you?”

“In Chinatown. At—” She named the largest restaurant in the area, one that could seat a thousand diners.

“
A pretty big place. I don't suppose you would have been noticed by anyone? Not by the waiters?”

“I do not know. Why should we wish to be noticed?”

This girl is smart: too smart.
“Where did you spend the rest of the night?”

“We went home to our flat at Cronulla. We slept together, if that is your next question.”

“When did you learn your brother had been murdered?”

She did not flinch this time. “We heard it on the radio.”

“And that was when you decided to disappear? When did Tong Haifeng join you?”

“We met him at the apartment in The Mount. He arranged it all.”

“With Mr. Brode?” Her face remained blank. “The owner of the apartment.”

“I suppose so.”

Malone changed tack: “What was to be done with all the millions in your and Zhang's accounts?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? Twenty-three million dollars in your account and no one told you what it was for. Come
on,
Miss Li. You were stupid—” She looked up sharply at that. “Well, you were, weren't you? You and whoever sent the money. Didn't you think so much money would instantly make the bank suspicious?”

She was wearing slacks, a white shirt and a sleeveless brocaded vest. She fumbled in her pockets, but came up empty-handed; then murmured
Thanks
as Sheryl handed her a tissue. She blew her nose, looked at the tissue, then folded it neatly and put it in her pocket. She's stalling, thought Malone and waited patiently.

“I had nothing to do with the transfer of the money,” she said at last. “It just arrived.”

“And the bank rang you to tell you?”

“No. I happened to go to the bank the day it arrived.”

Malone looked at Sheryl, who said, “We've been in touch with your bank, Ping. You went to
the
bank three days in a row, asking if money had arrived.”

Li Ping sat very still. She had a slim figure and long legs; there was nothing of the squat peasant about her. She came from the north, she had told Gail Lee, but she had not named a town or village where her natural mother had borne her: because, she had said, she did not know. As the questioning had proceeded she had sat up straighter; there was now an air to her almost of defiance. As if to say that, after all, she was a general's daughter. Adopted, sure, but that meant she had been chosen.

“Why wasn't the money sent to General Huang?” Malone asked. “He had the Bund Corporation account.”

“I do not know.” Her English had suddenly become careful again. “He was not here in Sydney when they told me the money was in my account.”

“And in Zhang's?”

“I suppose so. Zhang and I were not speaking to each other.” She was prim.

“And General Huang didn't come to see you when he arrived?”

“No.”

“Did he go to see Zhang?”

“Probably. He always saw him first.”

“When was he to see you?”

“We were to meet on Saturday morning. He was murdered on Friday night.”

“Did your boy friends know about the money?”

“I do not discuss everything with them.” Even primmer.

“Miss Li, we know Guo Yi is your live-in boyfriend. You mean to tell us you suddenly have twenty-three million dollars in your bank account and you don't mention it to him?”

She stared at him, said nothing. All at once Malone had had enough of her; she would keep. He stood up. “I'll talk to Guo, maybe he'll be a bit more co-operative.”

“May I go now?” She seemed totally unconcerned about her boyfriend or how co-operative he might be.

“
You don't want to wait for your friends?”

“They will know where to find me.”

“But we mightn't. Stay a little longer, Miss Li. Detective Lee will make you some tea.”

She looked at Gail. “I'd prefer coffee.”

Another section of the Great Wall.
But Malone just grinned at her and walked across to the first interview room where Andy Graham was keeping Guo Yi company. As soon as Malone walked into the room the young Chinese looked up at the video camera that recorded interviews.

Malone shook his head. “It's not turned on, Mr. Guo. We only do that when we have a suspect. Do you think you're a suspect?”

“No.”

“Good. What have you told Detective Graham?”

Guo gestured. “Nothing. But he's been very friendly.”

Andy Graham grinned and Malone said, “He's the friendliest man on my staff. I'll try and be friendly, too.” He sat down opposite the young Chinese. “Why did you disappear at the weekend?”

Guo Yi was just above medium height with more weight and muscle than Malone, still trapped by image, expected in a Chinese. He was handsome, almost Western in his looks (again the prejudiced image), with long black hair brushed straight back and a small pearl ear-ring in his left ear. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black Mambo T-shirt and brown deck shoes. After his initial glance at the video camera, he was now composed. Almost coldly so.

Oh Christ, thought Malone, another Great Wall. “Why did you run away, Mr. Guo?”

“We were scared.” His English was more relaxed than Li Ping's. “Wouldn't you be? Four murders, all Chinese? All people we knew.”

“There are other Chinese involved in this case. Mr. Chung, Madame Tzu, Miss Feng, the Sun brothers. They didn't run away.”

Guo shrugged, sitting back in his chair. “None of them come from China.”

“Madame Tzu does.”

He
nodded. “Except Madame Tzu.”

“Is she friendly? I mean, with you?”

“She is very—” he paused for the word “—gracious.”

“But not friendly?”

“She is older. They expect respect, older women.”

“Does she get it? From you?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think all four murders were committed by someone who came from China for that specific purpose? We would call him a hitman.”

“I don't know what to think. But it's probable, don't you think?”

“I'm like you, I don't know what to think. What do you think, Detective Graham?”

Andy Graham shifted his bulk in his chair. He was an amiable young man who had been five years with Homicide and still had his initial enthusiasm. He was clumsy in his movements, a danger to children and fragile women. But he was never clumsy in his thoughts, not when a clear mind counted.

“I think Mr. Guo is lying.”

“There you are, Mr. Guo. Detective Graham doesn't believe in lateral thinking, he goes straight for the obvious.”

Guo stared at both of them, then he nodded at the camera. “Are you going to turn it on now? Am I suddenly a suspect?”