The Interior (35 page)

“He was ready to bring her home to meet his family,” David said. “He was trying to get her out of the country. He may have been crazy, but I think he must have been in love too.”

David turned and looked out the window. Hulan could see the impatience in his features. The traffic wasn’t moving at all. She leaned forward and spoke a few words into Lo’s ear, urging him to find another route. When she sat back, David said, “But to what lengths was he willing to go? When I was talking to Anne, I thought Keith had given his papers to the government. This would have violated his duty as an attorney, but I think they would have been enough to get Miaoshan out. If they are some kind of key, they would have opened a massive federal investigation into…Well, into your company, Henry, and Tartan. Seven hundred million is a lot of money. The Tartan and Knight stockholders would need to be answered to. There would have been the various corruption charges.”

“I’m telling you, Sun is innocent,” Henry repeated for what seemed the millionth time this morning.

“Sun wouldn’t have been the target of a federal investigation, Henry, but you and to a different extent Tartan would have,” David said. “But Keith didn’t give the key to Rob. Keith loved Miaoshan, but he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything he’d worked for to have her.”

“Then why was he so upset the night you had dinner with him?” Hulan asked. “If he’d made his decision, why worry?”

“Because Pearl already knew about Miaoshan’s papers and probably told him so,” he answered. “Because Keith knew that he’d lost the love of his life, that everything was going to come to light, and that there wasn’t much he could do about it.”

Henry cleared his throat. “I’m not used to this sort of thing, but if you don’t mind my saying so, I think how Miaoshan got those papers is important.”

David and Hulan looked over at the older man questioningly.

“If what you say is true—that none of this would be happening if that Pearl woman hadn’t gotten these papers—then whoever gave them to Miaoshan in the first place had a strong motive to destroy…” He faltered, then finished up with, “To destroy me, I guess.” David instantly thought of how Sun had used those exact same words last night. Henry went on uncertainly. “I mean, wouldn’t you have to say that was the case? That this was some kind of plant by Tartan to get my company on the cheap?”

David and Hulan looked at each other, absorbing this new angle. Then Hulan leaned forward again and spoke in rapid Mandarin to Lo. He made a U-turn, swerved up a side street, and began beeping the horn.

“What’s happening?” Henry asked.

“We’ve got to get over to the Holiday Inn,” Hulan said. “What you say has truth. Part of that truth is that Pearl and Guy have accomplished what the killer wanted them to do. Since that’s so, their lives are in danger. We must try to warn them.”

“That snake of a woman?” Henry asked.

“Um,” Hulan agreed, “but we must.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the downtown Holiday Inn or, rather, they got within a few yards of it. Police cars and ambulances blocked the parking area and porte-cochere. Bellboys in bright uniforms decorated with gold braid and passersby gawked as the managers of the hotel argued with the policemen to please move their vehicles. Amidst all this was a large contingent of plainclothes agents from the Ministry of Public Security.

“We’re not going in there!” Henry half yelped when he saw David open the door. “You have to figure they’re dead, right? We’re too late.”

Hulan grabbed his arm and gave the older man a not-so-gentle push. “We’re absolutely going in there, Mr. Knight, and you’re going to lead the way. You’re the VIP-er. Do what you’re supposed to do—bluster, bluster, bluster. We’ll be right behind you.”

And so, with Henry Knight out in front, they walked straight into the air-conditioned lobby of the hotel. When a young Beijing policeman tried to stop them, Henry said imperiously, “I don’t understand.” When the policeman, seeing that Hulan was Chinese, said they weren’t permitted to pass, she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and David said, “We’re in a hurry! Business meeting! Foreigners! Foreigners!” Henry boldly pushed past the policeman and walked to the bank of elevators with David and Hulan following close behind. As the elevator doors closed, they saw the policeman face front as though he’d never let anyone past.

“Which floor?” Henry whispered, then colored as he realized no one else was on this car.

“We’ll go to the top and work our way down the stairs,” Hulan said.

Of course, the stairs weren’t air-conditioned, and by the time they’d gone down five flights they were all sweating. Hulan worried about Henry—a heart attack was the last thing they needed—but he seemed spry enough. On the other hand, the same lethargy that had gripped her in David’s office now came back full force, and she wished she could step into one of the air-conditioned hallways, find a room, and lie down.

They continued down, opening the fire doors and checking for activity. On the ninth floor they found what they were looking for. Hulan wiped the sweat from her forehead with a tissue and said to her companions, “Follow me, but don’t say anything.”

She pulled out her MPS credential, stepped into the hallway, and walked purposefully down the hall. A policeman sat with his back against the wall, looking green, beside him a splash of vomit. A few of his buddies stood around in support, offering by turns cigarettes and bottled water. But the truth was, they looked none too well themselves. It must be bad, Hulan thought, very bad.

At the door to the room Hulan held up her credential, although the person guarding it was well known to her. Yang Yao had worked at the Ministry of Public Security for almost thirty years, but he’d never risen above the rank of investigator third grade. An announcement of his impending retirement had recently circulated around the office. It was about time. Still, Hulan had hoped he’d be here. Yang was slow and infinitely dumb, which was why he was always assigned to watch the door instead of investigate. He nodded to Hulan and made not one movement and said not one word to prevent the foreigners from going in after her.

The smell of death even in this highly air-conditioned environment assaulted them: the rustiness of blood, the sour odors of excrement, the nervous perspiration of the officers in the room. All death was gruesome—even for those who supposedly died peacefully in their sleep—but even Hulan, who’d seen more murder scenes than she cared to remember, had a hard time processing what had happened to Pearl Jenner and Guy Lin.

They were on the double bed together, both naked. They looked to be involved in some sort of sexual act, although Hulan couldn’t fathom the wheres and hows of such an act. Pearl’s wrists and ankles were bound together behind her by a length of rope. The rope had also been looped around her neck, stretching her whole body back—knees pulled open to accommodate the inhuman position—so that her private parts would have been totally exposed if not for the other victim positioned against her. From the knots that bound Pearl’s ankles, the rope led to the other victim. Guy Lin was bound in much the same position, his loins pressed to Pearl’s.

In her weakened state Hulan felt the blood drain from her head, and she thought she might faint. Then behind her she heard shallow panting. With great effort she pulled herself together and turned to escort David back out of the room. Only it wasn’t David. He was fine—as fine as could be expected given the spectacle—but Henry had gone completely white and was trembling like the old man he was.

“Investigator Yang,” Hulan commanded imperiously. “Take this man to the hall. Find him some tea and a chair.” Yang did as he was told. As she turned back to the hideous tableau, she saw that David had edged closer to the bed where Pathologist Fong squatted, gloves on, bifocals perched on his nose. When Hulan approached, Fong looked up and beamed.

“They always send you out to see the pretty ones, hey, Inspector?” Fong said in heavily accented English for David’s benefit. Fong didn’t stand up. He never liked to be reminded how much shorter he was than Hulan. To cover this, Fong cocked his head back toward the bodies. “Foreigners,” he grunted. “The propaganda tells us they are decadent, but you have to see something like this before you really believe it is true.”

“How long have they been dead?” Hulan asked.

“That’s my inspector!” Fong announced cheerfully to the room. “We have a case of autoerotic death, and she wants to know how long they’ve been dead!”

Some of the others in the room, who were dusting for fingerprints, looking through luggage, and picking through the trash receptacle, chortled. Hulan was not amused.

Fong rocked back on his haunches. “Two hours at most.”

“How were they discovered?”

“The maid came in. Imagine what she thought!” Fong grinned again, then finally turned serious. “Last year I went to an international symposium on forensic medicine in Stockholm. They had a panel on autoerotic death. I went—curious. I had never seen a case myself, but I’d read about it in foreign literature.”

He pointed at the bodies and assumed a scholarly tone. “You see how it works, don’t you? With every one of his thrusts, her ropes are pulled tighter. Every time he pulls back, his ropes are pulled tighter. The lack of air is supposed to heighten sexual pleasure. People die like this all the time in the West,” he said more in wonder than disapproval.

Neither Hulan nor David enlightened Fong about his misconception.

“But you see the problem, don’t you, Inspector?”

Hulan stared at the bodies. The faces were purple. Pinpricks of broken blood vessels dotted the whites of their eyes, their faces and necks. Hulan shook her head.

Fong glanced over at David. “But you do.”

“I think so,” David said. “I understand the anatomy of what’s happened here, but who tied the knots?”

“Precisely!”

Hulan, blaming her queasiness on her pregnancy, looked numbly at the two men, while David wondered where her mind was. She was usually so far ahead of him in these matters.

“Pretend you’re going to have this kind of sex,” David said. “You want to heighten your experience of orgasm. You cut off your partner’s blood supply. Maybe she cuts off yours. Maybe you rig something that will help both of you. But look, Hulan, look at how they’re bound. Once she’s tied, she can’t tie him and there’s no way he could do that to himself. It’s murder made to look like a sexual mistake.”

“I agree,” Fong said. “But when I get them back to the lab, I will test for semen just to make sure. I will send you the report…”

These words jolted Hulan. Fong didn’t know about her problems. Either that or he knew but chose not to mention them, which was completely out of character. When things were bad, her colleagues enjoyed making furtive asides just loud enough so that she could hear them. But this morning no one had stopped her or even questioned her about the story that was on the television and in the newspaper. This could only mean that Zai or someone higher wanted her to see this.

“One last question, Pathologist Fong. Has the team found a satchel or any papers?”

“Passports and the like. It’s a very clean room except for this.”

With that, Hulan pulled on David’s sleeve. Without good-byes they left the room, picked up a pale Henry Knight in the hall, rode the elevator down, and walked back into the brutal heat without one person stopping them or making a single comment.

“Did the same person kill all of these people?” David asked when they got back in the car.

“I think the better question is, are we supposed to think so?” Hulan replied. “Are we supposed to take that scene at face value—a mistake of sexual deviance? Or are we intended to recognize it as a cleverly staged murder?”

The car pulled onto the toll road. The traffic cleared immediately, and Lo was able to drive at a steady, though still restrained, pace.

“I assumed murder,” David said, “because it was so obvious, so dramatic. He wanted to flaunt what he was able to do.”

“Jesus Christ!” Henry exploded. “What’s wrong with you people? What we saw in there…God, it was horrific!”

“Is it the same person?” David repeated, totally ignoring Henry’s outburst.

“If you look at the modus operandi, it could be. Suffocation has been the key. Miaoshan—hung from a rope. Pearl and Guy—also hung by a rope.”

“But Keith and Xiao Yang were different,” David said.

“Yes, theirs were more physical deaths—hitting someone with a car, throwing someone from a roof. To me, those murders imply a person with a desire for a
physical
act, while the suffocation and ropes suggest a tighter mind, someone who wants to be
hands-on
during the project, someone who wants to feel and watch the breath stop. So to my mind, this could be one person who’s acquired a taste for murder and is embellishing the methods by which he kills, or it could be two or more people. We just don’t know yet.”

The car slowed as it got off the toll road. The airport wasn’t set up for private planes. There was no VIP lounge or even a private airfield. Instead, those few people who flew into China on private or government jets used a side entrance—the same one used by maintenance—to reach the tarmac. Up ahead they could see the guardhouse that protected that entrance and the two People’s Liberation Army soldiers in their summer greens with machine guns draped over their shoulders flanking it. Lo asked, “What do you want me to say?”

Hulan looked over at Henry. “You know what to do,” she said.

Henry shrank into his seat.

“You want to help Sun?” David asked. “The only way we’re going to do that is if we get on your plane.”

Henry nodded, resigned. It was one thing to talk bravely about saving an old friend, David thought sympathetically. It was another to risk arrest in China.

The car moved forward. When they reached the gate, Henry pushed a button and his window glided down. The guard approached, surly and stiff, but before he could speak, Henry snapped his fingers and said loudly, “Come over here, boy.”

The guard glanced over the roof of the car at his companion. What impertinence was this? his look seemed to say.