Gelignite (11 page)

'More or less.' The Commander prided himself that he was never one to hang onto a good theory gone wrong simply because, at the time, it had seemed like a good theory. He said, 'I was wrong about that.' He asked, 'You're the man on the spot—' he paused momentarily, '—what are your feelings?' He said, 'I gather from that strange man Ho that you're following up a lead from Wong. How's it coming?'

'It went. I've just been around to Wong's brother's address and apart from anything else he's been in Macao for the last two weeks looking for work.'

The Commander said, 'I'm holding a news clamp on it all, of course, but I don't know how long it can last.' He said, 'Two or three hundred years ago when I was a young man with a fuzzy moustache on my face and a Major's pips on my shoulders, someone once threw a hand grenade into a Korean fox-hole I was inhabiting. I've never cared too much for bombs since then.' He paused.

Feiffer said, 'And?'

'It failed to go off.' The Commander said, 'In those days it seemed the Chinese weren't too hot at putting together things that went bang.'

Feiffer said, "They appear to have got the hang of it now.'

'I assume you have a man at the Post Office vetting tomorrow's mail?'

'Detective Inspector Spencer.'

'Good.' The Commander said, "The nasty thing about letter bombs is that they have an absolutely unlimited target potential.' He said, 'It's like being kicked in the groin by a total stranger in the middle of a crowded street.' He said, 'I don't suppose a motive has started to emerge yet?'

'I've got a lot of questions, the prime one being why the bomber bothers to tell us in advance about his victims, and the second asking why he puts
political
on his letters when his victims apparently have nothing to do with politics.' He said, 'But I don't have any answers. We're hoping to get one of the bombs intact.'

There was a pause. Feiffer wondered what the man was thinking about in his office in Kowloon, or remembering. He said, 'Commander?'

'Yes?'

'Is there anything else?'

There was another pause. The Commander said, 'No.' He said, 'Thanks, Harry. Goodnight.'

He hung up.

*

O'Yee's voice was going. He was getting terminal laryngitis. He would spend the rest of his life as a prematurely aged old man rasping out monosyllables through parched lips from a brain grown crazed and whiskery from the smarmy tones of elocuted antique dealers. He said to the fourteenth antique dealer on the list in a tone of utter weariness, 'Stuffed toucans? Got any—'—he paused to draw a last shallow breath— '— any stuffed toucans for sale?'

There was a long pause.

O'Yee said feebly, 'Thank you...'

He hung up.

*

In the sorting room of the Hong Bay Central Post Office, Spencer stretched his back. He yawned. There was still an enormous mountain of canvas sacks spread around the sorting tables waiting to be sorted. He found a chair and sat down by a sack marked
Beat 3 Collections, Hong Kong Postal Service
on a yellow label. Spencer turned the label over and back again. The label read
Beat 3 Collections, Hong Kong Postal Service
. Spencer wished he'd brought a paperback.

He glanced around the room. Nothing much to look at. There was another bag on the floor near his chair. He leaned forward to see what the label on that one said.

It said,
Beat 3 Collections, Hong Kong Postal Service
.

At the main sorting table, Mr Choy's fingers went
flick, flick, flick
with the letters going into the pigeonholes. Spencer yawned again. He felt bored—

*

Feiffer's phone rang. It was The Fingerprint Man. The Fingerprint Man said, 'Good evening, Chief Inspector.'

'Good evening.' (No one but O'Yee seemed to know the man's name.) Feiffer asked, 'Have you got anything for us?'

'Not much, I'm afraid.'

'Did you get any good lifts ?'

'Not a one.' The Fingerprint Man said, 'From the little I learnt at school about chemistry I seem to recall that one of the constituents of most commercial explosives is nitric acid.' He said, 'So you can imagine what condition the prints were in.' He said, 'I've got a few partials, but they're not usable from a point of view of identification unless you've already got a complete set for me to match.' He said sympathetically, To make sabre-toothed tiger stew first catch your sabre-toothed tiger.' He said, 'I'm sorry, but I did my best'

'I know that.'

'Is Christopher O'Yee on tonight? I wanted to invite him over to my father's farm at Sheung Shui for the weekend.'

He's on, but he's off on something of his own. I haven't seen him all evening.'

'I'll ring his wife.' The Fingerprint Man said, 'I gather by the way, that you're about to become a father.'

'Yes.'

'How's your wife?'

Feiffer said, 'Unhappy.'

'They always get that way.'

'Do they?'

'Oh, yes.' The Fingerprint Man said, 'No doubt about it. It's perfectly normal.'

Feiffer said, 'How many children do you have yourself?'

There was a brief silence. The Fingerprint Man said, 'Oh, incidentally, I had the handwriting expert here have a quick look at one of the letters—the Leung one—to see if he could come up with anything.'

'And?'

'Nothing, I'm afraid. Just a scrawl. Standard secondary school scribble.' The Fingerprint Man said, 'I thought it was worth a try.'

I appreciate it.' Feiffer said, 'How many children of your own do you have?'

The Fingerprint Man said, 'As a matter of fact, none.' He said, 'Um—' He seemed a little embarrassed, 'Um, it was like the handwriting man, you know . . .' He sounded very embarrassed. He said, 'I was just trying to be helpful.'

Feiffer paused. He said, 'I appreciate it.'

'You do?' The Fingerprint Man said, 'I believe that trying to do good is the most important thing in life.'

'I agree.'

'You do?'

Feiffer said, 'Thanks for ringing.'

The Fingerprint Man said, 'I know an old Korean fortune teller in Khartoum Street. He reads your entire past and future from your handwriting.' He said enthusiastically, 'I'll try one of the letters on him.' He said very quickly, 'I'll be discreet of course.'

'Fine.'

That's OK? You don't mind?'

'It all helps.'

The Fingerprint Man said, 'Great!' He said vigorously, 'I'll get right onto it! 'Bye!' He hung up.

Feiffer put the phone down. Auden asked, 'Who was that?'

'That was the Fingerprint Man.'

Auden nodded. 'Everyone calls him that.' He asked, 'What's his real name? Do you know?'

Feiffer said, 'Albert Schweitzer.'

Auden said, 'Of course it is. I knew I'd heard it somewhere.' He seemed happy he'd remembered.

*

Spencer watched Mr Choy's fingers go
flick, flick
with the letters. He said aloud, 'Prestidigitation.' That was a nice word. He said again to himself, 'Prest-i-dig-itation.'

Leger-de-main.

*

It was a very soft woman's voice, faint, like something very quiet and fragile. Feiffer said into his telephone, 'Hullo? Are you there?'

The soft voice said, 'Is Mr Spencer there to speak to me please?' The voice had an odd accent, not Chinese, softer, from farther away.

Feiffer said, 'I'm afraid Mr Spencer isn't here at the moment. This is Chief Inspector Feiffer speaking.'

'Harry?' the voice broke up into two syllables, testing it.

Feiffer said, 'Who is this?'

The voice said (Feiffer thought, "If I heard a voice like this coming out of a Chinese girl in Hong Kong I'd think she'd been watching too many reruns of Suzie Wong movies"), 'I am Bill's friend, Frances Nu.' She was Burmese.

'Frances?'

'Yes.'

Feiffer tried to recall Spencer mentioning someone named—

He said suddenly, '
Frank
? Are you
Frank
?' He said, 'Good God!'

The soft voice said from a long way away, 'Pardon?'

'I meant I, ah—' Feiffer said, 'Of course I've heard him speak of you.' He said quickly, 'In a discreet way. I have the impression he's rather hiding you away.' He asked, 'Nu is a Burmese name, isn't it?'

'Yes. My family was originally from Rangoon.' She said happily, 'Bill Spencer is from Stratford-upon-Avon in England, did you know that?'

'Is he?'

'Yes.' Frank said, 'Where Shakespeare was born.'

'Oh, yes.'

'I'm studying English literature at the University.' She said, 'It was very fortunate for me.'

'Quite.'

Frances Nu said in her soft voice, 'He's very nice, isn't he?'

'Bill? Very.'

Frank said, 'I worry about him. He's much too nice to associate with criminals, don't you think?'

'Yes.' Feiffer said, 'We try to give him the less sordid jobs.' He asked, 'Have you known him long?'

'Not long.' Frances Nu said, 'I telephone him every day.' She asked, 'Is that allowed?' She said, 'Bill says you are the best man he has ever met so I thought you wouldn't mind.'

At that point Feiffer thought he wouldn't have minded if she rang up every day to order the execution of orphans and cripples. She had the softest voice he had ever heard. "That's perfectly all right, of course.'

'Thank you, Chief Inspector.'

'Harry.'

'Frances.' Frances said, 'You can call me Frank if you like.'

Feiffer said, 'If that's Bill's name I'll stick to Frances.'

'Yes.' Frances said, 'I suppose you all think a lot of Bill.'

Feiffer smiled. He said, 'Yes.' He said, 'He's out at the moment, but I'll certainly tell him you rang.'

'It's not a dangerous job?' She sounded alarmed.

'No. He's just keeping an eye on something.' Feiffer said, "The job is about as dangerous as counting cream puffs.' He thought, "No, that's—" He said quickly, 'On the other hand, it is extremely important.' He said, 'Bill is one of the few people I trust to bring his intelligence to bear on a problem and work from his own initiative.' He thought The Fingerprint Man would have approved of that one. He said, 'But there's no danger.'

Frances Nu said, 'I love him, you see.' She sounded vaguely as if she were crying.

There was a pause. Feiffer said, 'I'm certain it's mutual.' He thought, "If it isn't I may just smash his face in." He said, 'I know it is.' He said, 'I'll get him to telephone you the moment I see him.'

'Thank you.' Frances Nu said, 'I suppose you're very anxious to see whether you have a son or a daughter.' She said, 'Bill told me your wife is about to have a baby.'

'Yes.' Feiffer said, 'It's rather lucky that Bill is—from where he is if you're studying Shakespeare.'

Frances Nu said, 'Yes.' There was a pause. She said, 'It was a coincidence.' She said, 'I met Bill before I knew that.' She didn't want Feiffer to get the idea that she was a wanton Shakespearean using someone's birthright for her own evil examination-passing ends. She said, 'It was a coincidence.'

'Of course.' Feiffer said, 'I realise that. But rather a lucky turn of events.' He thought, "Every way I say it it sounds cynical." He said, 'That's terrific for both of you.' He thought, "I haven't been so tongue-tied with a woman for—" he thought, "for a long time." He said to Frank, 'I'll certainly tell him.' He said, 'I thought I'd ring my wife to see how she is.' (He thought, "What did I say that for?") He thought, "Maybe I will."

'Goodbye, Harry.'

'Yes.'

And she was gone.

Feiffer thought, "Dammit, I will ring her!" He would. By God, he would. Why not? He'd ring—he would. He picked up the telephone and looked at it for a moment. He started dialling the number. He snarled at Auden, 'And don't you bloodywell try to say anything funny, all right?'

Auden looked up from his desk.

Feiffer warned him, 'All right?'

Auden looked dazed. He shook his head. He hadn't been going to say anything. Auden said, 'What did I say?'

*

Mr Choy's prestidigitatious fingers stopped. They froze. They began to tremble. They stopped.

A silence fell. Spencer stood up. 'Have you got one?'

Mr Choy shook his head. There was a ragged pile of manilla envelopes on the steel topped table in front of him. He moved them gently to one side with the palm of his hand, very lightly. Mr Choy swallowed.

Mr Choy said very quietly, 'I've got two.' He closed his eyes for a moment. Spencer came forward with the photostat of the handwriting. He looked at the photostat and then at the writing on the two separated envelopes on Mr Choy's table.

Mr Choy asked, 'Yes?' He opened his eyes.

Spencer nodded.

The writing was identical.

*

At the other end of the line, Nicola Feiffer picked up the telephone.

Feiffer said, 'I was feeling so good that I thought I'd—'

Nicola Feiffer said, 'You've changed your mind!'

'About what?'

'About the pet of course—about having a cat or a dog in the apartment.'

'Well, no—'

'I thought you had!'

'No!'

'Then thanks a lot for ringing!' She added, for good measure, 'You lousy, miserable, rotten two-faced swine!' And hung up.

*

Mr Hwang shrieked, 'No!' He stood a few feet back from the table with Spencer and Mr Choy looking at the two envelopes. He demanded from Spencer in a shocked whisper, 'Are they real?' He glanced around the sorting room at his fixtures, his machines, his life's work. He yelled, not having received an answer, not having given Spencer more than two and a quarter seconds to form one, 'Are they real?!!'

'Calm down.' Spencer said quietly to Mr Choy, 'What made you notice them?'

Mr Hwang said, 'Who cares? Do something!'

Mr Choy said,'They were heavy.'

Spencer nodded.

Mr Hwang said, '
Well? Well
?'

Spencer ran his hand over his tie. It was a Thai silk one, borrowed from his flatmate. It felt soft. He wiped his palm on the tie without anyone noticing.

Mr Hwang said, 'Well—
defuse them
!'

Spencer paused. One of the long envelopes was addressed to the Yellowthread Street Police Station, to Feiffer. Spencer leaned forward and moved that one aside with a pencil. He said to Mr Hwang, 'That one isn't a bomb.' He looked at the other. It was addressed to a Mr Dien in the Street of Undertakers. That one was. He said, 'It's only this one.' He said to Mr Hwang, 'I want everyone on this floor to go outside into the street and also the people on the floor above. While you're doing that I'll telephone Bomb Disposal and the Fire Service and have it taken away.' He said, 'There's no need for anyone to panic' He had a picture of Frank in his mind. He said, 'It won't go off provided an attempt isn't made to open it.' He thought, "I hope." He said to Mr Hwang, 'Just don't touch it, all right?'