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Take it slowly, Strachan, softly does it.
At that moment, he lifted his foot and it caught the raised edge of one of the slates. His arms and body jerked forward and his legs slipped from under him. He crashed down onto the slates and began to slide backwards.
He flailed around with his arms and legs, desperately looking for something, anything, to grab on to. He was still sliding, his fingers could get no grip. His legs went over the edge and they kicked against nothing but air.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_cc7f6d82-5e49-5d27-8169-fdcb3e066bf0)
His body began to fall over the edge when he heard a loud rip and jerked to a stop, half his body from the waist down dangling in the air.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head to the left. The top pocket of his jacket had caught on a nail sticking out from the gutter. He breathed out, swinging his legs to find something to stand on. Another loud rip. His body slipped down six more inches jerking him away from the safety and comfort of the cold slates.
He thought about shouting for help from Inspector Danilov, but he couldn’t risk lifting his head to call out.
Carefully, he lifted his right arm and reached up over the gutter to the slates, gripped them by digging his nails into a rough edge. He pressed his body down, swinging his right leg up as carefully as he could, bringing the knee to rest on the edge of the gutter.
He breathed out.
Don’t look down.
He promised himself that this was the last time he would ever chase a criminal. No more. He would leave it to Inspector Danilov from now on. His chasing days were over.
He inched his knee upwards, gripping with his nails and pushing upwards to let his body rest on the slates. The sole of his shoe touched the gutter.
Slowly, Strachan, slowly.
He pushed with his leg. The gutter strained and groaned against the joint holding it to the wall. His body inched up the roof.
He breathed out, offering prayers to all the gods he knew, and some he didn’t.
There was a sharp screech. The metal gutter jerked away from his foot, hung in the air for a few moments, before clattering to the ground.
Strachan rolled his back onto the cold slates and breathed out again, enjoying their hard embrace. He looked up at the sky. Three swallows were dancing in the air, weaving figures of eight above his head.
A faint scuffling noise off to his left. The man was further away now, escaping.
He crawled up the steep roof, this time pushing off with his feet, always looking for handholds. He was near the ridge line now. Heaving himself across it, he looked over to his left. At the end of the terrace, the thug was standing on the edge of the roof. The man looked over his shoulder and, for a short moment, his eyes met Strachan’s.
Then he jumped.
Strachan shouted. He couldn’t remember what he shouted. All he knew was that the shock of seeing the man suddenly leap out into nothing expelled all the air from his chest.
Up above, ominous grey clouds were coming in from the East, bring with them the threat of rain. Already, the wind was lapping at Strachan’s jacket. He sat up until he was on all fours and crawled along the ridge, scraping his knees on the rough edges.
A few more feet left. He reached a large tile that marked the end of the ridge line and peered over the edge, trying to see where the body of the man had fallen.
But there was no body. Instead, a latticework of bamboo crawled up the wall, left behind by some builders.
He stood up slowly, took a deep breath and jumped over the edge.
After what seemed like an eternity of a fall, he landed on the bamboo platform, which immediately began to move away from the wall and topple backwards.
He dropped to the platform, getting down as low as he could. The bamboo shook and rattled for a few seconds before it settled down again, the only sound the wind whistling through its lattice.
Why the hell am I doing this? I could be safely tucked up at home in bed. Or enjoying my mum’s sweet soup. Or even spending my time typing an incident report in the comfort of the office, another detective snoring at the desk next to me.
‘Don’t be scared, youngster. It’s nought but a wee tree.’ His father’s strong Scottish brogue encouraged him to climb up to the tree house. How he missed the warmth of his father and the strength he gave him. He wasn’t going to let him down now, he was never going to let his father down.
He remembered seeing the scaffolders on the buildings of Shanghai ascending and descending the bamboo scaffolds with the ease of monkeys. They had a careless rhythm, using the area between the lattice and the support to make their way up and down.
He moved away from the support and swung his leg over the edge. Immediately, it touched the crossbeam of the lattice. He lowered the other leg and it stepped onto another crossbeam. He let his legs slide down until they were both standing on the join where the crossbeams met.
He stood there and repeated the step down again, holding on to the upper crossbeam with his hands. Easy, he thought. This is how it’s done.
Strachan moved confidently now, descending the bamboo scaffold with all the grace of an elephant tap dancing. Finally, his feet touched the hard concrete of the alley and he sank to his knees
Never again. Never, never again.
Then he remembered the man he was chasing. He ran down to where the alley turned into another lane. He looked both ways. More terraces, a few kids playing with a top and a rope. No sign of any man.
Time to go back and tell Danilov the good news. He had let the man escape.
Strachan took one last glance at the roof and the bamboo scaffolding. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up into the sky.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_956e3822-ae58-5867-934e-dd3a00bd8a19)
‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’ Danilov stood in the entrance hall of the house with his hands on his hips.
‘I chased after…’
‘Across the roof? What the hell were you thinking, Detective Sergeant Strachan?’
‘I didn’t think, I just went…’
‘I didn’t think – damn right, you didn’t think. Listen, I don’t want brawn and stupidity, there’s plenty of that in the Shanghai Police. I wanted someone with a brain. And you have one, Detective Sergeant Strachan. It’s time you used it. If you get killed, I have to find another copper to take your place.’
Strachan looked down at a spot just in front of his feet. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’
‘Don’t do it again, Strachan, I don’t want to stand over your body while Dr Fang tells me that you died from stupidity. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Danilov took three deep breaths. ‘You look a mess.’
Strachan’s jacket was ripped and his face, body and hands covered in black dirt from the roof slates, and paint from the bamboo scaffold. ‘I’m afraid he got away, sir.’
‘I thought so. While you have been away enjoying yourself, I’ve been using the photographs to work out what happened here on the last night.’
Danilov walked to the main entrance, followed by Strachan. ‘See here, our first body.’ He pointed to the chalk outline in the hall of the house. ‘We know from the photograph that this is where the son was found with his throat cut. Now the two don’t match exactly, the body had been moved after the photograph was taken, before they drew the outline. Cowan’s team were incompetent or worse.’ Danilov sniffed. He pointed to the wall. ‘See there, a line of dark spots that goes up the wall starting from the left.’
He walked to the wall and pointed to a line of diagonal black spots. ‘I think we’ll find that they are blood.’ Danilov leant in to see the small dark spots on the wall. ‘That’s strange. The drops of blood are missing from here, and here.’ He pointed to two areas of the white wall where there were no marks. ‘Most strange.’
Strachan reached up to a higher spot on the wall. ‘Why are they getting longer and thinner here, sir?’
Danilov tugged once more at the skin between his eyes at the bridge of his nose. ‘The spots are in ellipses which suggest our victim’s head was moving as he was killed. Not surprising when we know that he had his throat cut. Here’s what I think happened. The killer entered through that unlocked door.’ Danilov pointed to the door they had come through. ‘He crossed the courtyard and knocked on the main door and, for some reason, the young boy answered it, not the maid. You may ask where was she? But I think that’s a question we will save for later. The killer steps in and grabs the boy from behind. The boy may or may not have had time to shout. I think he probably did. The killer then slits the boy’s throat with a knife from right to left, producing the blood spatter on the wall.’
A frown appeared on Strachan’s forehead. ‘I see what you mean, sir, I think.’
‘Keep up, Strachan, use your imagination.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Danilov held up a rectangular white card. ‘I found a stack of these on the hall table.’
‘Business cards, sir?’
‘To be precise, Mr Lee’s business card. Apparently, he worked for the Three Friends Company. We must interview the boss, find out more about Mr Lee.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll add it to our list of things to do.’
Danilov put the card into his pocket and stepped into the hall. ‘When the mother heard her son shouting, she must have been in the hallway. She was wearing her shoes which suggest she was on her way out. She sees what is happening, but instead of running down to save her son, she turns and runs up the stairs. Strange that, not a maternal reaction at all. I wonder if she was going to warn her husband? The other killer chases after her.’
‘The other killer?’
‘Yes, didn’t I say? At least two. I don’t think there were three. Come here.’ He pushed open the front door and walked into the kitchen with Strachan trailing after him. ‘See the window, this latch has been jimmied. Deep scratches on the green paintwork.’
‘But that could have been done before. Burglars aren’t uncommon in these new estates.’
‘But look around you, Strachan, the kitchen has been freshly painted, I’d say in the last month or so. And we mustn’t ignore these.’ Danilov pointed to a faint footprint on the sill of the kitchen window and an even fainter one on the floor beneath the window. He opened the back door and the plants had been trampled. ‘The rest of the back garden is spick and span, the plants well cared for, except here.’
‘Why didn’t Inspector Cowan spot these, sir?’
‘You ask me, and I ask who, Strachan?’
The detective constable shrugged his broad shoulders.
Danilov smiled and walked back out to the hallway. ‘As I was saying, the mother saw her son being killed and ran up the stairs. Our second killer comes out from the kitchen and shoots her in the back.’
He climbed the stairs and stepped across the chalk outline of the body on the landing. ‘That’s interesting.’ The door to a closet on the next level was open. Danilov went inside. A pile of freshly laundered sheets and towels were placed on the shelves. Another clean sheet lay in the corner as if discarded. ‘I wonder if the maid put these here?’
He came out of the closet and continued his explanation. ‘By now, the husband must have heard the shouts of his wife and the shot from the killer. But instead of running to save his wife and children, he runs upstairs. Why?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Neither do I, Strachan. Neither do I. But we know the killers came up the stairs after him.’
‘How do you know he was in the bedroom, sir?’
‘See the photograph of his body, Strachan. This man is getting dressed to go out. His buttons are undone on his shirt and he’s wearing just one cufflink. He didn’t have time to put the other on before the killers arrived. What I don’t understand is why he was reading a book when he was just about to go out?’
Strachan peered closely at the photograph. ‘It’s a guide book, sir. Gow’s Guide to Shanghai 1924. Perhaps he was looking for an address?’
‘But Mr Lee was Chinese. Why would he need an English guide book written for tourists?’
‘True, sir, but what about the girl lying in bed, why didn’t she get up?’
‘That’s easy, Strachan.’ Danilov opened the door to the bedroom. The blood-covered bedclothes were still pulled back as they had been left by the mortuary attendants. ‘They didn’t even take the sheets away. Incompetence of the highest order.’
‘It looks like they weren’t really interested in doing a proper investigation, sir.’
‘An interesting observation, Strachan.’ He walked over to the bedside table and opened the drawer. Inside was an array of tablets and medicines that would have made a chemist happy.
‘She was ill, sir, that’s why she didn’t leave the bed.’
‘More than ill, I think, Strachan.’ He pointed to a pair of crutches and a wheelchair against the wall. ‘An invalid. Probably needed help to get out of bed. Makes me ask once again, where was the maid that evening, if our invalid needed constant help?’
‘I don’t know sir.’
‘Neither do I, Strachan. Anyway, let’s go up.’ He strode out of the room and up the stairs to the third floor. ‘Our man has run up here, not down to save his wife and his children. He knows the killers are after him. Is he running to hide or to escape?’ They reached the door of the bedroom on the third floor. It was open with the chalk outline of a body clearly visible near the window. ‘But he doesn’t lock it. The key is still in the lock. He runs instead into the room. They burst in, he runs to the window and they shoot him dead. One shot to the chest, another, the killing shot, to the centre of the head.’
‘Sounds like a professional, sir.’
‘Exactly, Strachan. Now look over there.’
In the wall opposite the window was a row of holes, spaced unevenly in the wall, breaking through in places to reveal the laths and the plaster.
‘That’s the work of our visitor today. He was obviously looking for something he thought was hidden in this room.’
‘I don’t think he found it, sir, he wasn’t carrying anything. I got a good look at his face, I’d recognise him again.’
‘Strachan, get the uniforms in and search this place properly. Before you do that, get a team to go through the house from top to bottom, fingerprints, everything. Make an imprint of the shoe in the kitchen. We have to start again where Cowan failed.’
‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Cowan is not going to be happy we are interfering in his case.’
‘Let me handle Inspector Cowan. This is still my patch.’ Danilov scratched his head. ‘One other thing. Why did the young boy open the door and let his killer into the house?’
‘He may have known his assailant, sir.’
‘Perhaps, Strachan, or there could be another reason. A thought has just occurred to me.’
‘Would you like to share it, sir?’
Danilov looked out of the window. ‘Not yet, Strachan. Not yet.’ He walked over and examined the holes in the wall.
‘Our man with the hammer has been busy. None of the other rooms have been searched or destroyed, just this one. I wonder why? What was he looking for? And why search in this room?’
‘Because that’s where Mr Lee ran, sir, after he heard the shots.’
‘That makes sense, Strachan. Our thug started to search here first. We interrupted him in his work.’
