Gelignite (6 page)

Auden said to Feiffer, 'Who's he?'

Feiffer asked the third person in the room, 'Anything for us?' The third person in the room considered the triggering device and made a soft sniffing noise. He smiled at Auden. The third person in the room was one of those Chinese whose face seemed to have never seen a line or a wrinkle. His skin was very smooth: when he smiled his face was still expressionless.

He answered Feiffer, 'No.'

'It was a letter bomb though?'

'Yes.'

'Leung.'

'Yes.'

Feiffer said, 'The letter to us said political.' He asked the third person, 'Was he?'

'No.'

Auden asked Feiffer irritably, 'Who the hell is he?'

The third person in the room said to Feiffer, 'Why send a letter to the cops in advance if it's political? Why not just blow the bugger up without a word?'

Feiffer said, 'If you're thinking it's some sort of intimidation, forget it. If it's someone who didn't pay extortion to one of the local strong-arm men, they're still not going to tell us in advance.' He said, glancing at the ivory and the blood. 'Whoever sent the bomb intended it to go off.' He asked, 'Did you know him: Leung?'

'Did you?'

'Only by sight. We don't know anything against him. So far as I know at the moment he was exactly what he seemed to be, a middle aged Chinese male resident in Hong Bay who sold ivory.'

Auden said, 'Who the hell are you anyway?' He asked Feiffer, 'Is he a cop or what?'

The third person in the room said, 'I'll check up, but he's not a known political.' He said, 'If he is into something nasty it doesn't say much for my files.'

Auden said, 'You're Special Branch!'

Feiffer opened his notebook and flipped over a few pages.

'Have you got the wife's statement?'

Feiffer found the page.

Auden said, 'That's who you are! You're Special Branch!'

'
Mrs Leung, taken at scene of crime by Detective Chief Inspector
and so on.'

The third person in the room tapped the end of his cigar on the rim of the silver ashtray. The cigar was out. He unlocked his brown Gladstone bag and put the remains of the cigar and the half-filled ashtray into a little paper bag and placed it carefully somewhere in one of the leather pockets. He closed his bag again and locked it.

' "
Who did it? I know who did it! It was him! He did it
! Question:
Who is 'him
'?"'

Auden looked at the third person in the room. That was who he was all right. No doubt about it.

' "
Tam! That's who did it! Tam! His so-called partner! Him! He said he would and he did! It was him
!"'

Before they had taken the body away, Mrs Leung had shrieked, 'His so-called partner! His so-called rotten, lousy, vermin-infested friend! Him! Him with half the profits on his lousy bacteria-ridden capital and no work for the business! Him! That man! Mr plague-poxed Tam! Him! Him! Him! She had caught sight of one of her husband's bloodied hands under the plastic sheet the ambulancemen had used to cover him and shouted, 'My poor husband!' She shrieked, 'Who's going to support me and my children in my old age now?' She shrieked at Feiffer, 'It was him! Tam!'

Feiffer made a note in his notebook. He asked quietly, 'Address?'

'Soochow Street! Somewhere in a rat hole in Soochow Street! Somewhere where decent clean people—'

"This man Tam was your husband's partner?'

'It all goes to him now! All of it! All because of his miserable few lice-crawling dollars—his
investment
!' She shrieked at Feiffer and the bloody lump under the rubber sheet, 'What do I get? Nothing! Nothing! She shrieked, 'All because of that pariah Tam!' She shouted to the heavens, 'Twenty-two years he's had money in the business and what has he done except take the profits? Nothing!' She put her hands over her face and wailed, 'My poor children!' She wasn't a day under fifty-five. She shouted, 'I'll never have any children now!'

Feiffer said, 'Tam.' He underlined the name in his book.

'Tam!' Mrs Leung took a breath.

Feiffer said, 'I see.'

'That—that dirt! That dog's diarrhoea! That rat-turd! Tam! That pariah! That—that—' She found another word, 'That—that
leper
!'

Feiffer closed his notebook.

Auden looked at the third person in the room. Special Branch. Written all over him.

The third person in the room said to Feiffer, 'You can't say fairer than that.' He said to Auden, "That's what's known as a good line in insults.'

Auden thought, "Sir? I'm a Detective Inspector, maybe he ought to add 'sir.' She does a good line in insults, sir. Doesn't she? Huh, Maybe." Auden asked brusquely, 'What rank are you?'

The third man in the room said, 'Detective Chief Inspector. >How about you?'

Auden shut up.

The third man considered his collection of artifacts from the envelope. He watched Feiffer return the notebook to the pocket of his coat, 'And that's the shot you're following?'

'Yes.'

The third man in the room nodded. 'I think you're right. I'll have our people run what's left of the bomb through, but it doesn't strike me as a political job.' He asked Feiffer, 'Then why say it was in a letter to the local fuzz?' He said, 'I'll have a news clamp put on it anyway just in case.'

Feiffer nodded. He said, 'You'll let me know?'

The third man nodded. Auden said, 'Excuse me, Chief Inspector—'

Feiffer said, 'This fellow Tam seems to be a sitter for it. The wife claims he put money into the business donkey's years ago—and he's been sitting back and taking half the profits ever since.'

'There's nothing illegal in that.'

'I wouldn't be too sure that's the way she looks at it.' He went on, 'I gather that Leung has been trying to buy out his interest for some time. The people in the neighbouring shop say there was some question of a legal action.' He asked the third man in the room, 'Was it a professional bomb? A good one?'

'Fair average quality.'

'Not professional?'

'I wouldn't have said so. But it's someone who knew how to make a letter bomb all right.'

Feiffer glanced around the room. 'But it doesn't go against your initial reaction that it could have been constructed by an amateur on a one-off basis?'

'No.' The third man agreed, 'I think Tam is your best lead.' He stifled an involuntary yawn. 'Hard night.' He said, 'I've been waiting for something to come off at the docks for the last eight weeks.' He was about to say more, but changed his mind. He said, 'I'll leave it to you, Harry? OK?' He said, 'You'll probably have it all sewn up by tea-time.' He said for no apparent reason, 'Watercress sandwiches and pink gin and Darjeeling tea.'

Auden thought—

Feiffer stifled a yawn.

The third man asked, 'Am I being boring?'

'Misinformed.'

The third man asked innocently, 'You mean the British chappies in the Colonies don't have pink gin and watercress sandwiches for tiffin?' He tutted. 'Oh dear—'

Feiffer said wearily, 'I don't happen to be a Colonial. I was born here.' He said, 'Which is more than I can say for you.'

The third man said, 'Hmm, that's right. So you were. I've got it on file.'

That doesn't surprise me in the least'

The third man asked, 'When is Nicola due to have the baby?'

'Two or three weeks.'

'Do I get invited to the christening?' He asked, 'Who's going to be the godfather?'

'Christopher O'Yee.'

'Oh.' The third person asked Auden, 'How about you? Mr Auden, isn't it?'

Auden said awkwardly, 'Well, you usually only have one godfa—'

The third person said, 'I meant, are you the sort of British chappie who has watercress sandwiches and gin for tiffin?'

Auden glanced at Feiffer. He said without thinking, 'Well, actually—'

'Well, actually,' the third person said, 'Actually one doesn't drink gin at tiffin.'

Auden said, 'Well, yes—'

Feiffer said to the third person, 'Shut up, Humphrey.'

Auden said—He thought, "Humphrey?" He asked in a wide-eyed stare of utter awe and amazement, 'Are you Humphrey—?'

'Ho,' Feiffer said. He said to the third person in the room, 'Humphrey Ho is the local Special Branch man.' .

Auden nodded. He had the feeling his mouth hung open. He said—

Humphrey Ho said, 'Humphrey Ho is the only Special Branch man.' Humphrey Ho said, 'Hong Bay Special Branch is Humphrey Ho.' He said, 'Humphrey Ho is—'

Feiffer went towards the door.

Humphrey Ho said again for his benefit, Humphrey Ho is—'

Feiffer paused. He looked at Auden's face. He said briskly to Auden, 'Come on. You're going back to the Station to type up your reports.'

The third person asked, 'Do you want Humphrey Ho to assist you in your arrest?'

'No.'

Humphrey Ho said, 'Humphrey Ho is willing.'

'Humphrey Ho can go back to his grimy little room and make out a report for me.'

'Humphrey Ho is not a man to be too much in love with form-filling,' Humphrey Ho said, 'Humphrey Ho is—'

Feiffer glanced at Auden. He said evenly, 'Humphrey Ho is a pain in the arse.' He said to Auden, 'Will you come on!'

Humphrey Ho's expressionless face fell. There was still no expression on it. He said quietly, 'Harry . . .'

He seemed hurt.

*

Three quarters of an hour later Feiffer stood outside the door on the second floor of a run down residential hotel in Soochow Street. There was a card on the door with three Chinese characters written on it. The card had been there a long time. The characters said, TAM WING KIN. The characters were a little blurred and dusty as if they, and the card, and possibly the man inside the door that held them, needed replacement.

Feiffer opened his coat and slipped the hammer retaining loop off the two inch barrelled Colt in his holster.

He knocked on the door.

*

There were another two long manilla envelopes in the sorting racks of the Hong Bay Central Post Office in Wyang Street, but they would not be delivered, what with the sorting, bagging, dividing, resorting, shuffling and rubberbanding, for another four hours.

*

A thin voice on the other side of the dusty card and the dusty characters said very softly, 'Please come in—' and Feiffer opened the door.

In the sorting room of the Hong Bay Central Post Office in Wyang Street, the Assistant Senior Chief Sorter, Mr Choy, flicked the last two letters from his pile into the pigeon-hole marked Yellowthread Street. The long manilla envelopes were addressed in black ink. One of them slipped out and fluttered back onto Mr Choy's sorting desk. It felt a little heavy. He slapped it back into the slot, nodded to his assistant, and went off to get his tea.

His assistant bagged the last two letters in the top of a canvas sack, secured the sack with a length of double looped string and pushed the sack onto the open steel chute that took the sacks direct to the postmen's room downstairs. The sack disappeared down the chute and, two floors below, hit the cement floor of the postmen's room with a thud.

*

There were one hundred and ten antique shops and dealers listed in the Yellow Pages of the Hong Kong Island telephone directory alone. The Hong Kong Island telephone directory alone was an inch and three quarters thick on thin paper. That still left the Kowloon and New Territories book. That was three inches thick. In the corridor of the Yellowthread Street Police Station, O'Yee sighed.

He took the interview room extension telephone into the interview room and then went back for the two phone books. He put the phone and the phone books on the plain table in the room, plugged the phone in, and sat down on one of the plain chairs to start ringing.

*

The sorting was a little behind time and the postmen were waiting for the last bag so they could start their deliveries.

Feiffer paused at the open door. The room was semi-lit by a slate grey light coming in from an uncurtained window. There was a blurred figure sitting at a table by the window, looking out.

Feiffer said, 'Police.' There was an odd smell in the room.

The blurred figure at the table didn't move.

O'Yee rang the first antique dealer.

It was five past twelve in the afternoon.

*

Soochow Street forms the cross bar of the H stroke of General Gordon Street and Peking Road and runs parallel with Generalissimo Chen Street and the Government-run New Hong Bay Cemetery, which is still open for business.

Even closer to Soochow Street, not open for new business but closed in the late nineteen fifties, is the privately owned and maintained Double Tranquillity Resting Place of Heavenly Peace.

Midway between these two necropolises, in Empress of India Street, are the (Chinese) Government-run Communist Party offices, school and bookshops and, three doors down from them, the (now) privately run Nationalist Party offices, school and bookshops.

The two cemeteries promise prosperity, joy, happiness and beauty in the next world, the Communists promise it in this, and the Nationalists promise that really, for all the promises, it was all like that yesterday (only nobody knew it), and Soochow Street, which intersects, divides, straddles, locates and fixes these conflicting theses is (to borrow a Marxist dialectic) the synthesis of all the promises.

It stinks.

There is a death-house for old people at one end of it, and, at the other, another. All the views from the windows of the slums between the two death-houses at either end (the death-houses themselves are also slums) are of the cemeteries, and the only people who walk up and down Soochow Street are people waiting to die, people waiting for someone else to die, people who have just had someone die or would like to and people on their way to the dead in the cemeteries.

Soochow Street is a coffin open at both ends for the extinct, and it has that distinctive smell of death and extinction that is composed of coldness and greyness and mould. Soochow Street always looks as if there has just been rain and the wooden walls of the buildings on either side of it are always wet and clammy to the touch.