Death in Shanghai (Inspector Danilov, Book 1) by M J Lee

Author:M J Lee
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery, Private Investigators, Murder, Serial Killers, Thrillers & Suspense, Crime, Thrillers, Historical Fiction, Russian, Military, Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 9781474035590
Publisher: Carina
Published: 2015-09-09T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Strachan was already sitting in the empty detectives’ room when Danilov arrived back. ‘Sir, I’ve got the number for the taxi Miss Everett took,’ he said excitedly.

‘Good, well done.’

‘ST 105. Driven by a bald-headed man. Left the hotel at 5.35 pm. I’ve already put it out on the wire to the beat constables. Maybe somebody will spot it.’

‘Did you find out anything else?’

‘The waiters only remembered three of the guests with any certainty. An American, an older Chinese man and a young man, a big spender apparently. The rest of the guests seem to have been faceless, sir.’

‘They often are in those sorts of establishments.’

‘Richard Ayres was there, he signed a chit. There are twenty-one other chits. Here are the names and addresses, sir.’ Strachan handed over his notebook.

Danilov looked at his colleague. ‘You write like a child, Stra-chan. All capitals.’

‘It’s how we were taught by the monks, sir.’

Danilov sniffed. ‘Well at least it’s easy to read.’ He traced all the names and addresses with his finger. He stopped at one. ‘Strange, what was he doing there?’

Strachan tried to peer over his shoulder to see what he had noticed, but the Inspector closed the book quickly.

‘And while you’re at it, find out who the taxi is registered to, will you? But my bet is that it’s a false number plate.’

‘Yes, sir. The bellboy told me the taxi was waiting for Miss Everett when she came out of the hotel. It didn’t want to take any other fares.’

‘The taxi was waiting? Perhaps our killer is not choosing his victims at random, Stra-chan. He’s picking them deliberately.’ The Inspector took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled three perfectly round circles of smoke.

‘A clever trick, sir.’

‘The sign of a misspent youth, Stra-chan. It strikes me our killer or killers has us jumping through hoops, as you English say.’

‘I’m Scottish, sir.’

‘The Scots don’t say the same thing?’

‘Well, they do, sir, but…’

‘Stra-chan. I will never understand your petty English obsession with the minor regions of your country. In Minsk, we say “It’s not the horse that draws the cart but the oats.”’

‘That seems more appropriate, sir.’

‘Were you making a joke, Stra-chan?’

‘No, sir.’

Another long period of silence. Finally, Danilov stubbed his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. ‘We have at least four murders. A French magistrate. A Russian prostitute. An American androgyne and an English actress. There may be more, but these are the ones we know.’

‘All different nationalities, sir.’

‘But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? After all, Shanghai has always been a magnet for people from all over the world. No, what’s more important is not their nationality, it’s what links them. What do they have in common?’

‘Well, sir, I think…’

‘That was a rhetorical question, Stra-chan, I was thinking out loud.’

‘I’ll keep quiet, sir.’

‘That would be a good idea, for the moment.’ Danilov rolled another cigarette, filling it with just a few strands of tobacco from the tin. It flared as he lit the end and took the first lungful of smoke. ‘This requires the thoughtfulness of tobacco.

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