Mandarin Gate (Inspector Shan Tao Yun) by Eliot Pattison

Author:Eliot Pattison [Pattison, Eliot]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, International Mystery & Crime, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-11-27T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ani Ama refused to cooperate with Shan’s plan. She raised a hand, cutting him off. “My place is here,” the nun said. “There are the sick. Now wounded are being brought in, from riots somewhere.” It was the middle of the night. She sat beside a dead woman as two other women worked a canvas shroud around the body.

“What if you could do more for them on the outside?” Shan asked. “What if there was a way to make the world see what was going on here? Once there was even a hint that international representatives may visit you know there would be real medical care, real food.”

“No,” she insisted. “Do not pretend that I have such power.”

“The American and German governments have such power. They will show it, when Cora arrives home with stories of the camp, and the story of a murdered German and a murdered abbess.”

The old nun stood up and placed a hand on the dead woman’s brow, murmuring a blessing before the shroud was pulled over her head. “Nothing to do with me,” she said to Shan.

“The abbess has been calling out to Cora,” Shan said to her back. “There is only one way for the abbess to move on to what she deserves.”

Ani Ama halted. “You don’t think I pray for that every night?”

“One of the young monks of Chegar said he hears her moaning, echoing across the hills in the darkest hours. The abbess is wandering lost, unable to understand what has happened to them.” The nun slowly turned toward Shan as he spoke. “A terrible shadow is falling on all those who wear robes in the valley. Help me find the truth. The American was there, at the convent. Leave with us and we will find the killer together.”

“The truth about the murders is with those who died.”

“If we know how to listen we can still hear it. You have part of it already.”

“Nonsense. I wasn’t there.”

“Jamyang died that day too. It was no coincidence. You went with the abbess to prepare the body of the Lung boy. Jamyang was there. What happened? Why was he frightened by the body?”

“I don’t think it was death that frightened him.”

“Then tell me, Ani Ama. Why did he flee that day?”

Ani Ama sighed and looked out over the camp. “I didn’t want to be abbess. I wanted to spend my last years in some quiet place at a loom. My mother was a weaver, and her mother before.” She watched the body as it was carried away, then began explaining. When Lung Tso had arrived to ask the abbess to help, Jamyang had been with her. He had asked questions of Lung Tso, shown great concern that one so young had died. He accepted the invitation of the abbess to join them. “The lama knew about the old ways,” Ani Ama explained, “and knew how to receive deities. As soon as we arrived at that old stable he began cleaning it, murmuring the right words, then lit incense for the gods before turning to the body.

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