“Who says they didn’t? He’s half European, isn’t it? What’s to stop him from wearing those hobnailed boots to throw us off the scent?”
“Have you found whether he owns such a pair of boots?”
He looked at me scornfully. “He’d have ditched them, wouldn’t he?”
“So you actually have no evidence against him,” I insisted. “He’s in jail because he seems like a good candidate whose arrest would satisfy everyone.”
“We’re waiting until the bride shows up,” Kear said. “She can’t have gotten too far. We’ll find her, and then when we have them together, we’ll get to the truth.”
“And if the murderer was someone else?” I asked. “What about Bobby Lee? Shouldn’t you be looking into him and his relationship with his father?”
“And shouldn’t you be leaving a criminal case to the police?” he said. “If I lodge an official complaint to the commissioner that Sullivan is sending his ladylove to stick his nose into my case, I don’t think the commissioner would be very pleased, do you?”
I gave him my coldest stare. “I thought I made it clear to you that Captain Sullivan has nothing to do with this. He would be furious if he knew I had come here.”
“Then what’s your interest, girlie?” he asked. “Is it just morbid curiosity or are you still involved in this case in some way? Perhaps you know more than you’re telling me. Perhaps you actually know who pushed old Lee off the roof.”
“Perhaps I just believe in justice,” I said. “But you’re right. The case has nothing to do with me. I won’t bother you again.”
Twenty-six
I walked very fast down the rest of the Elizabeth Street, my mind brimming with things that I would have liked to say to the smarmy Captain Kear. No wonder Daniel didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. I was relieved that I had managed to keep my temper. And of course the moment I was safely away from the police station I had regrets about ever going there in first place. It hadn’t been the wisest thing to do. What if Captain Kear really did complain to the commissioner about Daniel? It wasn’t that long ago since Daniel himself had been suspended and in disgrace. I shouldn’t have done anything to further jeopardize his career.
More disturbing thoughts went through my head as I walked faster and faster toward Mott Street. I had been told that the Sixth Precinct officers accepted bribes from the Chinese community. What if Bobby Lee, or whoever the real killer was, was paying Captain Kear enough money to pin this crime on someone who couldn’t defend himself, like Frederick?
If I went to the Tombs, would they let me see Frederick, I wondered. Almost certainly not, and such an act would be bound to get back to Daniel. The only way I could make Daniel take over this investigation was if I could prove Frederick’s innocence or find out who really pushed Lee Sing Tai off that roof. And I really had no idea how to do that. But the one thing I could do was to see if I could rally the decent members of the Chinese community to help Frederick. Surely the Chius might know of a lawyer who would take his case?
I felt a growing sense of unease as I entered Mott Street even though the scene was livelier than usual today, with men sitting on stoops, standing outside restaurants drinking tea, or shopping at the stores that were all open in spite of the Labor Day holiday. Again I couldn’t see any women among the crowd until I heard a voice blaring from a megaphone and Chuck Connors came into the street with another of his slumming tour groups. Like the one I had seen before, this one was composed of more women than men and their eyes were wide with anticipation as they followed their leader into the forbidden world of Chinatown.
“I am going to show you a scene of such vile depravity that some of you ladies may need to find your smelling salts before we enter,” he was saying as he led them to the fake opium den. I have to admit that my curiosity was piqued. What did an opium den actually look like? As they disappeared into a doorway and down a flight of stairs, I acted on impulse and followed the last members of the tour. They were a young couple, the girl clutching her sweetheart’s arm desperately.
“Do you really think we should do this?” she whimpered. “What if someone tries to kidnap me? What if we breathe the opium fumes and we’re overcome or robbed?”
“I’m here to protect you, Daisy,” he said, looking down at her with concern.
“Will we not be putting ourselves in danger?” a woman at the front of the pack asked.
“Don’t worry, madam,” Connors replied in a low voice. “Those poor wretches we’re going to see won’t even notice we’re here. They are under the power of the drug.”
Our footsteps echoed down the narrow stairwell. At the bottom we came into a dimly lit area. Smoke swirled around one hissing lamp, so it was hard to see what lay beyond, but I could make out wooden platforms around the walls. Figures lay on them, some smoking from long pipes, others lying in a stupor. At intervals around the room braziers glowed. Although I knew it was not a true opium den, I felt a rush of fear. The air was cloying with scented smoke and suddenly I felt that I couldn’t breathe. I turned and tiptoed back up the stairs as Connors’s voice said in a hushed stage whisper, “They are all in the land of their dreams. For the moment they are happy. They have escaped from their troubles. But the moment the drug wears off, they will have to repeat the process. Once smoked, the drug takes over their lives. They will never escape from it, never be free.”
I came out into the fresh air and stood catching my breath, ashamed of my momentary panic. It wasn’t like me to be so easily frightened, especially when I knew that the scene had been staged for the benefit of the tourists and the moment they departed the actors would go back to their normal lives. But there was something about the place—some undercurrent of danger that I had picked up. I put it out of my mind and went straight to the Chius’ residence.
In response to my knock the door was opened by a tall young man. He was so like Frederick Lee in appearance that I gasped out, “Frederick?”
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked, and I realized that the similarity was in the Eurasian features and this boy was younger and skinnier.
“You must be Mrs. Chiu’s son who is attending Princeton,” I said. “My name is Murphy. I wondered if I might speak to your parents?”
“Who is it, Joe?” a man’s voice called from beyond the screen.
“An Irish lady, dad. Mrs. Murphy,” the boy called back. “Wants to speak to you and mom.”
