She was still staring at me in horror. “But I did not kill Lee Sing Tai. I swear this. I also swear that I did not go to his rooftop that night. That man frightens me. I would do anything in my power to stay away from him. Why would I risk going back to a man who would make me his slave?”
“So that you could be free forever, of course. So that you could be with Frederick. While Lee Sing Tai was alive you would never be free, would you?”
“I admit it. I am glad that he is dead,” she said in a small voice. “But I swear to you, on all the holy saints of your church, that I was not the one who pushed him from the roof. I was not the one who killed him.”
I stared at her, wishing I could read her mind. There was something about the way she phrased that last sentence that made me wonder if she knew who did the actual killing if she didn’t do it herself. “You know what I think?” I said. “That you and Frederick planned this between you. You might not have been strong enough to throw Lee off the roof, but Frederick was.”
“No, this is not true. Frederick is innocent. He is a good, upright man. He would never do a terrible thing like this, never.” She was sobbing now. “Please, Missie Molly. Please believe me.”
“I want to believe you, Bo Kei. I wanted to help both of you, but if someone tells me they saw a small, slight figure jumping from roof to roof, the very night that Lee Sing Tai was killed, what am I to believe?”
She went to say something, hesitated, then said, “Maybe what they saw was laundry, flapping in the wind. Plenty laundry on rooftops. Maybe it was someone moving across another roof on their way to bed. Plenty people sleep on roof when weather is hot.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you and Frederick did this between you, then the truth will soon come out,” I said. “He is being held in the Tombs. That is a terrible place. I’ve been there. If he has something to confess, trust me, he will confess it.”
“But what if they make him confess to something that he didn’t do?” She wailed. “This happens all the time in China. Men will say anything when police do terrible things like drive bamboo under fingernails or burn with red hot pokers.”
I shuddered. “The police here don’t do anything like that,” I said. “I only meant that those cells are damp and it is frightening to be locked away in darkness. If Frederick really is innocent, then you have nothing to fear.”
As I said the words a sliver of doubt crept into my mind. I knew there were policemen like Daniel who were firm but honest. But then there was also Captain Kear, who had made it quite clear that Frederick was the ideal suspect. Might he not resort to underhanded means to make Frederick confess to something he didn’t do?
“I do not think they will ever be able to discover who did this crime,” she said, looking at me defiantly now. “A man falls from a rooftop. How can they know if he was pushed? How can they say who pushed him if nobody saw?”
“They have ways of finding out,” I said. “For one thing, someone had hit him on the head to knock him out. They will find the weapon and there will be fingerprints on it.”
“Fingerprints? What is this?”
“Did you know that every person’s finger leaves a print of a different pattern? The police now have a way of examining the prints people leave on objects that they touch. Later they take fingerprints from people they suspect, and if one of them matches up, then they know who is guilty. Clever, no?”
She nodded.
“The New York police are among the first to put fingerprinting into action.”
“But people must leave fingerprints all over their own houses.”
“Of course they do. But if a strange print shows up where it shouldn’t—on a heavy object that struck Lee Sing Tai, for example—then they will not stop until they have found the person who matches that print.”
I had hoped this might scare her, and indeed she did look worried, but then she said, “If Frederick or I had done this terrible thing, you would not be able to prove it by finding our fingerprints at Lee’s house. I lived in that place and Frederick was summoned there by his employer. The police would expect to find that we had touched many things.”
That was true, of course. I didn’t know what else to say. In fact I found myself deeply confused. She wasn’t acting as if she was guilty, but then I obviously wasn’t as good at extracting a confession as professionals like Daniel. What was I going to do with her? If she had killed Lee Sing Tai, then I certainly didn’t want to compromise myself or Sid and Gus for a moment longer. But if she was telling the truth and she was innocent, then I didn’t want to hand her over to Captain Kear either. I deeply regretted my rash behavior in bringing her here. When would I learn to think first and not act on impulse? I came to a decision: I would tell Sid and Gus the whole story, as much as I knew it. They were worldly wise, intelligent women. I would let them suggest our next course of action.
“You can go back to your nap,” I said, “but whatever you do, don’t try to leave the house. Every policeman in New York is looking for you. I want to speak to our hostesses. We must decide what to do with you.”
“They will believe I am innocent,” she said defiantly. “They are good, kind women.”
I was on my way to the door when I heard deep pounding coming from below. Someone was hammering on the front door. Bo Kei leaped to her feet and ran over to me.
“The police have found me,” she whimpered.
“Let’s hope not. Stay put until I come back.”
As I came out onto the upper landing Sid was coming up the stairs. She held a piece of paper in her hand.
“That was a messenger boy,” she said. “It’s a message from Sarah Lindley for Bo Kei. Not good news, I’m afraid.”
She handed me the sheet of paper. It read: I AM SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR FRIEND ANNIE HAS JUST PASSED AWAY.
Twenty-eight
Bo Kei was distraught when I told her the sad news. Her face crumpled and she broke into noisy sobs.
“No, this can’t be true,” she said. “How did she die?”
