“It’s been a beaut of a morning, Harry. All things considered. How’re you feeling?”
We walked together down Tyler Street toward the parking lot. He thought for a second before answering.
“Better.” He even said it with a bit of a smile.
My thoughts were racing from random to what was taking shape as a pattern. In terms of a next move, conscience and logic were forcing me into a decision I did not want to make. There were a number of other bases I had to touch, but a nagging and unwelcome voice kept insisting that when I gathered all the pieces, there would be one large, central piece missing. Like it or not, the voice kept repeating that the key to the puzzle was Mei-Li.
We turned right onto Beach Street before I got up the courage to put it into words.
“I’m thinking out loud here, Harry. You’re my sounding board.”
“Think on, brother.”
I pulled Harry into a decrepit doorway, out of the wind, and out of the sight of spying eyes, if any.
“No matter how I piece it together, I get one name. I’d give my Bruins play-off tickets for five minutes of conversation with that little waitress with the red shoes. I’d throw in your play-off tickets to find out what she meant by helping me. That’s not going to happen. I’m sure she died trying to get me to help this Mei-Li. Help her what? What’s her problem? I’ve got a voice inside that’s screaming in high C that there’s a serious connection to this murder. Is my little voice whacko or what?”
Harry pulled his coat tighter against the cold.
“My voice is saying the same thing in Chinese. Could we talk a little faster? It’s freezing out here.”
“No. I’m at warp speed now. Anthony’s obviously been lying to me. I could have it out with him, but I couldn’t trust anything he said at this point anyway. One thing I can’t finesse. He’s no complete bystander in this business. If little Red Shoes could have helped him as promised, there must be a connection. If he’s connected to her, he could be connected to Mei-Li. Does that make sense?”
Harry looked like he was getting the shivers. “Could we talk and walk at the same time?”
“In a second, Harry. Does that make sense?”
He nodded.
“There’s no one here in Chinatown that won’t freeze me out at the least-kill me at the most. I know this is off-the-chart nuts, but I keep coming back to Mei-Li.”
“I know, Michael.”
“I’ve got to find her.”
“I know. That’s why we’re going to Toronto.”
“I said ‘I,’ not ‘we.’ You’re still on the DL.”
He grabbed the front of my jacket and pulled my ear close to his mouth. The physical effort made him wince.
“Listen, Michael. I’m going to say this once before my ears freeze off. She’s in a brothel in a foreign country, probably surrounded by Chinese of the non-English-speaking variety. If there is one hint of what you’re there for, they’ll kill you faster than they could roll a wonton. You want to commit suicide, there are easier ways.”
I was silent for lack of an answer.
“With me you’ve got half a chance. Maybe half of a half of a chance. It beats no chance. When do we leave?”
I just shook my head.
“Michael, nothing personal but you’re one low faan against a small Chinese army. Why not just mail your body to the morgue and eliminate the middle man? If you’ve got an alternative, I’m all ears, unless they’ve frozen off.”
“This is my job. It’s not yours. And what’s a low faan? ”
“It’s you, Michael. It’s a non-Chinese. And this is my community. It’s not yours.”
I felt guilt and gratitude in one rush. I knew he was in no condition to make the trip, but he was right. Without him, I didn’t have a clue.
“How about day after tomorrow, Harry?”
20
It was just after noon when I got back to Franklin Street. My first port of call was Mr. Devlin’s office. The Cerberus at the door no longer even looked up as I passed. She did flick the end of a pencil in the direction of the high chamber, just to show that I entered with her permission and that she still had the power to bar the door. I blew her a kiss, which she accepted with all the effusion of a kindergarten teacher when little Winston brings her a dead mouse from recess.
I briefed Mr. Devlin on what I’d learned since our last meeting. He just listened through my account of the Harvard group, nodded in what I took for approval of my visit to our client, scowled at me for rerunning the gauntlet of the Chinese Mafia at the Beach Street brothel, and paced to the window when I told him that Mr. Qian, witness for the prosecution, had seen our client on multiple occasions dining with a Chinese gentleman of questionable honor at the Ming Tree-counter to our Mr. Bradley’s consistent recitation of the facts.
“How’s your confidence in that look in young Bradley’s eyes now, sonny?”
“Waning. Not gone, but waning.”
“This could be the best thing that happened to Bradley.”
“You lost me, Mr. Devlin.”
“Any time you base a defense on your belief in your client’s innocence because he told you so, you’re a loose cannon. Often as not, you’ll wind up exploding in your client’s face. Go with the facts as you find them. You’ll do the best job for your client.”
“Yes, sir. I remember you said that.”
He gave me a sharp look when he caught the lawyer’s difference between agreeing with him and noting that he’d said it.
“Mm. What about this Mr. Qian? Is he a solid witness?”
“In the worst way. Mrs. Lee is strung tight as piano wire. She could fold under pressure. But Mr. Qian is… gentle, intelligent, confident, humble… wise. He won’t be shaken.”
He was leaning against the chair, but his eyes came up.
“Wise?”
I thought about it. How many people do you meet in a lifetime that fit that description?
“Yes, sir. Wise.”
“What about the Harvard group? Anything there?”
“Nothing substantive. Couple of possible character witnesses. One in particular. I think she has a crush.”
“Then she’s useless. The jury’ll see it. Anything she says’ll be considered biased. The only remote possibility for an affirmative defense seems to be this girl, Mei-Li. And she’s an unknown. The rest of it’s blowing smoke.”
I was pleased in a frightening sort of way that we had reached the same conclusion.
“I want you to get a detective up to Toronto. Get Tom Burns on it.”
“No, sir.”
I think the last one to say the n word to him was his mother. He hadn’t heard it in so long, he looked as if he wanted me to define it for him.
“What I mean, Mr. Devlin, is he’s good, but not for this. This is an outfit that runs on secret code words, and numbers, and mostly well-orchestrated fear. It’s a matter of always touching the right buttons. I couldn’t have gotten this far without a Chinese friend who runs interference for me.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“My friend and I are going up to Toronto tomorrow.”
That lit a fuse and raised the decibel level to where I’m sure Julie could hear it comfortably.
“The hell you are, sonny! You’re not going outside of this commonwealth. You’ve gone far enough. Too far. No more foolish risks. Get Burns on this. And do it now. I want a statement from that girl. Do you hear me?”
