“Where were you at eight fifteen?”
“Still at the tent. Customers were beginning to queue up because I was the only one cooking. The ribs aren’t a problem. We wrap them in foil and keep them hot in the steamer. But the shrimp rolls must be made fresh. My wife assembles them at the restaurant, and we deep fry them just before serving. There’s only a thirty-minute window—otherwise the rolls will be dry. We were doing fine until James left.”
“What time was that?”
“Just before eight. He and Penny had a row. He left the tent.”
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
“So you and Penny were alone in the tent. What happened then?”
“She was taking orders. The shrimp rolls were running low. That was a problem because my wife doesn’t drive. One of us would have to leave the tent. Penny suggested she text James and ask him to pick up the rolls. She did, and he agreed. I phoned my wife and told her to begin assembling another batch, but by eight forty-five, James still hadn’t arrived, so I told Penny I’d have to go myself, even if it meant leaving her alone. I’d parked my bicycle behind the tent, but when I went to find it, it wasn’t there. I realized James must have taken it, so I set out on foot. I hadn’t gotten far when he phoned me. He was distraught.”
“What did he say?”
“I couldn’t understand him at first. He was in shock, really shaken up. He told me about seeing the back door of Ivor’s shop open.”
“And the húnpíng jar?”
Henry looked up, clearly in agony. “James didn’t tell me he’d taken the jar. Two days ago my wife found it hidden in his bedroom. We confronted him, told him he had to return it to Mr. Tweedy. He refused, demanded it back. We couldn’t do that.” Henry put the heels of his hands on either side of his forehead. “I’ve been wracking my brain ever since, trying to decide what to do.”
“Is that why you were poking around in the alley yesterday?” I asked.
He nodded. “I considered leaving the jar in the rubbish bin, but the risk was too great. You might not find it before the collectors came. I realized I had to return it myself.”
“Where are James and Penny now?” Tom and DS Cliffe exchanged a look.
Henry sighed. “They arrived in Beijing two hours ago. He left me a voicemail as they were boarding the plane, telling me they’d left the van in the Heathrow parking lot.” His eyes filled. “You’ll never see them again. Neither will we.”
“What color is your van?” I asked, wondering if James had been the driver of the dark van at Hapthorn.
“White.” He looked puzzled.
“Back to the night of the May Fair,” Tom said. “When we arrived, you had blood on your hands and your shoes. You told us you went inside to see if someone needed help.”
“That wasn’t true. James was the one who went inside. We exchanged clothes and shoes. We wear the same size.”
“And you never saw Mrs. Villiers?”
He shook his head. “I knew something terrible had happened. There was so much blood.”
But there were three sets of footprints. Who was the third person?
“I understand you were protecting your son,” Tom said, “but weren’t you afraid you’d be arrested?”
“I am a British citizen, a local businessman with no criminal record and a reputation for honesty. We knew you were more likely to believe me than him. That’s why I agreed to switch clothes.”
“And then you phoned the local police and pretended you’d been passing by and noticed the open shop door. Where was James?”
“He went to the flat. Took a shower and changed clothes. Then he circled around through the High Street to join the crowd that had gathered.”
“What was his plan?”
“To return the jar to China, of course. In Han culture, a húnpíng is a sacred object. We have a duty to our ancestors, Inspector. James has dedicated his life to that duty, finding and returning the precious cultural objects stolen from us. Ironically, in fulfilling that duty, he brought shame on his parents.”
“Your son is a member of the White Lotus Society,” I said.
Henry’s eyes swung to me. “How do you know that?”
“They’ve committed thefts all over the world. The international police are involved.”
Henry pulled himself up. “I sympathize with their cause, even if I cannot agree with their tactics.”
Tom asked, “How long has James been involved with the Society?”
“His resentment against the English began when we sent him to the international school in Hong Kong. The same one I attended. We wanted him to speak English without an accent. We thought it would help him in his future career, but he was never happy there. They favored the British students. James was slated to attend university in England. Instead he chose Beijing. After earning his graduate degree, he took a position as an assistant professor of history at Hong Kong University. Someone from the White Lotus Society approached him and convinced him that reclaiming our stolen heritage is a restoration of justice.”
“And does the restoration of justice include murder?” Tom asked.
“Certainly not.”
“Come now, Mr. Liu. How did Mrs. Villiers manage to get away from your son?”
“Wait a minute.” Henry Liu shot out of his chair. “My son isn’t a murderer. He saw the open door, the blood, the húnpíng. He didn’t stab that woman.”
“Someone else was there?”
“Obviously, but James never saw him. When he got there, the door was open. No one was inside.”
“Are you saying the killer left without the húnpíng?” Tom asked. “Why would he do that?”
“Yes. It is strange.” Henry sat down again. “James and I talked about that. The woman must have gotten away somehow and ran for help. If her killer gave chase, he must have realized it was too risky. He’d have been covered in blood. We figured that’s when James arrived on his bicycle. He saw the open door and the blood. He
