The Wonder Woman theme song jarred me out of an indistinct, menacing dream. “Oh ho,” I mumbled, finding the phone and sinking back into the pillow. “Hi, Benedict Arnold.”
Mary said, “Sorry to call so late.”
I checked the clock: not quite midnight. “I’m surprised you have the nerve to call me at all.”
“You’re mad I told Bill about Joel.”
“Good guess.”
“But that means you know I told him, which means he must have called you.”
“No wonder you have that gold shield.”
“So what happened?”
“He wormed his way into my office and into the case.”
“And into your heart?”
“Not so fast, sister.”
“Okay, but you’re working together again?”
“Until we find out who killed Joel. Then I’ll see how he’s behaving.”
“So I did the right thing.”
“You think I’d admit that?”
“I wouldn’t, in your position. Anyway, I really hope it works out. But Lydia, that’s not why I called.”
“If you’re checking up on me because of Joel, I’m okay, truly.”
“I still don’t believe that, but I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not why either.”
There was a tone in her voice I was finally awake enough to hear, and I didn’t like it. “Mary? Is something else wrong?”
“It sort of is. We identified my John Doe.”
“Hey, if I weren’t mad at you I’d say, ‘Great’! Did it make you look smart? Who is he?”
“Not that smart. He’s Chinese, but not an illegal. Not an immigrant at all. Lydia, he’s a cop.”
“A cop? You mean from another department, or from like the FBI?”
“I mean from China. From Shanghai.”
“A cop from China?”
“They’d made contact a few days ago, brass to brass, to say he was coming, but that kind of thing doesn’t trickle down to precinct level until the out-of-town cop gets here. This guy never got that far. Shanghai got in touch when he missed a check-in call home.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Chasing a fugitive.”
“And you’re calling me in the middle of the night to tell me this. Wait-the light is dawning. It was my fugitive? He was after Wong Pan?”
“Yes.”
“Oh boy.”
“Oh boy, what?”
“Probably nothing. But there may be more going on than you know about.” I told Mary what Stanley Friedman had told us.
When I was done she was silent for moment. “You’re kidding. A mysterious lost fabulous jewel?”
“Just keep an open mind.”
“If you say so. But you don’t know if Wong Pan has this jewel.”
“No.”
“Or if he does, if Joel knew that.”
“No.”
“Or if it has anything to do with this at all.”
“What happened to that open mind?”
“It’s still ajar. Right now I need to speak to Alice Fairchild. She doesn’t answer her phone at the Waldorf or her cell. How do I find her?”
“Mary, it’s midnight! Maybe she sleeps with earplugs. If you want her, go over there and bang on the door. That’s what Mulgrew would do. Speaking of Mulgrew, did you tell him about the Chinese cop? That’s his case, too, isn’t it?”
“Teed him off. He told me I should have figured it out sooner.”
“You should have?”
“And he’s still clinging to his messenger theory on Joel.”
“He thinks this can possibly be coincidence?”
“More like hopes. He did promise they’ll check the forensics at Joel’s office and the cop’s hotel room.”
“Well, I guess that’s all we can hope for. Mary? What was his name?”
“The Chinese cop?”
“Yes.”
“Sheng Yue. Why?”
“I don’t know. He’s dead. We should at least be calling him by his name.”
After we hung up I stared at the ceiling for a while. I thought about Joel, drinking coffee at the Waldorf; about Alice, remembering how I took my tea; about Rosalie and Kai-rong on the deck of an ocean liner. I thought about calling Bill, and while I was thinking, I suddenly found the room bright with sun. And though I hadn’t noticed myself sleeping, I’d woken with an inspiration. I groped for my phone and speed-dialed Mary. “The cop from Shanghai. Sheng Yue. His hotel room’s the one that was registered to Wu Ming? ‘Anonymous?’ ”
“Good morning to you, too. Yes, that’s right.”
“Why would a cop do that?”
“I wondered that. Probably, Wong Pan knew the Shanghai police were on his trail. Wong Pan’s a civil servant, he might even know Sheng Yue personally. So just in case.”
“Right,” I said. “Thanks.”
“ Lydia! Do not hang up! It sounds lame to me, too. What are you thinking?”
“I’ll tell you if it works out.”
“No.”
“Then come with me.”
“It’s a quarter to seven!”
“So what? Your shift starts at eight. Think of it as overtime.”
Twenty minutes later we were at the Midtown Suites, Mary knew what I was thinking, she’d made this official business, and she was telling me I was lucky she was letting me tag along.
“It was my idea!”
“You’re lucky you have good ideas.”
At the desk, Mary showed the pudgy, bleary-eyed clerk her gold shield. “You had a homicide here a few days ago.”
He nodded. “Five twenty-five. A Chinese cop, I hear.” His look said he was savvy enough to know that’s why two more Chinese cops were in his face right now.
“Were you on duty when the man who took that room checked in?”
“Of course. This is my shift. Midnight to ten.”
“Is this him?”
He peered at the photo. “Of course. Why?”
Of course. The photo was Wong Pan’s.
Out on the sidewalk, Mary called Mulgrew and read him the riot act. I was impressed; my regret was that I couldn’t hear Mulgrew’s end. When Mary lowered the still-smoking phone, she told me, “He says Sheng Yue answered the description of the registered guest.”
“Meaning he was Chinese.”
“This desk clerk who checked him in lives out in Jersey and was off by the time they found the body. Mulgrew asked if anyone still on duty had seen the registered guest. A room service waiter brought him a burger the night before.”
“He made the ID?”
“Yes. But guess what? He’s a Mexican illegal himself. Mulgrew said don’t worry, they weren’t INS, just was this the guy with the burger or not?”
“He said it was?”
“Maybe he even thought it was. Mulgrew never should have bought it without corroboration. An illegal ID-ing a bloody corpse in a roomful of cops? What kind of police work is that?” Mary’s face was flushed with both anger at, and embarrassment for, her department. “So you were right. The room was Wong Pan’s. Sheng Yue must have traced him to it. I’m going to need that photo.”
I handed her the envelope. “Mary, what about phone calls from the room? If it was Wong Pan’s, they may mean something.”
“They might have, but there weren’t any. Maybe he didn’t make any. Or maybe he has a cell.”
I thought about that. “What are the chances of a midlevel Shanghai bureaucrat on the lam having a cell that works in the U.S.?”
She looked at me. “You know, it’s a shame you picked such a sleazy profession. You wouldn’t have made a bad cop.” She called Mulgrew again. A few crisp sentences and she was off the phone.
“That was fast.”
“Right now he’s so afraid of how bad I can make him look that he’d run over and paint my apartment. I told him to check the records for all the pay phones two blocks in every direction. That’ll take a while, though. Do you want me to call you when I hear?”
“Why did that sound like a question?”
“I’m going to the Waldorf now, to talk to your client. No, you can’t come.”
She was all set for an argument, but I couldn’t see any point in explaining I no longer had a client. “Okay,” I said. “Let me know what happens.” I waved and walked off before her curious brow-furrow turned into a suspicious frown.
In the absence of any brighter ideas, I headed back to Chinatown. I needed to think, so I decided to walk. While I was walking, I decided, the way I used to when I was thinking, to call Bill.
“Smith,” he mumbled, his voice raspy.
“Chin.”
“Hey! Like old times.”
“Yes, me up and in action early and you waking from a sound sleep only because the phone rang.”
“It’s a good thing we’re working together again. I almost had to buy an alarm clock.”
“You remember I told you Mary was working a homicide?”
“I thought if you found Mary she was going to be a homicide.”
“Get serious. Her victim’s a Chinese cop. From China. Sent over here to find Wong Pan.”
Bill was silent for a moment. “I’d guess he found him.”
“Better, or worse. The hotel room he was killed in? It was Wong Pan’s.” I gave Bill the story. “They’re checking the pay phones in the area. And I-hold on, a call’s coming in.” I switched lines and answered, in both languages. The caller replied in English.
“Good morning, Ms. Chin. This is Chen Lao-li speaking. From Bright Hopes Jewelry. If it is convenient, please come to my shop this morning.”
I stopped short. Oh, Lydia! I’d forgotten all about the jeweler, sweeping my photos off his counter. “Mr. Chen! Do you-”
“We open at ten. I look forward to our meeting.” He hung up.
I clicked back to the other line and was surprised to find Bill still there. “Why didn’t you hang up the way you always do when I put you on hold? I’d have called you back.”
“I’m trying to behave.”
“This is unnerving.”
“That call?”
“No, you. But the call, too. It was Mr. Chen.”
“Chen… The jeweler? Who knew the photos?”
“That’s the guy. I forgot about him. How stupid is that?”
“Right. After all, you had nothing on your mind yesterday.”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it. Anyway, he wants me to come there. He opens at ten.”
“It’s not ten yet?”
“It’s not even nine. And you’re up. Imagine that.”
“Well, in celebration of this miracle, want me to come with you?”
I considered. “I think not, thanks. Whatever he wants, he might be willing to open up to a nice Chinese girl, but it would probably be better if you weren’t there.”
“It usually is.”
Chances were I was right and Bill shouldn’t come along. And this was our SOP, to work separately when it seemed like the results would be better. And Bill was a four-letter word who hadn’t called me in months.
So it was surprising, the little pang of loneliness I felt after we said good-bye.