The Hamlet Murders (19 page)

O
nce again the day’s heat had decided to spend the night inside the old theatre. While the rest of Shanghai had a momentary respite, the air inside the theatre was sultry, almost hazy in its dampness.

“You wanted to see us?” The voice came from the darkness at the back of the theatre.

“Another voice from the darkness,” Fong thought but he said nothing.

“I said, you wanted to see us?” The voice was demanding, angry. It belonged to Ho Tu Pei, the actor who played Laertes.

Fong stood on the slanted stage platform from which the naked Hamlet began his nightly voyage. His back was to the house. Fong assumed the “us” in Laertes’ repeated question meant that he had brought along the actress Yue Feng, who played Ophelia, as Fong had requested. Good.

Fong continued to face upstage and raised his hand. Slowly a hangman’s noose descended from the flies. Fong reached up and took the noose in his hands. Then he turned to the darkened auditorium where he knew Laertes and Ophelia were watching him. “So once I figured out that this all had to do with love – not nefarious plots,” Fong said, “the only thing that confused me was how to get the noose over Geoff’s head then tighten it around his neck – and, of course, keep it there.” Fong took a few steps stage left then turned, “Do you mind if I call you by your character names? I’m sorry but that’s the way I think of you both. Is that okay with you two?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “So my problem wasn’t how to yank Geoff off the ground – counterweights answered that. But, as I said, that wasn’t my problem. My problem was: how did you manage to get the rope around Geoff’s neck. Mr. Hyland is a white man – well it’s not his colour that’s the issue here but the height that often accompanies a white man’s skin. Geoff was just over six foot two inches tall – so you see my problem? I mean how does a five-foot-six-inch Chinese man – or a five-foot-two-inch Chinese woman – manage to get a noose around a six-foot-two-inch white man’s neck – who was not drugged or drunk. You follow me so far?”

Again Fong didn’t wait for an answer.

“Then I thought about that chair by the pinrail. At first I thought it was there for actors to rest on or for the flyman to loaf on between cues. But the flyman was a proud professional, as he told me many times, and would not put up with actors in his territory or in any way slack off while on duty – therefore he had no need for a chair.

“So what was the chair doing there? Ms. Shui, would you bring out the offending chair, please.”

Joan emerged from the stage-left wings carrying the chair.

“Put it there, would you, thanks. Now would you hold the noose for me? Thanks.”

Fong indicated the chair, “Ophelia, this is for you.”

“For what?” Her voice was husky with anger.

“Ah.” Fong paused. “Just do me the favour of sitting in the chair, would you?”

Slowly Ophelia climbed the stairs to the stage. As she did, Joan retreated to the darkness upstage. Fong pointed to the chair. Ophelia sat in it. She was slender and young – Fong could see how some could see her as attractive – a poor substitute for Fu Tsong, but a substitute in the eyes of some – Geoff’s, for example.

“Could you loosen your hair, please?” Fong said.

She looked at him then unknotted her hair. It fell like a black silken curtain almost to the floor – very much like Fu Tsong’s had.

Fong closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw that Ophelia dangled the clip that had kept her hair in place from the index finger of her left hand. He nodded slowly.

“So you two, you and Mr. Hyland, had just been together, had it off, brought on the clouds and rain – you pick. We can trace your contraceptive to stains on Mr. Hyland’s clothing.”

Fong sensed Captain Chen staring at him from the pinrail and realized that he had been shouting at the girl. He lowered his voice, “You had managed it, I assume, in his room, and your boyfriend didn’t even know – or so Geoff thought. He never really understood us, did he? He never understood our patience, our willingness to wait for revenge.

“So you were done and the night was still young. Couldn’t stay in his room; couldn’t chance being spotted by a key lady coming out of Geoff’s room; at least not that night. But you and Geoff wanted more time and privacy. Now where could you find that amidst the eighteen million of us who live in this town? In the theatre, of course. Geoff surely had a key. It was late so no one else would be there. Now to go back a bit, you must have left Geoff’s room first. Leaving together would definitely have caught someone’s attention – you know how nosey we Shanghanese are – especially when one of our women is with one of their men, no? So you leave and, using Geoff’s key, you enter the theatre through the pinrail door, there. But, oh yes, you didn’t just let yourself in – did you – this hanging took two, didn’t it?”

She began to get up from the chair but Fong’s crisp, “I wouldn’t do that,” made her rethink standing up. “Good,” Fong said taking a step away from her. Then he began again. “So you let Laertes into the theatre and he hid behind the pinrail door – with the noose of course. Would you please, Captain Chen?” Fong waited as Chen took the noose and got into place behind the door. Fong surveyed the situation then crossed downstage and addressed the darkness, “Playing Laertes gave you lots of time to watch the flyman and figure out what he does. After all, Laertes is in the whole play but he’s hardly ever onstage. You do get to wait in the wings and watch the most famous speeches in Shakespeare performed by Hamlet; that must have been a real treat for you. But that’s not the point. The flyman and his counterweights are the point.”

“At any rate, Laertes hides with the noose and you, dear Ophelia, position this chair with its back to the pinrail door. You sit on the chair and when you hear Geoff enter you lean forward, your elbows almost on your knees, and pull your hair to one side and forward to reveal the nape of your neck.”

“Do it!” Fong barked.

She did.

The simple line of her neck was exquisite.

“Geoff stepped forward like this, didn’t he, and he leaned over to kiss the nape of your neck like this, didn’t he?”

Ophelia shuddered and began to cry. Her slender body suddenly taken by tremours.

“Then Laertes leapt out of his hiding place behind the door and while Mr. Hyland was bent over you he slipped the rope around Geoff’s neck. Captain Chen.”

Chen raced forward and looped the noose over Fong’s head. It hung loosely around Fong’s neck. Fong was about to continue but stopped and stood very still. His eyes hooded. His delicate fingers traced the circle of the noose around his neck. Then his hands were still and his eyes snapped open. Now, they were hard – angry. He barked, “Stop crying.”

The girl looked up at him, wide-eyed.

Fong felt the loose rope around his neck again. “You did it, didn’t you, Ophelia? Until now I only thought you lured Geoff here. That Laertes actually did the hanging. Now I know differently.”

Before she could protest Fong charged on. “So Laertes looped the noose around Geoff’s neck like Captain Chen just did around mine. But it’s loose, isn’t it Captain Chen?”

“Yes, it has to be to fit over your head.”

“So Geoff does this.” Fong straightened up and immediately reached for the noose. Chen leapt forward and fought with Fong to first tighten and then keep the noose on Fong’s neck. Fong tries to loosen the noose but Chen held the knot tight. “The noose is now set, Ophelia, but Laertes literally has his hands filled keeping it on Geoff’s neck. That being the case, who was left to pull the rope to hang Mr. Hyland?”

Ophelia stood. Her shoulders were back, her head held high. “He said I wasn’t her. He said it was all a mistake. He said he was sorry.” Suddenly she was screaming, “Sorry? Sorry? What the fuck does sorry mean?”

Fong weathered the verbal storm then counted to three before he asked, “Mr. Hyland said you weren’t who?” Fong’s voice was low. He dreaded but needed to hear the answer to his question.

“Her. Fu Tsong. Your wife, remember her?”

And there she was. A murderess. As if she had emerged from somewhere deep within the girl. A murderess with motive, means and opportunity – and more importantly – with the rage needed to kill a man she loved.

The formalities of arresting the two actors were handled by Captain Chen who quickly moved them out of the theatre to the waiting patrol car on Nanjing Lu.

Fong and Joan were alone. Fong went to the back of the auditorium and sat in the exact same seat in which he’d last seen Geoff. Then sadly he said, “Fuck me with a stick.”

“Is this a quaint Shanghanese phrase?” Joan asked as she moved up the aisle toward him. “Does it have an idiomatic meaning or is it to be taken literally?”

“In this case I probably deserve it literally.”

“Being a bit hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Joan put a hand on her hip, sat on the arm of the theatre seat across the aisle from him and said, “Explanation, please.”

He handed her the Shanghai detective’s report of the dead woman found in the Su Zu Creek.

Joan read it quickly then looked at him. “And the key he found on the body fits . . . ?”

“It’s the master key for the guesthouse that Mr. Hyland stayed in.”

Joan thought about that for a moment. “How long was she dead before . . . ?”

“Impossible to say,” Fong interrupted her. “The eels in the Su Zu Creek are ravenous.”

“But she wasn’t at the desk when you went to check Mr. Hyland’s room the day after the murder?”

“No. The woman there was already complaining about how hard it was to keep new workers.”

“So this poor woman was removed to be sure that no one could identify Ophelia as being with Mr. Hyland the night of the murder?”

“That would be my guess,” Fong answered without much enthusiasm. “But when did they kill her? Before they killed Geoff or after, when . . . ?”

“. . . when you could have . . . ”

“. . . done something about it if I had seen what was right in front of me. I allowed myself to be distracted by the little things and ignored the obvious.”

“If that’s true, it’s very bad,” she said flatly.

He looked at her. “Very bad,” she repeated.

Fong nodded.

Joan reached up and tugged at a short blunt stand of hair. “So what exactly did you miss?”

“I missed the biggest clue that Geoff put in front of me.”

“Which was?”

Fong almost laughed but didn’t. Failure wasn’t funny. Murder was certainly not a joke. He took a deep breath then let it out in a line – boy, he wanted a smoke. “The first thing Geoff made sure I saw was Laertes fight Hamlet who just happens to look like a young Geoff. Laertes clearly loves Ophelia. Ophelia loves Hamlet, Geoff. Geoff betrays Ophelia. Laertes and Ophelia kill Geoff. In the West they would say the table was all set for me. Here we’d say the fish’s head faced me.” He looked to Joan. “Do you think . . . ?”

“. . . that the key lady would have lived if you’d understood what Mr. Hyland was trying to tell you?” She let out a long sigh. “No. I don’t. The moment those two murdered Mr. Hyland that poor woman’s fate was sealed. I assume it happened the same night. Once you kill a first time, the second is easier – especially if the second is a poor old woman.”

Fong realized that he’d been holding his breath. He let it out in one long line of relief.

“That still leaves two things about the murder that are unaccounted for,” said Fong.

“What two things?”

“The forget-me-nots in Geoff’s pockets and the vest he wore on the hot night.”

Joan smiled. “Neither strikes me as very mysterious.”

“How do you mean?”

“Mr. Hyland was a middle-aged man having an affair with a young actress.” She looked at Fong who gave no indication that he understood what she was getting at. “Come on, Fong! Okay, I’ll lay it out for you. In middle age, we all thicken Fong, don’t we?” Fong nodded. “The vest helped Mr. Hyland cover that thickening, what Westerners call love handles.” Joan raised her shoulders in the pan-Chinese gesture of “you-get-me?” then added, “How long can anyone hold their stomach in, anyway?”

Fong smiled. So the vest was nothing more than his old enemy, vanity, at work. “And the flowers?”

“Even easier, Fong.”

“They are?”

“Yes, what are the flowers called, Fong?”

“Forget-me-nots.”

“So there it is.”

“There what is?”

Then she said the flower’s name slowly – one word at a time – Forget – Me – Not. “Surely Ophelia put them in Mr. Hyland’s pockets as a final memento, a final love token. A warning not to forget her.”

Fong shook his head but smiled.

Joan got to her feet and her face turned dark. “There is however another mystery that strikes me as potentially far more sinister than anything to do with Mr. Hyland’s death.”

Fong nodded. He knew what she was going to say.

“Who told the two Beijing men that you’d planted a bug on Xi Luan Tu? It wasn’t the snitch in the central stores. He worked for Li Chou.”

This time Fong didn’t even nod.

“Was it Captain Chen?” Joan asked.

Fong looked away.

It was almost midnight when Fong heard the knock on his office door. He’d been sitting in the dark lit only by the ambient light from the neon across the river in the Pudong. “It’s open, Captain Chen.”

The lights played chase-the-colour across the uncomely features of the young man as he entered the office and stood cap in hand. “Sir?”

Fong said nothing.

“You found out, sir?”

“Yes, Captain Chen, I found out. You betrayed me to the men from Beijing.”

After a slight pause, Chen said, “I knew you would figure it out, sir.”

“Then why did you do it?” Fong was on his feet. His voice was loud enough to rattle the glass in the window.

But Chen didn’t flinch. “Because of Lily and Xiao Ming,” he said simply. “This office is a political place. You told me that. I have to protect myself so that I can be there for Lily and Xiao Ming.”

Fong looked at the young man. The colours seemed to float across the man’s unfortunate features.