Gravediggers

COPYRIGHT © 2017 James Carr

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-99598417

CHAPTER 1

“Someone is disturbing the spirits of our dead,” said Deng Guang, playing with the buttons of the dark blue cardigan beneath a worn tweed jacket.

“We would like you to find out who is digging up the graves of our parents and grandparents, and put a stop to it,” added Hu Tzuhu Xian, a tall, thin woman with a drawn, serious face, who sat stiff and upright in a high-backed chair in DeGrace’s upstairs office.

Deng and Hu were part of a small delegation from the Richmond Hill Chinese Community Association, who suddenly appeared on our doorstep, just off Eglinton Avenue in Toronto, one dark afternoon in early October.

My friend, Denys DeGrace, studied our visitors for a few seconds. “I am flattered that you seek my help but this is outside the scope of my normal investigations.”

Hu, a 30-something dressed in an expensive dark grey suit, was about to speak but was stopped by DeGrace’s raised finger.

“Even so, I think your concerns would be better addressed by the police.” DeGrace folded his hands on his

large mahogany desk as if to say the matter was now closed.

This time, Hu didn’t wait for a go-ahead from DeGrace or anyone else. “It is not a high priority for them, Mr. DeGrace. They already have their hands full and would be hard pressed to spare anyone for something like this.”

“It means a lot to us, Mr. DeGrace,” said Deng, an entrepreneur in his mid-60s and used to getting his own way. “If it’s a question of money?”

“It is not, Mr. –“

“Deng. Deng Guang.”

I had taken great pains to explain to DeGrace before our meeting the Chinese custom of putting surnames first and given names, second.

“To all intents, Mr. Deng, I am retired and rarely take on assignments. Why me? There are any number of excellent private investigators you can call upon.”

Deng and DeGrace were about the same age and he did not understand the concept of retiring. “We heard you were the best.”

I’m sure he knew as well as I did that DeGrace was in the twilight of a fascinating career, not just as a much talked-about private investigator with a photographic mind but as a character actor at Stratford and on Canadian TV. He had become a brand in his own right, and I knew how much the Chinese loved brands.

“My fault, I’m afraid,” Hu jumped in. “We are all concerned about our ancestors, sick inside by what’s happening. We’re locked inside a nightmare with no way out. We were hoping you will be our key.” She paused to emphasize the next point. “Chief Cromwell suggested we contact you. Chief Cromwell thought that if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it would be you.”

“How do you know Chief Cromwell?” DeGrace studied Hu carefully. His cornflower blue eyes barely flickered behind his wire-framed glasses. He had been wearing these

frames and their predecessors since his student days at College Sacré Coeur in New Brunswick.

“I’m a lawyer.” Hu’s short black hair and absence of make-up proclaimed a serious, no-nonsense look. “It’s more than a simple case of grave robbery, Mr. DeGrace. We’re not sure what these people are after but they break open the coffins and even rip open the satin lining.”

“Mon Dieu.” DeGrace pushed his glasses up his arched nose. “I think there is more if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes.” Hu broke into tears and searched a small black purse for a handkerchief.

Nie Yow Zu, sitting next to Hu, patted her on her shoulder. Nie looked and sounded like a businessman with plenty of experience in dealing with foreigners. “It isn’t a simple matter of the graves being opened, Mr. DeGrace. They also return the coffins to the wrong graves.”

Deng glanced at Nie, like a dog getting ready to attack.

DeGrace looked at me in surprise.

“Sifu,” Hu appealed to the Buddhist nun, who was sitting with folded hands directly in front of DeGrace’s desk.

“The placement of coffins is very important to many Chinese, Mr. DeGrace,” said the nun with a quiet smile. She had a long, narrow face and a shaven head, and folded and unfolded her hands as she spoke.

DeGrace, a bit unsure how to deal with the diminutive figure dressed in a brown robe and wearing sandals, shifted uneasily in his chair.

“My name is Wei Chi. I am attached to the Buddhist Temple in Mississauga. These good people asked me to join them today. I hope you do not mind.”

DeGrace shook his head. “Pas de tout. Not at all.”

“Many Chinese are great believers in feng shui. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

DeGrace nodded, still not sure how to address her.

“Many Chinese buried in this cemetery have consulted

a feng shui master to help them select the right location for their burial.” She read the question marks in DeGrace’s eyes with a smile as well as I could. “The right site would ensure the smooth lives for their children and grandchildren.”

“I suspect you find that a bit silly, Mr. DeGrace,” said Hu, who had regained her composure.

“Not a bit, Miss Hu.” DeGrace cast a fond look at the astroglobe he had created in his basement workshop. “I, myself, am a practising astrologer. Nothing in this world is strange to me.”

Then, turning to Deng: ”What aren’t you telling me?”

The room suddenly went silent. Outside, the wind had picked up and a branch from the oak tree in front of our house scratched at the diamond-shaped, lead-paned window that dominated the wall behind DeGrace’s desk.

“If you expect my help, then we must come to an understanding, you and me. I need to know everything you know about this. Everything.”

“I’m not sure how much more we can tell you,” said Nie Yow Zu, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt.

“Think about what I said. And when you all decide, let me know.”

“Does that mean you’ll handle this for us?” Hu asked him in a voice that suggested a favourable reply. “I shall make a few inquiries but before then, at least tell me how long this has been going on, and who you think is behind all this.”

Deng took a deep breath and folded his arms. Hu looked at Nie and straightened up. Nie looked out the window.

“If you wish me to investigate this matter for you, then you must be prepared to take me into your confidence. Otherwise ….” His voice trailed off like a passing breeze.

It was Hu who responded first. “You’re right, of course. We have our suspicions but we also fear the walls have

ears.”

“My office has heard greater secrets than this. Let us start by telling me how long this has been going on.”

“For about three months,” said Deng. “At first, we thought it was the work of vandals but when it continued, it became clear there was some purpose behind it.”

“Any idea what that purpose is?”

“Not really,” Hu broke in. “There’s simply no rhyme or reason to the graves they choose to dig up. They’re scattered all over the cemetery.”

The wind had picked up and the falling leaves from the oak floated by the window. Nie leaned forward. “So what about it?”

“I will let you know.”

“I know you are very busy but I would like you to know this is very important to all of us,” said a young man in his early 30s, who identified himself at Ma Hong. “My wife and I arrived in Canada two years ago. She was pregnant at the time and gave birth to our son in the summer. We found him dead about a month later. The coroner said he had died because of natural causes, that he just stopped breathing.”

The words came haltingly, and when he lifted his head, the look of sadness in his dark eyes was overpowering. “My wife would not accept this. We went to the police and asked them to investigate. But nothing happened. Now we hear that someone is digging up the graves in Tranquil Valley Cemetery, where our son is buried. It will kill her if his grave is disturbed.”

You could tell he was ready to break into tears. A deep silence followed as he sat down. A few seconds later, he rose again, his hands trembling as he added: “I would like you to think about my son when you make up your mind.”

DeGrace nodded but said nothing.

The meeting broke up a few minutes later, leaving a

strange vacuum. DeGrace was in a pensive mood. He had moved to the oversized wingback chair in front of his desk, where he would close his eyes and drift off to do some hard thinking.

Something stirred inside him. I knew that look. I had seen it hundreds of times – some unhappy memory from his days at a prisoner-of-war camp in Germany.

I also knew what it meant. “You’re going to take the case, aren’t you?” I knew it was his way of chasing away the demons that still haunted him from those days.

“It was the look on their faces when I asked if they had any suspicions. I have known that look in other circumstances.” He stroked the RAF-style mustache he had worn from his days as a Spitfire pilot. “That and Mr. Ma’s appeal.”

He closed his eyes again. “I will need your help in this.”

It had to be one of the Chinese, I thought, as I hurried down the stairs to answer the knocking at the front door. I was wrong. It was a tall man with sharp, darting eyes, who stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Mr. DeGrace?”

“He’s up in his office upstairs. Perhaps I might be able to help you.”

He doffed his tweed cap and flashed a smile. His dark brown eyes studied me for a few seconds. “I need to speak to him. It’s urgent.”

“Could I tell him what it’s all about?”

“Tell him I’m from Dominion Insurance. My name is Beauchemin.”

“Follow me.”

I rapped on DeGrace’s door and entered. He was on the phone talking to someone about a rare clock the person had found in Holland.

“Someone’s here to see you. From Dominion Insurance.

JIM CARR

Says it’s urgent.”

He nodded and got off the phone.

Beauchemin, who spoke English without a trace of accent, introduced himself, taking off his raincoat and settling in the over-sized wingback chair in front of DeGrace’s mahogany desk. “We’re very interested in the Chinese grave openings. We’d like to know if you plan to investigate on behalf of the Chinese delegation that left a few minutes ago.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Beauchemin, but I do not know who you are, or, in fact, if you are a representative of Dominion Insurance.”

Beauchemin smiled and pushed back his straight dark hair with an easy gesture. “I heard you were a tough nut to deal with. To speed things up, call Greg Donaldson. He’s my VP.”

DeGrace offered one of his sly smiles and lifted the white carafe on the left side of his desk. “Could I interest you one of my special coffees?”

Beauchemin looked at the carafe and bottle of French Cognac and nodded. DeGrace poured a coffee in one of the mugs he reserved for special guests and added a slug of Cognac, and pushed the mug in Beauchemin’s direction. He then poured another for himself, cupping his favourite mug in his hands and holding it to his nose for a few seconds. He loved the aroma of Cognac. “Now, Mr. Beauchemin,” he said, still holding the mug, “how may I be of assistance?”

Beauchemin smiled before beginning. “Do you plan to investigate the grave openings?”

“I have told the group I would consider it, and let them know what I decide. Now, let me ask you a question, if I may. Why is Dominion Insurance interested in these grave openings?”

“We’re very interested in anything you might discover in the course of your investigations.”

The wind had picked up from the north, sending a cool

draft through the room. Beauchemin shivered and took another mouthful of coffee.

“Like what?”

Beauchemin paused for a second. “Anything that may reduce possibile liabilities resulting from the grave openings.”

“Do you have a card?” asked DeGrace. “In the event I need to reach you.”

Beauchemin glanced at his wristwatch. “I don’t have any with me. It might be easier if you let me call you. This way I won’t have to wonder if you’ve found something I should know about.” He paused, as if unsure what to say next. “A word of advice: That group you saw. Watch your back at all times.”

He rose to his feet slowly. I helped him slide into his raincoat and escorted him downstairs.

“Do you think he will help us?” he asked me as we reached the front door.

I answered with a smile, and opened for the door for him. When I returned, DeGrace was humming a Latin hymn New Brunswick Acadians had made their national anthem. His cornflower blue eyes brimmed with excitement, and I knew there would be no stopping him now.

“What do you make of our visitor?” A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

It was one of his rhetorical questions. I shrugged, not sure what to say. You never quite knew with DeGrace.

“He’s a fraud, as you probably know. He’s no more an investigator for Dominion Insurance than I am. While you were letting him out, I called Dominion Insurance. They told me both he and his VP, Greg Donaldson, had left under a cloud about five years ago.”

Lawyer Hu and Deng Guang were still sitting in Hu’s

car talking about their meeting with DeGrace as they watched the guilao or ghost as Hong Kongers described Caucasians, come and go from the house.

Deng was not sure about DeGrace after meeting him and even more so after seeing a stranger enter and leave on the heels of their meeting. He had an uneasy feeling about it, and voiced his concerns to Hu, who watched the man in the trench coat disappear around the corner. She could tell Deng was even more upset after he had seen the stranger leave the house and didn’t respond immediately. Her mind was on more pressing matters.

“Are you going back uptown?” asked Deng.

“Not just yet. I have a meeting with a new client in Chinatown first.”

Deng could see she was getting impatient but he still had to press the point before they departed. “I would be more comfortable if we explored other ways to deal with this.”

Hu looked at him for a few seconds. Then, in an even voice: “We have no other option, Deng Guang. Not if we hope to stop the grave openings.”

“What about that stranger? Don’t you think that changes –“

“I know what you’re going to say but we have to start somewhere, and DeGrace is a good place to start. He has a great reputation, not just as a detective but as someone who can’t be bought or threatened. And from what I hear, he’s the soul of discretion.”

“I hear he’s an actor,” countered Deng, shaking his head.

Hu held up her hand. “We could go on talking about this forever but right now, I’m running late.”

A couple minutes later, she started her Mercedes and headed for Yonge Street, wondering why Deng was so uneasy about DeGrace. The police liked him. So did a lot of the

criminal lawyers she knew. When she first heard about the grave openings, it sickened her, she told him. It was not the way anyone’s ancestors should be treated.

But after Deng consulted her a week earlier, she understood just how much was at stake. To make matters worse, her husband’s father was buried there, and he was having nightmares about the possibility of having his father’s grave desecrated.

Today she had other concerns. Hu was meeting a young Chinese woman from Shanghai, who was visiting Canada and felt threatened for some reason. She turned into Dundas and headed west to Spadina.

Deng waited until he could see her car head south before turning his car onto Yonge, heading for No. 7 Highway. He didn’t have a good feeling about any of this, especially Hu’s insistence on bringing Nie into it. He didn’t like Nie, didn’t trust him and didn’t know where he stood on anything. Nie had powerful friends in Beijing. He didn’t know who, other than when Nie wanted something, everything seemed to fall into place. But bringing in a stranger and a ghost at that, only increased his anxiety, He need to talk to Hu again. There had to be a better way.

Nie smiled inside when he thought about DeGrace. He was perfect for the assignment. He couldn’t imagine why everyone held DeGrace in such awe – yet he was. This time, the great one is in over his head, he thought with a smile. All the same, it was time to be extra careful and say nothing. He had something far more pressing to worry about now, and really needed to talk to DeGrace by himself with no one else around.

His wife was threatening to leave and was demanding

half of his money. Nie could ill afford that now. Best way to deal with it was to take her on a second honeymoon, somewhere exotic and isolated. He would talk to her when he got home. The only thing that really bothered him was that nosy reporter, Hui. He had too much to lose to let someone like Hui gum up the works now.***

For the first time in months, Ma Hong felt better, a kind of release he had not felt since the death of his infant son. He knew his wife would ask him about the meeting, and good news would ease her pain. There was a deep, sad look that never left her eyes now, and her throat ached when she tried to talk about it.

Hong emerged from the St. Patrick subway exit and walked west to Spadina. There was a chill in the air and he put the collar of his jacket around his neck and his hands in his pockets.

She spotted him as soon as he approached the stall, while serving an elderly couple, who were checking over the mangoes before buying two. Ju never missed anything. She could read Hong’s mind from the way he walked.

“How did it go, Ma?” She always called him by his last name.

He beckoned her inside, out of earshot of their nosy neighbour and competitor. The linoleum-covered counter looked out of place somehow. So did the crates of oranges, pineapples, mangoes and tomatoes. How he loved the smell. It helped sustain him in the bleak, dark days after the death of his son. His wife, who thought it was foolish, had nothing to comfort her, and didn’t want any. She never really believed that her son died of natural causes.

“He was strong, with powerful lungs. Such babies do not die in cribs,” she told him and the police whom she had called. It would always leave a hole in her heart.

“We had a good meeting, Ju.” This man has a great

reputation, a master that even the police admire, and has a great reputation for honesty, and solving greater things than this.” Hong knew he should have stayed behind and talked to DeGrace, and tell him that he and his wife could be in jeopardy, too.

“When does he start?” She noted the hesitancy in his voice.

“He had not agreed to take out case – but somehow I know he will.”

“If you say so, Ma.” Her eyes said something quite different. “All the same, you must be very careful. Once word about your meeting gets out, who knows what will happen?”

“I have to go out now. I have to see someone who can put a stop to these grave openings. I will be back in a couple of hours.”

CHAPTER 2

There were four other calls that day, the first two in response to calls I had made on DeGrace’s behalf. The first was from Detective Sergeant Hilkers from the Toronto Metropolitan Police: “I can tell you we had a complaint but we’ve not been able to do much about it. We did patrol the gravesite for a few days. That’s about it.”

“DeGrace was curious about –”

“DeGrace is always curious,” said Hilkers in a tired voice. “For the record, we don’t think it’s a prank or the

work of grave robbers but someone with an agenda. I gather they’ve resumed again.”

“Yes. But that’s not what he’s curious about. He wants to know if the graves were dug up in any logical order.”

“Good question. And the answer is No. They were dug up all over the graveyard without any logical pattern as far as we could tell.”

“Anything else?”

“He thinks something else is going on.”

Hilkers laughed. “Anything is possible. It’s bizarre, to say the least. Did he indicate what?”

Hilkers and I understood DeGrace. “You know what he’s like. Probably one of his famous feelings. Nothing certain but a gut feeling.”

“Understood. One curious thing that may be of interest to our friend.” In the pause I could hear him going through the papers on his desk. “Yes, here it is. One of the officers swears he could hear music in the graveyard when he patrolled the graveyard in the middle of the night.”

He was about to hang up when he added: “If this weren’t enough, I had a call from Interpol this morning, asking me to investigate four major jewelry thefts that somehow have a Toronto connection.”

“And who is your Mr. DeGrace?” Jeffrey Applegate, managing director of the Tranquil Valley Funeral Home and the Tranquil Valley Cemetery, intoned in response to my call. I told him about the delegation from the Chinese community. I didn’t need to go further.

“We have already met with this group. I told them we had hired two special watchmen to patrol the cemetery grounds throughout the night hours.”

“When was this?”

“Two days ago.” His starched voice lost some of its crispness. “You should be aware that this delegation met with DeGrace this afternoon.”

“What exactly did they want from him?”

“To investigate the grave openings.”

“What can he possibly do that we can’t?”

“He is very, very good at what he does. In fact, the chief of police sent them to him.”

“And just who did you say your Mr. DeGrace is?”

***

The third call came at precisely 6 p.m. We were sitting in our dining room when the 18 clocks DeGrace had placed around the house suddenly went off at the same time. In case you don’t know, DeGrace is a nut about clocks, especially 18th Century clocks, which he started collecting in the 1970s.

It was a woman’s voice in an odd accent. “Consul General Zhang would like to speak to Mr. DeGrace. Are you he?”

I held out the phone to DeGrace.

“This is Consul General Zhang of the Peoples Republic of China. I would appreciate it if you could spare me a few minutes of your valuable time, say tomorrow morning at 10.”

DeGrace didn’t respond immediately. “What is this about, Consul General?”

“It is a matter of considerable urgency, Mr. DeGrace, and I would rather not discuss it over the phone. And of some delicacy. All I can say is that our ambassador recommended I call you for assistance.”

“What was that about?” I asked when he hung up the phone.

“He didn’t say. Just that he wanted to see us tomorrow

morning.”

Maybe about the graves,” I said, opening the door of the old white refrigerator that came with the house when we bought it. “You never know who’s got his ear.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so. There was a special urgency to his voice that suggests something more personal, something that affects him.”

“Is there anything else going on in the Chinese community that would make him seek my help?”

I shook my head. “Nothing that would affect him or the consulate.”

“What about the cemetery?” he asked in a sudden shift in topic.

I didn’t tell him that Applegate didn’t know who he was. Only that Applegate was surprised that the Chinese community had retained him to investigate the grave openings.

The last call of the day came around 10 p.m. It was for DeGrace, who was getting ready for bed. “Who is it?”

“The voice sounded urgent.”

DeGrace didn’t seem interested,

“Tell him to call back in the morning, before 9.30.”

“I can’t wait that long,” said the muffled voice. I suspected it belonged to another Chinese, a voice I had heard before but couldn’t quite place. “It may be too late then.”

“Hang on.” I buzzed DeGrace, who picked up the phone in his bedroom. The night air had grown cool and I could hear him muttering as he tried to find his slippers. A minute later he buzzed me to pick up the kitchen phone and listen in.

“I need your help. I fear for my life,” said the muffled voice.

“Where are you?”

“At the Empire Hotel. I am calling from the reception desk in the restaurant.”

GRAVEDIGGERS

“How did you get my telephone number?

“From one of the waiters.”

“Which one?”

“He said you would know.”

DeGrace didn’t respond. I could tell he now had DeGrace’s full attention.

“I worry if I go to my room, they will find me and kill me. I cannot come to you. I have a great secret, and I need to tell you about it before they find me.”

“Sit tight and we will come to you. Stay in the restaurant. And ask your waiter to keep a close eye on you, and not let you out of his sight. We will be there in 30 minutes.”

We reached the hotel in just under 28 minutes and went straight to the restaurant. It had closed and we looked around for a familiar face. When we couldn’t find our waiter, DeGrace headed for the main reception desk, a short distance away on the same floor.

“My name is DeGrace. Someone is waiting for me,” he told a young man, with a pencil-thin black mustache and slicked-back black hair at main reception.

“You’re referring to Mr. Wong. He left about five minutes ago with two friends. He said you would understand.”

“I glanced at the big clock in the centre of the lobby at the right of the reception desk. It was barely 10.40.

“I fear we were too late for our mysterious friend,” said DeGrace back at our home. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was taking it as a personal failure, and knew he was within a hair’s breadth of going into a depression. I always believed he was bipolar and dreaded these episodes.

“Perhaps that’s what the Chinese consul general wants to see you about?” I offered in a cheerful voice.

“I doubt that somehow,” he said as the grandfather clock at the front door entrance chimed midnight.

CHAPTER 3

At 10 o’clock the next morning we were led into the consul general’s office on the main floor of the Chinese consulate. “Consul General Zhang will be with you presently,” said a young woman, dressed in a light grey suit and red neck scarf, who escorted us into the consul general’s office.

A huge bouquet of bright red and yellow flowers on an ornate glass-topped table showered the room with the smell of summer. She guided us to a light yellow, silk-covered sofa painted with scenes of Chinese rural life. A large painting of five young female musicians looked down from the wall behind us. She returned a few minutes later with a silver tray and poured tea for us.

I watched DeGrace out of the corner of my eye. DeGrace has a passion for coffee, particularly coffee laced with Cognac, and rarely, and only on state occasions, drinks tea. The door opened and a scholarly looking middle-aged man with a slight stoop entered the room. He was wearing black-rimmed glasses and a navy blue suit with a red-patterned tie. “Sorry about the delay, gentlemen. Which of you is Mr. DeGrace?”

DeGrace raised his tea cup.

“Ah, I see Xue Mei has already extended our hospitality. I hope you like the tea. It’s my own special blend,” said Zhang after shaking our hands. A small hand for a man, I remarked to DeGrace later. Zhang sat opposite us and leaned forward as if to whisper a state secret. “It is a matter of extreme urgency,” he said in slightly stilted English voice. “I must ask that whatever I tell you remains within these four walls. The ambassador informs me that you are a man of great discretion.”

He scanned DeGrace’s face for a reaction. There wasn’t any.

“You no doubt have heard of our celebrated violinist, Jaing Xiaohuan, who is touring Canada at the moment.”

I knew by the blank look in DeGrace’s eyes that he had not heard of her before.

“Her maid has disappeared. Xiaohuan fears something has happened to her.”

DeGrace stiffened. This was not what either of us expected. We both were so sure that he wanted to talk about the grave-openings. “This is really a matter for the police and our CSIS,” said DeGrace after a pause. “If something were to happen ….”

I could tell that his mind went back to the events of the previous evening.

Zhang raised his hand. “We understand all that, Mr. DeGrace. But it is not something we wish to bring to the attention of your police or CSIS. At least, not for the moment.” A pause. “All I can offer you is the goodwill of China and my own personal gratitude, which is not inconsiderable should you ever travel to China.”

At that point, a tall, black-haired man in his early 40s, dressed in a dark grey suit, joined us.

“May I introduce Consul Chen. Mr. Chen is our commercial consul,” said Zhang. “I have asked him to sit in on

our meeting. I wanted you to meet him in case you needed to reach me in an emergency, and I am unavailable.”

DeGrace nodded and accepted the card Consul Chen offered in his outstretched hands across the table.

“How do you think I can help, consul general?” DeGrace loved using titles, the more important, the better. Zhang paused before answering. “We would like you to track down Xiaohuan’s maid. Like many great artists, Xiaohuan is prone to sudden outbursts and irrational behaviour. Please bear with her. She is under a lot of stra in.”

“I would like to bring up another matter, if I may.” DeGrace paused long enough to underline the importance of what he was going to say. “I assume you’ve heard that someone or some group is digging up the graves of Chinese buried at the Tranquil Valley Cemetery.”

“I have.” A nervous tone crept into Zhang’s voice. “We think it is the work of grave robbers. It is not something these dissident groups usually indulge in.” And then, in a sudden change in voice: “Well, Mr. DeGrace, can we count on you?” ***

The first thing you notice is the large black luminous eyes and the long, tapered black hair that framed her face like a halo, and her impossibly thin shape. Jaing Xiaohuan met us at the door of her suite on the ground floor of the Chinese consulate. The faint smell of an exotic perfume swirled around her like an invisible mist.

Her suite was covered by a thick white carpet and the light grey walls that gave the room an aura of purity. Copies of two famous paintings from the National Art Gallery in Beijing provided the only splash of colour.

The two young men with cold dark eyes dressed in black suits, who had escorted us from the consul general’s

office, showed no signs of leaving until Xiaohuan waved them away and closed the door behind them.

“They follow me wherever I go,” she said, walking across the room with the air of confidence of someone who knows they’re not only very special but invincible. She waved us to a canary green silk sofa and sat down on a straight-backed chair opposite us.

“Consul General Zhang asked me to see you.” Her eyes had a wide innocent look.

“I hope you do not mind if we skip the formalities, Miss Xiaohuan.”

Xiaohuan nodded and stroked her hair with her left hand.

“We are here to help.”

“I see.” She had a deep, throaty voice that spoke of sultriness as well as authority, and used it like an older, more experienced woman with an understanding of her place in life.

“If you really want to help, then find my maid. She went out to do something for me and has not returned.”

“Can you provide me with a picture of your maid, her name, and everything you can tell me about her?” Then, after a pause: “Perhaps she will return shortly.”

Xiaohuan stood and went to the end table next to the door and returned with a picture. DeGrace studied it for a few seconds. “You two look enough alike to be sisters.”

Xiaohuian smiled. “We are not related but we are friends. She has been with me for two years, long enough for me to know that she would die for me.”

“And her name?” “Li Ping.”

“How did she come to disappear?”

Xiaohuan’s dark eyes flared for a second. She sat down. “I’ve told the consul general everything I know. As I said, I sent Ping to do something for me.”

“What kind of mission?”

“Does it matter?”

“It may help.”

“One of the diamond studs in my hair ring was missing. I sent her to the jewelers to have it replaced. She didn’t reach the jewelers, I understand.”

“Was the hair ring valuable?”

“Valuable enough. But not enough that it would tempt her to disappear with it.”

“What do you think happened to her?”

“I don’t know. In the meantime,” she said in a distracted voice, “get those two gooses out there to lighten up a bit. I never have any fun. Can’t go anywhere. Can’t see my friends. All I do is stay in my room, day after day, and practise and practise and practise.”

A knock at the door and a young woman, about Xiahuan’s age, wheeled in a metal cart.

“Please join me,” she said after the young woman laid out the dishes and left. DeGrace, who rarely ate Chinese food, shook his head.

Xiaohuan lifted the metal lid covering one of the dishes and scrunched her nose. “Cantonese food,” she said, putting her chopsticks down. “Anything else?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She nodded and peeked at another dish. She made another face and covered the dish.

“Is he one of the friends who came to Canada to be with you?” She shook her head and then lowered it. “Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Is he the friend your guards are preventing you from seeing?”

There was another knock as one of the guards entered with a candy-stripped hat box.

“It’s from my maid. About time.” Her voice, as changeable as a summer storm, turned suddenly dark. We watched as she untied the pink ribbon and lifted the lid. Suddenly

her face twisted into a grotesque shape that bore no resemblance to the beautiful young woman who with us seconds earlier. The box dropped on the floor beside her chair.

DeGrace leapt to her side to keep her from falling.

A small hand, a woman’s hand, peeped out from the box. ***

“Miss Xiaohuan has had quite a shock,” said DeGrace, who went on to describe about the package that had been delivered to her.

Consul General Zhang was stunned. His face turned pale and he steadied himself by gripping the edge of his desk. “Barbaric. Disgusting. Beyond any sense of decency. I don’t understand why anyone would want to murder such a gifted young woman, who has not lived long enough to incite anyone to kill her.” He paused to direct his comments to DeGrace directly. “Now, Mr. DeGrace, will you help us?”

DeGrace nodded and offered the consul general a reassuring smile.

“Perhaps,” said Consul Chen, “she is not the inciting element but collateral damage. I have seen this many times in Shanghai.”

“That’s very interesting. I would like to know more, Consul Chen.” Chen, who was standing beside the consul general, glanced at his wristwatch. “I would be happy to discuss it with you but right now I have to leave for the airport to catch a flight to Ottawa for a meeting at our embassy.”

DeGrace looked at me. “We would be happy to drop you off.” We left a short time later. The falun gong lady waved at us as we left the consulate entrance and made our way to Bloor and down University Avenue to the airport.

DeGrace was chatting up Chen. It was his way of getting a handle on people. DeGrace volunteered to see him through security over Chen’s protests.

JIM CARR

At security Chen carefully emptied his pockets – his wallet, coins, keys, even his belt but still set off the walkthrough scanner. The operator passed a hand scanner over his body and discovered the problem almost immediately – an oval pin in the lapel of his jacket.

Chen removed the pin, shaped like a small gold flower, and put it in the container containing his coins and wallet. It passed through the scanner without incident. DeGrace smiled as Chen turned to wave and continued on his way.

CHAPTER 4

Parking close to The Empire is always a problem, unless you park in the hotel’s parking garage, and DeGrace, who didn’t own a car, never understood why it was such a big deal. When we left the consul general, it was close to lunch time and he had it in his head that we were going to lunch at his favourite restaurant.

As luck would find it, we found his favourite table, close to the open kitchen in the main dining area. It was the only table that was positioned next to a wall. DeGrace had a thing about sitting with his back to a wall.

Without being asked, his waiter brought a coffee and a shot of Cognac, and for me, a soft drink. DeGrace loved the atmosphere as much as being able to talk in Italian, switching off and on, into French when he wanted to talk about confidential matters, even though the tables were positioned enough apart, where “you could plot an assassination without being overheard”, as he once remarked. I never quite knew what they were talking about.

DeGrace inherited his language skills from his mother,

the daughter of an Italian immigrant, who spoke to him in Italian only, and his father, a N.B. provincial judge, an Acadian with an obsession for French grammar and pronunciation, who spoke to him in French. To the despair of his father, he spoke French with an Italian accent and Italian, with a French accent.

The waiter, a tall, slim man in his 40s and a perennial smile, returned with refills. “I am sorry, M. DeGrace, if I did wrong in sending that Chinese man to you but he seemed so desperate and scared out of his wits. I had the feeling that he was trying to hide from someone who was out to kill him.”

DeGrace nodded. “You did right, mon ami. Merci.”

“Were you able to help him?”

DeGrace shook his head. “He called us and we came to the hotel to find that he had just left before we arrived.”

A man at a nearby table called out our waiter’s name. “I will be back in a minute.”

DeGrace watched with interest how he responded to the man, who appeared upset.

“He’s the president of a big mining company,” I volunteered in a low voice.

DeGrace continued to study him, until the man was joined by a well known CBC commentator.

“You seem quite interested in this man.” It was an attempt on my part to shift his thoughts for I knew he blamed himself for not coming in time to the aid of the man who had called us.

“Did you notice his cuff links?” DeGrace asked suddenly.

“I really can’t see them at the moment.” I knew exactly what was going through his head and decided to change the topic again.

The young lady at the reception desk beat me to it. She suddenly appeared from around the corner. “Mr. DeGrace.

There’s someone on the phone for you. He says it’s urgent.”

DeGrace nodded to me. “If you would be so kind, mon vieux ….”

I went to the reception desk and picked up the phone.

“DeGrace?” It was Phil Hilkers from the Toronto Metropolitan Police.

“He’s tied up at the moment.”

“When he unties himself, tell him we really need to talk to him. We found a body behind an apartment building on Yonge Street. Your telephone number was found in his pocket.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“We’ve been trying to reach you guys for hours. Where in the hell were you?”

“Sorry, Phil. We’ve been on the move.”

“Tell him to get a cell.”

“You know what he thinks about them. Better still, Phil, you tell him.”

DeGrace was talking in Italian to the waiter when I returned. “Well?”

“It was Phil Hilkers. They’ve found our missing friend’s body and our telephone number in his pocket.”

“If we pay for it, will you get a cell?” Hilkers was leaning back in his chair and put his feet on his desk.

“You know that is not the issue, detective.” DeGrace was incredibly touchy when it came to discussing money.

“We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“We are here now. How may I help?”

Hilkers, who wore black-rimmed glasses that made him look more severe than he actually was, hadn’t shaved and looked as though he hadn’t been to bed either. “What about it, DeGrace? How are you involved with this dead man? I assume your associate has told you we have an un-

named body on our hands.”

DeGrace nodded. “How do you think I can help?”

“You can start by accompanying me to the coroner’s examination. But I must warn you, this one’s messy.”

We reached the coroner’s office, located on Grenville, about 20 minutes later, where we were met by the Dr. Xavier, who was performing the autopsy. I glanced at DeGrace. He was always apprehensive when he had to inspect dead bodies.

Hilkers was right. It was pretty messy. The man had been shot in the back of his head and then, for good measure, in the face.

“He was dead with the first shot,” said the coroner, a tall, thin man with thin lips and burning black eyes in his early 30s. “The second shot was unnecessary.”

DeGrace, who disliked the sight of blood, turned away. “Anything else?”

“We found also traces of a knock-out drug in his blood.”

“Looks to me as though the killer went to great pains to hide the ID of the victim,” said Hilkers.

Dr. Xavier nodded, noting that the victim’s wallet was missing and that there was no way to identify him.

“All of which suggests that something else is at work other than making him unrecognizable,” said DeGrace.

“You know something, DeGrace. Out with it.”

“I remember seeing those clothes before. They were worn by a Mr. Ma. First name, Hong. But with the face so messed up, I can’t be absolutely sure.”

“Was he married?”

“If it’s Ma, then his wife will know for sure.” One other thing,” DeGrace added, “I suspect he was the person who called me last night. His voice was muffled, as though he were trying to disguise his voice. You can never be quite sure when you’re talking to some foreigners. He identified himself as Wong in his call,” said DeGrace.

“Anything else?” said DeGrace.

“He was wearing a black jacket. Made in China, according to the label. You’re sure he said Wong when he called you.”

“Yes.”

“That’s like saying Smith in English.” Hilkers laughed, pleased at his own joke. “If I were a betting man, DeGrace, I’d say it wasn’t his real name.”

DeGrace smiled but did not offer a comment.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

DeGrace nodded and smiled.

“What do you know that I don’t?” Hilkers could sense that DeGrace was holding something back.

DeGrace gave him one his shrugs and looked at his watch.

“You will let me know if another element enters the picture, DeGrace.” Hilkers spoke the words evenly, knowing DeGrace’s tendency to twist things to his advantage.

“Before I forget,” Dr. Xavier broke in, “we found this scrap of paper in the heel of his shoe.”

He handed it to Hilkers, who scanned it quickly and shrugged, passing it to DeGrace without comment. It contained five Chinese characters. DeGrace looked at both sides of the paper.

“We have a Chinese officer at our division. He’ll be able to tell us what this means quick enough.”

***

Back at division a few minutes later, the Chinese officer told us the only things written on the paper were four numbers – four 4s.”

DeGrace looked at me, as if expecting me to comment.

“Strange numbers for any Chinese person to carry around with them,” I said.

“Yes, the four thing. They associate the number with death,” observed Hilkers.

“Anything else on the paper?” DeGrace wasn’t giving up.

The officer, a young man with black hair with dark piercing eyes and thin cheeks, studied the paper again.

“The Chinese character that appears at the top. What does it say?”

The officer’s face tightened as soon as he read the numbers again.

“It’s the Chinese character for his name – Wong. It’s my name, too.”

He looked at us before continuing. “Wong is a very familiar name, as you probably know. What you may not know is that there are several clans of Wongs. This belongs to someone from the Big Belly Wong clan.”

“Now what?” asked Hilkers after Officer Wong had left.

“The numbers, mon vieux. Perhaps the numbers are for a safety deposit box.”

“What would make you think of that?”

DeGrace shrugged. But I knew. It was the secret Wong had mentioned in his call. A safety deposit box made a lot of sense.

“We’ve got a call into the Chinese consul general’s office on the off-chance he might be able to tell us something about the mysterious Mr. Wong.” Hilkers glanced at his watch. “That was over an hour ago and he hasn’t called back.”

We found out why when we returned home. The telephone was ringing and stopped before we had a chance to pick up. DeGrace was always indifferent to missed calls and believed if it were really important, they would call back. He was right. Ten minutes later, the telephone came alive again.

“Mr. DeGrace?”

It was the same lady that had called the day before.

JIM CARR

“Consul general,” I whispered, passing him the phone.

“We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.” The consul general’s voice was loud and frantic.

“Is this about the call you received from the police?” asked DeGrace.

“Yes. I haven’t responded yet. I need to know what you told them first. I thought we had an understanding.”

“We do have an understanding – and still do.”

“Then why are they calling me?”

“It’s not about Miss Xiaohuan or anything else you told me.” DeGrace paused deliberately.

“I’m sorry. And you’re right. I should have known better. Do you know why they’re calling? And should I call our lawyer first?”

“It’s about a Chinese national by the name of Wong. You may know him as Ma. The police found his body in an alley behind Yonge Street this morning. They’re calling you in the hope you can identify him for them, and anything you might be able to tell them that could help them solve his murder.”

“That’s it?” You could almost touch the sound of relief in his voice.

“That is it. May I offer a suggestion? Tell them everything you know about this man. They will really appreciate it and you never know when you need a friend.”

The consul general didn’t respond for a few seconds. “I owe you an apology, Mr. DeGrace.”

DeGrace, for once, kept his thoughts to himself.

CHAPTER 5

DeGrace opened the door to his upstairs study to find a young man wearing sunglasses.

“Mirabile dictu,” he said in a theatrical voice, opening the door all the way so that I could see the figure of a tall, thin young man of about 24 or 25 sprawled over DeGrace’s red leather chair. “I see we have a visitor. Or an intruder. Which is it?”

The young man scrambled to stand. He pushed his sunglasses over his forehead, and tried to tidy his hair, cut in the latest Shanghai fashion, to make sure the wave over his left eye was in place. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. DeGrace,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“Miss Xiaohuan’s boyfriend, if I am not mistaken.”

“How did you get in?” I was curious. I thought we had an effective security system.

“It wasn’t that hard,” he said with the easy familiarity of someone who has known you a long time. He caught DeGrace’s eye and smiled. “You’re right. I am Xiaohuan’s boyfriend. My name is Huang Chen Wu but call me Roger. That’s my nickname.” And in the same breath: “ Xiaohuan asked me to see you on her behalf.”

“You seem to cut quite a dashing figure, Mr. Huang. I suspect the ladies find you quite irresistible.”

“I have been told that. What’s this all about?”

“I suspect you find it relatively easy to get them to do your bidding. You are a very lucky man. I have never been so lucky,”said DeGrace.

Huang smiled and changed the topic. I could tell by the way he looked at DeGrace he was wondering if DeGrace had a nutty streak. “Anything else?”

DeGrace spent a few seconds looking him over before asking what was so urgent that he felt it necessary to break into his office.

Huang ignored the question. “I know you’ve met with the consul general, and that he’s briefed you about Xiaohuan.” He glanced at DeGrace before continuing. “They didn’t tell you everything. Perhaps because they don’t know yet.”

“I gather you do.”

Huang’s eyes answered for him. “Not everything. But I do know that someone in the Toronto consulate is masterminding Xiaohuan’s murder.”

DeGrace didn’t respond immediately. “You know that for certain?”

The front door bell clanged, sending a hallow echo upstairs.

“It’s the seniors’ delegation. You’d better go,” said Huang, who seemed to know DeGrace’s timetable better than he did.

I left to escort our visitors upstairs. When I returned, Huang Chen Wu had disappeared.

DeGrace held up his hand. “One at a time, s’il vous plaît, mes amis.”

“We came to tell you we no longer need your services,” said Hu Tzuhu Xian, sitting upright in the straight-backed chair, her hands neatly folded on her lap.

“Something has happened. What?”

“These good people have been threatened,” said the Venerable Wei Chi, the Buddhist nun, a small, frail woman, with a soft, accented voice.

GRAVEDIGGERS

“How precisely?”

“Each of us has received a phone call, and warned.” Hu tightened her clasped hands and met DeGrace’s steady gaze without flinching.

“That the ashes of our loves ones would be stolen and that we would never see them again,” said Deng Guang, who had been sitting back like a detached observer.

“Unless ….”

“Unless we back off,” said Hu.

“They know you’re involved. They also made it clear they don’t want you near this,” said Deng.

“What did you tell them?”

“We told them we would do what they asked.” There was a note of finality in Hu’s voice.

“This is what you all want?” DeGrace scanned the faces in front of him.

Everyone nodded. “It would seem they fear you more than the police,” said Hu.

They left, still whispering apologies to me as I saw them out the front door.

Xiaohuan’s boyfriend was back in the big red armchair when I returned.

“I parked him in your office while you were escorting our friends upstairs,” said DeGrace. Then, turning to Huang, “You heard everything?” My office was on the same floor.

Huang laughed. “I can just imagine the robbers sneaking out of the cemetery in the dead of night with 10 or 15 coffins in tow.” Then, suddenly stopping, “you’re not quitting are you?”

DeGrace responded by asking a question of his own. “What can you tell me about this cast of characters?”

“Ask and we’ll see.” Huang spoke with barely a trace of an accent in a smooth, baritone voice with the sureness of someone twice his age.

“Let us start with Mr. Deng.”

“A deceptive old bird. If you look at the way he dresses, you’d never guess he was worth millions. Drives a 12-yearold Chev, even though he could afford a fleet of Mercedes.”

Huang paused to check DeGrace’s reaction. “What else?”

“What is Mr. Deng’s involvement in all this?”

“Al I can say for sure is that he always has an angle. He’s incredibly secretive, and you never know what’s really going on in the back of his mind. He even hires a non-Chinese accountant to do his books and taxes.

A fierce wind from the West shook the big oak outside DeGrace’s office window. DeGrace drained the last of his coffee and Cognac .

Huang shivered in the sudden draft. “I could do with one of those.”

I went downstairs to pick up a fresh pot of coffee and a soft drink for myself, returning in time to hear Huang talking about Hu.

“I suspect lawyer Hu’s interest goes beyond her concerns about her parents, who are both buried in the cemetery. I have to wonder if she is also representing a third party, or has another interest in this matter.”

DeGrace poured him a large mug of coffee and added a shot of Cognac at a nod from Huang, who cradled the mug in his hands and inhaled the aroma briefly before putting it to his mouth. “I could get used to this.”

“What about Nie?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He’s slipped under the radar somehow. No one seems to know very much about him, other than he’s a charmer, who has associated himself with some of the leaders in the Chinese community.” Huang paused to make a point. “Many people distrust him.”

Huang finished his coffee and glanced out the window as he stood to take his leave. “If there’s nothing else ….”

“A couple final questions, if you please. What can you

tell us about the Chinese national, who was found murdered this morning?”

“Only what I heard in the news. Don’t even know the poor man’s name. And your other question?”

“Some members of the delegation indicated they had received threatening phone calls. Do you have any idea who is behind this?”

Huang shook his head. For a tenth of a second, there was a knowing look in his eyes.

It was not lost on DeGrace. “You have been kind enough to share your thoughts about the different people who attended my session today. What about you? Tell us something about you. You have only scratched the surface.”

Huang tried on a smile. “What exactly would you like to know?”

“To start, your involvement in all this. Beyond what you have already told us about you and Miss Xiaohuan.”

Huang straightened up.

“You seem remarkably well informed about the others. You tell us you are here to stop someone from killing Miss Xiaochuan. But other than that, what is the real reason why you’re here?”

Huang stared at DeGrace for almost 30 seconds before finding his voice. “That’s something we’ll talk about later.”

“We shall, Huang Chen Wu. Make no mistake about it. We shall.”

CHAPTER 6

DeGrace sneezed and pointed to a brick storage shed at the foot of a hill, covered by a thick growth of low-lying trees and large boulders at the edge of the gravesite. “It has a big window and a great view of the cemetery,” he whispered. A couple minutes later, we pushed open the heavy oak door and peered inside. “You seem surprised.”

I was about to say something clever but DeGrace never appreciated my attempts at humour.

“Let us get out of the cold.” A shiver crept up the back of his voice and he pulled a brown plaid woolen muffler around his ears. DeGrace has a head-splitting sinus problem, and goes to enormous extremes to avoid it, including wearing wool scarves and vest sweaters, even in the dead of summer.

We found a paint-spattered wooden sawhorse to sit on and dragged it close to the window. I took the first watch as dusk settled around us. The air had grown close, and a mist from a nearby stream floated among the tombstones. I was beginning to wonder what DeGrace expected to see when the moon suddenly broke through the clouds and illuminated the night sky.

“Try these,” said DeGrace, passing me one of his favourite binoculars. He took them everywhere, even to the zoo,

not to see the animals, as I initially thought, but to spy on people.

Even in the darkness, DeGrace could read my doubts. “Just try them.”

I should have known. Ultraviolet. He never missed a trick.

It was during DeGrace’s watch about four hours later when we caught the first sounds of someone outside – whispers at first and then, feet crunching gravel in the pathway that wound around the graveyard.

Then, just as suddenly, the crunching stopped. More whispers.

Someone started jiggling the door handle. They know we’re here, I realized. I held my breath, letting it out slowly as I heard the footsteps fade.

A few minutes later, the sound of someone moving in the shadows outside, and then, what sounded like someone trying to turn a rusted bolt. Sounds of scuffling and a minute later, the odour of gas fumes.

“We need to get out of here now,” said DeGrace, trying to turn the handle of the oak door. He couldn’t budge it. “They have locked us in. If we do not find a way out of here soon, I fear the entire building will explode, and us, with it.”

Somewhere in the distance, the strains of a cello floated in the air.

The smell of gas intensified, and the air grew close and clammy. DeGrace started coughing.

‘What about calling the cemetery office?”

DeGrace shook his head, even though he insisted I program the cemetery office number in the cell I had bought that afternoon. “At least, not yet.” DeGrace had dropped to his knees and was using his penlight to check the floor. “I noticed the floor sounded hallow when we came in. If I’m right, there should – ”

A rock smashed through the window, showering the

floor with glass shards.

“You can guess what’s coming next,” said DeGrace between breaths as he tried to pry up one of the floorboards. “I need your strong fingers, mon ami.”

I bent beside him and followed his finger. “Along here,” he said, guiding my hand.

A block of floorboards suddenly lifted, revealing a dark, damp concrete room below. We could barely make it out in the light of the penlight, he always carried with him.

“You first. I will light your way.” He followed me down, dropping the penlight to the floor where I was crouching in the darkness. The penlight rolled across the concrete floor coming to rest against the wall in front of me before it went out. DeGrace replaced the floorboard above his head and slid down the ladder.

An object rolled across the floor above us. “Lie flat on the floor and cover your face, your eyes and ears,” he said, pushing my face against the cold, damp-tasting concrete, before stretching out beside me.

We both knew what it was – a torch. My mind went immediately to the odour of gasoline fumes that had grown more intense.

We held our breaths. The pounding of my heart hammered in my eardrums.

We counted off the seconds.

Nothing.

I lifted my head. DeGrace pushed it back down. Still nothing.

“I’m not made of chocolate,” I whispered to DeGrace. It was one of his favourite phrases in French.

“We are not alone,” he said in a solemn voice after a few seconds. “Something just walked over my face.” He began to flail the air frantically. I sensed his fear and felt something pawing and licking my ankles. DeGrace began kicking the air.

Then, suddenly, “I smell rats.” I could hear him wrenching in the darkness. The dirty wild animal smell I always associated with rats was overpowering now. DeGrace started gagging again.

An ungodly hair-raising screech pierced the heart-pounding silence. DeGrace rolled away from me.

“What’s wrong?” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“There is something else down here with us and I plan to find out what.”

“Where are you?”

“I am looking for my penlight.” His voice sounded disembodied in the darkness.

I could feel something biting at my ankles again. Whatever it was, I set it flying as I kicked the air.

“Hurry.” Panic ached in my throat. I had enough and struggled to my feet.

“Keep down,” DeGrace whispered. He had caught my movements and guessed what I was doing.

“If you’re worried about the danger upstairs ….” He stopped. Gasoline began dripping on us through the floor boards.

I could hear him crawling further away from me.

“Aha, mon vieux.”

Seconds later the light from his penlight illuminated his face. He shone the light around the basement. Not rats. But cats.

Three of them walking around the small concrete enclosure, their eyes shining like pinpoints of white hot steel in the blackness.

“Be careful,” he said in a calm voice. “The poor things are wild and crazed with hunger.”

I didn’t need to be told. My ankles still stung, and I kicked furiously at any cat that strayed close to me.

“Zut. What have we here?” he said half to himself as

he crawled to the back wall. I couldn’t tell whether he was talking to me or to himself. A sudden clatter of small objects made him snap back his hand with a quick jerk.

“What is it?” I couldn’t make out what it was in a gloom.

“Looks like a dozen cans of paint.” He shone the pen light back at the bolt of canvas. He put his finger to his lips.

The sound of heavy footsteps above us froze us where we stood.

“Sit down and don’t make a noise. There’s a good chance they’ll leave if they they’re not sure we’re down here.”

“What about the cats?” I never felt comfortable around cats but DeGrace loved them and seemed to have a calming effect on them.

“Ignore them. They won’t bite you.”

“They already have.”

“Then do whatever you must but in the name of le Bon Dieu, do it without making a sound.”

Fortunately, they surrounded DeGrace, who kept his penlight on them and rubbed their backs.

The footsteps continued above us for the next few minutes. We could hear them talking but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Suddenly, the talking stopped, and we heard them prying up the floorboards that led to the cellar. DeGrace motioned me to hide in the corner to the right while he huddled in the opposite corner and turned off his penlight.

Light from a flashlight above us pierced our darkness of the cellar as it played over the cellar. That was it. A few minutes later, the footsteps faded. Silence. DeGrace stood and played the penlight on the ceiling. There it was. A lone light bulb dangling on a wire from the ceiling. He reached up and turned it on.

“Is that wise?”

“They’re gone now. They’ve done what they came to

do – to scare us off. They do not want us putting our noses where they have no affairs,” he added translating exactly from French.

He pointed to the paint cans. “What do you make of these?”

“Perhaps that’s where the cemetery stores things like paint.”

“Black paint? Somehow I think not. Non, it is for another use. And it’s not hard to figure out.”

“This may be more interesting,” I said, picking up a sheet of glossy paper that had somehow stuck to the knee of my trousers.”

DeGrace scanned the sheet and smiled. “Looks like a page from a concert program. “ A pause and another smile. “The plot thickens.”

CHAPTER 7

“Do you think they’re connected?” The question came from a reporter from one of the Chinese daily newspapers in Toronto, who had invited us for dim sum at a crowded, noisy Chinese restaurant in Scarborough.

Our narrow escape from the night before still unnerved me. It didn’t seem to faze DeGrace in the slightest. In his cold, precise, logical way, we were never really in danger at any time, describing our adventure as a warning shot to let us know they could have killed us if they really wanted to, and to warn us off. “At least for the time being.”

Killing us wasn’t really an option at any time, he remarked later. It would have brought undue attention to their activities and prevented them from getting what they were after.

The restaurant was another matter. DeGrace wasn’t prepared for the noise levels in Chinese restaurants at dim sum, and was leaning forward, trying to catch every word. When the reporter asked the question a second time in a louder voice, DeGrace just shrugged. It was not a question he really wanted to answer. He picked carefully at a shrimp

dumpling with his fork.

“I understand you were called in by the consul general. Was that about the graves or Jiang Xiaohuan? Or both?”

“Or neither, Mr. Hui.”

“W. H., Mr. DeGrace. Call me W. H. The W. H. stands for Wing Ho, in case you’re wondering. My family calls me feyzi,” he said with a deep laugh, patting his stomach. “In Cantonese, it means fat boy, mostly used by families as a term of endearment.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Hui,” said DeGrace. “I couldn’t say the word no matter how hard I tried.” DeGrace, who does not like Chinese food as a rule, watched Hui use his chopsticks to slide a second shrimp dumpling into his mouth. DeGrace picked at another shrimp dumpling Hui had put in his bowl from one of the small wooden baskets on our table.

The noise level had risen several notches since we had sat down at the restaurant, filled with businessmen, and young families with children, and the constant movement of waiters and servers with dim sum carts weaving an uncertain path among the tables. The smell of fried rice and XO noodles was everywhere. Hui stopped one of the stainless steel carts and picked up two orders of egg tarts. “I have a weakness for sweets.” His face broadened into a smile.

“Getting back to things, Mr. Hui, I suspect you know more about this affair than I do. I would like to hear your take on things.”

Hui didn’t respond immediately. His dark eyes hardened suddenly behind his stylish wire frame glasses – an updated version of DeGrace’s specs.

“Shoot,” said Hui after a pause. He was wearing a black shirt and a red tie with Disney characters, and kept smoothing it out over his protruding stomach.

“Alore. As you no doubt know, I met with a group of concerned citizens from the Chinese community. I am curi-

ous about two of the people there. Mr. Deng and Mr. Nie. There seems to be bad blood between them.”

“Oh, that. According to Deng, Nie copied his company’s laser treatment for internal cancers. Nie has begun manufacturing Deng’s invention for the Chinese market.”

“And the stylishly dressed M. Nie. What does he say?”

“He denies it, of course. He says his product is patented in China, and that it’s really the other way round – that Deng copied his product, and had it patented here.”

“What do you think?”

“Who knows? We may never know.”

“What can you tell me about Mr. Nie?”

Can’t help, I’m afraid. A lot of people in the Chinese community are asking the same question. There are a few rumours, of course. The most popular is that he is an agent of the Chinese government. No one had ever heard of him before.”

“What about lawyer Hu?”

Hui smiled. “She is a remarkable lady. She has been a driving force in the community’s efforts to seek redress for the infamous head tax. I should also tell you that she collects all my stories, and expects my work to be recognized one day.”

“Does she ever ask for your original copy?”

“Yes. In fact, she even asks me to save my original notes and copies of all the pictures I take to go along with the written copy. She and her husband are well respected, and her opinions are often sought by prominent members of the community.”

“You seem remarkably well informed, Mr. Hui. Especially about Miss Xiaohuan, the violinist.”

“I should. And the threats on her life. I’ve been following Xiaohuan’s tour of Canada for almost two months now. A lot of it is common knowledge in the Chinese community … I’m counting on you to fill in the blanks.”

GRAVEDIGGERS

“I am just starting my investigation.”

“Let’s make a deal to help each other. You have the ear of the police and the consul general. I don’t. But I can find out things you would never find out on your own, little things that only a Chinese would understand.”

DeGrace nodded. “Yet you speak English without a trace of accent.”

“I’m CBC – Canadian-Born Chinese,” he added, seeing the confusion in DeGrace’s eyes. “The other Chinese call us bananas – yellow on the outside and white on the inside.” He smiled. “Anything else?”

“The Chinese man who was found dead yesterday by the police?”

“The police aren’t saying much. At least, not to us.”

“I’m interested in who this individual is and what he was doing in Canada. It appears he came from China,” DeGrace added, trying to catch the eye of a passing waiter to order a coffee.

Hui put down his chop sticks. “I understand that it is the body of Ma Hong.”

The coffee arrived and DeGrace took a quick mouthful. “It was someone named Wong, I understand.”

Hui laughed. “Wong? Fat chance.” A slight pause. “But that’s not why were having lunch with me today. What do you really want to know?”

“Miss Xiaohuan.”

Hui nodded.

“We had a visit from her boyfriend.”

“Oh, him. Huang Chen Wu. At least, that’s the name he goes by at the moment.”

DeGrace arched his eyebrows.

“He claims he’s Xiaohuan’s boyfriend. Don’t be taken in,” he said in a rising voice. “I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve but it’s certainly not romance. The only thing those two have in common is a love of shopping.”

“When I talked to Miss Xiaohuan, she told me her boy-

friend had followed her to Canada.”

Hui smiled. “What did the consul general tell you?”

DeGrace didn’t respond.

“Just as I guessed. Nothing. Which raises another interesting question.”

DeGrace didn’t bite. He had questions of his own and he didn’t want to raise them now.

“I would like your opinion of Jiang Xiaohuan as an artist,” said Hui, putting his notebook on the table as he readied himself to take down anything DeGrace had to say about her.

“I regret to tell you, I have never heard her play,” said DeGrace.

Hui put down his pen. “You’re really missing something. I think she’s the greatest violinist alive today. I have all her CDs, and it’s beyond me why anyone would want to kill her.”

“Have you had an opportunity to meet her in person, Mr. Hui?”

Hui beamed. “Thanks to my newspaper, I’ve been assigned to cover her performances right across the country. I even did an in-depth interview with her. I’ve seen her perform in Beijing, Shanghai, South Africa, Sydney, all over.”

He paused, as if to relive it in his mind. “It was the greatest assignment of my life.”

CHAPTER 8

Two things you always remember about Vern Rigby, manager of the Tranquil Valley cemetery. The first was his bowtie that always looked slightly askew; and the second, his small hands with long, tapering fingers that leave your hands wet and cold when you shake hands.

“An honour, Mr. DeGrace. I cannot tell you how great an honour. You have been one of my heroes for years,” he said in a warm voice. The ends of Rigby’s blond mustache turned up in a smile and his light blue eyes sparkled like sunlight on a lake.

He motioned us to the chairs in front of his desk. “How may I help you?” He sat down and smoothed out his dark brown suit coat, at least 15 or 20 years out of date. His desk was covered with paper and a layer of new dust.

“I see you are an admirer of music, Mr. Rigby.” Like me, DeGrace had spotted the cello in the corner.

“I play at it,” said Rigby with a warming smile. “Actually, I study music theory. I do my practising at night. Haven’t had a complaint yet,” he laughed in a high-pitched voice.

We looked around his office with renewed interest. Dust lay on everything – on the stack of file folders on top of the filing cabinet, on the dust cover of his computer on the left side of his desk, on the frames of pictures, even on the arms of the chairs where we were sitting. DeGrace’s eyes

kept straying to the cello.

“I don’t think you came here to talk about music, Mr. DeGrace.” Rigby’s voice was suddenly serious.

“For the moment, we would like to ask you a few questions about the storage shed.”

Rigby cracked his knuckles and waited for DeGrace to continue.

“Is it usually locked at night?”

“The shed? Not usually.” He paused to underline what he was about to say next. “Only if there is a body awaiting burial. But I will tell you I was given instructions to keep it unlocked for a week or two.”

“By whom?”

“Mr. Applegate. At the funeral home.”

“Did he indicate why?”

Rigby shook his head. “No, but I am sure he had a very good reason. Mr. Applegate is the soul of discretion, a man of unquestioned integrity.”

“Weren’t you curious, even a bit?”

Rigby licked the corners of his mustache. “Do you mind telling me where all this is heading?”

“Sorry, Mr. Rigby. I thought I mentioned I am working with the Chinese community and your company about the recent wave of disturbances in your graveyard. Your company also wants to get to the bottom of it.” DeGrace enunciated each word carefully.

“I wasn’t informed about any of this – other than to hire two watchmen to check the property at night. I hired my nephews. They’re reliable, very reliable, in case you’re wondering,” said Rigby, cracking his knuckles again.

“What about the paint stored in the basement of the shed? And before I forget, the cats?”

“I didn’t even know the shed had a basement, let alone paint and cats. I only found out this morning when Mr. Applegate asked me to check the storage shed, and I found the

window smashed.”

“I have to wonder how the people digging up in the graves in your cemetery knew about this room and, even more, how they were able to gain access to it unnoticed.”

Rigby just looked at him, unsure whether DeGrace was thinking out loud or expecting him to offer some kind of comment.

“I noticed the iron gates as we came in,” DeGrace went on.

“They’re locked at night fall. Every night. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is there any other way they could gain entrance without your knowledge?”

“The gates are locked by me. It’s the first thing I do when I start work every evening. And just in case you’re also wondering, the controls that lock and unlock the entrance gates are here,” he said, tapping the grey control panel behind his desk.

“Yet, there is evidence that someone did enter the grounds with a vehicle at night without your knowledge. Otherwise ….”

“Not necessarily. I work from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m., four days a week.” Then, as an afterthought: “Perhaps they came in during the day. Or on my days off.”

“I am not making accusations, Mr. Rigby. And I am not the police. I am just curious about things.”

“Anything else?” His voice faded somewhere among the pile of file folders and the dust.

“These nocturnal disturbances. I would like to hear your version about them.”

Rigby’s face grew wary. He didn’t like where this was heading, or suddenly the little man in front of him. It was not at all like the picture he imagined of meeting DeGrace for the first time.

“It would seem that all the disturbances to date have

occurred on your watch.” DeGrace turned and pointed to the envelope I was carrying for him. “I have a few pictures I would like you to review for me,” he added, pushing them across Rigby’s desk. “Have you seen any of these people before?”

Digby studied them for a minute or two, spreading them out on his desk. “This one,” he said, tapping the picture of Consul Chen.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” said Rigby, sensing the rising excitement in DeGrace’s voice. “There was no mistaking him. He was unaccountably rude. And not, I must tell you, very forthcoming when we asked him what he was doing in the cemetery in the middle of the night.”

“When was this?”

“Late last week. In fact, one of my nephews found him walking away from a newly dug-up grave.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he was there on behalf of the Chinese government, and was not prepared to answer my questions.”

“Considering that someone was digging up Chinese graves, did it not strike you as a trifle strange? And did you report the incident to your superiors?”

Rigby shook his head. “I decided to ignore it – after some thought – unless he made another appearance.”

We left a few minutes later and headed for my car. Somewhere nearby, leaves were being burned, sending puffs of blue smoke in our direction. The air had a decided chill, and DeGrace curled himself into a ball to warm himself when we reached the car and until the heater kicked in.

“At least we know where the mystery music came from,” I said, turning up the heater a notch.

We were passing through the gates of the cemetery when DeGrace felt warm enough to talk. “There’s more to the cello music than appears on the surface.”

“You mean to drown out the sounds of the gravediggers.”

“That, too, of course, but I suspect to also alert them if a stranger, like the police, is on the site.”

CHAPTER 9

Two young men were hanging red lanterns along the long corridor at the front entrance of the Buddhist Temple, where DeGrace and I waited for the Venerable Wei Chi. She arrived a few minutes later, apologizing in a soft voice, and drawing up a light brown robe around her frail shape. She led us into the bright, sunlit tearoom at the end of the corridor.

It was lunch time, and several young people were eating noodles and talking in hushed voices. Venerable Wei Chi bowed her shaven head, where grey and black stubble showed signs of new life. A teenage girl approached the nun and talked to her in Cantonese.

“I hope you don’t mind, M. DeGrace,” she said, pronouncing his name in perfect French in a soft, sibilant voice. “I know you are a great admirer of coffee. Unfortunately, all we can offer is tea. I have taken the liberty of ordering tangerine tea. I hope you both find it refreshing.”

She poured the tea for us from a transparent teapot. “How may I help you?”

“I do not have a perfect understanding of Buddhist beliefs, especially about death.”

“Ah, yes. The grave openings. I wondered when that would come up.

“More precisely, Madame,” said DeGrace, still not

quite sure how to address her, “how a Buddhist would react to the grave openings?”

“As Buddhists, we believe that when a person dies, all that is left is a lifeless carcass, and that the dead person’s soul has left the body and has been born again.”

She paused and gave him a smile. “But I suspect, M. DeGrace, you already knew that. What you really want to know is why grave openings are so unsettling to the individuals who sought your help.”

DeGrace smoothed his mustache as he waited for her to continue.

“But even devout Buddhists mourn the passing of their loved ones, particularly parents and grandparents. And like everyone else, they do not want to see the graves of their dead ones dug up, or disturbed in any way. Something else you may find useful.” She paused as if to let him knew she knew what he was up to. “Not everyone is Buddhist. There is a sprinkling of Taoists in that group, too.”

“One thing more. Something that has been bothering me ever since I started working on this assignment.”

“You’d like to know what’s really going on.”

DeGrace loved people with quick minds. “Précisement.”

“I cannot betray confidences, M. DeGrace. But I will not lie to you. I will say only that you are on the right track. What would you like to know?”

“What are the grave robbers looking for? It seems to be an open secret to everyone except me and my associate. Something of enormous importance, something that could have political consequences, if I’m not mistaken.”

Venerable Wei Chi didn’t answer immediately but studied my face with curious eyes. “I’m afraid I really can’t comment on that at the moment.” Then, after a brief pause: “permit a small observation, M. DeGrace. Things are not always what they seem – with people or with happenings.”

“Does that include Miss Xiaohuan and her boyfriend?”

“Jiang Xiaohuan is the daughter of a senior party official in Beijing. I understand he is deeply concerned about her safety, and is putting enormous pressure on the consul general.”

“And her boyfriend?”

She glanced through the glass windows of the tearoom that opened a view of the corridor to check on the progress of the two young men struggling with the red lanterns. “There is definitely more to Huang Chen Wu than meets the eye.”

“I was given the impression that he has been known by other names. It raised a red flag.”

“I had not heard that. Would you mind telling me how you came by this information?”

“From Mr. Hui.”

“The reporter.” Her dark grey eyes looked at DeGrace directly for the first time. “You should be aware that Mr. Hui has axes of his own to grind.”

“One further question. The body of Mr. Ma was found this morning in downtown Toronto. The police are investigating his murder. It appears he was also known as Mr. Wong.”

“Yes, I heard about that this morning. Ma Hong will be missed. He attended our temple regularly, and was well liked. I had not known about his other name. I’m sorry. I must call his wife.”

Venerable Wei Chi glanced at the book rack on the other side of the tea room. “We have many pamphlets that can provide additional information about Buddhism and our beliefs.” And then, as an afterthought: “Have you ever considered Buddhism, yourself, M. DeGrace? I sense an affinity for our way in your voice.”

DeGrace fingered his St. Francis medal and shook his head. “Perhaps you were a Buddhist in another life. It happens to many people you know.”

I could tell that DeGrace was getting uncomfortable and looked at me for help. “We appreciate your kindness and the time you have given us but unfortunately we are already late for another appointment,” I said.

There was a look of understanding in her eyes. She smiled. “Perhaps another time.”

DeGrace was silent on the drive back to our digs. It was only when we were sitting at our second-hand chrome table with the blue top and had made himself a coffee and placed a soft drink in front of me that he emerged from his thoughts.

He took a large gulp and leaned towards me. “It is time we paid another visit to the consul general, mon vieux. See if he can see us later today.”

DeGrace treated me like a personal assistant. I waited for him to continue. With DeGrace you never know whether he’ll end the conversation abruptly or talk your head off. “It is time for him to come clean with us.” Then, with a smile in his eyes. “Time, as my good father used to say, to put the devil among the cows.”

“You’re worried about something,” I ventured. After living in the same house with him for more than three decades, I knew something was afoot.

“Consul Chen. His sudden appearance in the graveyard in the middle of the night.” I knew exactly where his mind was heading.

The telephone seemed to jump as it suddenly came to life, shattering the silence with a loud persistent jangling. “Xianhuan,” I said, replacing the receiver of the old black rotary phone that came with the house.

“She was crying so hard I could hardly make out a word – but it’s clear that something bad has happened and she needs to see you now.”

CHAPTER 10

Whatever DeGrace was expecting, it wasn’t having Xiaohuan’s arms hanging around his neck and sobbing so hard that her body shook. DeGrace, always aware of his public image, knew how ridiculous he must have looked, trying to pat the back of a young woman, at least four inches taller than he was.

Her words came out in gulps, her voice, normally as soft as her eyes, now deep and throaty. She untangled herself from DeGrace, sat in the same high-backed chair opposite us, and kept tugging on the sleeves of her blue sweater to hide her hands.

“Unless you tell me, I cannot help.”

“Perhaps I can help.” A dark-haired woman about Xuiohuan’s height, with sharp, protruding incisors and quick, dark darting eyes, answered for her. “I am Miss Jiang’s maid,” she said, her thin face, as cold as mid-winter ice.

The white phone of the end table suddenly rang. Xiaohuan recoiled at the thought of touching it, and wrapped her arms around her chest. Her maid quickly picked up the phone and passed it to Xiaohuan, who broke into tears as she started speaking. The only word I could understand was “mommy”. She repeated it over and over in a voice that sounded more like a lost child than a young woman.

“Any word about Li Ping?”

“That’s why she wanted to see you,” said the new maid in a flat voice.

DeGrace nodded and looked at Xiaohuan, who had withdrawn within herself. Large tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

The guard posted inside the door during our visit never once took his eyes off us.

DeGrace waited. “There is something else, I think.”

“The police think I am somehow involved in the death of that poor man, who was found murdered two days ago. Evidently someone told them, I was a close friend of his.”

“Are you? If you are involved, even indirectly, now is the time to say so.”

“I do not know this man. Never met him. And do not know anything about him.”

“It’s the only clue the police have to work on at the moment.”

“But why?”

She shook her head. “I do not even know who these people are.”

“These people obviously see a connection.“ DeGrace paused. “Would you do me this favour? Think who might want to harm you. And are doing this to ruin your reputation. Think about it for a while, and perhaps, it will come to you.”

Xiaohuan paused to dab the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. “Will I get in trouble with the police? I did not murder that man. I do not even know him. I hope you believe me.”

DeGrace smiled and rose slowly to his feet.

“One thing more,” said Xiaohuan in a hushed voice. “I did go out that night. To meet someone.”

Zhang’s secretary was waiting for us when we left Xiaohuan’s apartment. “Consul Chen would like to see you before you meet with the consul general. Let me show you the way,” she said, leading us to another floor, and to Consul Chen’s office at the end of the corridor.

Chen’s outer office was filled with large pictures of Chinese industry, prominent businesses leaders and celebrated arts performers. His receptionist was absent, so we sat on a beige coloured sofa to the side of her desk. A minute later, there was the sound of raised voices. The door to Chen’s office was partly open, and DeGrace edged himself to it to see what was happening. From the opening, he could see Chen standing over a kneeling woman, who was picking up a pile of papers strewn over the floor.

Consul Chen, tall, black haired, with dark, piercing eyes, noticed DeGrace almost immediately. “Please give us a minute to clean up this mess,” he said with a forced smile.

DeGrace returned to sit beside me until Chen and the young woman, who appeared shaken and distressed, came out to greet us.

“You came earlier than expected. Forgive the upset. We were looking for a letter we needed for our meeting,” he said leading us into his office.

His desk was clear and polished, and gleamed from the light from the side window on the right. We sat in two soft brown chairs in front of his desk.

“We have a meeting with Consul General Zhang immediately afterwards, so I’ll try to be as brief as I can,” he said, passing the letter to DeGrace. “It’s from a U.S. company that has a major security problem. Someone is trying to steal their secrets. This company does a lot of business with one of our largest enterprises, which is working with them to develop a new computer program that promises to revolutionize the use of computers in medicine. Somehow, they think we’re involved. For the record, we are not.”

DeGrace scanned the letter. “I am not sure why you are showing me this. Is it for my advice?”

“Not quite. They’d like you to go to California, where they are located, and help them solve this problem before it’s too late.”

“May I keep this?” said DeGrace, holding up the letter in his left hand.

“I’ll get you a copy. What should I tell our associates?” he said, without missing a beat.

“Does the consul general know about this?”

“He does. But to be honest with you, I’m not sure how he feels about it.” He stood and moved from behind his desk. “Let’s find out.”

Zhang was waiting for us just outside the door to his office, and waved us inside, directing us to the sofa where he had entertained us earlier. “I understand you’ve just seen Jiang Xiaohuan. We are quite worried about her.” There was an unmistakable edge to his voice, which seemed at odds with the whisper of fresh flowers that floated in the air like a soft breeze on a June morning.

“Has she told you what is upsetting her?”

DeGrace nodded and was about to comment when he was cut off by the consul general.

“Your friend, Detective Hilkers called me to ask about Xiaohuan. He wants to know Xiaohuan’s whereabouts on the night Mr. Ma was murdered. Needless to point out, Xiaohuan is innocent of all wrong-doing, and we are at a loss to know how, or why her maid disappeared, or if she was in on it from the beginning.”

“I gather the police would like to talk to her.”

“Detective Hilkers would like to. But without our permission, he cannot. Xiaohuan is part of our delegation while she is in Canada, and has diplomatic immunity. Can you speak to him?”

DeGrace smiled and waited for Zhang to continue.

“She never left the consulate at any time that day. She has a concert in five days and was getting ready for it. She takes her music very seriously.”

Zhang rose, signaling that the meeting was over.

Consul Chen stepped in immediately. “One more thing, consul general, if I may. I did have an opportunity to talk to Mr. DeGrace about the request from Beijing on behalf of one our companies and its U.S. partner.”

“What about it, Mr. DeGrace? Are you going to desert us, or help us keep Jiang Xiaohuan safe and sound?”

“When I take on an assignment, consul general, I stay with it until the job is done. That has always been my practice. And while the other assignment sounds interesting, I regret, Consul Chen, that my duties here prevent me from assisting you at the moment. Later, perhaps. But now now.” A dark scowl greased the corners of Chen’s cheeks for a second before he regained his composure. “Thank you for at least considering our assignment. The consul general has chosen wisely.”

“Is there anything else?” said Zhang, who seemed in a hurry to end the meeting.

“One thing, consul general, if I may,” said DeGrace, lifting his face to look at Zhang in the eyes.

“If I am to be really effective for you, I think it is time you told me what is going on.”

Zhang paused before speaking, as if looking for the right words to frame his response. “What precisely do you wish to know?”

“Let us start with Miss Xiaohuan. Things have turned ugly. It is now more than a matter of someone trying to kill her. One way or another, they are making her life here miserable. There is evil in the air.”

Zhang leaned forward and proceeded to tell us that two attempts had already been made on Jaing Xaiohuan’s life, first, in Vancouver, when an armed gunman was caught

trying to enter her dressing room; and a week later, in Montréal, when a known Chinese criminal tried to stab her while entering her limo after a concert. “We did, however, capture both.”

“What did these individuals have to say?” DeGrace suddenly became very detached and professional.

“Unfortunately, nothing. They escaped before our people had a chance to question them.”

“Both?”

The consul general tightened his mouth and nodded.

“And whom do you think is behind this?”

“Who knows. Perhaps the same people who are hinting we are behind the thefts at this California company. ”

Zhang turned to Chen.

“There is more to the story,” Chen volunteered in a husky smoker’s voice. “A state matter, and unfortunately, Jiang Xiaohuan is caught up in the middle of it.”

DeGrace waited for him to continue.

“I’m sorry. That’s all we can tell you now.”

“I do not have a good feeling about any of this. Especially about Miss Xiaohuan.”

Chen tried a smile. “Sorry, but that’s all I can say.”

“The graves. And please do not tell me that they’re also a state secret.”

“They are not connected.”

DeGrace didn’t try to disguise his irritation. “What about the list of individuals whose graves were vandalized, and their birth dates?”

Chen unzipped a tan leather brief case and withdrew a blue see-through plastic folder. “Here it is – for whatever it’s worth.” A quick glance at DeGrace for a clue. “You never did tell me what you’re looking for.”

“It would help if the information were in English or French,” said DeGrace, passing the folder back to Chen.

“I grabbed the wrong file,” said Chen. “Sorry we could

not be more forthcoming.”

“Anything else?” Zhang broke in.

“I am curious about one thing – how Consul Chen fits into all this.”

“I should have done this earlier,” said Zhang, who had sat down next to DeGrace. “Allow me to correct that now. Consul Chen is on loan to us from the Shanghai Police Department. He heads the department’s homicide division.”

“Sorry about the deception.” Chen’s voice, now quick and resonant, exuded charm and confidence. “But, like you, we think someone in your little group from Richmond Hill could be behind the grave openings and the attacks on Jiang Xiaohuan.”

“I should have guessed,” said DeGrace with a formal nod. “I have heard of you – but not by that name of Chen. It is Yang Jie, if I am not mistaken.”

Yang Jie smiled. “I was told you had a prodigious memory. I see now why you enjoy that reputation.”

“I hope, chief detective, you share my concern about the safety of Miss Xiaohuan. These people are becoming desperate, and the game has suddenly turned ugly.” He paused to look directly into Yang Jie’s dark eyes. “Whatever you do, count on my full support.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” the consul general said. “Because we have a huge favour to ask of you. Jiang Xiaohuan is refusing to appear at her gala farewell concert at Thomson Hall.”

“Perhaps, it is best – until we get to the bottom of things.”

“If it were only that simple,” said Zhang. “It’s also a matter of face – and I’m sure you know how important face is to us. There would be repercussions if she does not appear. Severe repercussions. Not to mention the fact that the concert has been advertised for weeks. Your prime minister will be attending. So will music critics from New York and

London. So you can see how important it is for her – and for us.”

“But so, consul general, is this young lady’s life.”

“We agree.” Zhang paused to gather his thoughts. “That’s why we’re asking you to be at her side – at least until the concert is over.”

“I have another meeting with the Richmond Hill group tomorrow. Perhaps we can chat about it at that time.”

Zhang’s face tightened. What now? He had enough dealing with prima donnas to last a lifetime, and DeGrace was no different from the others.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that the attacks on Miss Xianohuan and the grave openings are connected in some way, especially after reading this.” DeGrace withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his suit jacket pocket and handed it to Zhang.

“What is this? Looks like a torn page from Xiaohuan’s last concert,” said Zhang before passing it to Yang Jie.

“Where did you find it?” said Yang Jie.

“In a storage shed next to the cemetery office at Tranquil Valley.” DeGrace smiled seeing Yang Jie’s eyes light up. “I see we’re on the same page, chief detective.”

“What would you recommend at this stage?” asked Zhang in a tired voice.

“Xiaohuan’s new maid. Replace her.”

Yang Jie cleared his throat. “It’s not that simple. She is head of the consulate’s security staff.”

DeGrace raised his right eyebrow. “Miss Xiaohuan is very vulnerable right now. She received a call from her mother during a previous visit. I think she needs her mother now.”

“Her mother? I don’t think so, Mr. DeGrace,” said Zhang. “Her mother is dead.”

CHAPTER 11

“Ithought we made it clear at our last meeting. We want you off the case,” said Deng Cheng, his voice as blunt and as unforgiving as his manner. He was wearing the same tweed jacket and navy blue vest sweater, and kept glancing around at the others, who had gathered the next morning in DeGrace’s upstairs office for what was rapidly becoming a showdown.

Everyone was there, including Consul General Zhang, Yang Jie, Xianohuan, lawyer Hu, Nie, Huang Chen Wu and reporter Hui. There was an uneasy feeling in the room, with no one quite sure what was going to happen next.

I knew by the way DeGrace’s eyes had become pinpoints and the shadow that creased his cheek, that he was not taking it well. His thin face had a dark, shadowy look.

“All your meddling has accomplished,” said Deng, glancing around at the others again, “is the disappearance of two bodies whose graves were recently dug up.” He paused to look at DeGrace squarely in the eyes. “One was my mother’s. These people make good their threats.”

“Why are we here, Mr. DeGrace?” Hu asked in a crisp, slightly accented voice.

“Give him a chance,” Nie suddenly came to life. “And let’s not forget that we asked his help.”

Deng’s face twisted as though he had just eaten something rotten. “You may wear fancy clothes, Nie Yow Zu, but it cannot hide the fact that you have the heart of a wolf.” Then, after a pause, “What about the rest of you?”

Silence.

“But first, DeGrace has a bone to pick with you.” DeGrace loved to talk about himself in the third person. Tension filled the room like a dark cloud ready to crackle with lightening.

“You have not played fair with DeGrace at any time. None of you. Including you, consul general.”

Zhang opened his mouth but thought better of it. He exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Yang Jie.

“You blindfold me, and twist me around, and turn me loose inside a maze. Then what do you do? You have the unspeakable audacity to criticize me for taking too long to find my way through it.” DeGrace’s voice simmered to a whisper.

“I think you are taking this too personally,” said Deng.

“Personally? How else should I take it?” DeGrace’s voice suddenly boomed. “You withhold critical information and trust DeGrace as you would an arch enemy.”

“What do you want to know?” Hu stepped into the breach.

W. H. Hui, the reporter, sitting behind Xiaohuan, was smiling boyishly while Yang Jie’s charcoal eyes locked on DeGrace.

“Start by telling me what these people are looking for. And why do I feel I am the only person in the room who does not know?”

DeGrace went on in a voice that suggested he was talking to himself. “Whoever is disturbing the graves of your ancestors is looking for something. Something important. That much is evident. Also clear is that they have not found it. And what does DeGrace conclude from this?”

He paused and looked at their faces. “You all know what these people are looking for, and perhaps one of you knows precisely in which grave that item is located. Perhaps one of you would care to enlighten me? Consul general?”

“I am not involved in this in any way, Mr. DeGrace,” Zhang said.

Huang Chen Wu couldn’t hold back any longer. “What’s wrong with you people? Am I the only person willing to talk about what this is really all about?”

Outside, rain beat against the lead-paned window behind DeGrace’s mahogany desk. Skeleton branches from the oak tree danced in the rising wind. Hu shivered in a sudden draft.

“Jaing Xiaohuan,”said Huang Chen Wu. “We all know someone is trying to kill her, and that she’s the bait for some grand scheme the consul general has cooked up. And for all we know, his office may be behind everything.”

Huang Chen Wu, sitting with one leg over the arm of DeGrace’s red leather chair, looked around at the others. “Sorry. I though you all knew that someone has tried to kill Jiang Xiaohuan. Not once. But twice.” Then, turning to the consul general: “What about it?”

Zhang just stared at him, as though he couldn’t bring himself to believe what he had just heard. “I know who you are,” he said, looking Huang Chen Wu in the eye. “One of those troublemakers who hurl accusations but who walk away from their responsibilities – even their families – at the slightest hint of trouble.”

We all caught the consul general’s veiled threat. Xiaohuan gave Huang a quick, uneasy sidelong glance.

Hui decided it was time to speak up. “Perhaps Huang Chen Wu might be equally forthcoming about his own involvement in all this.”

Huang snorted. “You can talk Hui. You all have something to hide.”

“Everyone of you,” Huang went on. “None of you are who you say you are, and none of you seem to care one good damn about Xiaohuan, or that someone is trying to kill her.”

Everyone looked at Xiaohuan. Her face had turned an ivory colour, like someone with the flu. She bit her lip and shivered. Tears started to form in her eyes and she looked away. Her bright yellow jacket and multi-coloured scarf suddenly looked out of place, like summer flowers on winter snow.

Huang rose and went to her side. She recoiled at his touch and pushed him away. “Stay away from me. I know who you are – and who you say you are – and I don’t want you near me.” Her voice started to break. “Consul general. Promise me you will never allow this man to bother me ever again.”

“See what’s going on here,” Huang said, turning to the group. His sunglasses, perched high on his forehead, suddenly slipped down on his nose. He pushed them back on his forehead: “They’ve poisoned her mind against me.”

“No, Huang Chen Wu. You’ve been following me for weeks now like a stalker. And I don’t like it.” Her eyes, large and dark and naked with fear, blazed. “All my troubles began the day you tried to become part of my life. Who are you anyway.”

I could see questions gathering in DeGrace’s eyes but he said nothing.

“What?” Huang shook his head. “You’ll never change. You’ll always be a self-centered little princess who makes the lives of everyone around you pure hell. Like now, pretending you don’t even know me ...”

Xiaohuan’s melting eyes appealed to DeGrace. “Do not fret, little one. DeGrace will reveal all soon. No harm will come to you.”

“We take the attacks on Jiang Xiaohuan very seriously

– despite what Huang Chen Wu would like you to believe,”

Zhang said in a calming voice. “How seriously?” his voice rising with his rhetorical question. “I think it’s a good time to introduce Yang Jie. You know him as Consul Chen. But in real life he is Yang Jie, Chief Detective Yang Jie from the Shanghai Police Department. Yang Jie heads Shanghai’s homicide division.”

Zhang paused to let the news sink in.

“Will he be investigating the grave openings?” Deng wasn’t about to forget why he was there.

“He will be working closely with Mr. DeGrace on this, and ensuring the safety of Jiang Xiaohuan.”

Deng sat back and folded his arms across his chest. A sour look distorted his face.

“Quite frankly – and I’m sure Jiang Xiaohuan would agree – we’d all like to see the vandalism to our ancestors’ graves end,” said Hu. Her voice strong and consoling at the same time.

DeGrace’s office, with its astroglobe and faint smell of leather-bound books, was his favourite place in the house. A sudden gust brought a fresh wave of rain that beat against the window. He loved the window from the first time he saw it and claimed kit as his own almost 30 years ago when we first moved to Toronto from Montréal.

Xiaohuan lowered her eyes and tried to return Hu’s reassuring smile. “I have received expressions of support from one of you already,” she said in a soft voice to Nie.

“I don’t know what Nie has said to you, Jiang Xiaohuan, but don’t believe anything he tells you. His words are written on the wind and just as meaningful,” said Deng. His voice burned with hate.

Xiaohuan looked at Deng and back to Nie. She hated upset, and after an anxiety-ridden week, this was more than she could take.

Hui raised himself with surprising ease for someone

his size and stroked his dark hair without thinking. His face had a ready smile and his eyes sparkled.

“Ask Huang Chen Wu about the murder of Ma Hong. The police found his body three days ago in a back alley downtown. I’m willing to bet he knows a lot more about it than the rest of us put together.”

“That’s a lie – and you know it.” Huang Chen Wu’s face had turned dark red and he looked as though he were going to explode at any second.

“This is getting us nowhere,” said Deng.

“Actually, Mr. Deng, I’m more curious about who you really are,” DeGrace said in an even voice.

“I know this is not the right time, Jiang Xiaohuan,” said Wang Fei Fei, a short, heavy set woman with long black hair, sitting in the second row of chairs in front of DeGrace’s desk. Her voice broke the tension. “But my son is a great admirer of yours. He is only 14, and has been studying the violin since he was eight.” She paused, looking at her stubby fingers, her nails cut short from years of working in a shirt factory.

She didn’t notice how the brightness returned to Xianhuan’s eyes for a brief moment. The tears stopped and her face worked as she struggled to smile. Fei Fei’s round face widened. She glanced quickly at her husband, Ming, who felt the top of his head to make sure that the few black strands so artfully combed over his balding pate, were still in place. Xianohuan nodded a soft reassurance.

“You are his idol. He has pictures of you all over his room, including a huge one of you at your Sydney concert.” The unease in Fei Fei’s voice was felt by everyone. They all returned her hesitant smile.

“If we bring him to your concert at Thomson Hall, would you – could you – give him your autograph and perhaps offer him a few words of encouragement?”

Zhang glanced at Xiaohuan to see how she would re-

spond.

Xiaohuan didn’t need to think about it. “Better than that. I would be honoured if you and your son would join me in my dressing room before the concert.”

“We don’t know how to thank you,” said Wong Ming, bowing to Xiaohuan. He smiled at his wife, who looked happy for the first time since someone had disturbed her mother’s grave.

“How long have you been in Canada, Mr. Wong?”

Ming’s dark eyes skipped around the room like a hopscotch player. He looked at DeGrace warily. “I don’t understand.”

Yang Jie noticed Wong Ming for the first time. He had somehow slipped under the radar at the meeting. What possible reason, he wondered, could Wong have to be nervous about such a simple question.

Yang Jie decided it was an appropriate time to make his presence felt. “You have family buried in Tranquil Valley Cemetery, Wong Ming?”

Ming looked at Yang Jie and wondered why he was being singled out by a homicide detective from Shanghai. His wife struggled to keep her hands from shaking. It had been something they had been hiding from authorities, and if Ming were discovered now, he knew there would be trouble.

I explained to DeGrace when he raised the question later to Yang Jie that Wong Ming was probably one of the Chinese astronauts – the name the Chinese community gave to landed immigrants, who came only to visit their families, while they work full time in Hong Kong or China. They paid no taxes here, and did not want to be found out by Canadian authorities.

Xiaohuan, who had been watching Yang Jie and the Wong family, decided to step in. “Consul general, could you arrange for tea, and for Fei Fei and her son to visit me

in my dressing room before my concert?”

Zhang nodded. But it was clear that her suggestion did not sit well with him.

“I think, consul general, that Jiang Xaiohuan is among friends – and has nothing to fear from anyone in this room,” said Hu, trying to reassure Xiaohuan a second time. She was wearing a bright blue suit, the colour of DeGrace’s eyes, and her voice oozed confidence and reassurance.

“Quite frankly – and I’m sure Jiang Xiaohuan would be the first to agree – putting a stop to the desecration of our ancestors’ graves will probably do more to guarantee her safety than just about anything else at this point,” she added.

Deng wasn’t finished with Nie or DeGrace: “If you were the kind of detective you say you are, you’d make sure that people like Nie never get into Canada. You may fool the other people here – but not me,” he added, turning to Nie. Then, getting to his feet, “I don’t know about the rest of you. I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”

He rose and headed for the door. One by one, the others joined him as he headed down the stairs just as the grandfather clock in the entranceway chimed four o’clock.

I arrived back to hear DeGrace tell the consul general it was time to tell him what was really going on.

Zhang looked at Yang Jie, who nodded.

Zhang paused to consider how to begin. “Let me start by telling you what was behind the grave openings and the threats against Jiang Xiaohuan. There has been talk of a conspiracy, a plot to take over the government by a group of very powerful businessmen in Beijing and Shanghai.”

“According to the story,” added Yang Jie, “there was a falling out with one of the conspirators, who left China shortly thereafter for Canada, and is rumoured to have made out a list of the individuals involved, with a short summary of their involvement.”

“Do you believe this?” said DeGrace, turning to the consul general, “I assume Miss Xiaohuan is connected with this individual in Beijing. Her father?”

Yang Jie shook his head.

“We have already checked out the story. And let me say again, no such plot exists and the story is a complete fabrication,” said Yang Jie

“How can we be sure of that?” said Hu.

“I have it from someone who was in my university cadre. We have known each other since we are boys and joined the service the same time. We are always straight with each other,” said Zhang. “There are always rumours like this.”

“This has mushroomed into something far greater than I initially thought. Otherwise, I am sure the consul general would not have called upon you,” said DeGrace.

“Or you,” said Yang Jie. “Any bets?”

“You said you had a few questions,” said Zhang, whose voice had become more aggressive.

“The graves,” said DeGrace. “The openings appear to be at random. But we both know, chief detective, they are not.”

“Correct. We thought, perhaps, the common denominator was the fact that all the dead had been born in Beijing. Then we concluded, like the thieves, that the list was hidden in the grave of someone born in the year of the dragon. We were wrong.”

“That,” said DeGrace, “might be a bit too facile. I think they would narrow it down better than that.”

Yang Jie sat up. “What are you driving at? We were told the list was in the grave of someone born in the year of the little dragon.”

“I suspect our thieves read from the same report. What was the precise phraseology?”

Yang leafed through a second see-through blue plastic folder. “The report comes from our people in Beijing, who

interviewed Jiang Xiaohuan’s father. It states that the list –and here I am quoting directly – is in the grave of someone from the year of the little dragon.” A pause as his forefinger tapped his lips. “If not born in the year of the dragon, then perhaps someone who died in the year …”

“Précisement.”

“Then it’s not over,” said Yang Jie.

“Let us assume, we are not the only ones to reach this conclusion.”

“One good thing, however,” said Zhang, with relief showing in his voice for the first time, “things are finally coming to a head. Perhaps we will see an end to this nightmare soon.”

Yang Jie stood. “Anything else?”

“Your sun sign.”

Yang Jie wasn’t sure he had heard right. “I was born the year of the dog. On May 21, if that helps.”

“Ah, on the cusp of Gemini. We can work miracles, you and I.”

Yang’s eyes widened as he glanced at Zhang.

“DeGrace is a practising astrologer,” I explained.

DeGrace made a face. He never liked me making excuses for him. Yang Jie looked at me warily, not sure what to expect, or where this was going.

“DeGrace casts our horoscopes every week,” I went on. “He is a devout believer in the power of the stars.” I didn’t tell him about DeGrace’s main obsession – the Comte de Saint-Germain – whom he believed was behind every major jewelry theft in the world for the past 200 years.

I could see question marks being raised like red lanterns in Yang’s dark eyes.

“All of this is interesting, Mr. DeGrace, but we’re running out of time,” said the consul general.

“Less than seven hours to the concert,” said Yang Jie. His raven coloured hair glistened with pomade in the light

of the lamp behind his chair.

“I am confused, consul general. I thought her farewell concert was a week hence.”

“It is. This is a special concert for those who were unable to get tickets for her farewell concert.”

“Which reminds me,” he said, searching through his brief case for the second time to produce another blue folder, “I didn’t forget. Your translations. Anything else?”

DeGrace shook his head. “In one week,” he said, turning to Zhang, “all will be revealed.”

“You said that a week ago,” I heard Zhang mutter under his breath.

CHAPTER 12

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your dressing room was standing room only.” W. H. Hui, tried to sound blasé but was clearly surprised to see the consul general, Yang Jie, Huang Chen Wu, DeGrace and myself, as well as Fei Fei and her husband, Ming, and their 14-year-old son.

The Wongs were sitting at a small round table near Xiaochuan’s dressing area and just finishing tea and a plate of sweets. They rose to thank Xiaochuan, who had just given their son an autographed picture.

“For your collection,” Xiaochuan said with a smile.

Yang Jie, dressed in black with a white shirt and red tie, hovered near the piano behind them.

Hui shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, holding a huge bouquet of yellow roses. “I wanted to wish

you the greatest success of your life tonight. I’m sure it will a great triumph for you. In fact, that’s what I plan to write about your performance in tomorrow morning’s newspaper …” His voice trailed off as he presented the bouquet.

Xiaohuan buried her face in the roses and gloried in the fragrance. “Yellow is my favourite … but they also fill me up,” she said, reaching into her silver handbag.

“My puffer. It’s not here.” Anxiety arose in her voice.

“I see it,” said Hui, slipping past us and picking up her white and silver puffer, lying almost hidden on the piano keys. Xiaohuan smiled a faint thank you.

She paused at the doorway after she had seen the Wongs off. Her face had lost its colour, and she looked as though she were ready to faint at any second. DeGrace, who was standing closest to her, grabbed her by the arm, and helped her to the blue velvet chair in front of her dressing table.

Zhang bent over her. “Are you all right?”

Xiaochuan nodded and hung her head. Suddenly she put her hands over her face and started to cry.

Zhang beckoned to her maid. “Help her.”

DeGrace stepped in quickly. “She may be suffering a breakdown. She should see a doctor immediately.”

“It’s getting close to curtain call,” said Hui, holding out his wrist watch.

Zhang shook his head. “She will lose face if she doesn’t go on.”

Yang Jie was about to say something when Huang broke in. “The concert doesn’t matter. You’re forgetting the only thing that does matter: Xiaochuan, and her health.”

“We all agree, Huang Chen Wu,” said Zhang in an even voice. “I was merely making an observation – that if she fails to appear, she may never be able to live it down.”

Xiaochuan, who had been listening, suddenly stopped crying and straightened up. Her maid wiped her forehead

and eyes. “I will go on,” she said flatly, turning around to face us. “Consul General Zhang is right.”

“No one will blame you, little one. You have gone through a lot of bad things these past few days, and stronger people than you have cracked under the strain.”

Xiaochuan nodded. “Thank you, Mr. DeGrace. But the consul general is right. I am an artist and a professional, and should not allow anything to stop me from performing.”

“You are a brave, gracious young lady and truly, a national treasure,” added DeGrace, “but before you do anything or go anywhere, you must look like the Xiaochuan we love.”

During the next 10 minutes we whispered among ourselves, while she transformed her face into the porcelain image we always associated with her.

A young woman with short brown hair and tinted glasses jumped up from behind Hui and squeezed by him. “It’s time, Miss Xiaohuan.”

“We will be back stage with you every minute,” said DeGrace.

“Me, too … here, let me put these in water,” said Hui, taking the bouquet from her.

Zhang left with us. “Do you expect something to happen tonight?” he asked as we left Xiaohuan’s dressing room.

“I should be greatly surprised if it did not,” said DeGrace in a matter-of-fact voice. We made our way down the wood-paneled corridor and towards the stage area. You could hear the buzz of excitement that rippled through the crowd.

We reached the stage area as the houselights rose and members of the orchestra filed in and took their places on centre stage. DeGrace and I stood in the shadows of the stage entrance on the right. The consul general was standing in the entranceway opposite.

Silence fell like a soft rain as the conductor led Xiao-

huan on stage a minute later. Wild applause erupted as she stopped, turned and bowed. The applause kept the orchestra on its feet for at least another minute, followed by a hush as the conductor tapped the podium.

Xiaohuan opened with the second movement of Max Bruch’s piano concerto. She was dressed in a shimmering white gossamer-like dress that made her look more younger and slimmer. She seemed oblivious to everything around her as she abandoned herself to Bruch and then, Vivaldi, with closed eyes and a dreamy look on her face. Once or twice she shivered and dabbed her forehead between selections. I nudged DeGrace, who did not seem overly concerned. He looked up at the glare of the lights that ringed the massive acoustic discs suspended over centre stage.

DeGrace’s attention was on the audience sitting in the choir loft surrounding the stage. The front rows jutted out onto the stage area to about 20 feet from where Xiaohuan was standing. The rest of the stage, paneled in light maple, gleamed.

Hui, standing behind us, notebook in hand, stared at Xiaohuan. His eyes never left her face, even for a second. She changed her dress during intermission, and returned to the stage in a full length black evening dress that swept the floor when she walked. It was offset by single strand of pearls. The effect was immediate and memorable. So was the rest of her performance that included selections from Mozart, Verdi and Beethoven.

DeGrace, who had focused on Xiaohuan since her return, pinched my arm. “Something is wrong. Be ready for anything.”

I looked at Xiaohuan, trying to figure out what was upsetting him. By the time she reached her signature piece –The Butterfly Lovers – her face had become wan and drawn, and I wondered if she would be able to finish.

DeGrace said nothing more but relief was evident on

his face as she finished her last piece and walked off stage to wild applause from an audience that showed no signs of stopping. It was clear they wanted her back, and were in no mood to stop clapping until she reappeared.

She returned a minute later, dabbing her forehead and bowing deeply when she reached centre stage, and invited the conductor to share the glare of the spotlight. She bowed again, blowing kisses at the audience. The applause, coming in waves now, became electrifying as the entire house rose to its feet.

Then, something quite unexpected. Three young Chinese girls dressed in yellow dresses, each carrying a bouquet of yellow roses, made their way down the aisle on the right side and onto the stage. They circled in front of Xiaohuan and curtsied. Xiaohuan broke into tears and put her arms around them and kissed them, as their parents, who had followed them to the stage, flashed picture after picture. The applause reached a fever pitch.

Xiaohuan blew kisses after them and watched them leave the stage. Then, suddenly, she dropped her violin, clutching the conductor’s arm to stop herself from crumpling onto the stage.

Huang Chen Wu had enough. He had been sitting for an hour or more on a blue plastic chair in the emergency admitting, and was getting a little edgy, and when Hui, the reporter, showed up, Huang started pacing the waiting room.

DeGrace never liked hospitals in the best of times, and I wondered what possessed him to join the consul general and Yang Jie at Toronto General, a short distance away on University Avenue. Even the smell of antiseptic left him queasy and apprehensive. The endless stream of nurses, doctors, orderlies and patients added to the growing tension that dragged us all down with it.

Huang, still wearing his sunglasses on his forehead, stopped pacing in front of Hui, who had taken the seat Huang had vacated moments earlier. Hui stretched out his legs in front of him, blocking Huang’s path.

Huang stopped in front of him.

“You have to walk exactly here?” Hui extended his arm and waved it in the direction of the rest of the waiting room.

“Why are you even here? You’re not wanted.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I’m here on business.”

“Monkey business,” said Huang, returning the anger that simmered in Hui’s eyes.

“What about you? Why are you here? For all we know, you’re the one behind the attacks. In fact, we’ve been checking you out – and no one – including the Chinese government seems to know anything about you.”

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Huang, “but our friend here seems awfully anxious to pin this on someone. I have to wonder what a private investigator like our friend here might turn up on you.”

Hui stood and tried to stare Huang down. “I wasn’t the one who was with her during intermission. You were. I think you did something to her. I don’t know what but she wasn’t the same when she came back.”

“Mirabile dictu”. DeGrace’s sudden outburst – a phrase he used when he had a sudden flash of insight – brought conversations in the waiting room to a halt. “We need to talk to Miss Xiaohuan’s doctor immediately.”

The consul general left to talk to the nurse at reception. A minute or two later, Xiaohuan’s doctor, a tall man with a boyish face, appeared and started talking to Zhang.

Hui rose to join Zhang. Yang Jie waved him back. “I don’t think the consul general wants you there.”

“I don’t care what he wants.”

“You are being very mechant, Mr. Hui,” said DeGrace,

waving a reproving finger in his direction.

“My readers have a right to know what’s happening to her.”

“I will go and let you know,” said DeGrace.

Huang smiled as DeGrace got up and joined Zhang and the doctor a few seconds later. I was always surprised how fast DeGrace could walk for someone of his height.

“Miss Xiaohuan?” DeGrace asked after being introduced to the doctor, a specialist in respiratory illnesses, who shared DeGrace’s cornflower blue eyes.

“We’re still in the early stages of testing, I’m afraid. She’s having trouble breathing. There’s something – we’re not sure yet – that’s filling up her lungs.”

“The roses,” said the consul general. “She said the roses filled her up.”

“There’s nothing in the roses that would affect her breathing to that degree. No. Something else,” said the doctor in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Perhaps something added to the roses,” said DeGrace.

“All the roses she received were checked out.” Zhang was ready to pounce on anything.

“I am also checking them out,” said DeGrace.

Yang Jie looked at DeGrace with new interest.

“I had them sent to our good friend, Detective Hilkers of the Metropolitan Toronto Police.”

“Including the roses presented by the three young girls?”

DeGrace smiled at the consul general and turned to the doctor: “How long do you expect Miss Xiaohuan to be in hospital?”

“Depends on how long it takes to discover the cause of her breathing problem. She should not be moved until then.”

“How long will that be?”

“Hopefully, before the end of the day.”

It took exactly two hours before Phil Hilkers called, asking for DeGrace, who listened for almost five minutes without responding. “We have a bad situation here, Philip, and we must be absolutely certain.”

“I am certain. The roses were clean. Nothing,” said Hilkers. I was standing next to DeGrace and could hear Hilkers’ loud voice.

“You don’t seem surprised,” said Yang Jie, who was sitting on the other side of DeGrace.

“That leaves only one thing – the puffer. Where is it?” DeGrace turned to Hui: “You spotted it on the piano and passed it to her.”

“I didn’t see it at first. And then, when Xiaohuan seemed to panic when she couldn’t find it, I saw it almost immediately on the piano keys. It was the same colour as the keys …”

“Did you see what she did with it?”

Hui’s eyes glittered. “She put it in her bag – the silver bag she carries on stage.”

“Where is it now?”

Hui shrugged. “Sorry.”

Zhang looked at Yang Jie, who shook his head. “If she used it, she must still have it.”

“I’ll get it,” said Zhang.

“No, let me. You’ve had a very trying week so far,” said Yang Jie.

“Thank you but I would like to see her and talk to her and make sure she is all right,” said Zhang as he rose and headed for the elevators.

“Do you need me for anything else?” Hui asked DeGrace.

“Not at the moment, Mr. Hui, but if you could remain with us for a while, it would be appreciated.”

“I’ll be here until we get more definite word from her doctor. If I left now, my paper would shoot me,” he said,

looking around. “I’m surprised the big mainstream papers aren’t here. She’s big news everywhere.”

“I think the newspaper reporter, Hui, has some explaining to do,” said Yang Jie, who followed Hui with a dark look in his eyes. “I’m not sure about him.”

DeGrace didn’t respond. Something was bothering him and he kept looking at the elevators. “This is not a safe place for her, and I am not confident that she will be left in peace.”

Zhang returned a few minutes later with Xiaohuan’s silver bag in his right hand. He sat down beside DeGrace and Yang Jie.

Yang Jie didn’t wait. “Did you find it?”

“You’ll never guess,” said Zhang, reaching into the bag and pulling out two puffers.

“What do you think of your Mr. Hui now?” said Yang Jie. “I think we need to have another chat with him.”

I stood and waved Hui to join us.

“How is Xiaohuan? Is she all right? What do her doctors say?” he asked, sitting down opposite us.

“She is fine. Her doctor wants her to stay overnight –just to make sure everything is fine. She should be released in the morning, barring any further complications.”

“The consul general came back with two puffers,” said Yang Jie in an accusatory voice.

“Two?” Hui was dumfounded.

“Which one did you give her?” said Yang Jie, showing Hui two identical puffers.

“I can’t tell. They both look alike to me.” Then, looking at DeGrace: “What’s this all about?”

“No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Hui. We just need your help. Anything you can remember, no matter how insignificant, could prove very helpful. Did you notice the puffer on the piano before it went missing?”

“I spotted it when Xiaohuan couldn’t find it.”

DeGrace smiled and looked at Yang Jie, who shook his

He waited until Hui had left. “I think he knows a more than he’s telling us. I’ve interviewed a lot of people during my career, and every instinct in my body tells me he’s hiding something.”

DeGrace ignored his comment. “I will need both puffers, consul general. I think we may have found the answer. I will make sure Detective Hilkers gets them right away.”

Then, turning to me: “Call Hilkers again, si’l vous plaît, mon vieux.”

After a brief conversation with Hilkers, he turned to Yang Jie: “Our good friend, Hilkers, is checking something else out, and promises to get back to me shortly.”

The second call from Hilkers came 15 minutes later –but not about what we had been expecting. “There’s been another development, DeGrace. We’ve taken a young Chinese woman into custody. We spotted her hurrying out of the concert when your performer fainted on stage, and stopped her. She was carrying a gun.” A pause. “Are you still there, DeGrace?’

DeGrace was distracted by Hui and Huang staring each other down. “I am here, Philip. What can you tell me about this person?”

“Ask him if anything else has turned up,” said Yang Jie.

“We’ll get back to you about the revolver in a minute,” said Hilkers, who had heard Yang’s question. “The young lady is a Chinese national and has only been in Canada for less than a week on a month-long visa. She was very reluctant to give us her name. I was wondering if your friend, Zhang, could lend us a hand.”

“I’d like to think about that for a bit.” DeGrace paused for a second or two. “There’s been another development. “We think we found the cause of Xiaohuan’s poisoning. Her puffer. We found two in her handbag and think one of them

was how she administered poison to herself. I’ll have them sent to you immediately.”

“Good work, DeGrace. Before I forget. About that other business. You were right.”

DeGrace smiled as he replaced the receiver.

CHAPTER 13

It was the first time DeGrace ever visited Chinatown on foot. His neat and ordered mind struggled with the way store stalls spilled out into the street, the smell of fresh fruit and vegetables that mingled with the smoke of strong cigarettes, and the wonderful fragrances from open-door herbal shops.

“Everyone is staring at us,” he said in a low voice as we approached Spadina along Dundas.

“I wouldn’t be concerned about it. They’re probably wondering if you’re going to buy something.”

“No. Something more.” DeGrace always paid attention to his feelings.

I shook my head. “They’re used to white people. They see hundreds every day, and know they don’t ask for a special price. I thought you knew all this.”

We were on our way to meet Jacob Tang, a dealer in Chinese antiques, who had a shop on Spadina. DeGrace had helped him recover a rare jade dagger reputed to have been owned by Genghis Khan. The dagger had been stolen from his shop, and Tang, who had mortgaged everything he owned to acquire it, was on the verge of committing suicide when someone told him about DeGrace.

“Master Tang did not require me to walk the streets of Chinatown when I saw him a few years ago. He had the good grace to send a limo to bring me to his shop. He certainly didn’t expect me to walk the streets of Chinatown.”

Tang’s shop was only a block away. “We could have taken a taxi.” I knew that would end it. DeGrace hates parting with money, especially for something as frivolous as a taxi, when I had a perfectly good car to take him wherever he wanted. He never, ever understood the nightmare of finding a parking spot close to anything in downtown Toronto, especially Chinatown.

He pulled his muffler around his ears. “How much further?”

“It’s just ahead. We’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

DeGrace entered first. An old fashioned bell over the door tinkled behind us as we closed the door and moved into the shop. An incense burner hidden, among all the antiques, emitted a special fragrance I couldn’t quite place.

“It’s a special blend of eucalyptus and lemongrass,” said Tang, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “It has a marvelous calming effect.” He took DeGrace’s hand. “It is good to see you again, Master DeGrace. May I offer you both some tea?”

DeGrace shook his head. “I need your help, old friend.”

“Then let us at least sit down.” He led us into a room off the shop, half hidden by the stacks of antiques sitting on teak display cases. We sat down on a blue velvet sofa. Tang was tall and thin in his late 60s or early 70s, with a small face and deep dark eyes that seemed to read your thoughts. His hair was white, and the grey stubble on his cheeks and chin made him look frail and vulnerable.

“I gather you wish to see me about the graves?” Tang didn’t look up as he poured three cups of tea from the teapot he reserved for special guests. “In fact, I was wondering when I would hear from you.”

“Do Chinese bury valuable things with their dead?”

“Not as a rule. But that, I think, is not what the grave disturbers are looking for – if that’s what you are asking.”

“Do you, in fact, have any idea what they’re looking for? They’re looking for something. That’s fairly clear. We were told it was a list of conspirators who had plotted to overthrow the government.” Then, after a brief pause: “We think it may be something else.” DeGrace liked to use the imperial we.

“I have heard rumours – but little more.”

“Have you heard any talk about who may be behind the grave openings?”

Tang shook his head and offered a cup of tea with both hands to DeGrace and to myself. Neither of us drank tea but we both sipped on it before putting our cups down on the intricately worked mahogany table in front of us.

“My I offer an old friend some advice?” Tang paused to search out DeGrace’s eyes. “More than the spirits of the dead are being raised. Powerful forces are also being stirred, and in danger of boiling over.”

DeGrace nodded. “Thank you for your wise words, Master Tang. I would also like to ask you about Jiang Xiaochuan.”

“The violinist. I have one of her recordings. As graceful as a nightingale in its final song before dawn. What precisely do you wish to know?”

“It has come to my attention that her life is being threatened, and there have been, in fact, two attempts on her life since her arrival in Canada.”

You could see the look of surprise in Tang’s creased face. “I had not heard that. And I am frankly surprised. Are you sure?”

“I was told this by someone in authority.”

Tang rose. “Your tea is getting cold. Let me offer you a new cup and a wish for our success. But I must tell you, as

a dear friend, to be very careful in whom you confide. Appearances can be deceiving.”

“You’re the second person who told me this today.”

Tang raised his greying eyebrows. DeGrace sat back waiting for him to elaborate but it never came. Instead, a question: “You have another question, if I am not mistaken?”

“It’s about a certain Mr. Ma. The police found him dead a couple days ago. Murdered.”

“I see the forces have already been unleashed. This is what I have tried to warn you about earlier.” He paused to pass a new cup to DeGrace and myself. “I had heard a Chinaman had died mysteriously. I had not heard who it was. I gather you know Mr. Ma.”

“He operated a fruit/vegetable stand in downtown Chinatown. I thought you might know him. He was also one of the group from Richmond Hill that sought my help in stopping the grave openings.”

Tang leaned closer and in a soft voice: “Be very careful, my good friend. I should not like to learn of your death on TV.”

“Je ne suis pas fait au chocolat, Master Tang. I have fallen off many cliffs, and lived to tell the tale. But thank you for your concern.” DeGrace paused. “If you were me, what would be your next move?”

“You might find it useful to have a chat with my old friend, Benson Hum, the bookseller. His store is only a short walk up the street.”

Benson Hum, dressed in traditional Chinese attire, was sitting on a grey-painted stool behind a glass counter, piled high with Chinese newspapers. The walls were covered with Chinese books and DVDs of Chinese TV programs and movies.

“How may I help you?” Hum and Tang were about the same age, except that his voice was weak, and his hands

shook as he accepted a loonie from a customer. DeGrace took this in at a glance, and chose one of the books, opened it, and put his face down into the open pages. He smiled as he raised his face, and approached Hum with the book and a smile.

“You wish to purchase this?”

DeGrace nodded.

“You understand it is written in Chinese?”

DeGrace nodded again. He loved the smell of certain books, and often bought books whose smell he particularly liked. Hum’s hands shook as he put the book in a paper bag and passed it to DeGrace. “Please accept this as a gift from one book lover to another. It is not often that we find people, who love the books the way we do.” A slight pause. “But you did not come here to check my books, I think. How may I help you?”

DeGrace told him about being approached by a delegation from Richmond Hill to investigate the grave openings at the Tranquil Valley Cemetery. “My good friend, Master Tang, suggested I might find it useful to have a chat with you.”

Hum’s small eyes zoomed in on our faces. “Are you from the police?”

DeGrace shook his head. “But we often work closely with the police.”

“I am not sure how I can help you.”

“Peut-être, perhaps, you have a few insights that would help us discover who is behind the grave openings?”

Hum didn’t respond immediately and when he did, it was to raise a question of his own. “May I ask how you came to know Mr. Tang?”

“Master Tang and I worked together on a case some years ago. If you ask him, you will find I am very discreet and keep my sources to myself.”

Hum motioned us to a small round table at the rear

of his shop, where he and his cronies often retired to play mahjong. “Do you play, Mr. DeGrace?”

“I regret to say that I have never had the opportunity,” said DeGrace as we sat.

“Then I would delight in helping you become a master. It strikes me you would be a formidable adversary,” He paused. “Do you know why our mutual friend suggested you should see me?”

DeGrace shook his head. He had a weakness for clever, subtle people and understood immediately why Tang and Hum were friends.

“I am Taiwanese. The people who consulted you come essentially from mainland China. And I am certain you have concluded by now they all have an agenda of one kind or another.”

DeGrace smiled. “There appear to be two opposing camps – one group that wants me to stop my investigation, and another that would like to see me press ahead.”

“There are many irons in that fire. You might find it useful to find out where the irons lead.” Hum rose. “Forgive me for not offering you the hospitality of my shop.”

“There is no need, Mr. Hum. You have been remarkably kind and helpful.”

“Then permit one other small observation. You might want to ask lawyer Hu who she is working for.” Then, in a softer voice: “Sometimes, lawyers represent clients they do not always disclose.”

CHAPTER 14

Phil Hilkers was on the phone when we arrived, with two uniformed officers beside his desk waiting for him to finish. Whatever it involved, the two officers grabbed his attention as soon as he was off the phone. They left a few minutes later, sour faced and sullen.

“It’s not been a good day,” said Hilkers. His face was drawn and looked as tired as his eyes. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Those two who just left succeeded in angering the Chinese community with their heavy-handed antics while investigating the death of your friend, Ma or Wong, or whatever his name is. I hope you have something better to tell me.”

“Just the opposite. I was wondering if you had a report back on the two puffers I sent your way yesterday.”

The words came out in a steady stream, like a singer holding a note without pausing to take a breath. “I know you’ve got something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

We sat on the two chairs next to his desk. DeGrace glanced at the ash tray filled with butts at the corner of his desk. “I see you are back smoking again, Philip.”

“It’s been that kind of day. So spare me your lectures.” “To change the subject, there may be a couple of things that may be of interest. As you know, Mr. Ma was part of

the delegation that visited me three days ago. He and his wife kept to themselves. They lost an infant son under suspicious circumstances. So I am not surprised that his real name could be Wong.”

DeGrace went on to discuss his meetings in Chinatown, and with the reporter from one of the Chinese newspapers.

“Who were these gentlemen you met in Chinatown?”

“They have nothing to do with any of this, Philip. And you don’t need their names.”

“I’m sure you’ve already reached a conclusion. And don’t tell me you haven’t already reached any.”

“Before we get into that, Philip, there are a couple of other things you should be aware of. My associate and I had a narrow escape in the cemetery last night. But we’ve solved the mystery of the night music in the graveyard. It appears the cemetery manager is learning to play the cello. But I digress. We discovered a hidden basement to the storage shed on the site, where we found a page from a program of Miss Xiaohuan’s performance in Montreal.”

Hilkers was about to say something when DeGrace stopped him with a raised finger. “What really is interesting is that the cemetery manager claims he never knew about the existence of the cellar.”

“Do you believe him?” Hilkers had stopped taking notes a few minutes earlier.

DeGrace shrugged. “I suspect the music in the graveyard is to warn whoever is digging up the graves that someone else is in the graveyard. It makes sense.”

“It all comes back to the grave openings, doesn’t it?”

“Including the murder of Mr. Ma.”

“Who do you think is behind all this?” Hilkers had fallen under DeGrace’s spell again.

“Either the group who would like to see the grave openings stopped, or those who would like to see them continue.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Why would someone who wants to see them continued be after your hide?”

“Call it a hunch, Philip. Actually, more than a hunch. This morning, the delegation arrived on my doorstep to ask me to stop my investigations.”

“Why the change in heart?”

“They told me that the person or persons behind the grave openings had threatened each of them if I did not stop my investigation.”

Hilkers smiled. He knew, as I did, that was precisely the wrong tack to take with DeGrace.

“These people appear to mean business.”

“They tried to frighten me – and failed. If they had really wanted to silence DeGrace, they would have succeeded. But that is not what they wanted. It would have drawn the unwelcome attention of every newspaper, radio and TV station in Canada to their activities, and even worse, forced the police department to patrol the graveyard for months. So what do they do? They threaten the people who wished to retain me, thinking that will put a stop to everything.”

“And what about our friend, Ma?”

“I am not sure how it fits in at the moment. But it does. So does the young lady you arrested last night. Have you learned anything?”

”She refuses to give us her name or explain why she was carrying a loaded gun.” Hilkers glanced at the open room where other detectives were busy on the phone or talking among themselves. “But I think we’re about to find out.”

We turned to see lawyer Hu talking to one of the uniformed officers. He pointed her in our direction. Hilkers stood and waved.

Hu looked even more severe than she did on her first visit. She was wearing a grey suit, black stockings and a light blue silk scarf, and sat upright in the chair I vacated

for her.

“I gather you’re here about the young lady we arrested last night – the one carrying a loaded gun into a crowded concert hall.”

Hu nodded. “Her name is Liu Liling. She retained my services three days ago. In fact, after our meeting with Mr. DeGrace.”

“What did she want?” asked Hilkers, who was writing her name on his scratch pad.

“Ordinarily, Detective Hilkers, I would consider that question improper but considering the charges against her, I will tell you that Miss Liu contacted me because her life was in danger, and thought I could help her.”

“Did she indicate why?” asked DeGrace, turning his chair in her direction.

She tried a faint smile on for size. “No. And I didn’t press her on it either.”

“What did you advise?” DeGrace again.

“I suggested she apply for refugee status immediately. I drove her to my office and filled out the papers. I filed them the same afternoon.”

“Did you know she had a firearm?”

“Absolutely not, detective. I still find it hard to believe. But her fear of being killed does explain why she carried it to the concert.”

“But not condone it,” added Hilkers. “Anything could have happened, and God knows how many people might have been killed.”

“She wasn’t thinking. She was irrational. She was that way when I first met her. Surely you can understand that.”

“I might have. Except for one small thing. The bullet that killed your friend, Ma or Wong, or whatever his name was, came from the same gun.”

For a few seconds, time stood still. “I don’t understand. I heard that Mr. Ma had been murdered – but to suggest

that Liu Liling is responsible, I can’t – and won’t – accept. I am a fairly good judge of character, Detective Hilkers, and I’d stake my reputation that that she had nothing to do with his death.”

“What are your thoughts?” said Hilkers, turning to DeGrace.

“I’m inclined to agree with Miss Hu – but if she did not do it, it begs the question how the gun found its way into her possession.”

Hu stood. “Actually, Mr. DeGrace, it’s Mrs. Hu. And now gentlemen, if you have nothing further, I’d like to see my client.”

Hilkers watched her disappear into the cells, accompanied by a uniformed officer. “It’s a good time to take a break. I’ve been dying to go outside for a cigarette for the past hour, and I know you’ve got a thing about being in the same place with smokers, so let me take a short walk to clear my head.”

DeGrace made no effort to move. I knew what he was waiting for – to chat with Hu after she finished seeing her client.

“All this talk about a frightened young woman is fine but it doesn’t explain why she would feel the need to take a gun to a concert. What did she expect to do with it, even if she were confronted by an attacker. Which is highly unlikely. There is another side to this we don’t know about.”

Hu appeared in the room a few minutes later. She looked around for Hilkers, and was about to leave when DeGrace stood and beckoned her. Hu started in our direction and then stopped, before joining us a few seconds later.

“Detective Hilkers will be back in a couple of minutes,” said DeGrace, inviting her to resume her seat. “I know he will want to talk to you.”

Hu sat upright, legs together, with a strained look on her face. “I am not sure I have much I can tell him.”

Permesso, Mrs. Hu. Can you tell us what she had to say about the gun.”

“I don’t mind telling you – if it would clear the air. Liling told me the gun was not hers.”

“Did she say how she acquired it?”

“She says she found it in her hotel room the same day I had met with her in downtown Chinatown.”

“Found it in her room?” The question came from Hilkers, who was had joined us unnoticed. We were sitting with our backs to him and had no idea how long he had been standing there.

“Yes, detective. She found it when she returned to her room after seeing me. It was in a gift box, all tied up with fancy ribbons, and lying on her bed.”

“That’s it?”

Hu could tell Hilkers wasn’t buying it but kept his silence.

“You know this is all connected with the grave openings – Ma’s murder, your client and the graveyard disturbances,” said DeGrace.

Hilkers didn’t wait for her response. “What do you really know about her?”

“Only what she told me.”

“How confident are you that she has told you the truth?”

Hu stood, signaling that our meeting with her had come to an end. “Please keep in mind, detective, I am representing Liu Liling, and I do not feel comfortable discussing her with you any further,” she said in a measured voice before pausing. “I only discussed the gun to help you understand it was not hers, and that she feared for her life.”

She left a few seconds later. Nobody ventured a comment until we saw her disappear out of the door and into the street.

“Is your take on this the same as mine, DeGrace?”

GRAVEDIGGERS

“Probablement. I do not believe she is as confident about her client as she would like us to believe. Especially after hearing that the gun was used to kill Mr. Ma.”

“Excuse me for a minute, DeGrace. There’s something going on at the front that requires my attention.”

We watched him go to the front, where a Chinese lady, who had been trying to explain something to the officer on duty, was on the verge of breaking into tears. Hilkers led her into one of the interview rooms on the right and had two officers sit down with her before returning.

“Her husband has been missing for a couple days, and she believes something happened to him. She claims he never did anything like that before. I suspect he’ll turn up in a few days. We’ve seen all this before.”

Hilkers leaned across his desk. “By the way. The two puffers. No problems with either of them.”

CHAPTER 15

Hilkers appeared at the door the next morning, and followed his nose into the kitchen, where DeGrace was brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “By the smell, I’d say I’ve come at just the right time. I’ve got some news,” he announced as soon as he saw DeGrace, “and thought you might want to join me.”

Hilkers and I sat at our blue-topped kitchen table as DeGrace put a soft drink on the table for me, and proceeded to pour two coffees. He placed one in front of Hilkers and started to pour a shot of Cognac in his cup. “Would you like to join me, or are you on duty?”

“I will be just as soon as we finish our coffee.”

“Did I hear you say you had some news?”

“We had one of our Chinese officers do some digging about Ma and why anyone would want him dead. They drew a blank. Everyone who might know Ma called him a man of mystery, a non-entity. He and his wife ran a fruit and vegetable stand in Chinatown, as you know. He minded his own business, and no one can figure out why anyone would want him dead.”

DeGrace was holding his cup in his both hands and taking in the aroma of the Cognac. “Then, there may be something to his wife’s claims that her baby was smothered after all.”

“I have to tell you I didn’t put much stock in it either. But now, I’m not so sure.”

“You could have told me that on the phone. Why are you here, Phillip?”

It’s about our friend, Vern Rigby. Seems he is a big bettor on the nags and was into his bookie for a few thousand.”

He paused to swish a mouthful of coffee and swallow it slowly. “I could get used to this. Now, about our friend, Rigby. It appears he recently came into a lot of money. Paid off the bookie and bought a new car. I thought you might want to join me when I see him about the source of his newfound wealth.”

DeGrace smiled. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as I go on duty,” he said, pushing his cup across the table to DeGrace for a refill.

“One thing, though. He normally works from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m..” said DeGrace.

“I already called. He switched. At least for today.” ***

Vern Rigby still had his cello in his hand when we entered his office. “Back so soon?” There was a special bounce to his voice that added a new tempo and feel to his surroundings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My friend, Detective Hilkers of the Metropolitan Toronto Police, would like to talk to you about the grave openings. He asked us to join him.”

Rigby dusted off a third chair with a blue feather duster sitting on top of his filing cabinet. “I don’t often get company. So forgive me if my office is a bit down at heels.”

“I see you read one of the Chinese newspapers, Mr. Rigby?”

“Not I. It was left by one of Chinese reporters, who visited me about the grave openings.” He pointed to the thumbnail picture just below the headline. “It was this re-

JIM CARR

porter.”

It was Hui. Hilkers looked at DeGrace, who showed no signs of recognition.

Hilkers had enough pussyfooting around. “I understand the grave openings have taken place right under your nose, and that you were not aware of it until it was brought to your attention.”

Rigby straightened his red bow tie. He was wearing a new navy blue suit and a powder blue shirt. He leaned across his paper-strewn desk. “What precisely are you asking me, detective?”

“We seriously question, as cemetery manager, that these things could go on without your knowledge.”

Rigby smiled. The nights here are pitch black, detective. Ask your friend,” he added, nodding in DeGrace’s direction, “just how black it can get here at night.”

“So he tells me,” Hilkers said with a hint of a smile in his voice. “He also tells me you knew nothing about the secret cellar beneath your storage shed.”

“There is nothing in the plans of the shed to indicate that there is one. Here,” he said, rising and turning to look at the long shelf behind him. “Look for yourself.”

DeGrace reached for the roll and unfolded it. “This is the plan for the storage shed?”

Rigby cracked his knuckles. “I don’t have any others.”

“That is not what is indicated here. It is described as the storage shed for a different cemetery.” DeGrace passed the roll back to Rigby, who studied the plans carefully for a few moments in silence.

“I apologize. My mistake. I just assumed. You must admit, the drawing does look like our storage shed.”

Hilkers reached out for the plans. “If I may?” He adjusted his glasses and scanned the drawings. “But that’s not why we’re here,” he added, handing the roll back to Rigby.

Rigby laid the plans on the desk in front of him.

GRAVEDIGGERS

“We understand you were into your bookie for more than $30,000, and recently paid him off.”

“I also bought a new car – in case you missed that – and paid cash for it as well.”

“Do you mind telling us how you came into this newfound wealth?” said Hilkers in his official voice.

“I do mind. But I’ll tell you anyway. My dear mother passed away eight months ago, leaving me her home and close to $200,000. Her estate passed into my hands yesterday.”

“We’re happy for you, Mr. Rigby, but we still find it hard to believe all these things go on here almost every night and you don’t know about it.”

“My nephews patrol the site very night, as I told Mr. DeGrace when he visited me two days ago. They are reliable and conscientious, and they have never been able to discover anything either.”

“Yet it continues. Every night, it seems. Without abatement,” said DeGrace.

Hilkers adjusted his glasses and fixed his gaze on Rigby. “Perhaps you need to change the guard. If they were really doing their job, it would be virtually impossible to miss.”

“My superiors are happy with my performance.”

“I wonder if they really are,” said Hilkers as we fastened our seat belts.

“I assume you’re talking about Rigby’s superiors?”

Hilkers nodded. “Do you happen to know where his superiors hang out?”

DeGrace looked at me. “Their corporate offices are just off No. 7 Highway, close to Yonge. The man in charge is Mr. Applegate. Mr. Timothy Applegate.”

“Mister?” Hilkers liked to tilt at windmills.

“You’ll understand when you meet him. He’s pretty impressed with himself, and has a way of letting you know

it from the start.”

Hilkers didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Does his office happen to be in a funeral home?”

“I’m not sure. But probably.”

“Those places give me the creeps. No matter how many times I go to a funeral home, I’ve never been able to feel comfortable. And I’ve had to go a lot in my career. How about you, DeGrace?”

DeGrace’s face went grey, as though a cloud passed over it. “You get used to it. At the prison camp, I lost a lot of friends, who died under some pretty rum circumstances. There wasn’t much of a ceremony to mark their death – just a hole we dug and someone reading a prayer as dirt was shoveled over the poor devil’s body.” Then, raising his voice a notch: “Do you mind turning up the heat, Philip? It’s a bit chilly back here.”

About 30 minutes later, we wheeled into the parking lot of the Tranquil Valley Funeral Home – a rambling two-storey white clapboard mansion that spoke of colonial times. The black-haired young woman at the reception desk, dressed in a dark blue suit and white blouse, escorted us to Applegate’s office on the main floor.

Applegate was seated behind his desk, positioned perfectly so that he could look up and see the outside through large French doors. Outside, the lawns were still green, and except for an occasional brown, withered leaf blowing across them, looked perfect in the late morning sunlight. DeGrace’s eyes went to the adjacent side wall, lined with leather-bound books. It wasn’t the image I had of Applegate in my head. Instead, a tall, muscular figure in a tailored black suit in a crisp white shirt, stepped in front of his desk and motioned us to a brown leather sofa near the French doors.

“How may I help you?” he asked in a soft voice. His eyes went to DeGrace, as if expecting him to speak.

Hilkers didn’t wait to be introduced. “My name is Philip Hilkers. I’m a detective with the Metropolitan Toronto Police. We’re investigating the grave openings at the Tranquil Valley Cemetery.”

“I gathered as much.”

“We would appreciate your co-operation.”

Applegate nodded and offered a smile.

Hilkers didn’t smile back. “We just finished talking with Mr. Rigby at the cemetery. He appears to be satisfied that the grave openings are under control, even though they still continue nightly. He also indicated his superiors were satisfied with the actions he took.”

“Are you telling me that the grave openings are not under control?”

DeGrace nodded. “If anything, I would say the situation is even worse.”

Applegate’s smooth baritone voice suddenly turned defensive. “And you are?”

“Denys DeGrace.”

“Ah, yes. The mysterious Mr. DeGrace.” He paused to study DeGrace’s face. “And you know this how?”

“The Chinese delegation we met with is still concerned. And frightened. They have been threatened and told me to back off,” said DeGrace.

“I find this hard to believe. We have hired two people to patrol the graveyard every night. And they have not seen anything.”

“Yet graves are still being opened,” said Hilkers.

Applegate’s surprise showed in his face.

“And are you aware that the two individuals Mr. Rigby hired are his nephews?” said Hilkers.

Applegate shook his head. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“This is what your Mr. Rigby told us,” said Hilkers. “And are you aware that he came into some money very recently?”

Applegate didn’t respond for a few seconds. “Thank you for letting me know about this.”

We headed for the door a few minutes later. Hilkers stopped and turned. “There’s a lot more to this, Mr. Applegate. One person has been murdered already. There could be more. If you aren’t concerned, you should be.”

***

Ma Ju was busy with a customer when we reached her fruit and vegetable stand an hour later. Her long black hair was swept back from her face, revealing dark eyes that darted here and there, as if searching for something. She glanced at us out of the corner of her eye a couple of times. It was not lost on DeGrace, who knew she would not acknowledge us until she had finished with her customer. Hilkers started towards her but was restrained by DeGrace.

“You are from the police?” she said coming towards us after her customer left. “I told you everything I know about Ma yesterday.”

“My name is DeGrace. Your good husband was part of the delegation that came to see me three days ago. It was about the grave openings at Tranquil Valley Cemetery, and about the death of your son.” DeGrace paused to see how she was taking it but drew a blank.

“Your husband called me later that day from the Empire Hotel. He said his life was in danger and that he needed to tell me something very important. A secret. He left in the company of two other men before we had a chance to reach him. Then, after a pause: “We feel we let him down.”

“We want to make sure nothing happens to you,” said Hilkers.

“I can look after myself,” said Ma Ju. “Are you with him or from the police?”

Hilkers introduced himself, adding “can you tell us who he was running from?”

“Ma never told me anything. Kept everything to himself. Where is Ma now?”

“His body is still with the medical examiner. We will need to keep him for a day or two more.”

“He needs to be burned soon. What happened to his clothes?”

“We will need them for a few more days as well,” said Hilkers. “We’ll call you when we’re prepared to release him. If you can tell us where you would like to have his body sent, we could take care of that for you. If you think of something, here is my card. Call me any time. We are sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ma.”

She put it in her blue denim apron pocket. “Excuse me. Someone is waiting to get served. So if there is nothing else ....”

“Where do you do your banking?” I could tell by DeGrace’s voice the question was important to him. I had forgotten about the safety box.

“I don’t see –”

“Please, Madame. It is not a trick question.”

“The bank on the corner.” She picked up a small black hose and began spraying the lettuce. “Now that Ma is gone, I have no one to help me.”

“S’il vous plaît, Madame. Did your husband ever go by another name? Like Wong?”

“What kind of question is that? Ma is Ma.”

It took fewer than five minutes to walk to the corner. The bank was busy with a long line-up at the teller handling business transactions.

“We’d like to talk to your manager,” said Hilkers, who introduced himself to the receptionist.

The manager, a young Chinese professional in his mid30s, with short-cropped black air and dark eyes that seemed

to smile on their own, appeared a minute later, and invited us into his office.

“I assume you’ve heard that one of your customers, Ma Hong, has been murdered.”

“I heard about it on TV a couple days ago. I try to keep up with everything that affects my customers.” His eyes went to the TV at corner of his desk beside an over-sized computer monitor.

“What can you tell us about him, Mr – “

“Anson Cheng.” Cheng paused to look Hilkers in the eye. “Hong and his wife, Ju, opened an account with our branch two years ago. I can get the exact date if you wish. They had just bought a fruit and vegetable store and were seeking a line of credit.”

“Did they get it?”

“Yes but only half of what they were asking for. They paid it off in less than a year. Hong was a hard worker. And so was his wife. I’m not sure what will happen to their business, now that Hong is dead.”

“Permesso, Mr. Cheng. Can you tell us whether Mr. or Mrs. Ma had a safety deposit box?”

Cheng went to his computer and made a few clicks, using his forefinger to go down a list of names on the screen. He looked up and shook his head.

“Perhaps you can tell us then who has Box 4444?”

“That’s easy,” said Cheng with a laugh. “No one. This is a Chinese branch. Our safety deposit box numbers don’t go up that high. And none of our box numbers have a four in them.”

CHAPTER 16

Lawyer Hu lived in a large two-storey brick home in an upscale neighbourhood in North York, with a large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked a park across the street. I wheeled into her driveway beside a black Mercedes, parked in front of a three-car garage.

I kept wondering why Hu wanted to see us at her home. “There is a reason. And I’m sure we’ll find out before we leave,” said DeGrace.

Hu met us at the door, gracious, in a stiff sort of way, as she motioned us to a light green silk-covered sofa in front of a large stone fireplace. It was 9.30 a.m. on the nose -- the precise time she asked us to drop by. There was a thick Chinese rug, showing pastoral scenes along the Tangtse River that caught your eye immediately.

“Thank you for inviting us to your home,” said DeGrace in the buttering-up voice he used to wheedle out information from unco-operative witnesses.

Hu, who was sitting in a straight-backed black chair and looked like a piece of porcelain. Her face was as expressionless as her voice, a dull, professional monotone. “I wanted to see you away from the police station – to see how I can help you in your investigations.”

DeGrace nodded. “That is very gracious of you, signora. I was wondering what else you might be able to tell us about your client, Miss Liu, assuming that it does not com-

promise her, or you, in any way.”

“Such as ....”

“Such as where she comes from and whether her decision to come to Canada has anything to do with the grave openings, or the murder of Mr. Ma.”

Her face stiffened for a second. “Miss Liu comes from a small town in Southern China, where she worked in a watch factory. And to answer your last question first, her presence in Canada has nothing to do with the grave openings. I can assure you of that.”

DeGrace stroked the bottom of his mustache with his forefinger. “Then what is the real reason she is here?”

Hu was ready for his question and provided the answer without hesitation. “It would appear that she attracted the eye of a senior executive, who has pursued her relentlessly. She thought she could escape him by coming to Canada, and is seeking refugee status. But he tracked her down here, and even threatened to kill her if she did not return.”

“How confident are you that she’s telling you the truth?”

“Her fear seems real enough. Other than that, I can’t verify that – if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What about this man’s name?”

Hu shook her head. “She’s really frightened, and fears that if she tells me, my life could be threatened, too. Whoever this man is, he is someone with a lot of power.”

“That does not explain the gun.”

“I agree. All I know is what she tells me – that she found it wrapped in a hat box on her bed when she returned from her meeting with me in Chinatown.”

I glanced at DeGrace.

He had caught the reference as well. “I must tell you, Mrs. Hu, that I am not convinced. Neither is Detective Hilkers.”

Hu sat back in her chair. “No. It really doesn’t ring

quite true, I agree.”

“Or why she would take a loaded gun to the concert,” added DeGrace.

“She wanted to see Xiaohuan. She loves her music. Someone famous from her homeland. I don’t think she understood what she was doing ... or the gravity of it.”

DeGrace looked around, at the tall white-blue vases filled with dried yellow reeds. “Miss Liu is, indeed, fortunate to have you as her lawyer and benefactor. How did she come to choose you, being a stranger in a strange land?”

Hu smiled for the first time, pausing to adjust the position of her rimless glasses. “My name was given to her by a colleague in Shanghai, with whom we work on behalf of clients coming to Canada.”

“How did your client come to know this lawyer? As I understand it, Shanghai is quite a distance from Southern China.”

“I’m not sure. My guess is that it may be a family connection.”

“I understand she has been released on bail. Do you know where she is now?”

Hu didn’t respond for almost a minute. “She is staying with me. I have told her not to answer the phone, and to stay out of sight – in the interests of keeping her out of harm’s way.” Hu looked at her watch.

“We’d like to know a bit more about you, if you don’t mind. Have you spent much time in China?”

“My husband and I came from China, and worked there before emigrating to Canada. Both my husband and I practised law there. He no longer practises.”

“What does he do now?”

“He helps Chinese immigrants find suitable businesses to invest in under the federal business entrepreneurship program.”

“Was Mr. Nie one of those?”

Hu’s face hardened. “May I ask why you’re asking me these questions? I cannot see what this has to do with the matter at hand.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Hu. Put it down as an insatiable curiosity. And to help us prepare for our lunch with Mrs. Ma. We are worried about her. Have you heard anything about the murder of her husband, or who may have been responsible for it?”

Hu felt like shaking her head. Why, she wondered did the police hang on everything he said. His questions didn’t make sense. “My theory,” she said finally, “and it’s just a theory, mind, is that he ran afoul of one of the triads operating in Toronto. Maybe he borrowed money from them, and didn’t pay them back. Just a guess.”

“Do you think his death is connected with the grave openings?”

“How would I know? I can’t believe the people behind the grave openings would take things that far. Threats are one thing but murder, that’s something –”

Hu’s back stiffened with the sudden sound of a dish crashing to the floor.

“Please wait,” she said, rising from her chair and walking to the kitchen, where she started talking in Mandarin. We didn’t understand what was being said but the anger in her voice was unmistakable.

DeGrace rose and walked into the direction of the voices, and disappeared into the kitchen. “Is everything all right?”

“This is Liu Liling. She is staying with me for the time being.”

Liling’s dark eyes took in DeGrace at a glance. You could tell in her face she wasn’t impressed. Someone should tell him, Liling thought, how much better he would look without that stupid greying mustache. For a second, her mind went back to her boyfriend, the excitement that swirled

about him like dancing flags in strong breeze, his sudden angry outbursts that made her feel alive. That was many yesterdays ago. She needed to see him, especially now, to feel right inside again. She thought of her experience in the cells and grimaced without thinking. The light went out in her eyes.

The transformation was not lost on DeGrace. Liling had high cheek bones that accentuated her thin face. Her short black hair was cut at an angle and shook when she became agitated.

“I’m afraid she doesn’t speak much English,” said Hu, who resumed talking to her in Mandarin.

“Perhaps,” said DeGrace, “we should all sit down in the living room. There are a few questions we’d like to ask her, with your permission, of course.”

Hu nodded and tried to smile. “In fact, you might just be the person to help her.”

I glanced at DeGrace: This was the real reason for her invitation. Hu had led us to believe that Liling was a femme fatale. The young women who sat down next to Hu on another high back chair opposite us was anything but. She was short, ultra thin, with a flat face and large round eyes, and quick, quirky movements that suggested inner strength. She was wearing a blue skirt and a light blue blouse, and kept clutching at the collar as though frightened of something.

“I’ll translate for you,” said Hu.

“I would like to ask her if she knew Mr. Ma, and what she might know about his death.”

“I told you earlier. She knows nothing,” said Hu.

“S’il vous plaît, madame, please humor me.”

Liling responded at length, gripping her collar even tighter.

“She says that she never met Ma but heard from some of the people she met in Toronto that Ma had run afoul of someone. She does not know who.”

“The gun. What does she say about being found with the gun that killed him?”

“Let me repeat. She discovered it on her bed on the afternoon of the day of Xiaohuan’s performance. As you may recall, that was the following day after Mr. Ma was found dead.”

She paused to underline what she was about to say next. “I did check out her story about coming to Canada to escape the attentions of a certain admirer in China, who would rather see her dead than with someone else.”

“Does she know anything about the grave openings?”

“I think you’re reaching, Mr. DeGrace. Either that, you’re just fishing. If you have a question, then please ask it. She says she heard talk about the grave openings in China but does not know who is behind them, or what it’s all about. I don’t know what else she can tell you.”

DeGrace studied Liling’s face as Hu was talking. I knew by the look in his eyes that something was bothering him.

Then, without warning, Liling suddenly fell from her chair and lay unconscious on the floor.

DeGrace was on his feet in a second and knelt beside her. “She has a very irregular pulse rate.” said DeGrace, who suffered a heart attack in his 50s, and a hypochondriac of the first order.

“Call an ambulance. She needs to go to the hospital immediately.”

***

Hilkers was waiting for us when we reached the hospital. Hu accompanied Liling in the ambulance, and was talking to a grey-haired woman in the admitting office in emergency when we arrived. We could see the back of Hu’s bobbing head through the window that ran along the upper half of the paneled wall separating the admitting office from the waiting room. DeGrace stood to get a better view of Hu. She was presenting her credit card and talking excitedly to

the admittance officer, who was trying to make Hu understand something.

“What was so important that you had me drop everything and meet you here?” Hilkers was wearing the same light blue blazer that he had on the previous day, and seemed more agitated than usual. “Unless, of course, she wants to make a death bed confession.”

DeGrace held out his hand. “Not that, Phillip. This,” said, opening his hand and dangling a gold locket.

Hilkers reached out to grab the locket in mid-air. He had a bit of a problem opening it. His eyes widened further when he opened it and saw what was inside. “She looks vaguely familiar somehow.”

“Précisement, mon vieux. I noticed Liling kept her hand at her neck all the time we were talking. When she fell to the floor, I spotted the locket and was able to lift it before Hu reached her.”

Hilkers smiled. “And how did you get on with Mrs. Hu?”

“Pretty much as expected. She invited us to her home with the express purpose of convincing me that Miss Liu was harmless – in the hope of enlisting me to help her get the charges against Miss Liu dropped.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe she thinks you’re that gullible.”

DeGrace smiled. “I have always found it profitable to appear harmless. People often become careless and say things they might not otherwise tell you.”

“Did it work with Hu?”

“Lawyer Hu has a lot to hide. What exactly, I’m not sure yet. Such people never let their guard down. But their bodies do, and tell their own story.”

“Speak of the devil,” said Hilkers. We turned to see Hu emerge from admitting, bumping into a wheel chair.

DeGrace, who saw she was distracted, was at her side

immediately, and helped steady her. She sat down opposite Hilkers, suddenly aware of his presence.

She looked at DeGrace and then back at Hilkers. “I assume Mr. DeGrace has told you about Liu Liling?”

Hilkers nodded and pocketed the necklace before Hu had a chance to see it. “How is Miss Liu feeling now?”

Hu folded her hands on her lap and looked down at them as she spoke. “She is just being examined. And still unconscious. I’ll remain with her until I have a full report on her condition. Otherwise, it will be a nightmare for her when she becomes conscious, and not know where she is, or what happened to her.”

DeGrace looked at her with a hint of a smile in his eyes and reached out and patted her hands.

“It was very kind of you all to come,” said Hu, without looking at us. “You, too, detective.”

“Actually, I came to see you, Mrs. Hu. You led us to believe your client had only been in Canada just a few days before she was charged. Immigration informs us that she has been in Canada 16 days before the gun incident.”

Hu looked up to face Hilkers. The apprehension in her eyes was unmistakable.

“It would appear that there is much more to Miss Liu than we realized,” said DeGrace..

“I will get to the bottom of this. I would like to hear her side of the story first, of course.” She paused to look at her watch. “In fact, I’d better check up on her now.”

We watched her navigate her way among the patients waiting to see a doctor. Two more persons, one with a bandage wound around his left arm sat down near us. A hospital staffer appeared and called out someone’s name, leading an elderly man with a cane to be examined. The waiting room was crowded. Getting admitted or seeing someone in the outpatient department was slow. All the blue coloured plastic chairs were filled and other patents stood where they

could find room.

“My news seems to have shaken her quite a bit,” said Hilkers, with a note of satisfaction in his voice as he leaned towards DeGrace. “I have to get back. But I would like you to call me about Miss Liu when you hear something.”

We watched him go. “All the signs seem to point in one direction,” I said, nudging DeGrace, who was staring vacantly at the entrance. He was already one step ahead of me.

“So it would appear. That’s what bothers me. It’s just too neat somehow.”

I was about to say something clever when he touched my hand. “It gets more interesting by the minute. Isn’t that Xiaohian’s boyfriend?”

I turned to see Huang come through the door. He walked by us, as though we didn’t exist, even though we were close enough to touch him.

DeGrace was on his feet. “Mr. Huang.”

Huang turned. “Didn’t notice you. Sorry,” he said, pushing his sunglasses to his upper forehead.

“Let us call it a happy co-incidence. What brings you here?”

“I heard that Xiaohuan had been admitted again. I hurried here to find out what was wrong.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“All the same, I’d feel more comfortable if I made sure. If you’ll excuse me.”

Huang wasn’t the only surprise. I turned to see Nie Yow Zu, dressed in a blazer and gray slacks with a blue shirt, and looking rested and relaxed. He appeared to be oblivious to us as he stopped at the information kiosk before heading for the elevators.

“A curious co-incidence that our good friend, Nie, should show up at the very time Miss Liu is admitted.” DeGrace didn’t believe in co-incidences, and it didn’t take a genius to see where his mind was heading.

He gave me a nudge. “Ask the lady at the information desk. You have a way with older ladies.”

I knew he meant it in a flattering way but I was used to it, and made my way to the information desk. I returned a couple minutes later.

“Was I right?”

I nodded. But that was not all I found out. “Someone else inquired about her a few minutes before Nie. A Chinese man. That was all she could tell me – except that she refused to tell him how to find her.”

“For someone no one seems to know at all, Liling appears to have attracted a lot of admirers.”

“Do you think they mean her harm?”

“No. Certainly not Nie or the other man. At least not yet. No, something else is afoot. Something quite different from what we have been led to believe.”

I didn’t comment. DeGrace was always seeing one grand scheme or another. After I got to know him better, I had the sense it came from his days in the prisoner-of-war camp.

“I think you should use that charm on our lady at the information desk again how we can find the popular Miss Liu. Hu needs to be warned about the two men inquiring about her client. And ask her if our friend, Huang, was one of her visitors.”

The lady at the information desk wasn’t that forthcoming to me either – but when I told Denys DeGrace, the TV actor, was concerned about Miss Liu, her resolve melted, and we were on the way to the third floor nurses’ station. We didn’t need to check in. Hu was talking to the head nurse when we arrived. Her voice was strained and high pitched. “It doesn’t matter how she got out of the room,” she said in a rising voice. “Find her. Just find her.”

She turned as soon as she spotted us out of the corner of her eye. “It’s Liling. She’s disappeared. She complained

about a piercing pain on her side, and asked me to get her something for the pain. I tried ringing for a nurse but when no one showed up, I went to find one.”

“We had an emergency in another room, and left the nurses’ station unmanned for a minute or two to deal with it,” said the head nurse, a tall woman in her early 50s with dyed blond hair that showed streaks of grey.

“She can’t have got far. Check all the rooms. She has to be in one of them, or hiding somewhere nearby,” said DeGrace in his take-charge voice.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“He’s a friend of Miss Liu and mine,” said Hu, without looking at the head nurse.

“What makes you think she’s still on the floor?” I asked DeGrace as they left.

“She could not have taken the elevator. It’s opposite the nurses’ station. And even if she did try while everyone was gone, she still couldn’t chance it. You’ve seen how slow it is. But perhaps the stairs,” he added, breaking into a trot down the corridor for the nearest exit.

We saw her as soon as DeGrace opened the door to the stairwell. Its beige-painted cement block walls gleamed in the light from the open doorway. Liling lay on the landing a few steps down, her face turned from us, and her hospital gown twisted around her. DeGrace bounded down the steps, two at a time. “Get help. Quick.”

A few minutes later, she was back in her room, hooked up to a drip. One of the nurses administered an insulin shot.

“She’s had diabetes for quite some time, I suspect,” said the doctor who had treated her earlier.

“Is she all right?” Uncertainty crept into Hu’s voice again.

“She had a blackout, triggered by hypoglycemia. The same thing that brought her to the hospital in the first place,” said the doctor as he took his leave.

JIM CARR

“It’s a good thing you came when you did,” said Hu after the doctor left. “Why did you?”

“Someone – a Chinese man – was trying to find out where Miss Liu was located. We thought we had better warn you.”

“Do you have a description?” For the first time, there was real concern in her eyes.

I shook my head but I wasn’t sure it registered with her.

“I gather you think it’s connected with Liling’s disappearance somehow.”

“The emergency that left the nurses’ station unmanned is more than a co-incidence.”

Hu’s face tightened. “What do we do now? I can’t leave her here alone. I’m responsible for her.”

“We can start by finding out what the emergency was about, and if Miss Liu is well enough to talk.”

Lorna, the name of the head nurse, looked apprehensive as she saw us approach her station.

“The lady who had the emergency,” said Hu. “Can you tell us her name and her room number?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’d like to help, especially after what happened to your friend. The hospital is very touchy about things like patient privacy.” She tried to smile but she clearly felt uncomfortable.

“She’s no longer here, is she?” asked DeGrace in one of his half-questions, half-statements.

“Sorry, I have to take this call,” she said, pressing one of the flashing lights and lifting the receiver.

We got the answer a few minutes later when we ran into her doctor, a young man in his late 20s, who reminded me of Hilkers. “That was Mrs. Ng. We admitted her earlier. She’s having a difficult pregnancy, I’m afraid. A very quiet, apologetic lady. We had an emergency with her earlier, as you know. She was suffering from sharp pains, and thought she was losing her child. She wasn’t, of course. But we kept her a few hours for observation. She wanted to go

back home, and I saw no need to keep her here. She left a few minutes ago with her husband. She’ll be fine, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

DeGrace glanced at Hu but didn’t say anything.

“Miss Liu, now, is a different story. She has a diabetic problem. A bad one. She’s not been taking care of herself. I hope you will get her to place herself under a doctor’s care. Especially now.”

“Especially now?” You could almost hear Hu’s heart racing.

“As you know, your friend is pregnant, and that could be a real problem for her and her baby.”

CHAPTER 17

Dundas and Spadina is a busy place at any time but at noon it takes on a life of its own. The shops were crowded with last-minute shoppers for the upcoming Lantern Festival. So were the streets. DeGrace never felt comfortable in crowds, and started complaining as soon as we left the cab.

We had agreed to meet with Ma’s wife at the vegetarian restaurant across the street from her fruit and vegetable stand. We spotted her as soon as we entered – just beyond an archway, curtained with strings of multi-coloured beads. The other booths were occupied and she stood up to make sure we knew where to find her.

“You’re late,” she said, as we sat down in the booth opposite her. The three men in the booth across from us were smoking, and the smoke kept drifting towards us every time one of the waiters passed. DeGrace, who had been an inveterate smoker during his war years, kept waving his menu across his face to move the swirls of smoke back to the other table.

“Is this about Ma?” Ma Ju didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.

DeGrace nodded. “We understand that one of the triads may have been responsible for your husband’s death.”

“Who would have told you such a thing?”

“Lawyer Hu hinted as much.”

“Did she suggest you talk to me?” She scanned DeGrace’s face. “I thought not.”

“We need your help, Mrs. Ma. If they are involved, it is only a matter of time before they come looking for you.”

“They won’t bother me.”

“Why?”

“They just won’t.”

I could tell DeGrace wanted to press her but he nodded instead, realizing that he wasn’t going to get anything further from her. She stopped a passing waiter and ordered fried rice and a vegetarian dish. The food arrived a few minutes later and I glanced at DeGrace as a tofu dish was put on the table. Ma Ju began to spoon some rice in a bowl and was about to add a piece of tofu and sauce when DeGrace stopped her. “Just some rice, s’il vous plaît. I am not very hungry at the moment.”

Ju smiled. She didn’t need an explanation, and turned to me.

“Do you plan to go back to China?” DeGrace tried to sound casual but in his stilted way of talking, it sounded anything but casual.

Ma Ju shook her head. “I know Ma would want me close to him. I will bury his ashes next to our child.” And then, quite suddenly, she added, “You know he always called me his jewel. Ju in Chinese means jade.”

“I know you are a very intelligent lady, Mrs. Ma, if you have any idea who killed your husband, or why, it would really help us find his killer.”

Ju went on eating without commenting. She paused to take a sip of tea. DeGrace made a half-hearted attempt to eat the rice, spilling a small mound of grains on the tablecloth.

“Of course, I have an idea. But I cannot prove it. I am now a single woman, alone in a strange land without friends

and family. I am in no position to create enemies based on how I feel.”

“We understand from your bank manager that you and your husband took out a bank loan when you launched your business, and repaid it in less than a year – as though you suddenly came into money.”

“Not so suddenly,” she said with a knowing smile. “Ma and me. We worked very hard. Seven days a week. No time off. No holidays. Not even Chinese New Year.”

“How much money was involved?”

“About $30,000. And because we did not use all the money, we could pay off our loan in less than a year. I can see that you are not used to Chinese people, Mr. DeGrace.”

DeGrace looked puzzled for an instant.

“We are used to doing without and working hard. But I am sure you know that,” she added, as our waiter placed a dish of Chinese broccoli on our table.

“Did Inspector Hilkers tell you we found a piece of paper in the heel of your husband’s shoe,” DeGrace began tentatively.

“Was it a message for me?”

“Peut-être. Perhaps. We’re not sure.”

Ma Ju stopped eating, her face strained and intense. “What do you mean?”

“It contained four, fours. Four. Four. Four. Four,” DeGrace repeated so that there would be no misunderstanding.

“Anything else?”

“The Chinese symbol for the name Wong. We had a Chinese officer translate it for us.”

Her eyes flickered for a moment. She didn’t offer a comment immediately and when it did come, it was in the form of a question. “If I may, Mr. DeGrace, have you asked lawyer Hu about this?”

DeGrace shook his head.

Ju smiled for the first time. “May I also ask if you discovered anything else?”

DeGrace responded with a smile. “And may I ask you to call me – if ever you need a good friend. Someone you can really trust.”

We left about 30 minutes later and hailed a taxi to take us back to home base. “A fascinating woman,” observed DeGrace as we headed up Spadina. I didn’t respond, not sure how he wanted me to react.

“She is a deep one. Gives nothing away and speaks so elegantly in what she does not say.”

I decided not to respond. I had the feeling he was in one of his expansive moods, and found it always prudent to let him take the floor. “Yes, a very deep lady who knows much more than she is prepared to tell us. Does she know what the four fours stand for? Absolument. It is not what she does not say but what her body shouted. She has marvelous control but sometimes our eyes betray us, and so do our cheek muscles, which tighten involuntarily when we feel trapped or under attack.”

“Then why didn’t she confide in us?”

“She will, at the right time, mon vieux. At the right time. But now she needs time to trust us. Life has not been kind to her, and she does not give trust easily. But she will.” Then, after a pause: “We shall speak to her again. Soon.”

***

Ma Ju must have been reading our thoughts. She called just as we were sitting down to supper. Her voice was anxious as she asked for DeGrace, giving the pronunciation of his name a strange twist.

“You said to call you if I needed to talk to you. I need to talk to you now.”

I had sat down after answering the phone and could still hear her voice as she started talking to DeGrace.

“What is wrong? Are you in danger?”

“I am not sure. I found a picture of my son among the Chinese broccoli, and later, one of customers found a rat.”

“Ask a friend to order you a taxi, and come to us immediately. I will give you the address. Write it down, and come to us now.”

“Do the police have to know?”

“Not if you do not want them to know.”

“What about my stand?”

“Forget it.”

Ju arrived less than 30 minutes later in the company of one of her friends – the lady who worked at the herbal shop next door. Her friend’s husband undertook to look after Ju’s stall until she got back.

“Who is the cook?” Ju asked, raising her nose to capture the aroma of pork chops simmering in wine in a frying pan.

DeGrace had learned his culinary skills as a helper in the kitchen of the German officers’ mess as a prisoner of war. One of the side benefits was having access to the potato peelings, which he used to make a special brew, which he ladled out in a battered dipper, purloined from the officers’ mess. Before long, just about everyone in the camp started calling him “Dipper” DeGrace or “The Dip”.

“Do you also cook Chinese?” asked Ju, introducing her friend, Mimi Kwok, a short woman, barely five feet in high heels, with a small face and short black hair. She wore pearl earrings and a pearl necklace and a black dress.

DeGrace shook his head. “But I have cooked something special, and hope you will break bread with us.”

I had set a couple extra plates as soon as they came in and motioned them to our table near the window overlooking the backyard, as DeGrace filled our plates with potatoes, string beans and pork chops and his wine-based gravy. Ju and her friend, Mimi, picked at the potatoes before tasting them.

DeGrace nodded encouragement. As they started eating, he took a sip of coffee and observed: “I gather everything is under control now, if I am not mistaken.”

Ju shook her head. “Not really. Buta bit better. My friend, Mimi, has been very kind to me, and I sense that you will make sure nothing will happen to me.”

DeGrace looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Do you feel up to talking about it?”

“It was just turning dark, and I was taking some of the vegetables and fruits inside. When I returned, I discovered the picture of my son’s grave among the Chinese broccoli. I asked Mimi and her husband if they had seen anything. But they were busy at the time, like me.”

“I think it is a warning, and you should take it as such. But first, I need you to tell me why you think they need to warn you, and why.”

Ma Ju was trying to cut her meat while DeGrace was talking. “Do you have any tea?”

“Sorry. Only coffee, I’m afraid,” I said, holding up my can of pop. “But I can get you one of these.”

Ju shook her head. Mimi smiled behind her hand. “I have my suspicions,” said Ju finally.

DeGrace wasn’t giving up. “If I am to help you, I need to know what your suspicions are. Let’s start with the picture. Did you bring it with you?”

Ju shook her head. “It is the only picture I have of my son’s grave. They may think they can frighten me. But they not know me.” Ju’s face remained impassive. Not even her eyes flickered.

“That is something we do not want known. At least, not for now.”

Ju nodded and dipped the potato chunks into the gravy.

“One thing more, when your husband called me the night before he died, he said he had something very import-

ant to tell me. A secret. Do you know what that secret was? I know I asked this before but please really think about it.”

Ju shook her head but her eyes told quite a different story.

DeGrace decided not to press the matter and took a mouthful of coffee. Mimi looked at him with a crooked smile. She had never met anyone quite like him before.

“A final question. What is the real reason you came to see me tonight?”

CHAPTER 18

The funeral home was packed. Just about everyone who lived, or did business on Dundas and Spadina, including Ma’s customers, were there. Buddhist monks were chanting when we arrived, and quietly left a few minutes later. Incense burned near the casket.

I spotted Master Tang and Benson Hum, and drew DeGrace’s attention to them with a nod. The scent of lilies, carnations and roses surrounding the casket, mingling with the smell of incense, was overpowering.

Ma Ju, in a plain black dress with a white corsage, looked thin and beautiful in her grief. She stood just inside the door with her friend, Mimi Kwok and Mini’s husband, Niu. Ju’s face was strained, and her voice, soft and hesitant, as she greeted newcomers.

Nie Yau Zu was next in line. He looked thinner than usual in a charcoal suit, white shirt and a black-and-white striped tie. His hair, cut in the latest fashion, shone with po-

made, and his voice, as usual, smooth and comforting.

“I did not know your husband well, Mrs. Ma, but he touched all of us in his plea to Mr. DeGrace.” He took her hand in his. “I am sorry for your loss. Take care of yourself.”

Ju nodded and bowed her head as she prepared to greet banker Cheng. DeGrace left to speak to Master Tang and his friend, who were seated by themselves on an olive green sofa against the opposite wall.

“Master Tang. I should have known you would be here,” said DeGrace, sitting down on the sofa next to him and reached for his hand. “And Mr. Hum, as well. This is really fortuitous.”

I took the chair opposite the sofa. Master Tang turned to DeGrace. “A lot has happened since me met, my friend.”

DeGrace smiled. “Believe it or not, it is all starting to make sense in a crazy way.”

“Just be careful. You may be chasing the wrong ghost –a dragon that could breathe fire at any time.”

“Are you involved with the Chinese consulate?” added Hum.

DeGrace nodded.

“Be careful whom you trust,” said Hum in a thin, reedy voice. “Many people wear masks to cover the animal within them. Trust no one.”

“You appear agitated, my friend,” said Master Tang.

DeGrace was taken off guard but managed a smile. “Something I saw when I was talking to Mrs. Ma. You are very observant.”

Master Tang smiled and adjusted his glasses.

The raised voices of Deng and Consul General Zhang turned everyone’s head. They stopped talking after a few seconds when they became conscious of the sudden silence, and then resumed in lower voices.

“Deng Guang is a hard man,” said Hum. “Whatever they’re talking about, you can be sure it involves money. It

is always his bottom line.”

“How far would his quest for wealth take him?”

“That is hard to say. There is much talk about him that his friends are gangsters,” said Master Tang. “But it is, as I say, just talk. But the wind always comes before the storm, as the old Chinese saying goes. He is a hard man with many enemies. And a very rich one.”

A few minutes later, we spotted Deng sharing a joke with Nie.

“There’s also an old saying in English – that politics and religion make strange bedfellows,” said DeGrace.

“So, evidently, does money,” said Master Tang, pointing to Deng and Nie sharing whispers and smiles in the far corner. Tang’s dark eyes had a frail look about them.

“What could possibly bring these two together. When I met with them a few days ago, they were at each other’s throats.

“You seem puzzled,” said Master Tang, seeing DeGrace watch Mimi Kwok and her husband, who were standing at the door, handing out white envelopes to departing visitors.

“It’s an old Chinese custom,” said Hum. “The envelope contains a loonie and a piece of candy. The candy is there to take away the bad luck associated with death. We Chinese are very superstitious. Visitors usually spend the loonie and eat the candy before they go home. Taking it back into their home would bring them bad luck.”

DeGrace looked around. The visitation room had filled up since we had entered. “It seems Mr. Ma had a great many friends.”

Benson Hum smiled. “Many Chinese come to see and be seen. We all have our vanities.”

“Have you paid your respects to Mr. Ma?” asked Master Tang.

DeGrace shook his head and motioned for me to follow him. The casket was closed, to DeGrace’s relief. The

funeral director was opening the lid of the casket, as we approached. I could see DeGrace shrink.

“Funeral homes can work miracles these days,” Master Tang whispered in DeGrace’s ear. DeGrace looked sickly, and for a second, I thought he was going to pass out. He crossed himself, said a silent prayer and moved off.

“What happened?” I asked as we walked away.

“It reminded me of the camp. Seeing Ma now brought it all back.”

I knew from experience that was all I would ever hear about it. I pointed to Mrs. Ma, who was greeting Beauchemin, the fake Dominion Insurance agent.

“Now, why would he be here?” DeGrace said taking off in Beauchemin’s direction.

Beauchemin turned suddenly, almost bumping into us. “We meet again,” said DeGrace.

Beauchemin looked dazed and shocked, as though he had just seen a ghost.

“M. DeGrace,” he said in French, holding out his hand, trying to get himself back into balance. It was clear we were the last persons he expected to see.

“For a minute, I thought you had forgotten me,” said DeGrace, slipping into French.

“Not that, M. DeGrace. It was just that I wasn’t expecting to see you. Looks like M. Ma had a lot of friends.”

“I gather you were one of them.”

“Not really. He had called us about the grave openings in the hope we could put a stop to them. I never really had an opportunity to talk to him face to face.”

“To change the topic for a second, M. Beauchemin, I called Dominion Insurance. You can imagine how shocked I was to learn that you and your friend, M. Donaldson, had not worked there for five years. I also mentioned our meeting to Detective Hilkers of the Metropolitan Toronto Police, and he would like to talk to you.”

“And I would like to talk to him as well,” said Beauchemin with a smile. I’m sorry for the subterfuge, M. DeGrace. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time but I was clearly wrong.”

“You could start by telling us who you really are and your interest in the grave openings.”

Beauchemin had gradually moved us in the direction of a quiet place near the door. “I’m a private detective. I was asked to look into the grave openings. My client would also like to find out who’s behind it, and put a stop to them. In fact, our company was in touch with Mr. Ma a few days before he died.”

“And the name of your client?”

Beauchemin ignored the question. He reached into his jacket pocket and offered his card. “Call me any time. Perhaps we can work together on this.”

He turned to go but stopped and turned to DeGrace. “One thing about all this puzzles me.”

DeGrace raised his eyebrows.

“I understand Jiang Xiaohuan’s maid has disappeared. I find it strange that no one has investigated her disappearance.”

“You are a bit of a puzzle, yourself, M. Beauchemin. How did you come to know about her maid, and that she had disappeared?”

“It was brought to my attention.”

“Do you also happen to know where we could find her?

“I don’t know. Mind you, if I were looking for her, I would look in the most obvious place first.”

We both knew what he meant. “And if she is not there?”

Beauchemin smiled. “It would be time to think that perhaps she does not wish to be found,” he said, turning. “Bonne chance, M. DeGrace.”

He left us to talk to someone else. The next time we looked, he had disappeared.

GRAVEDIGGERS

“I think we scared him off,” DeGrace told Hilkers, who found us in the crowd about 10 minutes later.

“Let’s see what his card tells us. Beauchemin. That name rings a bell somehow. It will come to me. May I?” Hilkers asked, pocketing Beauchemin’s card.

“He appeared surprised to see us here and when I mentioned your name, he became nervous and left after a minute or two.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“That he had been retained by someone, who was interested in the grave openings, and that his company had been in touch with the victim.”

Hilkers fingered Beauchemin’s card again. “Did you have an opportunity to check his card? According to this, his name is Beauchemin. André Beauchemin. I’d bet the telephone and address on it are wrong, too.. Anyone here I should talk to?”

“Mrs. Ma, for sure, and her friend, Mimi. You might find them interesting. Did I tell you that lawyer Hu’s client is pregnant?”

“Pregnant? What the blazes –“

“It changes the dynamics a bit, n’est-ce pas, mon vieux?”

“Who –“

“On second thought, Phillip, you might wish to talk to Mrs. Hu.”

“You’re very naughty, DeGrace,” I said as Hilkers wove his way among mourners to lawyer Hu, who was talking to Nie.

“I think not. It’s just that Phillip takes himself too seriously at times.”

We turned our attention to Consul General Zhang, who was sharing a joke with two Chinese couples.

DeGrace edged closer to the consul general until he was beside him. “You seemed to have your hands full a bit earlier, consul general.”

“Yes. Mr. Deng can be quite a trial at times.” Zhang

gave us one of his professional smiles. “But I think I helped him find a solution to his problems. But we shall see.”

DeGrace motioned him to a quiet spot near the coffin. “I need to talk to you about Xiaohuan. I feel it important that we have a chat about her with my friend, Detective Hilkers. We need his help, and his sense of discretion at this time. Unless there’s another attempt on her life in public, no one will know about it.”

Zhang adjusted his glasses and straightened the lapels of his black suit. “There’s been a development,” he said in a lower voice. “She will be leaving us early next week. She has one final concert to give between then and now. We’ve decided to restrict her movements until we put her on the plane for Beijing. We would like you to come and check out our arrangements – to make sure we haven’t missed anything.”

DeGrace nodded. “I’ve been looking around for Yang Jie.”

“He wasn’t able to make it. He had other concerns that needed his attention.”

CHAPTER 19

Then, the unexpected. Xiaohuan, who was under surveillance 24 hours a day, had disappeared.

“We don’t know how but she disappeared in a puff of smoke,” said Zhang in a strained voice. DeGrace didn’t respond immediately. The air crackled with tension, and he waited until the consul general sat back on the sofa in his office.

“First off, when and where?”

Yang Jie took over. “This afternoon. At a woman’s clothing store not far from here. Xiaohuan wanted a new outfit for the concert. She was accompanied by her maid,“ he added with a nod to Wu Qing, Xiaohuan’s maid since Li Ping had disappeared.

Wu Qing, still stiff and cold, made no attempt to hide her distrust of DeGrace. It was evident to everyone that she really didn’t want to deal with us.

“Xiaohuan indicated she would like a new outfit for her concert on Friday. I consulted Chief Detective Yang, and he authorized me to escort her to the shop,” she said, glancing from time to time at the consul general.

“When was this?”

“Right after lunch. We went to Bellissima on Bloor. She picked three outfits to try on. I volunteered to help her but she would have none of it.” She paused. “I should have insisted.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A blue skirt, white blouse and a yellow jacket.”

DeGrace turned to Zhang. “You say she disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

“Not exactly in a puff of smoke,” said Wu Qing. “When I went to check up on her, she was no longer in the change room, or anywhere else in the store. At one point, we had just about everyone in the store looking for her. I called Detective Yang Jie and he took over from that point.”

“We even checked the back entrance. There was no evidence that it had been been forced open from the outside,” said Yang Jie.

“Did it set off an alarm?”

Yang Jie shook his head. “When I checked it out, I found that the alarm had been disarmed, evidently by the owner, who parks behind the store.”

“Your conclusion?”

Yang Jie nodded. “Probably the same as yours.”

“I took every precaution,” said Wu Qing.

Zhang ignored her. “How would you suggest we proceed, Mr. DeGrace?”

“I think Detective Yang and I should return to the scene of the crime and see what another look may turn up.”

“Do you think she has been kidnapped?” asked Zhang.

“I suspect she was a willing accomplice.”

The consul general almost rose from the sofa. “Not even if she had a knife at her throat or a gun at her head.” Zhang kept shaking his head. He was not prepared to accept any other explanation, and stood, signaling that the meeting had come to an end.

“Before we break up consul general, I think the time has come to bring in our friend, Detective Hilkers of the Metropolitan Toronto Police. We discussed this before but with Xiaohuan’s disappearance, we can no longer wait.”

Zhang looked at Yang Jie, who was nodding. “If you

both insist, fine. But my instincts tell me no good will come of this. Can we at least do this without involving the press? We have a concert in four days and news of Xiaohuan’s disappearance could jeopardize it.”

Yang Jie brought along Wu Qing just in case we missed anything, and introduced us to the store owner. I suspected Wu Qing was there for other reasons.

“Back again, with reinforcements, I see,” said Bella Canella, Bellissima’s owner, a tall, black haired woman in her 30s, who kept dabbing her nose with a handkerchief. “It’s an allergy. I get it every fall,” she said, looking all the while at DeGrace.

“Would you show us your changing room again – the one used by our missing friend.”

Bella ignored Yang Jie. “We’ve met before,” she said to DeGrace.

“I do not think so. If we had, I would most certainly remember.”

“Then why do I feel we have?”

Wu Qing watched the exchange with cool distrust. “Could you show us the change room?”

We followed Bella to the rear of the store, weaving our way around shoppers clogging the aisles. “It isn’t usually this busy.”

“Was it this busy this morning?”

“Ever since 10 o’clock.”

“Has anyone else used that room since this morning?” Wu Qing again.

“We closed it off, as you requested,” she said to Yang. “We had one of the girls stand guard to make sure.”

A young girl, not quite 20, with long, curly brown hair that made her look even younger, was sitting in a chair in front of the changing room and stood as soon as she spotted us coming.

Yang Jie opened the door and showed us inside. The

three outfits that Xiaohuan had chosen – a long, white evening gown, a multi-coloured cocktail party dress and a light blue suit – hung on the right side of the small room. Yang closed the door behind us, revealing a mirror that covered the entire length of the door. A fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling lit up the entire room.

“Did you check the outfits?”

I’m not sure what DeGrace had in mind but Yang Jie shook his head and glanced at Wu Qing.

DeGrace took down the white floor length evening gown, and passed the other outfits to Yang and Wu.

“What are we looking for?” asked Wu Qing, who was examining the outside of the cocktail dress.

“Anything.” DeGrace delighted in being vague at times.

Wu’s coal black eyes hardened but she kept her thoughts to herself, and returned to examining the inside of the dress. She paused, and slowly extracted a short dark brown hair.

Yang Jie put the hair in a white envelope and passed it to DeGrace.

“Xiaohuan’s hair is long and very black, as you know,” said DeGrace.

“It might belong to someone else who had tried on the dress before,” said Wu Qing, without looking up from the dress.

“There’s only one way to find out,” said DeGrace, who spotted something on the floor. “Another dark brown hair. A bit longer than the other sample.”

We left the room a couple minutes later. Yang Jie carried the three outfits out with him. “We need to take them with us for more testing,” he said to Bella, who was talking to a customer.

“You will have to sign for everything,” she said, turning to Yang after the customer left.

DeGrace offered her a smile. “That is not a problem, Si-

gnorina Bella. I know the police will deeply appreciate your spirit of co-operation.”

“That look on your face,” she said suddenly. “I’ve seen that look before. You’re an actor, aren’t you? You played Polonius in Hamlet at Stratford.”

DeGrace, who loved the spotlight at any time, hung his head in false modesty.

“I didn’t know you were involved with the police.”

“Only in a perpheral way.” He paused. “Permesso, Signorina. Could you kindly take us to the back door?”

Yang looked at DeGrace wondering what was going on as she led us behind the shopping floor and to the back entrance.

DeGrace and Yang Jie examined the door for about five minutes, opening and closing the door a few times. It automatically locked every time it closed.

DeGrace glanced at the parking lot behind the store. ”Is this where you park?”

Bella nodded and opened the door. “There’s a buzzer near the bottom on the left side. I arrive a bit later than the others. I buzz it and my assistant manager lets me in. The door automatically locks every time it’s closed. So there is no way anyone could enter our store without us knowing.”

Bella paused to give DeGrace a big smile. “You must promise to give me your autograph before you leave.”

Wu Qing couldn’t believe what she was hearing but kept her thoughts to herself. Yang Jie, who knew about DeGrace’s other life, smiled.

“Could anyone leave by that door without being noticed?”

Bella shook her head but kept her eyes on DeGrace. “Even if they tried, the alarm would have been activated, setting bells ringing throughout the store. I turned it off when you tested the door. I’ll arm it again when you’re finished.”

“Where do you do this?” Yang Jie again.

“In my office.”

Yang Jie wasn’t giving up. “If someone knew about this, and where the alarm was located in your office, could they have temporarily turned it off?”

“No one, including my assistant manager, knows where it is located,” said Bella in a firm voice.

“That leaves two other alternatives. Either they are still here. Or they left by the front,” offered DeGrace.

“We conducted a thorough search of the store, even the storage room,” said Yang Jie.

“Which leaves the front,” said DeGrace. Then turning to Bella, “Did you or your cashier see a young Chinese girl leave by herself or with anyone else?”

“They didn’t. We already checked that,” said Yang.

Then, turning to Bella again. “Do you have camera surveillance?”

“Of course. Our creations are very expensive. We tape everyone who comes in, and what they leave with. We don’t advertise it, of course. I gather you would like to see today’s video?”

“Grazie,” said DeGrace, as she led us to her office.

Once inside, they went to the TV sitting on her desk and turned on the video recorder attached to a camera hidden near the ceiling. “It pays to be discreet in everything we do.” She paused. “I ask only one thing. That you do not reveal that we tape our customers.”

“You have our full co-operation.” DeGrace is always accommodating when he gets what he wants.

We watched the video from the moment Xiaohuan entered the store with Wu Qing, and saw her enter the change room by herself. The camera then shifted to record customers entering and leaving by the front door.

“This could take a while,” said Bella, sitting at her desk. “Would you like me to speed up the video?”

DeGrace shook his head. “If we don’t discover what happened to Xiaohuan , it may perhaps show us who her accomplice was, and reveal them leaving together.”

We watched the video another hour to humour DeGrace. No one – not Xiaohuan or someone, who might have been her accomplice – could be seen leaving the store. We were just about to stop when DeGrace suddenly asked Bella to freeze the last frame showing a young Chinese woman leave.

“It is not Xiaohuan,” said Wu Qing in a superior voice.

“The hair,” said DeGrace. It’s the same dark brown colour as the strands we picked up in the changing room.”

CHAPTER 20

Yang Jie, who had been talking to himself in Mandarin, suddenly became aware of the change in DeGrace. “You’re not satisfied. What is it?”

“That woman with the dark brown hair. I do not recall seeing her come in.”

“Then let’s go back and go through the tape from start to finish. The driver can take Wu Qing back to the consulate and then return for us later.”

Bella was surprised to see us return so quickly. She waved a finger at DeGrace. “You promised me your autograph.”

“Then let me correct that now,” said DeGrace with a smile. Bella gave him the cover of the souvenir program for the Stratford performance of Hamlet, in which he took part.

A few minutes later, fanning herself with the souvenir program, she ensconced us in her office and turned on the video again. “Is there anything else you need?”

“What are we looking for?” asked Yang Jie after she had left.

“Anything. Everything. I don’t know. At the moment, I would like to check the camera showing shoppers entering the store.”

Yang Jie switched the video to the front of the store cam and set the recorder rolling. A few minutes after 11, DeGrace saw her – the woman with dark brown hair, dressed in a light brown overcoat, with part of her face hidden by a white scarf.

“Could we switch to the in-store camera? I would be very interested to see where she goes,” said DeGrace. We all had a pretty good idea. We picked her up a few minutes later, following her to the suit department, where she chose a blue skirt and a white blouse. We saw her enter the change room Xiaohuan would use about a half-hour later.

“I have to get back to the floor,” said Bella. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“One more thing, Bella,” said DeGrace with a smile in his voice. “The change room should be off limits to anyone else today. I am sure the police will want to have a look at it.”

“The police.” Bella’s eyes were as apprehensive as the look on her face. “I don’t mind co-operating but please understand that we cater to an upscale clientele and any hint of scandal could ruin us.”

“They will be discreet. I will talk to them. The only person who will be aware of their presence will be you. Not even your staff.” I watched him with a smile. He could be so accommodating when everything went his way. He was an actor, on and off the stage.

A few minutes later, we spotted her again, walking past the checkout with no evident purchases.

“That’s it?”

DeGrace turned to Yang Jie and shook his head. “Let’s see it through to the end. More surprises may be in store.”

“Which camera?”

“At check out. Either we’ll see Xuianhuan leave or someone who looks like her.”

It turned out to be neither. Just as we were about to call it a day, we saw her. Not Xiaohuan but the woman with the dark brown hair in the light brown coat.

“Roll back the video. I want to know exactly what time she returned to the store,” said DeGrace, sitting back with a smile like someone with the world in his hands.

We spent another hour or so, looking at every new shopper.

“That’s enough.”

Yang Jie looked surprised. “You’re absolutely sure.”

DeGrace nodded. I knew by the smile in his eyes that he saw what he wanted. ***

Hilkers was waiting for us when we returned to the consulate, drinking tea and eating egg tarts, and chatting up Zhang’s receptionist. Yang Jie had called ahead to Zhang to tell him we were on our way, and that DeGrace had invited Hilkers to meet with us at the consulate.

Hilkers looked around when he heard us enter. “What’s up, DeGrace?”

“Plenty. But first things first. Let me introduce you to Yang Jie, who heads the Shanghai homicide division.“

“Reinforcements,” said Hilkers, rising to shake Yang Jie’s hand. “Must be serious.”

Zhang opened the door to his office. “You’re back. And just in time to welcome Detective Hilkers,” he said as he

JIM CARR

waved us inside.

We settled around the table with fresh flowers in front of sofa. DeGrace, Hilkers and I sat on the sofa, and Zhang and Yang Jie, on chairs opposite us. Large Chinese paintings along with a few smaller ones hung from three of the walls that gave his office a feeling of being in an art gallery. The morning light struggled to brighten the solemn atmosphere that had crept into the room. DeGrace broke the uneasy silence. “I have told Detective Hilkers that there has been a serious development. He understands the need for secrecy but expects to be fully briefed. That means everything. Every detail.”

“Jaing Xiaohuan, our young violinist superstar – you may remember her – the one who collapsed at her concert a couple nights ago …” Zhang paused. It was time to come clean with Hilkers. “She’s disappeared. Thank you for coming and for your understanding,” said Zhang in a hesitant voice. “We have not informed Beijing yet and would appreciate your assistance in keeping this away from the press for a few hours.”

Hilkers raised his hand. “Let me stop you there, consul general. I also expect to be kept in the loop of any development, no matter how insignificant it may seem. I want you to know it’s a two-way street.”

There was a knock at the door as Zhang’s secretary wheeled in a cart with a China teapot and five cups. She paused in front of Zhang and handed him a note.

Zhang glanced at the note and passed it to Yang Jie. “It would appear that the news has already leaked out. Your External Affairs Department just called to get details of Xiaohuan’s disappearance.”

You could tell by the strain in his voice that his whole world was spinning out of control.

Hilkers’ eyes widened. “That’s why I’m here, consul general. But I can only help if you help me.”

“All that we know,” said Zhang, glancing at Yang, “is that she disappeared from Bella’s on Bloor without a trace. One of our people was with her.”

“Before we do anything, consul general, do you have any idea who may be behind this?”

Zhang shifted uneasily in his chair and glanced at Yang again. “Perhaps the same people behind the grave openings.”

DeGrace was watching the interplay with a detached look.

“What about them?” asked Hilkers suddenly.

“There is a story that the people behind the grave openings are looking for something.”

Hilkers almost laughed. “That’s hardly news. And that’s everything?” You could tell from Hilkers’ voice that he wasn’t buying.

Zhang nodded. “Except that we do not know who is behind the grave openings.”

“Do you think both these things are related somehow?”

“It occurred to us, yes, detective,” said Zhang in a strong voice. “One thing more. I know Mr. DeGrace feels it may also be connected with the disappearance of her maid two days before Xiaohuan’s disappearance.

Hilkers sat up sharply. “Why wasn’t I notified?” The question was meant for DeGrace as much as Zhang.

“She left the consulate on an mission for Xiaohuan and never returned.”

“What kind of mission?”

Xiaohuan’s signature hair ring. It is studded with diamonds. Two were missing. Her maid was directed to take it to a jeweler. “ Zhang paused. “She never reached the jeweler’s.”

“Ah, yes. The famous diamond hair ring. Now we’re getting somewhere. As you know, it was found near the body of Mr. Ma, who was murdered three days ago. I sus-

pect you know all about that,” said Hilkers, sitting back on the sofa.

Zhang quickly explained that the hair ring was on its way to a jeweler but never reached the jeweler. And that Li Ping, the maid, had disappeared with the hair ring.

“Or dead,” said DeGrace.

“We’ll get on it right away. In the meantime, keep me posted on any development, no matter what.”

Zhang smiled and took a sip of tea.

CHAPTER 21

It was the four fours. They had been in the back of DeGrace’s head from the moment he saw the scrap of paper from Ma’s shoe, only now, they were driving him crazy. He had hid himself in the basement, ostensibly to work on one of his 18th Century clocks but it was also the one place he retreated to when he had some hard thinking to do. Escaping into the 18th Century worked for him. He would disappear for hours at a time, and suddenly, the answer would pop into his head. It wasn’t working this time. He was pacing back and forth, and it hadn’t stopped since he entered his workshop two hours earlier.

Then it stopped, and he emerged, looking more perplexed than ever. He poured himself a coffee. “I don’t mind telling you,” he said, sliding into his seat at the other side of the kitchen table. “This has got me really stumped – yet I

know the answer is staring me in the face.”

“Perhaps you should be looking in another dimension,” I suggested, knowing his interest in parallel universes.

He looked at me over his glasses, and took another mouthful of coffee. He didn’t say much after that, and I knew he would shortly hide himself away with his clocks for the rest of the day.

There were two calls in the afternoon – both from Beauchemin. His voice was furry, sounding as though he had one too many drinks.

“He can’t come to the phone now.”

“I have a few of the answers he’s been looking for. I’ll be at this number until 2.15.”

I told DeGrace, when he came up from the basement for lunch. He didn’t wait for the sandwich and headed upstairs to his office. “I need to talk to Philip. What time is it?”

An hour later, DeGrace, Hilkers and I gathered in the consul general’s office.

“Do you think she has been murdered?” Zhang said in a soft voice, almost as though he were afraid of the answer. He adjusted his glasses and sat back in silence.

Yang Jie looked at DeGrace and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“Not if she has been kidnapped. If so, it may take a day or two before we hear from the kidnappers, and what they want.”

Zhang exhaled slowly. “If they would only contact us ….”

Yang Jie had withdrawn within himself. There was a look of confusion in his eyes that showed up in his voice. “When do you think we’ll know for sure, DeGrace?”

“The day has still to run its course.”

‘That’s not much of an answer,” said Zhang.

“It is all that I can offer at the moment,” said DeGrace. “That said, I still believe she was a willing accomplice in her

disappearance. It could be a simple matter that she wanted to disappear, and take a rest from all the pressures around her.

Zhang picked up. At the moment, he was willing to grasp at any straw.

“I agree with, DeGrace,” said Hilkers. “My hunch is that she was led away by someone she knew and trusted. I’m putting my money on Huang Chen Wu, her so-called boyfriend.”

Yang Jie’s face tightened. It was clear he wasn’t in a mood for sharing.

“But why would she do such a thing?”

“Perhaps because she feared for her life, consul general.”

“That’s insane. This is the safest place she could be.”

DeGrace thought for a few seconds before speaking. “Are you aware there is talk that someone at the consulate is out to kill her?”

Yang Jie stared at DeGrace. “Where did you hear this?”

“It is, as I say, just talk.”

“But I gather you place some stock in it,” said Yang Jie. DeGrace shook his head. “It’s just another element in the equation. Nothing more.”

“‘This could blow up in our faces if we don’t move fast.” Hilkers glanced at DeGrace again with a look that asked what else are you keeping from me?

“Permesso, consul general. Can you tell Detective Hilkers what Miss Xiaohuan was wearing before her disappearance?”

“We spoke briefly at tea after her breakfast. She was wearing a blue skirt, a white blouse and a bright yellow jacket.”

“Could she have changed?” asked Hilkers.

“Possibly. But not likely,” said Yang.

Another discreet knock, and Zhang’s secretary stuck

her head inside and talked to him in Chinese. You could see in Zhang’s eyes that it was not good news.

“There is a reporter from one of the Chinese newspapers waiting outside. He wants to interview me about Xiaohuan’s disappearance.”

Yang shook his head.

“Not so fast, consul general,” DeGrace said. “May I suggest that we prevail on my associate to speak to the reporter on your behalf. He has considerable experience in these matters.” DeGrace was always volunteering my services. Never his own, of course.

Yang nodded to the consul general.

“One thing, consul general,” I volunteered as I rose to meet the reporter. ”Not seeing the reporter will not make them forget about the story or printing what they already know. Even if it’s only rumours.”

The consul general’s outer chamber lacked the elegance of his office. The grey carpet offset an even darker grey desk and credenza, where his secretary was entertaining Hui. I should have guessed. If it involved Xiaohuan in even some remote way, he would be on it immediately.

“I asked to see the consul general,” Hui said in an accusatory voice.

“He’s tied up at a high level meeting and asked me to act on his behalf.”

“I understand that Jaing Xiaohuan has disappeared. Is that true?”

“If you mean that she is not at the consulate, that is true.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means precisely what I said. For your information, and I’m going to ask you not to print this. She is resting, trying to relax before her final concert. You were there at her last concert and saw what happened to her. She’s not fully recovered.”

Hui waited for me to continue. So I took a chance. “Tell you what, W. H. If you agree to hold off on the story that she’s recovering from her last concert, I’ll make sure you get a personal interview with her. What do you say?”

“I’ll see what my editor says.”

“While we’re talking, how did you hear that Xiaohuan wasn’t at the consulate?”

Hui smiled and turned off his recorder.

Everyone looked at me on my return. I related my conversation with Hui. “I also promised him an interview with her if he keeps a lid on the story.”

“How can you promise that? You had no authority. What if she never turns up?”

“Then it won’t matter. We’ll make sure he gets an interview with you. Either way, he can’t lose.”

Zhang’s face relaxed. “Forgive me, detective. I’ve forgotten to serve you tea in all this. May I pour you a cup?”

Hilkers took the tea from the consul general and smiled a thank you. Then, turning his attention back to Yang: “Anything else I should know before I head back?”

Xiaohuan’s other maid,” DeGrace added.

“We found her bound and her mouth taped and stuck in a closet. Frightened out of wits,” said Yang. “Every time we tried to talk to her, she would break into uncontrollable sobbing and would cover her ears with her hands.”

“Do you mind if I speak to her?” asked Hilkers.

Zhang nodded to Yang Jie, who left to find her. “She should be here in the next minute or two,” said Yang on his return.

The minute or two stretched to five and then to 10 minutes before there was a faint knock on the door. You could hear Xue Changying enter the outer chamber. One of her shoes had become unglued and her heel made a loud snapping sound every time she took a step.

Unlike Wu, Xue was short and stocky and stood be-

fore us, her black, piercing eyes summoning up bolts of fire. “You wanted to see me, consul general?”

“Yes, to find out how you’re feeling after your ordeal.”

“I am fine, consul general, Anything else?“ There was a hint of impatience in her voice, which Zhang ignored.

“We were wondering if you could tell us about the people who assaulted you.”

She shook her head and stared past him.

“Perhaps you could tell us when you last saw Xiaohuan,” said Yang Jie.

“This morning.” There was curiosity in her eyes for a few seconds, not quite sure what Yang’s role in all of this was. “She asked me to fetch a ring from her bedroom. I left but on my way, I realized she did not tell me which one. She can get quite upset if you don’t return with exactly what she wants. When I opened the door to her apartment, someone grabbed me from behind. A white cloth was put over my mouth. Next thing I remember is waking up in that closet, scared out of my wits.”

“I also have a question,” said DeGrace in the silence that followed. “Were you wearing the same shoes you have on now?”

“Yes, sorry about the noise. My left heel became unglued and makes quite a racket. I haven’t had time yet to change them.”

“You announced your approach even before you entered her room and gave your attacker time to surprise you.”

“Did you learn anything from all that?” asked Yang after Xue left.

“That Miss Xue is not exactly a cream puff. Subduing her would require someone with some strength, Either a man or a very strong woman.”

I heard Hilkers say to himself: “That really narrows things down.”

DeGrace went on to note that the police have paid scant

to the disappearance of Xiaohuan’s maid.

“First we’ve heard about it,” said Hilkers. “Before we open a file, we’re going to need a lot more information.”

Zhang nodded. “Yang Jie will offer all the help we can.” He stood, signaling that the meeting had come to an end.

Hilkers was the first to rise. “I’m dying for a cigarette,” he said as we left Zhang’s office.

“Me, too,” said Yang Jie with a smile. “Please be my guest.”

Hilkers paused at the door. “We’ll talk later.”

Deng Guang was not a patient man. He liked people who made decisions quickly and hated anyone who kept him waiting. Why did she insist on meeting him in the food court of the Pacific Mall of all places? He had never been there before, and he didn’t like it. The seats were too small and uncomfortable, and the noise level made it difficult to carry on any kind of conversation.

He shook his wrist to make sure his watch was running and smiled. The second hand was still running. Deng had one of those bodies whose internal electrical system stopped watches. The only watches he could depend on were the old fashioned winders.

And what was she doing with that gun? he thought. That was really stupid. What gets into young girls these days? They’re crazy, and have no sense of purpose and tradition.

He glanced at his watch again. Eighteen minutes late now. His mouth tightened and he glanced around the food court, and the people lining up at the stalls to order bubble tea and Cantonese and Shanghai-style food.

That’s when he became conscious of a man dressed in a black raincoat, with blond hair and bright blue eyes that took in everyone in at a glance. A few minutes later, he saw

another man sit down beside him. They leaned forward to talk, as though they were whispering, despite the growing noise level. When he looked back, they were both staring at him, and he knew at that split-second, they were talking about him.

He turned away slowly. He had more important things to think about. How strange the ebb and flow of things in life. A flood tide that propels you to the shore effortlessly, and an ebb tide that bares all the sharp rocks hidden in the deep waters of a full tide.

A half-hour late. He was getting anxious now. He’d give her another 10 minutes. If she didn’t show up by then, she wasn’t going to, he decided. The minutes seemed to crawl by, and at the end of the 10 minutes, he got up and pulled on his vest sweater.

The voice behind him was soft and young. “What’s your hurry?”

The call puzzled and intrigued him at the same time. All Nie Yao Zie knew about her was what he read in the newspaper, and that Hu was her lawyer. And why here of all places, he thought, as he turned into the lane that led to Tranquil Valley Cemetery. Before long, he would find out just how appropriate it was.

His first instinct was to call Hu but on second thought, it might be better to play this hand close to his vest. Who knows what she wants. It had to be important. Otherwise, why all the secrecy and wanting to meet him at a graveyard, particularly this graveyard.

The wind had picked up. It had a bite that wasn’t there before. Snow would come soon and that would certainly put a stop to all the grave openings. No wonder they didn’t want that detective anywhere near the place. He shivered and turned on the engine to get warm.

His mind crept back to Deng. The last few calls from

Beijing had been unsettling. Something had changed. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something. He trusted his instincts. They had never let him down. The sudden realization tightened the muscles in his stomach.

That’s when he decided he would have to set a trap for Deng. He wasn’t sure what but he knew it had better be soon. Something that would discredit Deng in the eyes of Beijing forever. He would have to think that out carefully.

Something was stirring at the shed near the cemetery office as two men emerged, carrying a pick and a shovel, and headed in another area of the graveyard, where they started to dig a new grave. They didn’t look like gravediggers, and didn’t seem experienced in the way they set about their work.

About 20 minutes, later another man, dressed in a plaid woolen jacket and work trousers emerged from the cemetery office and approached the diggers. Nie held his breath and pushed himself down an inch or two in his seat, raising himself every two or three minutes to see what was happening. They were arguing. Nie could tell by their body language it was something serious. A minute or two later, the grave diggers headed back to the shed, got into their car parked behind the shed and drove off.

Nie looked at his watch. Forty minutes late and still no sign of her. He was getting anxious and wondered if it had anything to do with what he had just witnessed. It couldn’t be about the grave openings. Then what? He doubted if she understood what was really going on. He checked his watch again. Fifty minutes now.

His mind drifted back to Deng again and what he had to do about him. He still not squared things with his wife. He closed his eyes to put it out of his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw a car turning into the cemetery.

CHAPTER 22

“Don’t move. There’s someone in here,” said DeGrace as we stepped into the entranceway. Then in a louder voice: “Show yourself. We know you’re here.”

A few seconds later we caught the sounds of muffled footsteps from our kitchen and then, after another brief pause, we saw the face of Ma Ju, her head cocked at an angle, smiling back at us.

“I’m preparing dinner. I know you’re not fussy about Chinese cooking but I’m preparing a couple of dishes I know you will like.”

Her head disappeared. DeGrace followed her inside. The oven was on and a pot of water was blowing steam into her face. She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm and proceeded to add spaghetti to the boiling pot.

“Why are you here, Mrs. Ma?”

“We will talk about that after dinner.”

A few minutes later, she called us into the kitchen. She knew that DeGrace liked to eat at our chrome table. “You,” she said to DeGrace and pointing to the head of the table. “Sit there.”

DeGrace, who never changed his routine, shook his

head. He liked to sit on the side.

“Tonight you will sit at the head.”

“There’s no fork.”

“Tonight we eat with chop sticks.”

“I can’t use them,” said DeGrace, turning up his nose.

“Then if you want to eat, you will learn.” Ju sat down in DeGrace’s usual seat and I sat opposite her. “I have prepared two dishes – black pepper chicken and fried beef with black pepper rice noodles. I hope you like spicy. Also Jhur Leung. They were Ma’s favorites.”

DeGrace struggled to use the chop sticks and was getting nowhere.

“Would you like me to feed you?”

DeGrace ignored her and managed to eat some of the chicken and rice covered in black pepper gravy. He smiled in spite of himself.

“If you like the chicken, you will like the beef and noodles, too.”

“Why are you really here, Mrs. Ma? I asked the same question of you a day or two ago and got no answer. So why are you really here?”

“Lift your chop sticks and eat, and I will tell you. Two days ago, someone broke into my home and ransacked it.”

“Did you call the police?”

She shook her head. “I could stare them down. But today, when I went home for lunch, they were waiting for me. They were hooded but they did not scare Ju.”

“What did? Something did.”

She ignored DeGrace’s question. “They said Ma had something of theirs. They wanted to know where it was.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Ju nodded. “And I also know where it is.”

“I gather you didn’t give it to them.”

She smiled. “Ju is not that stupid. Once I would give it to them, I am sure I would meet with an unfortunate acci-

dent.”

“Yet, you’re frightened. Is that why you’re here?”

“That is only part of the reason.” She paused and studied DeGrace’s face carefully. “I have information that could ruin a number of individuals.”

“Where is that information now?”

“In your house. I hid it here on my first visit because this is the last place they would ever look. Even if they did suspect, they would be reluctant to break in and turn your place upside down.”

DeGrace stared at her with deep admiration.

“Now,” she added, “tell me what you think of Chinese food.” ***

It had rained late in the afternoon – a heavy fall rain, driven by a strong north wind that spattered the lenses of my glasses, making it almost impossible to see clearly. DeGrace’s thinning hair lay on his head in strings, giving him a Napoleonic look. Foul weather always made him testy – but rain or not, he was determined to head back to the graveyard for a late night vigil.

“Is this weather?”

“Absolument. They will definitely be there tonight. No moon. And bad weather. They couldn’t get a better night, even if they prayed for it. And remind Hilkers, it’s still on. And tell him to warn his men to stay away, just in case one of them decides to make a surprise visit. I’ll bring my infrared binoculars.”

It turned out to be far more complicated. By the time I finished my scavenger hunt, the list had grown to include a rain-proof tent, a thermos of coffee and Cognac and three roast beef sandwiches, with DeGrace’s special mustard.

“We’re not going on a picnic, DeGrace.”

He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. Hilkers,

who decided to join us, laughed. “By the end of the night, you’ll be glad we have them.”

We arrived at the graveyard just after 10. It was still raining as Hilkers wheeled his unmarked cruiser under a tree near the cemetery office, now dark and deserted. Hilkers and I carried the tent and folding chairs and left the thermos and food to DeGrace. We found a spot in the centre of the cemetery, where Hilkers erected the tent between two large grave stones. The ground was wet and soggy, and DeGrace, wearing gloves and a muffler, sat back in his chair with an air of excitement in his eyes. The canvas tent shield us from the rain and blocked some of the wind that swept the graveyard from time to time.

DeGrace, who had a fixation about time, kept asking Hilkers the time every 10 minutes or so. You’d think for someone who is a nut about time that he’d bring his own watch but DeGrace had his own way of doing things.

There was an air of disappointment in his voice. Then, just after midnight, the sounds of someone walking along the graveled pathway to our right. We held our breath. A fog had rolled in out of nowhere, one of those dense fall fogs that cloak everything in a chilling mist. I fumbled around my feet, trying to find the rucksack where I had packed the infrared binoculars. I felt Hilkers’ hand on my arm.

“I have them,” he whispered. ”I’ve already spotted them. Two people. Setting up to begin digging operations.”

I let my breath out slowly. In the distance, I could hear voices carried on a sudden gust. Too faint to hear what they were saying.

“Let’s get closer,” said Hilkers. “What about you, DeGrace?”

He responded by wrapping his muffler closer around his neck. “It’s still raining.”

“All the better. They won’t hear us coming.”

“Then let me lead the way,” he said finally. “My night

vision is better than yours.” DeGrace always liked to have the last word.

We moved out into the wind and rain. “Follow me and go where I go. And bring the spotlight.”

It was true. He was like a cat that could find its way anywhere in the dark. In the distance, we would hear an ambulance screaming its way to a nearby hospital. We walked on the grass, skirting the gravel pathway. In the distance, we could hear them working, laughing between gusts of wind, and saying something that sounded like a curse.

“How close are we?” Hilkers whispered.

“I think we can get closer without being noticed. Just be careful. We’re close enough that if we make any noise, they’ll know someone is here.”

“To the ground. Now,” said Hilkers, who heard the sound of a car engine. My trousers were soaked through from the rain on the grass. I could hear DeGrace mumbling something in French. The car stopped and its powerful searchlight panned back and forth over the graveyard. The car suddenly restarted and drove past the cemetery office, where it stopped and used its searchlight to pan over the graveyard a few more times.

“I see that our friends have taken refuge as well,” said DeGrace.

The wind had shifted, and with it, the dense mist that clung to the trees cast a grey shroud over the grave stones. “At least the rain has stopped, mes amis.”

In all the excitement, I had not noticed. I shifted my legs and arms on the ground, soaking up even more wetness.

“I thought you had told your people to keep their distance tonight, Phillip.”

“I did. Evidently, it didn’t reach everyone in time.”

I could hear DeGrace rise. “It’s probably a good time to get a bit closer.”

We moved ahead, close enough to hear their voices

JIM CARR

again, this time we could almost make out what they were saying.

“Be careful. There’s a –“

Too late. Hilkers fell headlong into a partially dug grave and cried out as his knee hit a rock.

The talking stopped. So did the digging.

Suddenly, a bright light, powerful enough to pierce the mist, headed in our direction. DeGrace and I hid behind two gravestones while Hilkers struggled to claw his way out of an open grave. The light died and a minute later, and they resumed work while we helped Hilkers get out of the grave.

“Let’s get closer,” said Hilkers.

A couple minutes later, he stopped and motioned us to crouch down. We were close enough now to hear them speaking. It didn’t do us much good.

Hilkers grabbed our spotlight and stood suddenly. “This is the Metropolitan Toronto Police,” he said in a thunderous voice and shone our spotlght on them. ”Stop what you are doing and be prepared to be taken into custody.”

Silence. Then the sounding of running feet crunching the graveled pathway as they made their escape into the darkness.

“Where are they?”

I had been looking at them through the infrared binoculars. “They’re headed for the cemetery office.”

Hilkers broke into a run but they had already disappeared from view. Then, the sound of an engine revving up and the flash and crack of a pistol being discharged. A SUV headed past the cemetery office and out the driveway. I could see it all through the infrared glasses.

“Maybe not,” said Hilkers. “I need to get to my car and radio for help. If that patrol car is still nearby, we might just be able to head them off.”

“We’re going back to see what they were up to. Who knows what they may have left behind,” said DeGrace as Hilkers took off at a run to his car. “Did you bring that spot-

light with you?”

I turned it on and pointed it in the direction of the abandoned gravesite. “What do you expect to find?”

“I’m not sure. But one thing is certain, if there was ever a time when they might be careless, it’s now.”

The grave was a bit further than I expected. It’s amazing how distances at night can be so deceiving. DeGrace moved at surprising speed, picking up his pace the closer we got. Even before we reached the grave, it was clear from my light that they had taken everything with them, even their shovels and pick axe.

I played my light over the grave site. The grave stone indicated the occupant was someone by the name of Hawthorne.

The headlights of a car suddenly illuminated the graveyard.

“It’s Hilkers coming back. Flash your light at him.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Just do as I ask.”

CHAPTER 23

The telephone kept ringing and ringing. I tried to ignore it in the hope DeGrace would answer it but it just kept on ringing until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I staggered out of bed, half asleep, knicking my shin on a partly opened drawer in the closet, and hopping on one leg the rest of the way.

It was Phil Hilkers. “Tell DeGrace to get his tail down here. There’s been a break in his case.”

“Anything else?”

“Let him stew for a change,” said Hilkers. I could still hear him laughing as he hung up.

To my surprise DeGrace didn’t say a word when I told him about Hilkers’ call. Just a hint of a smile and humming the Acadian National Anthem as he headed for the shower. I went downstairs and put on a fresh pot of coffee. I knew he wouldn’t leave until he had one of his special coffees.

A few minutes later, he appeared, dressed in a dark blue blazer, white shirt and a blue-and-white striped tie.

“What precisely did Phillip say?”

“That there’s been a break in your case. He said if you wanted to know more, he would be happy to see you.”

With DeGrace, it always pays to strike just the right

tone. He didn’t say much after that.

Hilkers was on the phone when we arrived. “It’s not been a good day.” His face was drawn and looked as tired as his eyes. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” he added, as we sat down before him. “You’re looking spiffy this morning, DeGrace.”

DeGrace pushed his glasses a notch or two higher on his nose and tried to smile.

“There’s been a break in your case. A big one. We caught the two gentlemen who escaped our clutches last night.”

DeGrace seemed to freeze.

“It seems that in their haste to leave the area, they crashed into one our cruisers. The two officers who arrested them suspected the pair was up to no good when they spotted their drenched clothes, the mud on their boots and on the pick axe and spades in their possession. Both officers knew about the grave openings and, putting two and two together, brought them in for further questioning.”

“That’s it?”

“At the station, they broke down and confessed to everything.” He paused before delivering his pièce de resistance. “You’ll never guess who they were.”

DeGrace kept his silence, although I knew he could hardly contain himself.

“Rigby’s nephews.”

They both started laughing for almost a minute.

“Have you called Rigby yet?”

“I thought I’d leave that pleasure up to you, DeGrace.”

“Gilbert and his older brother, Dermot Joyce. We call them the Corsican brothers. I know you’ll want to talk to them but before you call Rigby. Let me tell you what we already know.”

Hilkers reached into his jacket pocket and felt the fresh pack of cigarettes. His hands ached to hold one between his fingers and inhale the sweet smell of fresh tobacco. It was

busier than usual today, and the voices of excited detectives seemed to bounce off the wall.

“It seems they were digging up a grave that reportedly contained a small fortune in gold, diamonds and precious gems. It was the grave of a very rich woman, who insisted on being buried with her gold, money and jewels to spite her family.”

She probably deserved it, I thought.

But DeGrace didn’t waste his time on such trifles. “You believe them?”

“They were given $25,000 to dig up the grave and get the jewels and another $25, 000 when they handed over the jewels.”

“And the family? What do they say?”

“We really didn’t discover anything. But your take on them might be quite different.”

DeGrace didn’t respond immediately. Hilkers and I knew exactly what was going through his head. “Are you suggesting that all the other grave openings were done by thieves looking for jewels and other valuables?”

“We never got that far with them before they started calling for their lawyer.”

We were sitting in an interview room, a short distance from Hilkers’ desk. Gilbert and Dermot Joyce, both in their 20s, didn’t look like my idea of grave robbers. Gilbert’s blond goatee was thin and unkempt and his blue eyes, faded and tired. Dermot, older by two years, with broad shoulders and a fierce smile, wasn’t ready to give away the store without a fight.

“We’ve told the police everything,” said Dermot, cracking his knuckles in a way that reminded me of Rigby.

DeGrace smiled reassuringly. “We are here to help you, Mr. Joyce. I’m sure there’s more to the story you may have told the police – things you may have overlooked that could mitigate the circumstances and lead to a lighter sentence.”

Gilbert glanced at Dermot, who nodded. “Like what?”

“Why did you choose this grave to rob?”

“We didn’t. It was chosen for us,” said Gilbert. Dermot gave him a hard look.

“What do you mean, it was chosen for you? Perhaps you might answer, Dermot,” said DeGrace in a soft, non-threatening voice.

“We can’t tell you who,” said Gilbert.

“We received a call from someone, who told us to dig up the grave and take the gold and jewelry the old lady had buried with her,” added Dermot.

“What did you do with the gold and jewels?”

“We never got that far.”

“And you don’t know who called you? That’s hard to believe.” DeGrace’s voice had taken on a harder edge.

Dermot sensed it immediately. His dark brown eyes hardened. So did his voice, which he tried to mask with a smile.

“As we said, we got this call from someone – we really don’t know who – who has steered us right in the past, and who always played fair with us.”

“Did this person say how he came by this information?”

“We’re not exactly on those terms,” said Dermot.

“You say he’s always guided you right before. Does that mean other grave openings?”

You could hear the excitement rising in DeGrace’s voice. “That included the Chinese grave openings?”

“I thought you wanted to help us.”

“I did. And I do. But you’re not being honest with me.”

Dermot sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“You told the police you were given $25,000 to rob the grave of its contents by members of the dead woman’s family. Which it it? The story you just told me, or the one you gave the police? Or Neither?”

Dermot’s eyes narrowed and his thin, weathered face

hardened. Gilbert was about to say something but a sharp look from Dermot silenced him. DeGrace stood and signaled Hilkers to have them taken back to the cells.

“You didn’t learn anything, did you?” said Hilkers, watching DeGrace’s face for clues.

“Enough to start me on a new path. But that will have to wait. I see your good friend, lawyer Hu, coming to pay you a visit.”

She didn’t wait for an invitation to take a seat. She stood and leaned over Hilkers’ desk. “What are you trying to do to me and my client?”

Hilkers looked surprisingly uneasy.

“Why have I received notice that my client’s visa has been revoked and that she is to be shipped back to China this evening?”

DeGrace’s eyes flicked for a few seconds, and I could see him hold his breath.

“You could have least given me a call. I didn’t need to be informed by official letter from Immigration Canada.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you. I learned it just this morning from the Crown,” he began hesitatingly.

“I want to know only one thing? Was this inspired by you or your department?”

Hilkers shook his head.

“Then what do you plan to do about it? She is, after all, entitled to due process before being shipped off as a felon. I want you to know that I am serving notice to you and the Crown that I will be seeking an injunction to prevent her being deported until her case can be tried.”

Hilkers didn’t say a word for almost a minute after Hu left. I could tell he was trying to hide a smile by the way he suddenly glanced at his watch. “Time for lunch, DeGrace. Be my guest.”

DeGrace was about to decline but suddenly changed his mind.

GRAVEDIGGERS

We all knew where – the greasy spoon across the street, and Hilker’s favourite hangout. We also knew what was bothering Hilkers, and that he needed DeGrace’s ear to help him develop a strategy to deal with it.

“The Crown wants to deport Liling,” he said, sliding into the dark stained booth in the corner. A whiff of grease and French fries floated into the restaurant every time the kitchen door opened. Almost all the booths were occupied and the noise level notched a bit higher by the minute. The red curtains at the window overlooking the street stirred every time the front door opened. The crinkled floor linoleum looked dark, even though it had just been freshly mopped. Hilkers waved to one of the passing waiters. “They don’t serve Cognac here, DeGrace. Is there anything else you’d like?”

DeGrace shook his head. Hilkers ordered hot hamburgers for the three of us. “It’s the house specialty and a big favourite. You’ll see.”

DeGrace waited until the waiter left. “I gather you’re not entirely happy with the Crown’s plans for Miss Liling.”

“Every bone in my body tells me she’s somehow mixed up in all this business, and probably a loose cannon for everyone involved.”

“I feel the same way. She may very well be the devil among the cows, as my good father used to say.”

The hot hamburgers arrived a few minutes later. DeGrace poked around the fries with his fork, not sure what to expect. I had already dug in and nodded encouragement to DeGrace. He tried the hamburg and dug in like Hilkers and me. ”What did the Crown say when you said you needed her in connection with an on-going murder investigation?”

“They didn’t want to hear. They stopped me as soon as I began. I left with the feeling that they were under pressure to take action. Probably by Ottawa. Or even CSIS.” Hilkers shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It has a smell about it, for sure. I don’t believe for two seconds the minister of immigration or his department would be remotely interested in a local police matter, unless … unless …”

Hilkers laid down his fork. “Unless what, DeGrace?”

“Someone in the department is acting on their own initiative. It would be interesting to find out who and why. I have a feeling that if that person were told you were going to take the matter further, it’s entirely possible we might see a change of heart.”

Hilkers smiled, knowing DeGrace’s gift for deviousness.

“And now, Phillip, I need your help in a small matter.”

***

An hour later, we were back in our kitchen, and DeGrace was putting on a fresh pot of coffee. He had already given me a list of things to do that included a call to all the funeral homes in Toronto to find out who handled the funeral arrangements for Harriet Hawthorne. I shortcut the process by calling Hilkers’ office.

When I told DeGrace that Harriet Hawthorne’s funeral had been handled by the Tranquil Valley Funeral Home in North York, he smiled with his eyes. “Have you called Rigby yet?”

“I thought I might call his boss, your friend, Mr. Timothy Applegate, instead.”

Applegate answered my call in the same starched voice he used in my initial call. At first, he pretended not to know me but I mentioned DeGrace’s name, he suddenly found his memory.

“We don’t usually mention details of our interments to anyone,” and then, without missing a beat: “What precisely do you want to know?”

“Harriott Hawthorne’s grave was dug up last night.

There is talk that the dead woman had her jewels buried with her. It’s created quite a stir after her interment.”

Applegate seemed genuinely surprised. “I am not aware of that but I will look into it immediately. Anything else?”

“The names and addresses of the next-of-kin.”

He left and talked to his secretary for a minute. “I will have it for you presently.”

“One other thing, Mr. Applegate.” I paused the way DeGrace does when he wants his message sink in. “You should be aware that Mr. Rigby’s nephews – Gilbert and Dermot Joyce – have been arrested by the police for trying to rob this lady’s grave.”

“Do you think he might be involved?” asked Grace when I told him a few minutes later.

A leaf-sweeping machine was just leaving the court as we stopped in front of Art Hawthorne’s home, a weathered red brick three-storey on a narrow lot with an elevated entrance. The air had grown chilly and it was already getting dark as I pressed the doorbell.

A tall man, with a broad face and brown eyes, and dressed in a light blue sweater, had a smile when he opened the door. “Mr. DeGrace, the actor, I presume.”

It was not unexpected. I had called ahead, and when I mentioned DeGrace’s name, I had an immediate invitation. He stood back to welcome us in and led us to his living room, where his wife was waiting for us.

“You say you need our help,” he said, waving us to the cream-coloured chesterfield in front of the bay window that faced the street.

“It’s about your good mother and the people who tried to rob her grave. I know you’ve already talked to the police and I hope you may remember something, however small,

that may lead us to the people behind this.”

DeGrace’s eyes lit up as Hawthorne’s wife, who had dressed up for the occasion, entered with a coffee urn and a tray of her best China cups.

“I think I’ve told the police everything,” said Hawthorne, offering DeGrace a coffee.

“Why do you think they identified your family in the story they told police?” A pause and then: “Have you ever met Gilbert and his brother, Dermot Joyce?”

DeGrace nodded to me. I unzipped my brief case and passed their pictures to Hawthorne. “Here are their pictures.”

Hawthorne put on his glasses and moved to examine them under the lamp behind one of the chairs, before passing them to his wife, a short woman, with fading brown hair and dark eyes.

“I’m not sure.”

DeGrace turned his attention to Hawthorne’s wife, who smiled as soon as she saw them.

“They’re the two gravediggers who were at the grave side when my aunt threw in the fake jewelry.”

“Margaret has a phenomenal memory. I really didn’t take notice of them.”

“According to these two young men, who are now in police custody, your mother had her jewels and other valuables buried with her.”

Hawthorne smiled. “The police asked about that, too.” He paused, as if unsure what to say next. “My mother, God bless her soul, suffered from dementia in her final years. She never really owned any expensive jewelry – other than a diamond brooch given to her by my father – and the only gold she had was her wedding band. She wanted the brooch and wedding band buried with her. We honoured her request. Other than the brooch and her wedding ring, which were worth a couple thousand dollars, there was nothing else in

her coffin.”

“Then what would make them dig up the grave?”

“I suppose it was something my aunt, her sister, did. She knew my mother always loved jewelry and pretended to own a lot. They were just fakes, probably worth less than $100. My aunt took all the fake jewelry and threw it in her casket as she was being buried.

CHAPTER 24

Hilkers tracked us down at The Empire. DeGrace had arranged to meet with a lawyer, who thought DeGrace could help save his client from a lifetime in prison. DeGrace, who always saw himself as the patron saint of lost causes, decided to take on the case after some haggling.

Hilkers arrived about 10 minutes later. He sat down in the chair next to DeGace and started speaking immediately. “Thank you for your help, DeGrace. Everything changed after I talked to the person who initiated the deportation order. It was a Chinese lady. When I explained that Liling was needed in a murder case we were investigating, and that we were prepared to take it all the way up to the minister if we had to, she changed immediately, saying that she had not been informed that Liling was needed in connection with a murder investigation. The deportation order was rescinded an hour later.”

DeGrace smiled. He took it as a given that he was always right. “Congratulations, Phillip. And to make the day

complete, join us for dinner. Victories like this don’t come every day.”

He nodded to his waiter to bring one of his special coffees for Hilkers.

“How did your visit to the Hawthornes go?”

“Better than expected.”

“Do you think they are involved somehow?”

“I’m not sure. But Hawthorne’s wife was really helpful. She noted that the jewelry thrown into her coffin was fake jewelry.”

Hilkers put down his coffee cup. “Hawthorne never mentioned that to us.”

“He didn’t tell us. He told us she had a great memory, and she really does. She identified them immediately. She recalled seeing their faces at the graveside.”

Hilkers sat back and put his coffee mug down. “I hate being taken in like this.”

“Not necessarily, Phillip. The Joyce brothers told us an entirely different story.”

“But why? They would have to know we would compare notes. They’re not that stupid.”

“I do not think they are stupid at all, Phillip. What I do think they are doing everything they can to muddy the waters and hide the identity of the mastermind behind their activities.”

“You know who I think it is,” said Hilkers, taking a spoonful of the fish chowder he had just been served.

“What about paying that worthy gentleman a surprise visit. He should be arriving for work about now.”

Which reminds me, DeGrace. Our doubtful duo was granted bail after a brief court appearance this afternoon. Their uncle stood surety for them.”

DeGrace poked at the chicken salad. He never had to order when his waiter was on duty. He always ate the same thing every time, except for breakfast, his favourite meal of

GRAVEDIGGERS

the day.

A number of new guests had arrived while we were talking for an early dinner before the show at the Royal Alexandra. An aura of expectation seemed to come in with them. So was the level of excited voices that grew louder by the minute.

“Before I forget. The name of the lady in Ottawa. Her last name is Wong.”

DeGrace didn’t respond immediately. “Do you think someone in China may be pulling the strings in our little drama?”

“That’s a bit off the wall, DeGrace, although it would explain a lot of things, perhaps, even the grave openings.”

DeGrace wasn’t listening. He was taking it a step further in his head. “It also begs the question, who this person is, and why he or she is taking an interest in these events. It all goes back to the grave openings, n’est-ce pas?”

We headed out to the cemetery about an hour later. Hilkers, who insisted on driving, was in high spirits. DeGrace’s musings about someone in China pulling the strings had energized him, and set him on a new path.

We didn’t talk much on the way until we pulled into the driveway beside the cemetery office, when he remarked: “Your friend, Jie, is quite a guy. Even offered me one of his cigarettes and the rest of the pack when I left. I refused. They were too strong for me. Jie must have lungs of granite.”

It was the last thing Rigby expect to see come through his door – DeGrace and I enter, followed by Hilkers. Rigby was wearing earphones and sitting with his back to us, listening to music and keeping time with his hands, and didn’t see us until he suddenly felt our presence and turned.

“You gave me one hell of a scare,” he said, letting the earphones slide down to his neck.

“We aren’t ghosts, Rigby,” said Hilkers in a booming voice.

“In the future, please to do not creep up on me this way ever again.”

“Then take off your earphones while you’re on the job.”

“I was expecting you – but not this soon.” You could see the artery on his neck swell and contract. “What do you want? Standing surety for my nephews is not a crime.”

“You are right, Mr. Rigby. But acting as their agent in grave robbing is.” DeGrace’s style was always a contrast to Hilkers’ threating tone.

“Who says they were grave robbing?”

“They do, Rigby.”

“They must have misunderstood your question, detective. They were actually filling in a grave that someone has dug up the night before – and were doing so on my instructions.”

“At night?” asked DeGrace.

“I only noticed it when I arrived at work – and called them to ensure it was filled back in last night.”

Hilkers ignored his last comment. “Is it customary to fill in a grave in the midst of a rain storm? If it is, you must be the only cemetery in North America that does.”

“We go to enormous lengths to protect the integrity and sanctity of the graves of our deceased, and their descendants, who entrust their loved ones to us.”

“If you’re trying to sound unctuous, Rigby, you’re batting a thousand.”

Rigby’s eyes hardened. “If you’re making fun of me –”

“Don’t expect us to swallow that bilge water, or do you think we’re stupid. My friend here may be on the polite side but I’m not.”

Hilkers used the silence that followed to set Rigby up for his next question. “There is also the little matter of someone taking pot shots at us last night. It will probably surprise you to learn that we were also here last night and had a ring side seat to what was going on. Since you were kind

enough to confirm your nephews were here last night, I have to wonder if it’s customary to arm your staff and have them shoot at people.”

“I don’t arm anyone. My nephews. Or anyone else. And I don’t believe your story,” he added, cracking his knuckles.

“You’d better,” said Hilkers. “They fired at the three of us – and almost hit me. This is not something you can sweep under the rug, or pretend didn’t happen. Besides, we have the spent cartridges found at the parking space beside your office, and the gun, which your brilliant nephews left in their car for us to find.”

Rigby shook his head. “Whatever did happen, one thing I do know. It wasn’t my nephews. No matter what you forced them to say. They’re good lads.”

Hilkers looked at DeGrace before turning back to Rigby. “If your nephews are prepared to fill in a grave for you in the midst of a rain storm, I have to wonder if they’re also asked to dig them up. The Chinese graves, for example.”

“I also have a question, Mr. Rigby,” added DeGrace. “Hearing you talk, it occurred to me that you and your nephews may be part of a grave-robbing syndicate that may be using the Chinese grave openings as a cover up for your grave-robbing activities.”

Rigby folded his arms and sat back in his chair. “This is all I’m prepared to say on this or any other matter. Otherwise, talk to my lawyer.”

We left a few minutes later after visiting Harriett Hawthorne’s grave. It had been filled in.

The wind coming out of the north had turned cold and DeGrace hid his neck amid the folds of his muffler until we reached the car.

Hilkers turned on the ignition and the heater, and a few minutes later we headed through the iron gates at the entrance and out onto the access road that led to the 404 highway.

“What is it, DeGrace?” Hilkers could sense the change in DeGrace as well as I could.

“About your lady friend in Ottawa. Can you send a message to the Shanghai and Beijing Police Departments and ask if there is a prominent businessman by the name of Wong in either Shanghai or Beijing?”

“I know why you’re heading in this direction but I have to tell you, it’s a bit of a long shot. What set you off?”

“Rigby. And his talk about dealing with us through a lawyer, as if he had deep pockets, or knew someone who did.”

“What about your friends at the Chinese consulate, especially Yang Jie? They might be able to provide you with an answer on the spot.”

“I’d rather keep this in house, if you don’t mind, Phillip. At least for the time being.”

CHAPTER 25

Ma Ju wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She was wearing a red woolen jacket with black squares and pea green slacks, and stopped emptying a large plastic bag of Chinese cabbages to invite us to join her inside her store.

“I think she would like to be your friend,” I whispered to DeGrace as we followed her up the stairs to her shop. He didn’t take kindly to my observation. The sharp smell of pineapples and bananas mixed with fresh Chinese broccoli and bean sprouts was like walking into another time and place.

“I’ve just made tea,” said Mimi Kwok, her friend, who greeted us at the door. “A special chrysanthemum tea that Ma brought back to us from China.”

We sat down in a small room at the back of the store. Hilkers, his knees sticking out at an odd angle, looked uncomfortable in the sunken seat of the chair. DeGrace and I sat next to him on the chocolate-coloured sofa, and Ma Ju, in a high-backed chair opposite us.

“It’s good you’re here,” said Mimi. “If she doesn’t tell you, I will. She received a threatening call yesterday, and I’ve been with her ever since.” Then, turning to Hilkers, “You look uncomfortable, detective. Let me get you another chair.”

“Not now,” said Hilkers. “I’m more interested in the call. When did it come?”

“Yesterday. Shortly after 1 o’clock. It was a woman. She said Ma had something if hers and wanted it back. Or else.”

“Ju told us before you knew,” said DeGrace. “What are they after?”

Ju shrugged. “Ma never told me anything. Nothing. Whenever I asked him, he would tell me: I work hard. I bring in the money. What else you need to know.”

I was about to say something but DeGrace shook his head.

“Did you recognize the woman’s voice?” DeGrace again.

Ju shook her head. “People say many things on the phone they would never say to your face. But am I concerned. If she knows my telephone number, she knows how to find me. She has not shown up so far, and it is now late in the afternoon.”

“What did you do after you got the call?” asked DeGrace.

“I had an errant to run. In Chinatown uptown. I did not get back until supper time.”

“If you know what this is about, please help us to help you,” said Hilkers.

Ju’s dark eyes smalled to pinpoints. She looked away without answering.

“Would you like police protection for a few days?”

Ju shook her head. Her face hardened. “It will not be necessary. I am a strong woman, detective. But thank you.”

“We know you are a remarkably strong lady with great fortitude,” said DeGrace in a soft, calm voice. “I admired your bravery when you were called to identify your husband’s body,”

“It was not easy. Seeing his face so disfigured. But it had to be done. And no one knew him the way I did.”

GRAVEDIGGERS

An elderly Chinese woman opened the shop door, letting in a fresh wave of cold air. Mimi got up and went to talk to her.

”I was curious,” said Hilkers, leaning forward, “how you were able to identify him so quickly. You barely looked at him.”

“I did not need a week to know it is Ma. I saw all I needed to know. The birth mark behind his ear and the scar on his back. Even the black underneath his fingernails. Something he had since he worked in the mine. After you live with a man for 11 years, you know everything.”

“A DNA test would have confirmed everything,” said Hilkers.

“I know Ma. I see Ma. Why do I need to pay for a test to find out what I already know. I am not stupid.”

“We are just trying to find out everything we can to track down the murderer of your good husband. So, if we ask questions that upset you, forgive us. We want to examine every angle,” said DeGrace.

Hilkers jumped in immediately. “You would not have been required to pay for a DNA test. But that’s behind us.” Then after a pause: “It appears your husband did a lot of traveling.”

Mimi returned and said something to Ju, who rose and told us she would return in a minute.

“What can you tell us about Ma. You and your husband seemed to be his friends. Where did he come from, and who were his friends?”

Mimi was small boned and very petite, with dark eyes that seemed to look inside you. She spoke in a soft voice barely above a whisper.

“We all knew each other in China – Ju and me, her husband and my husband. Hong’s father was an important man. He had special skills that big, important men from Beijing and Shanghai needed.”

“What about Hong?”

“He worked in the mines but loved to plant things. It was the big reason he came to Canada.”

“Did his father ever pass down his special skills to Ma?”

“I cannot be sure. Ask Ju. She will know if anyone does.”

“And his father? Is he still alive?” asked DeGrace.

Ju settled down beside Mimi. “Ask what?”

“Mr. Ma’s father. I understand he had a very special skill.”

“Yes.”

“Did he pass on that skill to your husband?”

Ju ignored the question.

“Do you know what that skill was?” Hilkers could sense he had found a weakness, and he wasn’t prepared to give up now.

Ju shook her head and accepted a cup of tea from Mimi.

“Do you know if Mr. Ma’s father is still alive?” asked DeGrace.

“So many questions. I cannot think.” She stopped suddenly. “I do not know. If he did have this skill, he never used it. He worked in the mines. Ten hours a day for very little money. Would someone with a special skill do that? Why do you keep asking these questions? They will not bring him back.”

She looked as though she was about to cry.

DeGrace looked at the ceiling, originally painted white, and now discoloured with age. Fruit flies hovered over a counter of bananas nearby, and the smell of freshly cut watermelon awakened his senses as he turned down the tea, and looked at the watermelon.

“How many more questions?”

“Not many, Mrs. Ma. We’re just trying to find anything that will lead us to your husband’s murderer.” Hilkers paused to get her ready for the next question. “I understand

you had his body cremated. The next morning after the viewing at the funeral home.”

“Burning is the Chinese way. Ma wanted his ashes buried in our son’s grave.”

Hilkers took a sip of tea and raised his cup to Ju. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

Ju’s face remained passive, as if he had said something unforgiveable.

Hilkers withdrew his hand from his pocket. “Getting back to your husband’s murder. Did he have any friends or business associates he was close to, or did he meet anyone new in recent weeks or months?”

Ju looked uncertain by Hilkers’ question. DeGrace nodded assurance to her.

“I am not sure. He would go out at night. At crazy hours. I think may be another woman, or may be gambling. He loved to gamble. It turned out to be neither. I followed him one night. He met with two other men for tea.”

“Did you know them?” asked Hilkers.

“No. But they did come to the funeral home.”

“Would you remember them if you saw them again?”

“I am not stupid. What else do you want to know?”

“Everything seems to have started with the grave openings. There was talk that someone was looking for a list Beijing wanted, and that it was buried somewhere in the graveyard where your son was buried,” said DeGrace.

Ju shrugged.

“As I recall, you told us he was going to stop any more grave openings when he left you on the night he was killed. Sounds to me,” said Hilkers, “as though he knew something or had something on someone. In fact, when we tried to track down the source of the rumour, one of the persons we talked to suggested it originated with your husband.”

Ju looked surprised.

“It also appears that your good husband also did a lot

of traveling.”

Ju smiled at DeGrace. “He had to. He prided himself on offering the best fruits and vegetables in Toronto. He also bought for other Chinese stores in Montreal and Vancouver.

“Where exactly did he travel to?” asked Hilkers.

“All over. Europe. Asia, the U.S., South America and Central America. You name it. He never stopped until he found the best.”

“Permesso. Where did he get the money to travel to all these places? It must have cost thousands.”

“Yes and no. He had financial help from other fruit and vegetable dealers he shopped for. In this business, you have to be very sure you get the best and that they will be fresh for the customer. You can lose thousands of dollars if you do not get the best, and at just the right time. Ma had an instinct for getting the very best.”

Hilkers was fidgeting. I could tell he was aching for a cigarette.

“Stay put,” said Ju. “You must have some watermelon. Fresh from Brazil. When you taste it, you will know why people used to say Ma could talk to the fruit and vegetables.”

CHAPTER 26

Irolled back the covers to find DeGrace standing over me. He was already dressed and impatient. “What now?”

“A young Chinese woman dressed in a blue skirt and a yellow jacket was spotted by two police officers in Etobicoke, and Hilkers thinks it may be Xiaohuan.”

A police cruiser arrived for us about a half-hour later, minus Hilkers. “Detective Hilkers decided to go on ahead,” said the young police officer, who held open the back door for us.

We arrived a few minutes later – about a block away from the house where Xiaohuan had been seen entering. Hilkers spotted us immediately. “We have squad cars positioned at every corner. They can’t get away from us – no matter what they do.”

An hour passed without any sign of life within. Hilkers was getting edgy about storming the house. He had two officers positioned at the rear of the home opposite – so that they could see directly into the backyard of the home.

“We need to be in a position where we can nab her before they have a chance to kill her.”

Hilkers got his wish a few minutes after 1 p.m. Two men emerged from the split level, followed by a young Asian woman, who looked like Xiaohuan. She was hand-

cuffed to a middle-aged Asian, who seemed to be impatient with her.

“That’s interesting,” said DeGrace suddenly. Hilkers looked at him apprehensively. “What is?”

“The fact that Huang Chen Wu has been nowhere in sight since Xiaohuan disappeared.”

“What are you suggesting, DeGrace?”

“Let us say I find it strange that a love-sick swain, as this young gallant would have us believe, has disappeared as well.”

“I agree, DeGrace. He seems to have slipped under the radar in all this. May be he’ll turn up as one of the kidnappers.”

Hilkers turned to see Xiaohuan and her captors pile into a cream-coloured van. “Follow them but at a discreet distance. Best time to make our move is at red light.”

“Why not now? While they have no chance to get away.”

“We need to get close enough before they realize what’s happening.”

A few minutes later we exited onto the 401.

“Where are they going?”

“My bet is the Buttonville airport,” said Hilkers. Twenty minutes later, we exited onto the 404 and headed north.

“They’ve spotted us,” said Hilkers. “They’ve picked up speed. Don’t lose sight of them.”

We reached the top of a hill to see them disappear onto a grassy field next to the airport.

“Stay with them. If they show any signs of moving from there, we need to know immediately.”

We found the road a few minutes later, and parked behind a tree-enclosed hill next to the field. We started to climb the narrow pathway from the road to get a better look when the consul general and Yang Jie pulled up behind us.

“Keep low. We don’t want them to know they’ve got company just yet,” said DeGrace, holding out his hand to the consul general, who was having trouble keeping his balance. Yang was a few steps behind him.

“What’s happening?” Hilkers was still breathing hard after his climb.

“All four of them are here – the three kidnappers and Xiaohuan,” said one of the officers. “They’ve left the car and keep looking at the sky.”

“You’re sure it’s Xiaohuan?” asked Zhang.

“She appears to be handcuffed to one of the men.”

“But are you sure it’s Xiaohuan?”

“I think so. But she’s too far away to be absolutely sure. Same height. Same hair. And walks exactly like Xiaohuan.”

Hilkers motioned to one of the officers. “Take a few pictures of the lady. Use your telephoto lens. And don’t let them see you doing it.”

The officer took off his cap and crept up to eye level, focused his lens and shot five pictures in rapid succession. He slid back and passed the camera to Hilkers, who fiddled with the camera for a few seconds before being able to zero in on the woman in the yellow jacket. None of the pictures showed her face full on.

That shot,” said DeGrace. “Not that one. The one before it. Now, enlarge it as much as you can.”

“It’s only a side shot,” said Hilkers.

“It’s the best shot we got. You take a look at it, consul general.” DeGrace passed the camera to Zhang, who studied the profile shot for almost a minute.

He passed the camera back to Hilkers. “I think so.”

DeGrace looked unconvinced.

“What about it, DeGrace?”

DeGrace shrugged. “I find it strange that at no time since we’ve been here has the lady in the yellow jacket showed us her face. I think until we do, it’s little more than

wishful thinking, consul general.”

Zhang’s face tightened. He didn’t have to comment. We knew exactly what was going through his head.

Raised angry voices drifted from the clearing, and we all peeked quickly to see what was happening. One of the men was shouting to Xiaohuan to return to the van with her handcuffed partner, while a second was talking in a loud voice, trying to make himself heard above the roar of a plane revving up its engines nearby.

“I think we should rush them … now that they’re sitting ducks,” said Hilkers.

“Absolutely not. It could put Xiaohuan’s life in danger.”

“We won’t get a chance like this again.”

“Unless you want to cause an international incident, you will do precisely what I ask.”

Hilkers looked at DeGrace and made a face. He decided to make another stab at it and turned to Zhang when we heard the sounds of an approaching helicopter. We raised ourselves to get a better look.

“It’s now or never,” said Hilkers but Zhang shook his head. “They’re about to make their escape.”

The helicopter hovered overhead. It was clear by the way it swooped down, they had spotted us.

“I put a helicopter on standby on our way here just in case they planned something like this. I’m ordering it now,” said Hilkers, without looking at Zhang. “We need to delay them until it arrives.”

“I do not like it.”

Hilkers signaled to the other three officers to follow them as he climbed onto the clearing and started running towards the men and the van.

One of the men held a gun to Xuiaohuan’s head. “Keep your distance or the lady will die.”

Two of the men suddenly started shooting in our direction.

GRAVEDIGGERS

Hilkers turned. “Shoot to wound,”

One of the officers, a sharpshooter with an assault rifle, aimed and hit one of the men in the leg.

“Stop,” Zhang shouted at the top of his voice. ”You’ll ruin everything.”

The officers looked to Hilkers. “Rush them when they start to board the helicopter,” he said as the helicopter made a soft landing.

The three men and the woman stood back to give the helicopter extra space.

“Now,” said Hilkers, breaking into a run, with the other three officers following at his heels.

It only took three minutes but by the time Hilkers and his officers reached the helicopter, it was already leaving the ground.

“Grab anything that’s solid and hang on – no matter what. Maybe the four of us can add enough drag to keep it from getting aloft.”

They grabbed onto the undercarriage but the helicopter was already too high, and two of the officers lost their grip and fell in the first few seconds. The other officer and Hilkers dropped to the ground as soon as their feet left the ground.

A minute later, the helicopter was well on its way, heading in the direction of Lake Ontario.

Hilkers got to his feet slowly, dusting off his trousers as another helicopter approached in the distance. “That’s our helicopter. Our Plan B. I don’t like taking chances.”

A couple minutes later, it circled the clearing, where we stood ready to board. DeGrace, who suffered arthritis in his left knee, had to be helped. It put him in a bad mood, and he sat, rolled up in a ball, between Zhang and Yang Jie, sour-faced and silent. A minute later, we were airborne.

The steady whomp, whomp of the rotor blades made it almost impossible to hear. I looked out the front window.

The other helicopter was little more than a dot on the bright blue autumn horizon.

Hilkers, who was sitting next to the pilot, shouted in his ear to push the speed to the limit.

Zhang was beginning to feel queasy. The air inside the cabin reeked with aviation fuel that added to his discomfort.

Hilkers sucked in his breath and shook his head. “The three officers who were with me,” he said, turning to the consul general. “They’re checking every inch of their van as we speak. If they had discovered anything, we would definitely have heard by now.”

I checked the horizon. The helicopter we were pursuing had disappeared.

“What about the men?” said Yang Jie.

“There were three of them. All Asians.”

“We need to talk to them,” he added in a deep voice.

Then, just as suddenly as it had disappeared, the fleeing helicopter swooped down and veered sharply over Lake Ontario. We all could see someone wearing a yellow jacket.

“Xiaohuan.” Zhang, his voice and face suddenly alive, was sure of it now, and looked around at the rest of us for confirmation. “You all saw her wearing that yellow jacket.”

Hilkers, who was talking on the radio, looked around and smiled. “We have the name of the owner and pilot of the helicopter. We’re trying to contact him now by radio.”

“It doesn’t appear they’ve heard,” said Zhang, and then in a slightly elevated voice: “They’re headed for the U.S.” The muscles in his cheeks relaxed and tightened. Roller coaster emotional rides like this were new to him.

“It won’t do them any good,” said Hilkers. “The U.S. border patrol has already been alerted.”

We reached Niagara-on-the Lake a few minutes later and followed the kidnapper’s helicopter up the Niagara River to the falls.

“They’re making a run for it,” Zhang struggled to make himself heard over the rattling of the engine.

Three helicopters suddenly rose from the U.S. side and forced the kidnappers to veer off and head for the falls in a zigzag path – on the U.S. side now and the Canadian side a minute later.

Hilkers tapped the pilot on the shoulder and signaled him to narrow the gap. We got close enough to see the occupants of the other helicopter before they spot us. Now the zigzagging became erratic. First up and then, just as suddenly, going into free fall.

A few minutes later, the helicopter veered in our direction. Our pilot took us higher and out of danger for the moment.

“They’re trying to take us down,” said Zhang.

DeGrace shook his head. “They are telling us to back off … to keep our distance.”

“Two can play that game,” said the pilot.

“This is not the time to play chicken, mon vieux,” DeGrace said to Hilkers.

The other helicopter suddenly loomed above us and was bearing down on us.

“Hold on to your suspenders,” said our pilot, with a quick backward glance as he took our helicopter down and veered sharply to the left and into U.S. air space.

The other helicopter moved on ahead, dropping close to ground level, hovering only a few feet above the Niagara River. The Rainbow Bridge suddenly loomed close.

“Mon Dieu. They are trying to fly under it.”

“They must be insane. They will kill themselves,” said Zhang, who wasn’t sure what to expect now and sucked in his breath.

“They’re not that crazy,” said our pilot, pointing to one of the sight-seeing boats making its way in the swirling dark, green water towards the bridge.

He was wrong. Neither the boat nor the helicopter was changing course. Even DeGrace, who likes to think he can predict what people will do, couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The other pilot saw the sight-seeing boat just as he was passing below the bridge and jerked his helicopter higher. One of the rotor blades struck the steel frame underhanging the bridge and sent the helicopter spinning out of control.

The rotor housing burst into flames. The disabled rotor blade broke off and dropped into the river. The helicopter twisted crazily and hit the boat full on. A bright orange flame swallowed the boat in a huge burst of searing heat.

Some of the passengers, wearing yellow plastic slickers, could see what was about to happen and had jumped into the river seconds before the helicopter crashed.

We circled overhead. The river, still churning and foaming, was dotted with yellow slickers.

DeGrace fingered his St. Francis medal and moved his lips.

CHAPTER 27

“She never survived the crash.” Hilkers spoke in a voice that suggested absolute authority. He knew what was at stake for Zhang, and felt it best not to leave him any false hopes.

“There’s another problem,” he added, rising from his chair at our meeting in the consul general’s office. “The press has got wind of rumours that Xiaohuan died in yesterday’s tragedy. They’ve been calling us non-stop.”

Zhang said something in Chinese to Yang Jie. Then, turning to Hilkers: “You promised to keep it out of the press.”

“It’s fallout from the Niagara Falls disaster yesterday. Somehow, somewhere, someone, perhaps people at the Falls, let it slip.”

“But how –“

“Perhaps some enterprising reporter listening to police broadcasts…I’m not sure, except that they’ll all be here at 11.”

I took a quick look at DeGrace. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew. I wasn’t sure how but he did. He glanced at his watch. “Getting back to Miss Xiaohuan. Where is her body now?”

“I’m sorry. I should have explained. We did not recover her body or those of her kidnappers.”

“Then you’re really not sure if she’s dead,” said Zhang.

“No one,” said Hilkers in an even voice, “could have survived that crash. Just because we haven’t found their bodies yet doesn’t mean we won’t. It is what it is.”

Zhang, his dark eyes shining, scanned Hilkers’ face for answers. “So she could still be alive?” His question sounded more like a statement.

“Anything is possible. But not likely. I’m sure we’ll find her body and those of her captors before the week is out.”

“What exactly does the press know?” asked Yang Jie, with one eye still on Zhang.

“Probably rumours. They take on a life of their own in the media.”

“What do you suggest, mon vieux?” DeGrace turned to me. Normally people took no more notice of me than DeGrace’s brief case.

“Your advice would be appreciated,” said Zhang, glancing at my white hair.

“Be prepared for anything. But only answer what you’re asked. Don’t provide information you’ve not been asked for.”

“What else?” Yang had as much as stake as Zhang and knew at that moment what the loss of face over two monumental disasters would do to his career as well.

“Is there anything else we can do?”

I didn’t wait for a nod from DeGrace. “Hold a practice press conference among ourselves first. We’ll take the part of the reporters and ask you most of the questions you’re likely to be asked, consul general.”

Zhang nodded. I could tell by the look in Yang Jie’s eyes that he had other ideas.

“This way,” I added, “we can critique your answers and help you fine tune them.”

GRAVEDIGGERS

We spent the next 40 minutes peppering the consul general with questions while DeGrace, Yang Jie and Hilkers helped him recraft his responses.

Zhang’s secretary, her dark eyes bubbling with excitement, was at the door. “They’ve started to arrive. The Chinese reporters are already here.”

“Let me talk to them first – to set the stage,” I said.

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” said Zhang as I left them.

Zhang’s secretary was right. All the dailies were there, including the Chinese newspapers, as well as radio and TV stations. There must have been 20 of them. The TV cameras were setting up and started to film as soon as the reporters crowded around me. Everyone was shouting questions at the same time.

I raised my hands. “Detective Hilkers and Consul General Zhang will be here shortly. So save your questions for them.”

That didn’t stop the questions that followed me from the press room.

“They’re ready but not exactly waiting patiently,” I said as I entered.

“What do they want to know?” whispered Zhang when I escorted him into the room.

“They need an answer about Xiaohuan. One that they can believe. So level with them.” I paused to let it sink in. Everyone started to ask questions at the same time as soon as they saw the consul general.

Then, the unexpected. W. H. Hui stood and told everyone to quiet down and give the consul general a chance to be heard.

Zhang wiped his forehead and started to speak, hesitating at first, not knowing quite how to start.

“Can’t hear you,” said a radio reporter sitting in the second row.

“I regret to inform you that our national treasure, Jiang Xiaohuan, the world’s finest violinist, has died in a terrible accident at Niagara Falls.”

In the silence that followed, he added: “There is still a small sliver of hope that she somehow escaped the inferno and is still alive. We will keep you posted as soon as we have proof, one way or another.”

Zhang bowed his head and left a few seconds later.

That’s when the questions started. Hui stood again. “I think that’s it for today.”

“When did you become the mouthpiece for the Chinese consulate?” asked a young reporter from one of the mainstream dailies.

Hui didn’t respond. He packed up his briefcase and left without another word.

Hilkers looked at DeGrace, who had also become silent during the proceedings.

“We all grieve in our own ways,” said DeGrace.

CHAPTER 28

The grandfather clock at the front entrance chimed the half-hour. It was 9.30, and a bit early for DeGrace, who had breakfasted on a slice of rye bread and peanut butter. He was back on one of his perennial diets, and without an adrenalin-inducing development to stimulate him, he was a bear to deal with in the morning.

“What exactly did Phillip say?”

“A new development that would knock your socks off.”

“Nothing more?”

I shook my head.

“And Beauchemin?”

“All he said was to tell you he had some answers for you. I think he was being cryptic on purpose. And he didn’t leave a number,” I told him for the fifth time.

All that was forgotten an hour later when Hilkers waved us over to his desk located near reception.

“What new development, Philip?”

“Our young friend, Liling, was found murdered last night.” He paused on purpose, knowing it would annoy DeGrace. “And you’ll never guess who tipped us off.” Another pause. “And Vern Rigby’s back at his old job. There was a fire at the storage shed, where they discovered her

JIM CARR

charred body.”

Hilkers rubbed the stubble on his chin. It was evident he had been up all night. His waste basket brimmed with crumpled coffee cups and his voice lacked the authority we were used to. It seems Rigby was alerted by the sounds of coyotes outside his window. When he went to investigate, he found the storage shed on fire. He called the fire department and then me.”

“Do you know how she died?”

“We don’t have the medical examiner’s report yet but my guess is that she was shot.”

“How would you like me to help?”

“Hold that thought,” said Hikers as his phone started ringing. He didn’t say much, which was unusual for Hilkers, but did a lot of nodding. He smiled as he put the phone down.

“It was Dr. Xavier. It seems Liling did not die in the fire. She was shot in the head and face.”

A light went off in DeGrace’s head.“What about our friend, Rigby?”

“He’s coming and should be here at any time.” Hilkers paused. “But right now, I’m too tired to be as sharp as I should be. I’d appreciate it if you would stay with me and wade in if you think of anything.

“Before we got embroiled in this, I did have our people check the travel activities of Hu, Deng, Nie and Ma,” he added. “It seems they’ve travelled extensively in recent years – to China, Taiwan and Hong Kong and other places where they have business operations, like Africa, Australia and South America.”

“At the same time?” DeGrace’s face took on a special luminescence.

“I know where you’re going with this, DeGrace. But you’re wrong this time. They also went to a lot of other places. And not at the same time.”

DeGrace believed that the Count de St-Germain was still alive and behind almost all the major jewelry robberies for many years. It got so that Hilkers and I came to believe him in later years.

“What about Ma?”

It seems Ma ran a fruit and vegetable business in China a couple years before he came to Canada. Since coming here, he continued to visit these places at least four or five times, ostensibly to buy fruit and veggies for his store in Chinatown – just as his wife said.”

DeGrace threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t say anything for almost a minute.

“Anything else?”

***

We didn’t have long to wait for Rigby, who sat down beside DeGrace.

“We seem to keep running into each other,” said Hilkers with a smile.

Rigby, dressed in a new light green tweed jacket, powder blue shirt and red bow tie, glanced at DeGrace, and back to Hilkers. You could tell he was wondering what kind of trap they were planning. He folded his hands on his lap, as if to anchor himself. “No offence, detective, but I would frankly prefer to be elsewhere.”

Hilkers made light of it with another smile. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice, and thank you for calling us when you discovered the fire. Did you have staff on site during the day yesterday?”

Rigby cracked his knuckles and shook his head.

“Anything else happen yesterday that struck you as odd?”

“When I visited the cemetery this morning,” added Rigby, “something was missing in my office. I wanted to check and make sure.”

“What exactly?” asked DeGrace.

“The urns. We had five of them. Each of a different style. We keep them on display. You’d be surprised how many people inquire about urns these days. When I checked this morning, two were missing.”

“Anything special about them?” asked DeGrace.

“Not really.”

“Did they contain anything?”

Rigby shook his head. “Just dust. We try to keep them clean but it’s a losing battle.”

Rigby left a few minutes later with a spring in his step.

Hilkers sat back in his chair and put his feet on his desk. “What do you make of that?”

“Aside from the fact that our friend is hiding something, three interesting things emerged.”

“You mean the urns?”

“That was probably the most interesting but so is the fact that more than one person was involved.”

“You mentioned three things.”

“The murders of Ma and Liling were probably done by different people.”

Hilkers closed his eyes, trying to put it all together. “What next?”

“I would very much like to view the body.”

My mind had been wandering but that brought me back with a start. DeGrace never liked viewing bodies. It always seemed to unnerve him.

CHAPTER 29

DeGrace headed for the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of coffee. His version of comfort food was a mug of strong coffee and a double shot of Cognac.

“There’s been another development,” he said, leaving me hanging as he headed for the stairs. I knew I wouldn’t hear another word until he was ensconced in his red leather wing-back chair, savouring the fumes from his mug with closed eyes and a dreamy smile.

It didn’t turn out that way.

“I had a hunch it might be you two,” said DeGrace as he opened the door to his office, and saw Xiaohuan sitting on the lap of her boyfriend behind DeGrace’s mahogany desk.

“You don’t seem surprised to see us,” said Xiaohuan, tossing back her head and smoothing out her long, tapered hair around her face. Huang Chen Wei raised his sunglasses in a salute, and grinned.

“I sensed your presence last night. Smelled it might be more accurate,” said DeGrace. “The smell of frites traveled all the way upstairs when I went to bed last night.

Xiaohuan and her boyfriend looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“I knew it was not my associate, who is obsessed with his diet these days. No, it had to come from someone – some-

one young – someone with a passion pour les frites. This is when I stopped worrying about you,” he added after a brief pause.

“I told you not to order fries,” said Huang.

Xiaohuan just smiled and smiled.

DeGrace shrugged. “I have a few questions, mes enfrants,” he said in a voice suddenly businesslike.

“I can imagine.” Huang pushed his sunglasses atop his forehead again, and returned DeGrace’s gaze without flinching. “Go ahead.”

“Why did you suddenly find it necessary to get Mlle Xiaohuan out of the consulate?”

“I picked up some static in Shanghai about someone in the consulate. I wasn’t able to find out who – but that individual had been sent here with one mission: To kill Xiaohuan. I warned you about it. The first time we met.”

DeGrace nodded and said something inaudible.

“After she received that box, it seemed pretty clear to me it was time for her to disappear for a while.”

DeGrace glanced at Xiaohuan, who was holding on to Huang’s arm.

“I had to convince her. She was reluctant. But when she received a call from her father, she changed her mind.”

“He told me that I should hide from everyone until I was ready to come home,” said Xiaohuan.

“Our biggest problem was disappearing into thin air,” added Huang.

“Like the rabbit of the magician.”

“I gather you already know how we engineered her escape at Bellissima?”

DeGrace smiled. “It had your fingerprints. I never really felt Xiaohuan was in any real danger, and that you, in fact, had other ambitions where she was concerned.”

“When we left, we chose the one place no one would look for us. Your house.”

“You are the second Chinese person with that idea. And are you aware that everyone thinks Mlle Xiaohuan died in a helicopter crash?”

“So we heard on your TV.”

“Your timing – in getting Mlle Xiaohuan out of the consulate – was superb. Almost too superb, “said DeGrace after a pause.

“I figured out who the killer at the consulate was,” said Huang, with a note of pride in his voice.

“Miss Xiaohuan’s new maid”?

Huang nodded. “It all fits in. I suspect she must feel quite frustrated about now.” ***

It was late afternoon, and we were wiped out, especially Hilkers, whose voice sounded tired and slow, as though speaking were an effort. It had been a long, long day.

“This is not something we need to do today, DeGrace.”

DeGrace shook his head. “I beg to differ, Philip. But let me offer you one of my coffees. It will pick you up and ready for anything.”

“Or a put me to sleep.”

DeGrace ignored him and added another shot of Cognac to Hilkers’ coffee. We were sitting in his DeGrace’s office. DeGrace was behind his desk, and Hilkers was stretched out on DeGrace’s oversized red leather chair. DeGrace stood and handed Hilkers the steaming mug. “It’s exactly when we all need on a cold, wet day.”

“I have to tell you, DeGrace. When you suggested we haul in the gang of three, and have another chat with them in your office, I thought you were losing it. I’ve always found that just sitting in a police station can loosen very stubborn tongues.”

DeGrace just smiled and topped up Hilkers’ mug with coffee when the doorbell rang. It was lawyer Hu. She looked

rushed and out of sorts, and responded to my inquiries with one syllable words.

She made no attempt to smile in response to DeGrace’s greeting as she sat down next to Hilkers. “If it’s about Liling,” she said finally, “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“It’s about a ring we found with her,” said DeGrace. “Did she wear a wedding band?”

“No. She was not married but I understand her boyfriend recently joined her in Canada. I have not met him. He may have given it to her.”

“Any idea where we can find him?” asked Hilkers.

Hu looked down. “I’m sorry. I don’t, and I don’t know his name. Liling could be quite secretive. All she told me was that she and her boyfriend would get married when he joined her here.”

“Why didn’t they get married in China?”

“I’m not sure, detective. There was some kind of problem. She was always a little vague whenever she talked about it.”

Hilkers unbuttoned his jacket. “I have to tell you, I still harbour doubts about the gun she was carrying. My guts are usually right, and right now they tell me she had something to do with Ma’s death. Second, I don’t believe for two seconds she was carrying that gun because she was scared about being killed.”

I glanced at DeGrace, who was nodding in agreement. Hu, hands folded neatly on her lap, listened without comment.

“I also think you know a lot more than you’re telling us but we’ll let that pass for the moment, even though your client is dead, and you no longer have a legal obligation towards her.” Hilkers sat back in his chair and took a mouthful of coffee.

“One thing I can tell you,” she said. “I’ve have heard that Liling’s boyfriend has been in Canada for some time.”

DeGrace smiled briefly. “You may recall, Detective Hilkers, that her boyfriend had visited her in hospital.”

“You have a good memory, Mr. DeGrace.” Hu paused for a few seconds. “I knew about this when she came back from hospital. When I asked her about it, she became vague again but I could see from the look on her face that she had not known.”

“There is something else, if I am not mistaken, Madame.”

“It’s about Deng. I heard her talking to him on the phone yesterday. I don’t know what it was about but whatever it was, she seemed quite pleased when she hung up.”

DeGrace held up the coffee pot and a mug. “Could I interest you in a coffee?”

Deng arrived about a quarter of an hour later. Dark clouds had gathered in the late afternoon sky, and a few minutes later, whipped a heavy rain against the large leadpaned window behind DeGrace. The branches of the tree in the front yard, now nude of foliage, danced crazily in the wind.

Unlike Hu, Deng took up DeGrace’s offer of coffee. He cradled the mug in his hands to warm them, and smiled when he breathed in the aroma.

“I understand you knew Liling. The young lady who was murdered,” said Hilkers in a casual voice.

Deng shook his head. “Not until yesterday.”

“You saw her yesterday?” DeGrace genuinely looked surprised.

“She called me,” said Deng quickly in a thick gravel-like voice. “Demanded to meet me that afternoon. Started yelling at me. I tried to explain I was really busy. But she just got angrier.”

“What did she want?” said Hilkers.

“Wouldn’t say. Just that I would find it important and worthwhile. She wouldn’t let up until I finally agreed.”

“Where did you meet her?” asked DeGrace.

“The Pacific Mall.”

DeGrace looked at me. I explained to him where it was, and that we had a quick lunch there seven months earlier with one of the storeowners. He had asked DeGrace to track down his daughter, who had become an addict.

“She was late. Just like a lot of Hong Kongers I know.”

“Well?” said Hilkers is a raised voice. “What exactly was it?”

“I would prefer not to say, other than it had nothing to do with Ma’s murder, the grave openings, Xiaohuan’s disappearance, or even her own murder.”

“Let us determine that,” said Hilkers, who glanced to DeGrace.

“I have a pretty good idea, who the murderer is. And before the next two days are out, so will you. Everything,”

Hilkers shrugged. “Did you know that she was pregnant, and that her boyfriend had come to Canada to marry her?”

Deng nodded. There was sadness in his eyes. “With these young people today, you never really know what they’ll do.”

“Did she tell you his name, and do you think he could be involved in her death?”

“No to both questions.” The sadness had not left his eyes.

***

Nie Yow Zu was another matter. He was late and DeGrace was getting grumpier by the minute. His face had a sallow look, and his eyes were starting to droop.

Hilkers drummed his fingers on the arms of DeGrace’s chair. “I’ll wait for him outside, DeGrace.”

DeGrace smiled. We both knew he was really going for a cigarette.

I let Nie in a few minutes later. He was wearing a light brown trench coat and hung it on a peg in the mirror-clad closet just inside the front entrance, glancing into the mirror and patting his dark pomade-sleeked hair. He preceded me up the stairs, followed by Hilkers who had slipped in without a word.

Nie paused half-way up the stairs and turned to look at me. “What’s this all about?”

“About the young murdered woman, Liling.”

He twisted his mouth, and resumed his climb to DeGrace’s office near the head of the stairs. The rain also brought a cold blast of air with it, and the furnace suddenly kicked in. “Is this going to take long?”

“To answer your question,” said Hilkers, “we need your help in trying to solve Liling’s murder. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

DeGrace was standing behind his desk when we entered, and waved Nie to the empty chair beside Hilkers. Nie straightened his suit jacket, crossed his legs and sat back, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m not sure how but –“

“Did you know her?” DeGrace cut him off.

“Not really. I had no dealings with her. You’re asking the wrong person. Ask lawyer Hu. If anyone has a handle on things, she does.”

“Yet you visited her a few days ago in hospital,’ said DeGrace.

Nie looked startled, tugged at his cuffs. His diamond studs took DeGrace’s eye immediately.

Hilkers spoke first: “Well, what about it, Mr. Nie?”

“I’m not sure how you came to this conclusion but I never visited this young lady in the hospital at any time.”

“You were seen. By me,” said DeGrace.

“I did go to the hospital a few days ago. It wasn’t to see

JIM CARR

this young woman but my eldest daughter, who just had her tonsils removed. You can check that, if you wish. Her name is Olivia Nie.”

“We shall, Mr. Nie. We definitely shall.” Somehow Nie had aroused Hilkers’ dislike.

“Have you ever been to Tranquil Valley Cemetery?” asked DeGrace.

“Where all the graves were being dug up? Just once. And then, only briefly,” he said in a smooth, baritone voice.

“I notice you changed your shoes,” said DeGrace out of the blue.

“As you know, there’s been a lot of rain in the past few days and my favourite shoes got soaked and muddied.”

“Would you mind taking off one of your shoes?” said Hilkers in an official voice.

Nie was about protest when DeGrace broke in. “I already know, Detective Sergeant.” DeGrace liked using Hilkers’ title in front of others.

“Thank you.” he nodded to DeGrace, “But I’d like to know what this is all about and what exactly I’m being accused of.”

“Nothing. At least not yet,” said Hilkers.

“If you know something. No matter how small or insignificant, I would urge you to tell us. It could be unwise to carry around dangerous information without telling someone.” DeGrace paused and looked squarely into Nie’s eyes. “I believe you know precisely what, and who we’re looking for.”

Nie did not respond immediately and when he did, it was to tell us it was to have his lawyer present if there were further questions.

“No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Nie. All we’re asking you to do is help us in solving a rather brutal murder.”

I’m sure Nie sensed the irritation in Hilkers’ voice. “Frankly, detective, I don’t see how I could help you fur-

ther.” He got to his feet but was stopped by DeGrace before he could start for the door.

“Before you go, Mr. Nie. I would be obliged if you talk to me about the mysterious list that sparked the grave openings.”

“In what regard?” he asked in a warmer voice.

“Do you know how it all started? Someone told me they first heard about it from you,” said DeGrace.

“They may have – but I fail to understand how that solves anything.”

“Please humor me if you would be so kind. How did you hear about it?”

“Can’t remember who told me exactly. Not that it really matters. No, wait. It was Ma.”

DeGrace smiled and thanked him. Hilkers looked at me and shrugged.

A few minutes later, I watched his black Mercedes disappear around the corner and returned to DeGrace’s office to hear Hilkers remark: “Guys like that need to be taken down a peg or two.”

“Perhaps, more than two,” said DeGrace.

“So what now?”

“It’s time you went home and went to bed. It’s been a long day and I will need your help to wrap things up on Thursday.”

“It’s only 5.30, DeGrace. Besides, I’m not sure this afternoon was all that fruitful. I feel I haven’t accomplished a thing.”

DeGrace, who had come from behind his desk to sit next to Hilkers, patted him on the arm and smiled. “I don’t agree, Philip. It clarified a lot of things in my head.”

“Maybe in yours but sure in hell not in mine.”

DeGrace saw Hilkers out and stopped him at the door. “I need you to do a couple tests for me.”

He returned to the kitchen, where he filled his mug

again. “Before I forget, mon vieux,” he said to me. “There are a couple things I also need your assistance with.”

I waited for him to continue, knowing there was more to come.

“First, call up your friends at the newspaper Mr. Hui works for. Find out precisely what he does there, and where he’s traveled for the paper over the past year or two.”

He paused to breathe in the aroma of the coffee. “Then, call the consul general and ask him to request the presence of all the players in our little drama for lunch on Thursday.”

“Where?”

“At that Chinese restaurant you keep raving about.”

“For dim sum?”

“Yes, dim sum. And in your great kindness, mon vieux, order me an omelette. Have it brought in, if you have to.”

CHAPTER 30

The entrance to Tranquil Valley Cemetery was blocked by yellow police tape. We had to park outside and walk the rest of the way to the cemetery office. Rigby had not returned, and no one knew where he was, or when he’d get back. DeGrace entered Rigby’s office.

He headed straight for the urns, turning them over and over, opening each, and turning them over again to look inside. Next, Rigby’s filing cabinet, which evidently had not been opened in months. A strong musty smell lingered over the files as DeGrace placed them on Rigby’s desk before occupying his chair.

He spent the next 20 minutes flipping through the folders before shaking his head and giving up. “Absolument rien. Nothing. I thought perhaps ….“

He returned to the filing cabinet and tried to stuff the folders back into the cabinet. I was about to tell him it was the wrong drawer when he started muttering to himself as he tried to force the folders into it. He tried a couple more times, pushing the folders down with considerably more force.

“There’s enough room. I don’t understand,” he said, taking out the folders and peering in the drawer to see what the problem was.

“Eccolo, there it is,” he smiled, producing a six-inch

wad of one hundred dollar bills. “I think there is more to Mr. Rigby than he’s telling us,” he added, flipping through the bills with the dexterity of a bank teller.

“What do we do with the bills?”

“Take them with us, of course. I am sure Philip will be quite interested in them, and how they came into Mr. Rigby’s possession.”

He handed them to me. “Hide them in your raincoat for safe-keeping.”

He pulled his muffler around his ears and headed out the door, where one of the constables was waiting for us. It was Constable Compisi, a tall young man with an eternal five-o’clock shadow and dark brown bedroom eyes.

DeGrace walked beside him as we headed for the storage shed. At some point, they started talking in Italian, switching back to English, when we stopped near the storage shed. It had dropped below freezing the night before, and the ground was still hard, making the outline of every footprint sharp and clear.

“Casts have been taken of everything,” said the officer guarding the burnt-out cemetery shed. “Anything else?”

DeGrace pointed to something shiny half-hidden in the ashes. “What’s that?”

“Looks like a ring,” said the officer, bending down and rubbing the dirt off it with his sleeve before passing it to DeGrace.

“DeGrace examined it carefully, looking for an inscription of some kind on the inside before passing it back to the constable. “Make sure Detective Sergeant Hilkers sees this.”

We were about to leave when DeGrace spotted something else in the ashes. “Looks like an earring or one of those pins women wear,” said the officer, passing it to DeGrace, who examined it, before tossing it back to the constable.

We were on our way back to Hilkers’ office when DeGrace nudged me. “We need to go back to the cemetery.”

“What now, DeGrace? We’ve seen just about everything there is to see there.”

“Not quite. I have an idea, and I want to test it out.”

I turned the car around and headed back. Fifteen minutes later, Rigby showed up, and I followed him and DeGrace inside the cemetery’s mausoleum, a short walk from Rigby’s office.

“You won’t find the missing urns here,” said Rigby, referring to the two urns that disappeared from his office. The white tiled floor of the mausoleum gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. “The most recent internments are on the third floor.” The light brown floors gleamed in the sunlight as we looked at the name on each cubicle on both sides of the corridor.

“I want to see the urns of Chinese individuals.”

“They’re all over the place. Help yourself. If there’s anything else, I’ll be in my office.”

“Before you go, Mr. Rigby. I see that the niches are locked. I will need a key to open them.”

“I have to be here to unlock and relock each niche you examine. Cemetery rules.”

“Do I need to call in one of the constables, and get him to ask you?” The edge in DeGrace’s voice suggested a greater threat.

Rigby unhooked the key from his belt and handed it to him, before leaving without a word.

I looked on the circular rows of niches in which the urns were placed. “Where do we start?”

“Let’s try the second floor first. If we’re going to find anything, that will be the most likely place.”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Jewels, newly cut and reset jewelry.”

DeGrace could always read my mind, and added: “You recall our conversation with Mimi about Ma and his father? And his father’s special skill. My guess is that Ma père was

an expert diamond cutter, judging by the way he was treated by these rich men, who took him away for short periods from time to time. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Ma fils learned that skill at his father’s workbench.”

“That’s a pretty big leap, DeGrace. “

DeGrace picked up an empty urn from the display case on the bottom floor. The lights were on 24 hours a day, and a faint aroma of freshly-cut flowers floated in on the blast of cool air.

The first three urns failed to turn up anything. “Our luck will change with the fourth, if I am not mistaken.”

He was right, of course. It all fitted. The fours again. I remembered DeGrace’s dictum that people tend to repeat themselves, especially if they think they’ve done something particularly clever.

An elaborate diamond bracelet glittered among the ashes as we poured the contents into the urn he had brought with us.

“Mirabile dictu.” Marvellous to speak, indeed.

We checked every fourth urn and found diamonds, necklaces and other jewelry items.

“I really don’t feel comfortable doing this, DeGrace. I feel like some kind of ghoul.”

DeGrace looked at me over the top of his glasses, and went on to empty the ashes of the next urn. “We had better bring Constable Compisi in to guard things until Phillip can send in a special team to go through all the urns.”

I returned with Constable Compisi a few minutes later. “I’ve contacted Hilkers, and he’ll have a special team here in a few minutes. He wants to talk to you. He has a few questions.”

***

We found Hilkers nodding off, feet on his desk and leaning back in his chair.

“Anything further from the medical examiner?” DeGrace said to the officer on duty.

He searched through the papers on his desk. “I’m not sure I should let you see it. The detective hasn’t seen it yet.”

“Detective Hilkers won’t mind,” said DeGrace, scanning the two sheets in less than a minute, nodding at one minute, and then scrunching up his mouth and nose before handing the report back.

I nudged DeGrace. Hilkers had awaken and was heading for the station’s coffee pot. Hilkers spotted us as soon as he turned around. “Back so soon?”

“It has been almost five hours, Philip,” said DeGrace, who went on to describe our visit to the cemetery, and discovering the jewels in the ashes of urns kept in the cemetery’s mausoleum.

“I don’t know how you do it, DeGrace.” Hilkers shook his head.

“I got the idea when I was going over the ashes in the storage shed.” A pause. “It also shows us how Ma smuggled the jewels into Canada.” DeGrace paused. “But I think you have a different question, if I am not mistaken.”

“Any idea how he planned to turn the jewels into cash? They’d be almost impossible to sell in the open market, or to smuggle out of the country.”

“Actually, he had two options. He could hide the jewels in the urn, and go to just about major city in North America, Europe or Asia on the pretext of returning someone’s ashes to their final resting place. Or he could arrange to meet private collectors in Toronto, and complete the transaction here.

The diamonds have been cut and reset in the case of the jewelry, and would not be easily identifiable.”

Hilkers shook his head for third time. “The people behind the grave openings assumed the jewels were buried in a grave, and went to all that work when all they had to do

was go to the mausoleum and sift the ashes. It would have been that simple.

“They could have done everything in one night and no one would have been the wiser. Anything else?”

“Can you send out a couple of officers and check the shoes of Nie, Deng, Hui, Huang and Mrs. Hu.”

“Hu?”

“Everyone.”

“I gather you’re looking to see if anyone of them was at the graveyard. I’ll get someone on it right away. I’m almost scared to ask: Anything else?”

DeGrace just smiled, who nodded to me. I reached into my coat pocket and produced the large wad of $100 bills.

“What the blazes. Where on earth did you find that? Surely not in the one of the urns.”

“In the filing cabinet of your friend, Rigby.”

Hilkers didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, it was to ask: “Anything else?”

“This.” DeGrace held up the gold ring. “We found it near the storage shed.”

“You think it was her wedding ring.”

“Perhaps, mon vieux, but I think not.”

“So what’s our next move? Rigby?”

DeGrace pushed up his glasses on his nose. “Perhaps, it is time to reacquaint ourselves with Mrs. Ma.”

CHAPTER 31

The ringing of the phone at 7 a.m. took me by surprise. It was a woman’s voice for DeGrace. DeGrace listened for a minute and suggested they met for breakfast at The Empire.

“Qing Wu. Maybe we’ll be getting a few answers now.” DeGrace left to get shaved and showered when Xiaohuan came downstairs. Huang Chen Wu appeared a few minutes later. It was clear that something had happened, and that things were no longer the same between them. I suspected it was the call from her father. Huang could sense it, too, and tried to engage her in conversation. All he got in return was one-word answers. I had no idea what they were saying but I had a good idea that it was not expressions of love.

I made coffee and breakfast for them and went to see DeGrace, who was putting on his suit jacket. I told him what I saw and wondered about the wisdom of leaving them alone.

“We’re on the same page, mon vieux. I’ve already called Philip. He will have a couple uniformed officers here before we leave. I want them with her at all times until we leave for your Chinese restaurant for lunch.”

The doorbell rang as we were coming downstairs. It was going to be of those days.

I opened the door to see Ma Ju and her friend, Mimi Kwok.

“Ju needs to talk to you, Mr. DeGrace,” said Mimi when DeGrace appeared.

“You told me once to come to you if ever I had a problem.”

“Let us go up to my office, where we can talk in private. I’m afraid all I can offer you is coffee.”

Ma Ju shook her head. She was a woman of few words.

I just got everyone settled when the doorbell echoed again. “It’s the police,” said DeGrace. He gave a quick smile to Ma Ju. “They’re not here for you.”

I left to let the two officers in and tell them what DeGrace wanted, while they made their way to DeGrace’s upstairs office.

Ma Ju was sobbing when I got back. Mimi rose to put her arm around her.

“I would like to help you but I can’t even start until you tell me what it is.”

“She thinks you already know about her husband’s involvement in the jewelry thefts, and is concerned that she will be trouble with the police because of what her husband had done.”

“Why are you coming to me now? Something happened? What?”

“That woman,” said Ju. “She came to me last night and told me if I did not tell her where the jewels were hidden, she would have the ashes of Ma and our son dug up and fed to the fish.”

“Who was this?”

Ju did not answer.

“Look at me,” said DeGrace, donning his actor’s voice. “I won’t lie to you. You could be charged as an accessory

but that may not be a bridge we have to cross.”

Ma Ju lifted her head and dabbed a tear that ran down her right cheek. Mimi fed her another tissue and stroked her hand. “What do you mean? It might not be a bridge we need to cross?”

“If you can provide evidence about all the others involved in this enterprise, perhaps Detective Hilkers might be persuaded to help.”

“What does she need to do?” asked Mimi.

“Ju, were you ever present when all the individuals in this group met with your husband?”

Ju shook her head. “One would come, and a day or two later, another would come, and then a few days later, another. They all asked Ma where he had hidden the jewels. I stayed out of sight but could see the person who was threatening Ma, and I could see and hear them as clearly as I see you now.”

“Could you remember what was said?”

Ju nodded. She had reached inside her handbag to find her cellphone. “I recorded them every time they came.” Then, after a pause, “that woman has the heart of a wolf.”

Breakfast at The Empire was always an event for DeGrace. It starts with his waiter bringing him a special coffee – an arrangement the other waiters knew about and ignored by the manager.

Qing Wu was already waiting for us at DeGrace’s favourite table – the one next to the wall and close to the open kitchen. Her dark eyes widened as DeGrace’s waiter brought him one of his coffees without a word.

“They seem to know you here,” she said, looking around at the crowd of businessmen and well heeled hotel guests at the other tables.

“They should. I’ve been coming here for 30 odd years.”

DeGrace nodded to his waiter and asked him to bring his guest a tea. He returned a few minutes later with a cherry wood tea chest. She made her selection and leaned forward.

“Thank you for your call, Qing Wu.”

“Before we begin, Mr. DeGrace, I want you to know that I am here at the request of someone, who shall remain nameless, who asked me to assist you in your investigations.”

Like Qing Wu, DeGrace didn’t like small talk and went straight to the point. “You and I are on the same team, Qing Wu, and I believe we both feel the same way about wrong-doing and wrong-doers.”

Qing Wu nodded, her face as expressionless as her voice.

“I need to talk to you about Xiaohuan and the people you work with at the consulate.”

Qing Wu sat back. She felt uneasy about discussing this with him but his concerns about Xiaohuan echoed in her head. At the same time, she didn’t feel comfortable talking about her countrymen to an outlier.

DeGrace studied her face, not really sure how to ask what needed to be asked. “It has come to my attention that Xiaohuan’s life is in danger from someone at the consulate.”

“I have also heard those words and have launched an investigation on my own into the backgrounds of everyone at the consulate.

“I have finished my investigation of the backgrounds on everyone at the consulate as well as their outside contacts, and can say with every confidence that no one at the consulate would dream of harming Xiaohuan. They all love her.”

You could see the relief in DeGrace’s face. Turning to another matter, do you know a very rich and powerful businessman in Shanghai by the name of Wong?”

Qing Wu glanced at the other tables before responding.

“Why do you ask?”

I have a very uneasy feeling that he may be somehow involved in all this, including the grave openings.”

“I do not know the man, of course,” she said in a voice just above a whisper. “But I can tell you that he is not someone to trifle with. He is without conscience, and has succeeded where others have failed by eliminating his enemies.”

She paused to see how DeGrace was reacting. “I do not know this first hand, of course. One thing I can tell you. His son was recently killed in a car accident a few months ago. It has devastated him, I understand.

“One thing more, Mr. DeGrace. You will find this out, sooner or later. I was sent here by Xiaohuan’s father.”

She paused to take a sip of tea and let her revelation sink in. “He discovered that someone had been hired to kill his daughter. That is all I can tell you.”

“Could you ask Xiaohaun’s father to call me at my home number within an hour. It is 9.30 now. I must leave for the dim sum restaurant for our gathering by 11. I would like to talk to him before I leave for the unmasking of Xiaohaun’s would-be murderer.”

The other piece of the puzzle fell into place when we returned home to pick up Xiaohuan and Ma Ju and her friend, Mimi.

The phone started ringing the moment we opened the front door. I didn’t wait to take off my raincoat and picked up the call on the third ring. It was for DeGrace, who motioned me to listen on the extension.

“But why, Mr. Jiang?” said DeGrace about the attempts on Xiaohuan’s life.

“I understand that you heard that Wong Jaw-Long has lost his son in a terrible auto accident. For some reason, he blames me for his death.”

“There must be a reason, no matter how convoluted,” said DeGrace.

“There is.” Jiang paused. “You may not know that I am in charge of China’s internal security. Wong’s son was charged with the murder of his girlfriend. Wong did everything in his power to get me to intervene and stop the proceedings against his son. I couldn’t do anything. He was clearly guilty but Wong somehow arranged to have him freed on bail. His son was killed in a terrible auto accident about a month later. He blamed it all on me, and swore to have my daughter killed in retribution.

“Your daughter is safe now.”

“For the time being. It was one of the reasons why she was hurried out of the country, ostensibly on a concert tour in the West. A man with Wong’s wealth would have no problem enlisting the services of 1,000 assassins if need be.”

DeGrace didn’t respond.

“But this time, I think he may have met his match.”

CHAPTER 32

DeGrace entered the private room off the main dining room of the dim sum restaurant with Xiaohuan on his arm. The others had already arrived and were sitting at four large round tables in the centre of the room, and stood as soon as they saw her. The buzz of excited voices rose as everyone asked after her health, and wished her long life. Everything stopped when she began coughing violently. Her face was pale, thinner, and the anxious look that haunted her eyes for days surfaced again.

The air of expectancy returned as we took our seats. All eyes riveted on DeGrace, who sat next to Xiaohuan and

Consul General Zhang. Yang Jie was seated on the other side of Xiaohuan.

It was quite clear it was DeGrace’s meeting, even though it had been called by the consul general. Just about everyone connected with the case, including Xiaohuan’s boyfriend; Hui, the reporter; the Buddhist nun; Hilkers; lawyer Hu; Deng; Nie; Rigby; Beauchemin; the Wongs; Ma Ju; her friend, Mimi; Master Tang; and his friend, Benson Hum; even the falun gong protester, looking younger, thinner and eager.

“Now what?” Deng, sitting at the table to our right, felt DeGrace had somehow let him down. “Why don’t –“

“Stop.” There was no mistaking the imperial tone in Xiaohuan’s voice. “If it were not for this man, I would probably be dead now. No more.”

Deng looked away, the muscles in his cheeks tightening as he set his mouth.

The door opened and Seven waiters waiters emerged carrying two dishes each. The smell of freshly cooked white rice floated in with them, along with lobster, beef and chicken. The noodles that came with the lobster were particular favourites of Deng, who smiled when he saw them.

“Thank you, Miss Xiaohuan,” said DeGrace. “You make too much of my efforts.”Then, standing to face the group: “I am pleased to tell you all that we now know the identities of the people responsible for disturbing the graves of your loved ones. They are with us today and will be in custody by the time our little gathering is over.”

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” said Hu. DeGrace smiled at her. “You and vos amis will understand everything very soon. Let me start by observing that this case looked deceptively simple – at least at the beginning – but it turned out to be anything but. I am still not sure I have all the facts. The problem was that too many people had an axe to grind, including many of you in this

room, even though everyone appears genuinely upset over the opening of the graves.”

The noise from the main dining room rushed in like a wind, with waiters bearing small round containers of dim sum favourites.

“Whatever it is, for the love of God, get to the point,” said Deng. He glanced at Xiaohuan, who ignored him.

“Including you, Mr. Deng,” said DeGrace in a raised voice.

“If this is just a way to shift the spotlight from your failure….”

DeGrace studied Deng for a few seconds before responding. “Then perhaps you won’t mind telling us about your connections in Beijing.”

“I don’t see –“

“Humour me.”

“I have a few. Not many. Most are business related but they’re in Shanghai. Not Beijing.” He wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. He didn’t like being the centre of attention the way DeGrace did.

“And your sister? What about her?”

“My sister?”

“Yes, Miss Liling’s mother.”

Yang Jie, suddenly alert, learned forward on his chair. Even the consul general was taken back.

“Why do you assume that?”

“Your physonomie.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry. It is a French word. It means not just the look and structure of your face but your family/ancestor resemblance. I do not know the English word.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“That there is an undeniable resemblance between you and Miss Liling.”

“Her mother is not my sister. It is her father. I am her

uncle.”

Hilkers wondered why he didn’t make the connection before. He had seen the locket, and didn’t pay too much attention to it at the time.

Suddenly Yang Jie understood everything, including why DeGrace had asked him to have the list of graves translated. According to the story surrounding the opening of the graves, the list was buried in one of the graves. Yang Jie suddenly had an epiphany. The excitement was building inside him. The list was in a grave of someone connected to Deng.

Deng still looked like a bad actor in a Chinese opera but with surprising, unpredictable depths. He rubbed his chin and wondered whether DeGrace had been stringing him along.

“I am sure you have all made the same leap of logic by now. I see that Detective Yang Jie has.”

DeGrace paused to glance at Zhang, who took the occasion to announce “lift chop sticks”, the Chinese equivalent of bon appétit.

“This is probably a good time to talk about what the thieves were looking for,” said Zhang, who went on to talk about the conspiracy and the fabled list.

”We should have been told about this earlier,” said Hu in a voice she reserved for clients. “Perhaps we could have helped but as it was, we had no say in the matter.”

“It was really not that simple – as the conspirators soon found out, leaving them and ourselves, with the question still unanswered. Where is this fabled list? And perhaps more to the point, did it ever exist?” added DeGrace.

“At the outset, I felt this list must exist for it to hold such mystical powers over the lives of so many people, but learned later on that no such list ever existed. It was concocted by the gravediggers as a smoke screen to hide what they were really looking for.”

Yang Jie watched every movement of DeGrace’s head, the way he spoke with his eyes, as he gradually fell under his spell as the rest of us.

“It was there all along – but we will get to that after we unravel a few other threads.” DeGrace took a sip of Chinese tea without thinking, and made a face. Yang Jie smiled.

Hu’s and Nie’s faces relaxed.

“It was my good friend, Detective Hilkers, who supplied the answer, had I been really listening.”

You could hear a mosquito hover in the silence. Nie’s eyes, like lasers, zeroed in on DeGrace’s face. Hui gripped the edge of his chair. Hilkers, in the centre of it all, looked puzzled.

“The detective mentioned to me in the midst of the grave openings and Mr. Ma’s murder, that he was being asked to investigate the theft of four large jewelry thefts that had a Toronto connection. The request came from Interpol, which suggested the jewels had somehow ended up in Canada.”

He paused, like an actor waiting for applause, watching everyone’s eyes follow the movements of his hands.

“As I said, I didn’t pay too much attention to it at the time but later, when I checked the travel arrangements of some of the main players here today over the past two years, there appeared an interesting correlation. Each had been in the places, where the robberies occurred but not at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. DeGrace,” said Zhang, “but what does this have to do with the grave openings?”

“As we know now, consul general, the people behind the grave openings concocted the story about the list to mask what they were really looking for.”

“But if they had stolen the jewels, as you suggest, why would they not know where the jewels were? And why in a graveyard?” said Zhang.

“Who says they were in the graveyard. What if they were hidden in the urns containing the ashes in the cemetery’s mausoleum? If I am not mistaken, there is both an indoor mausoleum and an outdoor columbarian at Tranquil Valley.”

“You haven’t mentioned any names,” said Nie.

“That will keep for the moment,” said DeGrace, looking at the faces staring at him. Then, in a different tone: “Now we come to you, Mr. Rigby, and your role in all this. I realized very early that without your implicit co-operation, the nocturnal activities of this group would have been impossible.”

Rigby was about to say something but was stopped by DeGrace’s upraised hand. “I am not finished. You may talk for as long as you like when I am done. In fact, I encourage it.” And then, turning to the others: “That was why he hired his two nephews to patrol the cemetery at night. He knew he would be able to buy their co-operation and silence ….”

“I’m still here,” said Rigby, “in case you’re wondering.”

“What was the point?” said Zhang.

Nie stirred uneasily and began wiping his hands with his handkerchief. His dark eyes never left DeGrace’s face for an instant.

“To prove how vigilant they were – and throw DeGrace off the scent – Mr. Rigby identified Yang Jie, among a package of photos I showed him. It was also clear he did not know who Mr. Yang was, or his role in all this. But at the same time, he does not want trouble. Who knows what he saw, or what trouble he could cause. So he lets him off with a warning.”

“I don’t know what you’ve got up your sleeve but if you think you’re going to pin all this on me, you’d better think again.” Rigby had risen, his face flushed and anxious.

“And then, there is that incredibly large wad of $100 bills stuffed in your filing cabinet. Let me hazard a guess

that the money came from one or more of individuals in this room.”

Rigby cracked his knuckles. “I can explain all that – if you’ll hear me out.”

“Calm down, Mr. Rigby.”

DeGrace caught one of the passing waiters by the arm, and asked him to get him a fork to eat the omelette the chef had prepared for him.

“I am sure you have all wondered why no one ever caught the grave robbers in the act,” DeGrace went on. “The most obvious answer – the foxes were guarding the hen house. Not merely guarding but actually doing the digging.”

Deng sat back and decided to let things unfold on their own. Besides, the way things were going, who knew what he might uncover about Nie.

“I don’t mind telling you I did not arrive at that conclusion immediately. I was confused by two things. The cemetery is clearly visible from the highway. Why didn’t anyone driving by not notice what was going on. Especially on nights of a full moon. And second, Mr. Rigby’s unrequited passion for the cello, which he likes to play in the middle of the –“

Nie rose suddenly. “How much longer is this going to take?” he said, glancing at his wristwatch. I have a call with one of the ministers from Beijing this morning. You’re everything they say you are. I would love to stick around and see how this plays out but –”

“Un moment, s’il vous plaît, M. Nie. This concerns you. In a major way.”

Nie glanced absently at his wristwatch and tried to smile.

“Sit down, Nie Yow Zu.” Yang Jie sounded like a policeman about to make an arrest.

DeGrace did not miss the smile hiding in the corners of

Deng’s mouth as he went on. “I will be brief. Besides, you hold a missing piece of the puzzle. I am correct, am I not, Mr. Nie?”

For the first time, Nie looked uncertain. His jacket, always looking made just for him, showed wrinkles, and his wavy hair, seemed out of place.

DeGrace, who could take great offence at being interrupted, studied Nie for a few seconds before continuing. “We were talking about Mr. Rigby’s passion for the cello, and why the grave robbers escaped detection, even on moonlight nights. Perhaps you could enlighten us, mon ami?” said DeGrace with a smile as he turned to Rigby.

“I thought I explained that – I practise the cello during the night. It helps to pass the time.”

“And drowning out the sound of the sounds of the grave robbers at work as well.” DeGrace paused to look at Rigby’s fingernails. “I see you also paint to pass the time.”

Rigby’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“Call it curiosity. In particular, why there was black paint underneath your fingernails, the same black colour of the paint we found in the storage shed.”

Rigby tightened his lips, his face drawn and frozen.

“What about it?” DeGrace wasn’t giving up.

“You seem to have all the answers. Why ask me?”

“Probably to hide the activities of the grave diggers,” said Wong Ming, trying to be helpful, and thankful not to be the object of DeGrace’s questions. “At night, a black screen would have hidden what the gravediggers were doing.”

“Conclusion?” DeGrace scanned the sea of faces around the table, and sat back in his chair.

“Lawyer Hu will know,” Wong burst out.

“Why even go through this charade?” said Rigby, licking the bottom of his sandy-coloured mustache. “You already know the answer, and itching to show us how smart you are. So tell us and get it over with.”

DeGrace cocked his head and studied Rigby, carefully noting the superior manner in the way he had begun to hold himself.

It was Dang who broke the silence. “Whatever it is, will it put this business to rest finally?”

“I think I can promise you that, and a couple more surprises while we are at it. Now, getting back to Mr. Rigby, it is quite clear that he and his nephews are up to their armpits in this business, if not as agents of this cabal, then principal players.”

“I hope you can prove all this.”

DeGrace smiled. “We will return to this later, mes amis. Let us now turn our attention to Mr. Nie – a smooth-talking, handsome rogue in the clothing of a dandy.”

Nie couldn’t help smiling. He had never heard anyone talk quite like that, and could sense his confidence returning.

“I amuse you, I see, Mr. Nie. Then, perhaps, you won’t mind telling us about your business associates in Beijing and Shanghai.”

“I’m not sure I understand –“

“Come, come, Mr. Nie. You are being coy with us.”

Nie’s face stiffened as his guard went up again.

“Permit me to spell it out for you. I am talking about your associates in Beijing and Shanghai, who helped you obtain a patent in China on the medical procedure that had already been patented in Canada and the U.S. by a company owned by your good friend, Mr. Deng. And le Bon Dieu knows what else.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with the matter at hand,” said Nie after deciding how to respond.

“These are the same people behind the grave openings, and you are here at their behest. N’est-ce-pas? But that is not the real question. That is, what did you promise in return for their help?”

Nie was about to say something but suddenly stopped, and decided to look DeGrace down instead.

“Silens dat consentium.” DeGrace intoned one of his favourite Latin legal phrases, suggesting that Nie’s failure to respond implied agreement.

I suspected Nie didn’t have a clue what DeGrace had just said but it was clear to him that it was time to go.

Yang Jie, an inch or two shorter than Nie, rose and put his hand on Nie’s shoulder, and guided him back to his chair. “It can wait.”

“Unfortunately,” DeGrace went on, “Mr. Nie is not the only person connected with this group. I suspect the others involved in this little adventure did not even know each other.”

The air, like a thin sheet of ice in early fall, was ready to crack under the growing tension.

“The Wongs, for example, who would suspect. I began to wonder when Mr. Wong became agitated when I asked him how long he had been in Canada.”

Wong glanced at his wife and tried to make himself look smaller.

“They are a deceptive couple, these two. Meek, self-effacing on the surface but …” DeGrace’s voice trailed off as the sun suddenly came out of hiding and streamed through the window, discreetly positioned above our heads.

“As I said at the beginning, everyone one of you has an axe to grind. That includes you, Huang Chen Wu,” said DeGrace, stopping Xiaohuan’s boyfriend, who was about to protest. “You are in it up to your neck.”

“But not the way you think.”

“Your interest in Miss Xiaohuan is not entirely romantic, I agree.”

Xiaohuan’s eyes widened and she stared at Huang, hand over her mouth. “You owe me an explanation,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“My love for you is very real. If you believe anything, believe that.”

DeGrace didn’t wait to hear Xiaohuan’s reply. “And your relationship with Liling? It was your ring we found at the fire site, was it not?”

Huang ignored DeGrace’s comment and turned to Xiaohuan.

“I’m not sure what to believe anymore,” she said, her voice as sad as the look in her eyes.

“Trust me. I’ll tell you everything. Just not now.”

“Why should I? Everyone, it seems, was right about you except me. They all warned me but I believed you. Deep down I knew – except I did not want to believe – that you were just another of those Shanghainese who like to stand on two pots.”

Zhang could feel the pressure oozing away. Yang Jie loved cigars, and would have loved to take one out now to celebrate but decided against it.

“Your answer will have to wait, Miss Xiaohuan. Right now it is time we end our little drama. Before I do that, I should like an answer to something that has confused me and still confuses me.” He turned to Yang Jie. “The role of the falun gong protestor in all this.”

“You seem to think I somehow know.”

“You are the most logical person,” said DeGrace, looking at Yang Jie over his glasses.

“What are you suggesting, Mr. DeGrace?” said Zhang, wondering where this was coming from. Worse still, he didn’t want to think where this might lead. “Before you jump to conclusions, this lady has been at our gate long before Yang Jie arrived in Canada.”

DeGrace raised his eyebrows and smiled at Yang Jie. “What about it?”

“They warned me but like our friends here, I underestimated you.” A pause. “I won’t in the future.” Yang Jie held

his breath. “Lo Xin Yi is a member of my team in Shanghai.”

She nodded and smiled at everyone.

“I was wrapping up a case and sent her on ahead. Disguising herself as a falun gong member was her idea to monitor the activities of everyone coming and leaving the consulate. At that stage, we couldn’t be sure who might be involved in this affair. No one knew who she was until this minute, not even the consul general.”

Zhang gathered himself up in his chair. “I hope you’re not –“

“Absolutely not,” said Yang Jie in a measured voice. “It’s how I handle all my investigations.”

I couldn’t help smiling. Just like DeGrace. Both of them suspected everyone.

The falun gong lady was sitting at the second table to our right and smiling.

“I have wanted to talk to you for some time,” said DeGrace, surprised how young she looked in different clothes and makeup. She looked 10 years older at her post outside the consulate.

She glanced at Yang Jie for guidance. “How may I help you?”

“Look at the faces you see around you. Were any of them frequent visitors to the consulate after hours?”

“Only one. Except I did not know the identity of that person until now.” She paused to look at Yang Jie again.

“That lady there.” She pointed to the Venerable Wei Chi, the Buddhist nun. “Except, she was dressed in dark robes and always came at night.”

Everyone, including Yang Jie, turned to look at the Venerable Wei Chi.

Yang Jie was as surprised as the rest of us. “What about it, sifu?”

“I really can’t talk about it, Yang Jie.”

“Is there is a reason?” DeGrace was still unsure how to

address her.

“I gave my word.”

“To whom, sifu?” Yang Jie said in a softer voice.

“Miss Xiaohuan’s life may depend on it,” added DeGrace to reinforce the point.

“But that danger is over, surely.”

“I’m afraid not, sifu. And I think you know this.”

“But Jiang Xiaohuan seems to much better now.”

“Can you at least tell us what you were doing at the consulate?”

Venerable Wei Chi saw the alarm in Yang Jie’s eyes and knew at that moment he was not going to let it go. “I was visiting Jiang Xiaohuan. She needed comfort, and I was pleased to give it to her.”

Xiaohuan smiled at the nun.

”I gather you did not come at the request of Miss Xiaohuan,” said Yang Jie.

“No.”

“Someone here? This is important These people may have failed to kill her so far but perhaps not the next time.”

Yang Jie appealed to her with his eyes.

The Venerable Wei Chi didn’t respond immediately. “The request was made in confidence,” she said finally. “All I can say that it came from people who care about her.”

“What about you, Miss Xiaohuan? Do you know?”

“Yes. Lawyer Hu and Nie Yow Zu. They visited me at the consulate. Only once. They said my father asked them to look after me.”

“And your good father, little one? What does he say?”

“He does not know who they are.”

“Yet you continued to receive Venerable Wei Chi,” observed Yang Jie.

“She is a holy person and means me no harm. She gave me great comfort when I needed it most.”

Yang Jie could smell the end of the case. “Did you men-

tion your father’s comments about Hu Tzuhu Xian and Nie You Zu to her?”

“No. But it was the reason why I wanted Mr. DeGrace around me. I knew I could trust him, no matter what.”

Yang Jie turned to Hu and Nie. “What about it?”

“I am sure Miss Jiang must have us mixed up with someone else. All I have heard so far is hearsay, and you know as well as I do how far that would get in the courts,” said Hu in a cool, professional, unruffled voice.

“You’re forgetting me,” said Venerable Wei Chi. “Now that Jiang Xiaohuan has let the cat out of the bag, it is no longer a secret. If you had not gone to her and identified yourselves as confidents of her father, then I would still be obligated to keep your confidence. But you broke your own secret. And make no mistake about it, either of you, that I am under no obligation to become a party to the evil you were brewing for this young woman.”

Nie was about to say something but Hu silenced him with a finger to her lips.

“That pretty well wraps things up then,” said Zhang, laying down his chop sticks.

“Far from it, consul general.”

Now what, Yang Jie wondered.

“There are still a few loose threads, not to mention the identities of the murderers,” said DeGrace, looking around the table. “What about it, Mr. Hui?”

“About what?”

“Your role in this little drama.” DeGrace loved half-question/half answers, “starting with the grave openings, and the latest attempt on Miss Xiaohuan’s life. You never seem to be too far from these developments.”

“I’m a reporter, Mr. DeGrace, but then, you and your friend already know that. It’s my business to be where the news is, and you all know, I’ve been assigned to cover these incidents. So get it out of your head that I can be used to add

another notch on your gun.” He reached for another piece of barbecue pork with his chop sticks.

“How much did Mr. Hui pay you, Mr. Rigby?” said DeGrace in a sudden shift in tone and manner.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying but for the record, I’ve never met this gentleman before.”

“That was not the impression we were left with when we visited your office two days ago.”

Rigby looked puzzled. For an instant, he looked as though he was being tricked into something.

“The Chinese newspaper on your filing cabinet. You told us that a reporter from that newspaper – Mr. Hui’s newspaper as it turns out – had visited your office and interviewed you.”

Rigby didn’t trust himself to say anything. His bright hazel eyes looked tired and faded.

“I think, mes amis, we can take it as a given.”

“Xiaohuan began coughing violently. She pointed to her handbag and Hui reached into it and handed her the puffer.

“And that,” said DeGrace in a rising voice, “is how these assassins planned to murder Miss Xiaohuan – and almost succeeded, too, if it had not been for DeGrace.”

The consul general studied DeGrace, who was sitting directly under one of the recessed lights. The balding spot on the consul general’s head shone like polished brass. Zhang stroked his chin and glanced at Yang Jie for a clue.

“The puffer. That’s how these people planned to kill Miss Xiaohuan during her concert. Her lungs are her most vulnerable part of her body, and by switching her puffer for one they had filled with poison, she would actually administer it herself. At first, you may recall, we thought it may have been something on the yellow roses, especially those given to her by Mr. Hui. She loved to inhale the scent from the roses and bury her face in every bouquet she was pre-

sented. But nothing was found.”

Hui continued to eat throughout DeGrace’s explanation, harbouring a secret smile in his eyes.

“What made you think of the puffer?” said Zhang. “And how did they switch her puffer? We were with her every instant before and during the concert. There would have been no other opportunity.”

“Not quite. Think back, consul general. Do you recall what happened when Miss Xiaohuan was getting ready to leave?”

Xiaohuan’s eyes glittered with discovery. “I couldn’t find my puffer. Remember, and I was getting ready to have a panic attack when Mr. Hui spotted it on the piano and passed it to me.”

We all turned to Hui at once. “Whose idea was it, Mr. Hui?”

The door opened and one of Hilkers’ detectives entered, carrying a large white envelope. “It’s addressed to Jiang Xiaohuan. One of the officers found it outside the door.”

Yang Jie was on his feet in seconds.

Too late. She was already ripping the end off the envelope. Yang Jie’s face blanched and the rest of us held our breaths. His hand shook as he reached across her chest and grabbed it before she could see the contents.

“Don’t touch it,” said Hilkers who, had quietly resumed his seat at our table. He leaned back, offering DeGrace a thumb’s up.

Yang Jie was on his feet in seconds, hauling Zhang’s chair away from the table.

Zhang straightened his glasses and glared at Yang Jie. “Have you lost your mind?”

DeGrace, who had also risen from his chair, helped Zhang to his feet and nodded to me to join them.

Hilkers was on the phone. “I’ve asked the bomb squad to come and remove the envelope.”

A few of the people sitting at the other three tables had risen and had started for the door when they were stopped by DeGrace.

“Please keep your seats. Our little show is far from over. The best is yet to come. In the meantime, a special police squad will be here in minutes to remove the envelope that was just delivered to the consul general.”

“What’s so dangerous about the envelope?” said Deng, this time in a different tone.

“Nothing that we know of. We’re just being careful,” said Hilkers.

“In the meantime,” said Yang Jie, “the consul general would like you to join us for a special dessert the chef has created for this occasion.”

Ten minutes later, two officers from the bomb squad scooped up the envelope and departed by the time most of us had finished the dessert. DeGrace stood and waited for the conversation to subside. “It is time, mes amis, for us to return to our mutton.”

CHAPTER 33

The dark clouds that had been gathering in the north suddenly turned into a wind-driven rain. One of the waiters entered and closed the windows. Then, an ear-splitting peal of thunder that shook the room. The lights of the chandeliers above our tables flickered briefly, adding to the uneasy feeling that had gradually deepened into an intense atmosphere. Everyone kept glancing at each other, wondering what was coming next. The rattling of a metal dim sum cart outside broke the silence.

”You said there is a murderer amongst us,” said Deng, looking around at the others as if to get their agreement.

“What about it, DeGrace? Or do you plan to keep us in suspense indefinitely?” There was an edge to Deng’s voice that he couldn’t seem to control.

But DeGrace, being DeGrace, was in no hurry. He loved the spotlight and wasn’t about to be hurried by anyone.

“For one reason or another, one Sherlock Holmes mysteries kept ricocheting in my head – The Sign of the Four. Probably because of the scrap of paper we found in the heel of Ma’s shoe. It had someone’s name and four number fours printed on it in Chinese. Then, while tinkering in my workshop a couple days ago, it all came together. Four major

jewel thefts and four people who carried them out.”

“What jewel thefts?” asked Rigby. “I don’t know about the rest of you,” he added, glancing at Hilkers, “but this is the first time I’ve ever heard about it.”

“Four very daring multi-million-dollar jewel thefts were carried out in four cities in different parts of the world.”

“Do you know who these people are?” Deng had a good instinct about things, and he knew that things had suddenly turned in his favour.

“Four names immediately came to mind,” said DeGrace. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “The four people who traveled to the cities where the jewel thefts took place – Hu, Nie, Ma and a fourth party.”

Hu stood up. “This is an absolute lie. If you’re basing your case on the fact that I traveled to the same cities where these robberies took place, you haven’t got much of a case. Nor did I meet with the others you so cavalierly throw out like a bone. There’s no meat on that bone.” Then, in a hard, unemotional voice: “Either have me charged or stop this nonsense now.”

DeGrace bowed his head for a few seconds. He liked to appear humble but Hilkers and I knew better. “You are partially right, Madame. You and your fellow conspirators were not in those cities at the same time when the robberies took place. But Mr. Nie was.”

Hu was on her feet again. “Don’t say one word, Mr. Nie. Being in a city where a robbery took place is hardly proof that you participated in the robbery.”

“I was a bit confused initially because of that. But when I discovered that Mr. Hui had traveled to these cities, and wrote stories about these fabled jewels for his paper, it all began to fit together.”

Zhang was about to speak but was stopped by DeGrace’s upraised hand. “If I am not mistaken, you were about to ask how can all this be when three of the four in-

dividuals were not in those cities when the robberies took place.

“Each of them – Hu, Nie and Ma had a specific job to do. Hui was your unwitting scout. As a reporter, he was given access to where the jewelry collections were locked away – where the safes were located, even managing to take pictures that gave the others a good lay of the land, and, above all, what to expect when it came time to commit the robbery.

“Hui gave his notes and pictures to Hu, who had told him she was collecting his stories. She acted as go-between. She, in turn, gave Hui’s information to Nie. And Nie, it should be noted, did not know Hui or his involvement. After committing the robbery, Nie hid the jewels and informed Hu where they could be found.

“Hu later went to each city and found a new hiding place for them. Nothing, you will note, was left to chance. Not even if someone decided to get greedy and steal them for him or herself. Except....“

Zhang whispered something to Yang Jie and turned back again to DeGrace. “What has this got to do with Ma?”

“Everything. Hear me out. Hu then revealed the new hiding place to Ma, who traveled to each of the cities, collected the jewels, and shipped them to Canada for cutting and resetting.”

Deng shook his head. “Ma was a seller of fruits and vegetables, not a jeweler. And trying to smuggle the jewels through airport security is not that easy these days.”

I glanced at Ma Ju, who had remained impassive throughout DeGrace’s dissertation.

“That is the brilliant part of it all. Ma went to each of the locations to buy fruit and vegetables. I suspect he insisted on checking them before they were exported to Canada, and used that opportunity to insert the jewels inside individual fruits and vegetables, probably identifying each with

a special sticker.”

I glanced at Ma Ju again. Her expression had not changed, and I knew at that instant she had known all along.

“From there, things became a little less clear. Judging by the grave openings, I should think Ma had decided to keep everything for himself. At that point, Hu had to tell Nie about Ma’s involvement. They had him followed and learned that Ma was visiting the graveyard a lot in the evenings, and put two and two together, and concluded he had hidden the jewels in one of the graves.”

Unfortunately, Hu and Nie were getting nowhere, and probably threatened to murder his child if he didn’t turn over the jewels to them. Then, when his son did die, Ma decided he would never give in to them. His wife wanted to go to the police and tell them about Nie threatening to murder her child. She made no secret of it, even to me. Nie and Hu stepped up the pressure on Ma until his death.”

DeGrace suddenly went silent. An old actor’s trick, he once told me. “Or so it would seem.”

“What exactly do you mean by seem?” asked Deng. “And what has that got to do with the murder of my niece?”

DeGrace ignored Deng. “The mastermind behind these robberies sent an enforcer to speed up the process.”

Everyone looked at each other.

DeGrace turned to Zhang. “I initially thought it was Huang Chen Wu, Xiaohuan’s boyfriend, whose ambitions lay elsewhere as it turned out.

“Life unfortunately sometimes throws unexpected curves, and for Hunag, it was his girlfriend, Liling, who, horror of horrors, had become pregnant with his child. Huang could see all his grand plans blow up in his face. He had no intention of killing Xiaohuan, seeing her as his gateway to a life and lifestyle he could only dream of.”

DeGrace watched Huang Chen Wu all the time he was speaking. “Then there is the discovery of Liling’s ring in the

ashes. My mind went immediately to Huang. There is no doubt in my mind that he gave the ring to Liling to keep her silent. Her death would be a great blessing as far as he was concerned.

“But did he kill her? Non, because he was with Miss Xiaohuan at the time Liling was murdered.”

DeGrace paused until the loud clacking of another dim sum metal cart passed our door outside. Huang snorted and let his sunglasses fall to his nose. “I never gave this young lady a ring. In fact, I never even knew her.”

“So you say, Mr. Huang – if, in fact, that is your name,” said DeGrace, glancing at Xiaohuan, whose big dark eyes were filling with tears. “I am truly sorry, little one. This is not how you should have found this out.”

“He’s lieing, Xiaohuan. Did I not keep you safe from that woman in the consulate who was sent to kill you?”

Silence descended like a curtain on a bad play.

Xiaohuan ignored him and moved her chair closer to DeGrace. “You have always been honest with me. What should I do?”

“You already know, little one. You owe your audience only, and those who worship you as a great artist. You do not need to explain yourself, or how you feel to anyone.”

Deng looked at DeGrace and, saw him really for the first time. This was a day he would always remember.

“There’s also the little matter of Mr. Ma to clear up.” Then, turning towards Mrs. Ma: “What did Ma tell you about the jewels and the others involved in the theft?”

Even Hilkers was caught off guard. He should have known by now that you could never trust DeGrace to tell him everything.

Ma Ju recounted that Ma had received a series of visits from three of the conspirators, who threatened him if he did not reveal where he had hidden the jewels in the graveyard, and later, when they came back to threaten her personally.

“That woman,” she said, pointing at Hu, “threatened to feed the ashes of my husband and my son to the fish.”

“She speaks utter nonsense, and you know it,” said Hu, looking DeGrace squarely in the face.

DeGrace ignored her comment and turned to Ma Ju. “For some time, I must tell you, the good detective and I suspected that your husband was still alive.”

“What is wrong with you,” said Ma Ju. “You saw his body as I did, and you saw it again at the funeral home before the burning.”

“I saw a body. We have only your word that it was your husband.”

“We’ve already had this discussion, DeGrace, but why do you now think his face was disfigured?” interjected Hilkers.

”This puzzled me for some time as well. I thought initially it was to make us wonder if the body was really Ma – but as the case unfolded, I realized it was more of an act of anger, a symbolic loss of face, so as to speak, and perhaps not even connected with the grave openings. And for Mr. Ma, a literal loss of face.

“Who killed Ma?” DeGrace paused for a few seconds to study the faces at the three other tables. “Let me start by saying it was not the same person, who tried to throw suspicion on Xiaohuan, and who was behind all the attempts on her life.”

Eveyone seemed to hold their breath at the same time. Yang Jie, who had been staring at DeGrace, coughed discreetly. Outside, two women with a portable CD player, were trying to sing along with Good Night Irene as they passed by our door and down the corridor to the main restaurant.

“It was something André Beauchemin, remarked to me that put me on the right path,” he said with a nod to Beauchemin, who seemed surprised.

“And now for the nitty-gritties, as my friend, Detective Sergeant Hilkers is fond of saying. It appears the rich and powerful businessman we mentioned earlier sent a trusted agent to Canada to find the jewels and to carry out Xiaohuan’s murder. This individual was also his main enforcer.”

Everyone looked at Xiaohuan, who had been looking at her lap throughout DeGrace’s performance.

“This businessman was also the mastermind behind these million-dollar jewelry robberies.“

“It’s Nie, isn’t it?” Deng couldn’t contain himself.

Nie shook his head. “You’re really off base. All of you.” Nie decided it was time to defend himself. “If you’re suggesting I was involved in some way that the murder of Li Liling, you’re way off base. I really didn’t know her.”

I checked out Hu while Nie was speaking. She showed no signs of being even remotely concerned.

DeGrace kept nodding as Nie was speaking. “I admit it had occurred to me as well – but then I recalled something lawyer Hu told us when Liling was arrested – that she had left China because she feared for her life, that she was pursued by a rich man, who had fallen in love with her.”

DeGrace reached down and picked up a cup of tea by mistake and took a big mouthful, shivering as he swallowed it.

Yang Jie watched Nie, who was wiping his forehead with a pressed white handkerchief. DeGrace looked at Deng and shook his head.

Huang Chen Wu saw it as an opportunity to jump in. “I told you all that I didn’t kill Liling. Yes, I told her I was not going to marry her. Baby or no baby. But I didn’t want to see her die,” he said, pleading with Xiaohuan with his eyes.

Xiaohuan turned away. She had had enough.

“Why?” Deng was in an unforgiving mood and made no attempt to hide the hate in his voice.

“Because,” said DeGrace, “she was the enforcer, who

had been sent here to recover the jewels, and had identified herself as such to the person who killed her. When Liling threatened this individual and suggested they meet at the cemetery, the killer went to the meeting with no other purpose but to kill her, drag her body to the cemetery shed, and set it on fire to cover up the crime.

“That leaves only one person – the person who escaped our attention throughout the entire investigation.” He looked at the second table, where Ma Ju sat with her hands folded on the table.

Ma Ju responded with a tight-lipped silence. No one moved. She just stared ahead, as though DeGrace were talking about someone else.

“Et bien, Madame Ma?”

She responded by folding her arms and staring back at him, mouth firmly shut.

“Then let me put the pieces together for you and start by saying you completely took me in. There was no question in my mind, then and now, that you were truly grieved over the loss of your son, and probably always will be. My mistake was assuming your grief was for your son only.

“Once I understood that, I began wondering why you appeared to me unmoved by the death of your husband.”

“Don’t say another word,” said Hu. “Let me talk to you first.”

“I warned him,” Ju said suddenly in a voice of someone who was talking through a ventriloquist. “I begged him to give them all the jewels, and when they killed my son, it was too late. And there was nothing anyone could do to change that. I decided then to make them pay for it.” She suddenly stopped and looked down at her folded hands. No one said a word for almost a full minute. Yang Jie coughed again.

“When Ma came home and told me he was going to meet them,” she said, looking at Hu and Nie, “I told him it was too late. He left any way. That’s when I decided to

follow him. I saw him talk to the Shanghai detective, and a bit later, a young woman. They seemed to be arguing when suddenly she took a gun from her purse and shot Ma between the eyes and again in the face as he lay at her feet. I wanted to kill her.”

She paused to take a deep breath and looked directly at DeGrace for the first time. “It’s the only thing I regret. But I am happy you found out who these animals are.” Then, after another pause. “Above all else, she was responsible for Ma’s death.”

“And Liling?” asked Hilkers.

“She was the enforcer sent here to recover the jewels. She called me a couple days later and asked me to meet her at the graveyard. I went, if only to avenge my son’s death.”

She paused to look squarely at DeGrace. “I knew what she wanted, and would kill me on the spot if I did not reveal where Ma hid them.

“I had Ma’s gun with me, and shot her between the eyes as soon as she opened her mouth.”

CHAPTER 34

“There were enough explosives in that envelope to blow Xiaohuan’s hands off and disfigure her forever,” Hilkers announced as I served tea to the consul general and Yang Jie later that afternoon.

We were back at the house, sitting in DeGrace’s office. The consul general looked really relaxed for the first time since we had met.

“It’s still not over,” said Hilkers. “Xiaohuan still needs to be watched night and day.”

DeGrace nodded. Zhang wasn’t convinced. The arrests of Hu, Nie, Rigby, Huang Chen Wu and Ma Ju closed the book on a very disagreeable episode as far as he was concerned. The consul general had only one question – who sent the bomb? He raised it with DeGrace.

“Liling, of course, via Hu, although I suspect Hu had no idea what was in the envelope.”

“Yes,” said Hilkers after a few seconds. “It all makes sense.” I could see him make the leap in the sudden flash of realization.”

“And Hu Tzuhu Xian. Are you really convinced about her role in all this?” There was disappointment in Zhang’s voice. “She is a lawyer, a very good one by all accounts, and widely respected for her work on the head tax file. Her ar-

rest will rock the community.”

DeGrace took aa big mouthful of coffee. I knew by the glint in his eyes it included a couple shots of Cognac. He turned in his chair and looked out the lead-paned window for a few seconds. “I cannot change or condone what she did, consul general.”

Zhang understood immediately. “You are probably right. Perhaps, it is the best solution. “Such a waste. And what made you connect her with this group?”

“It all goes back to the Sign of the Four, or, in our case, the four fours found on the scrap of paper in Ma’s shoe. The delicious irony of it all would not have been missed by the mastermind behind all this.”

“Explain to me again about the Sign of the Four, said Zhang.

DeGrace described the Sherlock Holmes mystery of the Sign of the Four. “The plot was different but the four got me thinking. I don’t mind telling you that scrap of paper gave me a lot of sleepless nights. It all came together two nights ago. That scrap of paper was their ID, in case they had to contact another member of the team.

“Huang?”

“Your instincts were right about him the first time. That is why I had Yang Jie ask his associates in Shanghai about him. We learned that he was part of a triad. Ironically, it was Hui who warned me about him initially.”

“What finally convinced you?” Hilkers still wasn’t sure who we were talking about.

“Miss Xiaohuan’s disappearance from the consulate. Huang’s master stroke was getting her to leave the consulate, and go into hiding with him, with a view to gain her confidence and win her over, and then, the death, as luck would have it, of Xiaohuan’s maid, Ping Li, at the same time.”

“In case you don’t know, Huang is also part of the Big

Belly Wong family. It’s just pronounced slightly different,” said Zhang with a smile.

“Anything else?” For DeGrace, this was the most delicious part of every investigation.

“I meant to ask about Li Ping,” said Zhang. “She seemed such a delicate creature and so dedicated to Xiaohuan….”

“She was – but after being pursued relentlessly by Huang, I suspect she became a willing confederate. He probably promised her marriage. Her role was to show that Xiaohuan was still alive but in the clutches of kidnappers, who planned to ask millions for her ransom.”

“Anthing else?”

“I’d like one of your special coffees,” said Hilkers. The consul general decided to stick to his tea.

“I have a question?”

DeGrace looked at me for a few seconds. “About Beauchemin?”

I nodded. He always was able to guess what I was thinking before I knew myself.

“Beauchemin was probably retained by Wong JawLong to find out what I was doing. I would have thought that was self-evident.”

“What about Wong Jaw-Long?” said Zhang. “Is he the mystery man behind the jewel robberies you keep talking about?”

“If it is, I’d say it would be next to impossible to indict him on any charge. Unless we have iron-clad proof he was pulling the strings, he gets off scot-free,” said Hilkers.

I knew what DeGrace was going to say before he cleared his throat – an old adage given to me by a mentor of mine many years ago. DeGrace adapted to his own use: “Don’t wish anyone ill luck. Life will take care of that for you.”

“I’m still puzzled by one thing. Ma’s name. Was it Ma or Wong?” said Hilkers.

“Ah, the $64 million question. It was Ma.”

“Then why did he identify himself as Wong when he called you from the restaurant? Wait … wait. I think I got it. It was his way of giving us a clue to the identity of his killer.” Hilkers crossed his arms with an air of satisfaction.

“You seem a little disappointed with how things worked out,” said Yang Jie.

DeGrace thought for a moment. “I am sorry for Mrs. Ma, and the evil forces that beset her over the loss of her child and husband.”

“I don’t know, DeGrace. There are thousands of women who lose their children but don’t go out and kill the doctors who failed to save them or take their revenge on a killer. They usually leave that to us.,” said Hilkers.

“She was a stranger in a strange land with no family to console her, other than her husband and, perhaps, her friend, Mimi. But as far her husband was concerned, it was his actions that brought about the murder of their child. I hope the courts take this into consideration when she goes to trial.”

“You old softie,” said Hilkers with a laugh.

DeGrace glanced in my direction, as if daring me to comment. I turned away.

“What made you suspect her?” said Yang Jie.

“She visited my home on two occasions with no valid reason to do so. Once, she said, was to hide something, and the other, to cook us dinner. “

“But why? That’s like putting your head in the mouth of a lion,” said Yang Jie.

“I think she felt that by becoming my friend, we would never suspect her when she murdered Lai Liling.”

DeGrace glanced at me, and I wisely pretended I didn’t see it.

“This has been very educational. You’re really quite incredible, Mr. DeGrace. I’m not sure what we would have done without you,” said Zhang, rising from DeGrace’s red

leather chair and extending his hand.

“One last question, if you don’t mind,” said Zhang “Who is this mysterious person you keep referring to?”

Hilkers looked at me before speaking. We both knew of his obsession with Le Comte de Saint-Germain.

“A master jewel thief,” said DeGrace. And then, as an afterthought: “I would like to know more about this rich businessman in Shanghai. Perhaps you could help me with that.”

Zhang nodded. “I would be happy to.” Then, turning to Hilkers: “What about Hui?”

“I’ve already talked to the Crown. Hui was duped by these people, who appealed to his vanity and took advantage of him. He probably had no idea why Hu buttered him up and wanted to see his notes and pictures.”

“If he’s guilty of anything,” said DeGrace, “I would say it was his obsession over Xiaohuan.”

Zhang and Hilkers nodded.

“Does Miss Xiaohuan know?”

“I suspect she does. Women usually do know these things,” said Zhang. “She asked me about him this morning.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jim Carr’s adventure with words began as a teacher of Latin grammar. He taught Latin for five years and has published a Latin grammar print and ebook called Lingua Latina -- Latin for Beginners.

This was followed by a lengthy career in print journalism as a reporter, slot-head writer, columnist and editor. He left to become a communications specialist for a number of national and international corporations and institutions.

He returned to journalism in retirement acting as associate editor of Spa Canada magazine. He also writes a blog about Thai resorts and spas -- thaispasnow.wordpress.com

His other mystery novels, Death Star, The Door, Abbot’s Moon and Rogues Retreat and his book of short stories, Betrayal, and his wartime romance, There’s Always Tomorrow, and his historical romance, Yesterdays,

Other novels include: The Book of the Dead, The Alchemist, Forget-Me-Nots and Femme Fatale.