Death In Shanghai by M J Lee Page A

virtues.’
    ‘Unfortunately that is true, Princess.’
    ‘But without mankind’s addiction to its vices, you wouldn’t have employment, Inspector, would you?’
    ‘That is unfortunately also true. It is the great paradox of my profession. We are dependent for our existence on the continuation of the vices we are employed to eradicate. If we are ever successful, we have no job.’
    ‘I wouldn’t ever worry about your employment, Inspector. Not in Shanghai anyway.’
    Danilov was enjoying the game. Like chess between two evenly matched players, the opening moves had been made and now the players were exchanging pawns.
    ‘Do try the pirogi, Inspector. The chef used to work in the Winter Palace. Before the Reds arrived though.’
    He picked up the round meat-filled dumpling. The skin was as translucent as fine paper. He bit into it and immediately the warm comfort of a long-forgotten memory from the past filled his mouth. ‘Beautiful, Princess, a taste of home. Or rather a taste of what home should taste like. The home of one’s dreams.’
    ‘Thank you, Inspector, they are quite pleasant, aren’t they?’ The Princess took a long sip of tea. ‘The French magistrate you spoke of, found in a rather Siberian manner, was, of course, an upstanding member of the community. But recently, it seems he had been making demands of certain property developers.’
    ‘Demands?’
    ‘The usual. Extra surcharges for signatures, more charges for the dismissal of cases, even more charges for the approval of developments. He had become a little too demanding recently. A young mistress is, apparently, an expensive proposition.’
    ‘You think this had something to do with his death?’
    She raised her hands in a courtly gesture. ‘My “little ears” do not know. Nor have they heard anything concerning the identity of the people involved. Give them time and they may be able to find out more.’
    Danilov took another sip of tea. ‘And the second murder?’
    ‘Much closer to home, as you can imagine. Her name was Maria Tatiana Stepanova. From Moscow, originally. Came to Shanghai in 1926. I’m afraid the usual story. No money. No skills. Nothing to sell except that which women have always sold.’
    ‘She was not one of your “little ears”?’
    The voice became hard again. ‘No, Inspector, she would not have met such a fate if she were.’
    ‘I’m sorry for offending you, Princess, please accept my apologies.’
    The Princess glared at Danilov over the rim of her tea glass. ‘She was an independent, working from home, protected by a thug, Victorov, I believe his name is.’
    ‘Not much of a protector.’
    ‘Not much of a man. I believe he fled Shanghai after the murder, nobody knows where. The Garde Municipale are looking for him, but they won’t find him. That sort knows how to hide.’ The Princess swore in Russian. Then her face softened. She leant closer to the Inspector. ‘Danilov, whatever she was, whatever she had become, she did not deserve to die like that. Like an animal in a slaughterhouse.’
    ‘Princess, we will find the man who did it, I promise you.’
    ‘If I hear anything, I will inform you in the usual way. For now, I see my customers need me.’ She stood up and smoothed down her long green skirt.
    Again, Danilov could see the steel shrouded in the wool.

Chapter 8
    Sergeant Wolfe, the duty officer, sat up behind a high desk looking down at all the arrivals in Central Police Station. He was surrounded by two Chinese constables and three young interpreters, each of which spoke the local Shanghainese dialect, Mandarin, the national language, and one of the myriad other versions of Chinese originating in Chekiang, Shantung, Anhui, Canton or Fukien.
    So many interpreters were necessary because each region specialised in a particular form of thievery. The Cantonese were pickpockets and shoplifters. The Teochews from Fukien were opium smugglers, dominating the now illegal trade through their numerous