A Death in China

"DARLING I AM SORRY, I COULD NOT ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE ME. THIS WAY IS BEST."

One glance and Stratton knew who had written it. I could not allow you to leave me. Much too clumsy for a fop like Harold Broom.

"What about the fire?" Stratton asked.

"An accident. Here's what I figure: Broom pulls off the highway in a passion.

Takes out his gun, plugs the girl, writes his farewell note, then checks himself out. Bang. Leaves the engine running and the goddamn catalytic converter overheats. Catches fire. The whole thing goes up in blazes. That's Detroit for you."

Stratton said, "I'd better go now."

"You knew this Broom character?"

"I met him only once or twice."

"A real asshole, right?"

Stratton shrugged. "I couldn't say." Suddenly he was in the line of Beckley's fire: time to go.

"What about your friend, the Chinaman?"

"I… I guess he's all right."

"I'd really like to talk to him," Beckley said, "your friend, the Chinaman. I'd like to keep it nice and friendly, too. Subpoenas are such a pain in the ass."

"I understand," Stratton said. "When I talk to him, I'll be sure to have him call you."

"Right away." Beckley tugged at his chin. "And you've got no idea about the dead girl?"

"No," Stratton replied. "I'm sorry."

I am sorry.

Beckley led him back through a maze of dingy halls in the police station. As he reached the front desk, Beckley realized he was walking alone. He backtracked and found Stratton at the door to the property room. Staring.

"It was in the car," Beckley explained. "Wrapped up in the trunk. Didn't even get singed."

Rigidly Stratton approached the Chinese soldier who stood noble and poised, an unlikely centerpiece amid the flotsam of crime-pistols, blackjacks, bags of grass and pills, helmets, stereo speakers, radios, jewelry, shotguns, crowbars.

Each item, Stratton noted, was carefully marked.

The ancient Chinese warrior, too, wore a blue tag around its neck, an incongruous paper medallion.

"What do you think?" Beckley said.

Stratton was overwhelmed. He couldn't take his eyes off the imperial soldier.

"Well, I'll tell you what I think," the cop said after a few moments. "I think it's the damnedest-looking lawn jockey I ever saw."