Chinese Whispers

III

There were several police cars in the street out front, officers streaming out and into the main lobby. Wu pulled the wheel of his car sharp left and they cut through a side street at the west end of the complex to turn into the street at the back of the towers, opposite a double-storey red and gold restaurant, deserted now and shrouded in darkness. There were three other police vehicles here already. The rear exit from the north-west tower provided the most direct access.

As Wu pulled up at the kerb, several officers gathering on the sidewalk looked up suddenly, and Li heard one of them swearing. He peered up through the passenger window in time to see what looked like a giant bird swooping down on them from above. He barely had time to register the fact that it was not a bird, but a human being, arms and legs extended, a coat opened out like the wings of an eagle, before it smashed on to the hood of the Santana. The car lurched sickeningly, and blood immediately spattered across the windscreen, obscuring their view. As he jumped out of the passenger side, Li could hear Wu cursing in shock and disbelief. One of the officers shouted, ‘It’s a woman!’ And Li’s heart seemed to freeze in his chest. He almost couldn’t look. Tiny fragments of glass showered on them like rain.

As he turned, he saw silver hair and wide open staring eyes. Wu was at the other side of the car. ‘Shit, Chief,’ he said. ‘It’s Cao Xu’s wife.’

A police radio was crackling in the cold night air. One of the officers said, ‘They found the security guard. Someone cut his throat.’

Li vaulted up the steps to the exit door from the north-west tower and kicked it until the glass shattered and the door burst inwards. He skidded across the lobby through the broken glass as the doors of the elevator parted to reveal a small child standing there in the light. It took him a moment to realise it was Xinxin. She ran to him, howling, and he swung her up in his arms, holding her so tightly she almost couldn’t breath.

‘Where’s Margaret?’ he said.

‘She’s still upstairs.’ She fought to draw breath against the sobs that were stealing it from her. ‘Uncle Yan, a man tried to cut my throat …’

Li turned to the officers running in behind him. ‘Someone get her a medic, fast.’ He thrust her into the arms of a young uniformed policeman, and slipped into the lift just before the doors slid shut. He heard her call his name as he punched button number twenty-three, and the lift started its high speed ascent.

Curious residents were up and about now, coming out of their apartments into the hallway on floor twenty-three, wrapped in dressing gowns, scratching their heads. Li shouted at them to get out of the way and ran the length of the hall to the open door of the Harts’ apartment. ‘Margaret!’ He screamed her name into the darkness, and to his intense relief he heard her voice call back from somewhere upstairs.

He strode up the stairway into the top hall and saw the door of the study lying open. Margaret was sitting on the settee cradling the still sleeping Li Jon in her arms. ‘Thank God,’ he whispered, offering thanks to whatever deity it was that had watched over her, even if it was not one he believed in.

As he came into the room, she laid the baby carefully back among the cushions and let him take her in his arms, enveloping her, absorbing her, so that they were almost one. He glanced across the room and saw Cao lying in his own blood, twisted, half-propped against the remains of the window, throat and mouth gaping. The freezing November night blew in through the jagged shards of glass that framed the view to the north. ‘What happened?’ he said.

‘Lyang’s dead.’ He shut his eyes in despair. ‘Cao’s wife killed him, then she went through the window.’ Margaret looked up at him. ‘She was the one who burned down the orphanage. She was the one who knew the real Cao Xu. She was one of the orphans.’

He kissed her forehead. ‘It’s over, Margaret,’ he said. ‘It’s all over.’

She let him press her head gently into his chest. ‘Li Yan,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Who was he? Who was he really?’

Li looked over at the bloody remains of the Deputy Police Commissioner. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘Like Jack the Ripper, we probably never will.’ He shook his head. ‘Chances are we might only ever know him by the name he gave himself. The Beijing Ripper.’