Five pieces of jade

CHAPTER 4

Don Washburn himself held open the front door of his palatial home to welcome Virgil Tibbs inside. If he was in any way annoyed by the early evening call he concealed it completely. Nor was his greeting overly effusive; he was cordial to precisely the right degree. He led the way through a very long and expensively furnished living room to an enclosed porch at the rear of the house. There he motioned toward a chair while he stepped behind an elaborate small bar. "What wiU it be?" he asked.

"Do you have Cherry Heering?"

"Certainly: on the rocks or straight up?"

"On the rocks."

Washburn nodded. "Good man." He poured two drinks into fine glassware and served his guest with one of them. Then he dropped into a chair and faced Tibbs at a slight angle which implied sociability. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Virgil sampled his drink carefully and then adjusted the tone of his voice before he replied. "Mr. Washburn, how well did you know Mr. Wang Fu-sen?"

His host reacted to that at once. "I don't understand your use of the past tense."

"I regret very much to bring you this news," Tibbs said, "but Mr. Wang is dead. He passed away early this afternoon."

"Naturally?" Washburn was sharp, there was no doubt about that.

"No, sir, he was murdered."

"Good God!"

Virgil sat quietly and let Washburn take his time. The big, handsome, blond man gave every appearance of being genuinely shocked by the news. When he had recovered himself he spoke again, "Can you tell me any more about it?"

"Not a great deal. He was killed, apparently without too much of a struggle, and left lying on the floor of the room where he kept his jade. I mean no impUcations by this, but I understand that you were one of his last visitors."

Slowly Washburn nodded. "I saw him yesterday," he acknowledged. "I called on him at his home. It was essentially a business call, but I have known Mr. Wang for some time and our relationship had become a quite personal one. That should answer your opening question, by the way." He stopped and took solace in his drink.

"Are you a jade collector, Mr. Washburn?"

In a calm and quiet voice his host answered. "Yes, to a modest degree. I would like to think of myself as a student of jade and jade carving. It is a vast and intricate culture of its own, Mr. Tibbs, and to my mind one of the most fascinating subjects in the world."

"Would you describe Mr. Wang as an authority?"

"Absolutely, there's no question about that. And, I might add, he is, or was, one of the most honest men it would be possible to imagine. I can give proof of that"

"You were a customer of his, I take it?"

Again Washburn nodded. "Yes, I would say that Mr. Wang sold me about seventy percent of my collection, as a guess. Not that it is extensive; actually he encouraged me to buy fewer pieces and to concentrate on very good ones. They are more rewarding to own and they appreciate faster. Very fine work, for the most part, isn't being done anymore."

"How did you acquire the other thirty percent?"

"From various sources. Gxmips in San Francisco, one or two pieces I bought in Taipei-they have very fine jade there if you know where to go. Not the tourist stuff, but the real chen yu — true jade."

"There are imitations, then?"

Washburn waved a hand. "Gosh, yes-multitudes, and most of it is passed off as the real thing, of course. They call it by a variety of names-new jade, Soo Chow jade, soft jade-but none of them are real jade."

"I believe that you're underrating your own knowledge," Tibbs said. "Obviously you know what you're talking about."

"Superficially, perhaps, but compared to real experts like Mr. Wang or Goh Keng Tong I can't even sit on the bench."

Tibbs shifted in his chair. *This afternoon," he said, "I had the pleasure of meeting you under very different circumstances. Right now I am engaged in the case of Mr. 26

Wang's death, which will probably prevent me from taking part in any antinarcotics activity until the matter is resolved. My new role makes it necessary for me to ask you some additional questions."

"Certainly. Should I have my lawyer present?"

Virgil finished his drink and answered while his host was preparing him another. "If you so desire, then by all means call him. However, at the present time I'm interested principally in background information which doesn't concern you personally.'*

Washburn brought the fresh drinks over and resumed his seat. "That's a relief, and I'm sure we understand each other on that point. You see, I've heard of you too."

Tibbs did understand, and he let the matter rest there. "You are the head of the company I visited this afternoon?"

"Yes, Washburn Associates. The name is deliberately non-commital."

"Do you do other work besides fuel research?"

"Yes, but those activities are strictly classified. If you need to know about them, you will have to clear the appropriate security people first. If they give me the green hght, then I'll be glad to brief you fully."

"I don't think that will be necessary if you can answer one question for me now," Virgil said. "Axe dangerous drugs — in the sense of dangerous for human use without medical direction-in any way involved?"

Washburn threw his head back and thought. It took him several seconds to make up his mind. "I will answer that, since in a way the information has already been compromised and you would have to be told anyway. This is absolutely confidential: we are working for and with the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. Chemistry is our bag; for reasons that I would rather not go into right now, we are in a position to do the work we are doing for the Bureau."

"Would these facts account for my meeting Duffy and Lonigan at your plant rather than at their own offices?"

Washburn was very slightly uncomfortable with that question, but he answered it *To a degree, certainly. Perhaps I'd better add a Uttle to that. I have a personal interest in the work of the Bureau which goes beyond our professional association. I have what you might call a hobby interest in young people."

Tibbs waited a moment before he spoke again. "Mr. Wash-bum, by any chance do you have four children?"

His host looked at him keenly. "You know, then?'*

Virgil shook his head. "It was a surmise, that's all. I saw the family picture in your oflSce with the three young children, but you could well be the father of a teen-ager."

Don Washburn did not hesitate. "I have a seventeen-year-old son, Mr. Tibbs. Without discounting our love for our other children, Robin has always been very close to us. He was bom with a clubfoot which, thank God, was fully corrected-you'd never know it now. When he was fifteen, Mr. Tibbs- fifteen, mind you-some beast of a peddler got him to sniff a fine white powder without knowing what it was."

"Heroin?"

Washburn was grim. "Yes. I was not aware of what had happened until early summer when, unaccountably, he refused to use the pool. Up untU then swimming had been a big thing with him: he could hardly wait for the start of the season. I'll spare you the details; we found out what it was and why he was afraid to let us see his forearms. I took him to our doctor. He filed a report as he was required to do, and shortly after that your narcotics people contacted me. Eventually I met Mr. Duffy and following a check that he made, I was given an opportunity to strike back."

"I understand," Virgil said. "And, believe me, I sympathize. Where is your son now?"

"In Kentucky."

"Lexmgton?"

"Yes."

Tibbs rose. "One more thing before I go. Do you by any chance know any of Mr. Wang's other friends or associates? Or any potential enemies?"

'There's a man named Johnny Wu in Chinatown. I haven't met him, but I understand that he too is a jade dealer. Quite a different type of individual, but that doesn't imply any lack of integrity."

"And the girl?"

Washburn shook his head. "A mystery to me. I was introduced to her and found her very ladylike, but I do not understand her to any degree. I gather that in some way Mr. Wang was her benefactor, but I don't know any details. I doubt if the obvious thing is true; he simply wasn't that kind of a man. One who would take advantage of homeless girls, I mean."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Washburn."

Five minutes later Virgil was outside, looking up into the 28

clear evening sky as though he could read directions there. He got back into his car and consulted his watch. The temptation to go home was strong; he had already had an overlong day and the court grilling in the morning had gotten it off to anything but a good start. On the other hand the Los Angeles Chinatown scarcely stirred before midafter-noon and if he wanted to see Johnny Wu, the time would never be better than the present.

He started the engine and began to drive toward the entrance to the Pasadena Freeway. It was old and twisting, but it would take him into the heart of the city in a few minutes and he did not even need to go that far; the Chinatown area lay close to the superhighway a mile or two short of the four-level interchange.

He rolled down the window to take advantage of the breeze that would be generated as soon as he picked up to the allowable fifty-five miles an hour on his way into the city. The unmarked poHce car he was driving was equipped with the standard model four-seventy air conditioning: roll down all four windows and then drive seventy miles an hour. He thought again about the silent figure lying at an angle in the middle of the floor with the ancient jade knife all but buried in the heart. And surrounding it, the four other jade carvings placed in a grisly watch. He thought about all five of the pieces of jade and asked himself many questions.

He was so intent in his thought processes that he nearly missed his turnoff. He left the freeway by means of what he knew to be an illegal lane change and was grateful that no one saw him do it, no one, at least, who was in a position to take any oflScial action. Free of that potential embarrassment he maneuvered through the short, up-and-down streets of the near north side until he broke out on North Broadway. Three minutes later he pulled into the parking lot opposite the ornate entranceway to New Chinatown, an investment by the local merchants which had paid bountiful dividends. He slipped the plain tan-colored car into a slot, locked it, and held out his hand to the young Mexican attendant for the ticket. He received only a silent shake of the head and then was waved away.

How he had recognized his vehicle Tibbs did not know, but he was in no mood to debate the point. He crossed the street and walked past the statue of Sun Yat-sen which occupied the place of honor in the entrance court. Then he was surrounded by the closely packed restaurants, souvenir

shops, and novelty houses which stocked everything from gaudy trash to a limited number of genuinely fine items. Virgil walked into a store at random and spoke to the short, stocky Chinese woman who was closest to him behind the counter. "Where can I find Johnny Wu?" he asked.

The woman evaluated him with a single look that missed very little. "Is he expecting you?" she asked.

Tibbs shook his head. "I'm a police oJBQcer," he said. *Td like to talk to him."

"He might be at General Lee's."

"Thank you very much."

He walked up the street a few doors to the entrance to one of the largest and most popular restaurants in the area. Almost at once a slender Chinese beauty in a green sheath greeted him. "Good evening, sir. Dinner for one?"

Virgil smiled at her; he would have done that if he had been dying. "I'm looking for Mr. Johnny Wu. Is he here by any chance?'*

The girl studied him for a moment. "I'll find out, sir," she said.

"Thank you. Please tell him that Mr. Tibbs would like to speak with him if it's convenient."

He waited a short while, taking in the scene at the bar which was so like so many tens of thousands of others. Bars, he decided, had a uniformity about them that exceeded almost any other form of enterprise. This one was in a Chinese restaurant, but the drinks being served up were essentially the same as they would have been anywhere else. He was considering the value of a man's drinking habits as a means of identification when the girl returned. "If you will come with me, Mr. Tibbs?" She made it a question, then turned and led him up the staircase which hugged the right wall.

The second floor was an expanse of dining areas which had been carefully designed to suggest that they were separate entities. As Virgil looked about he realized once more how times had changed for the better. He could remember when a Chinese restaurant was a place where white people went to eat chop suey and perhaps inhale a small portion of exotic atmosphere. Most of them had offered a minimum of decor and based their appeal on meals that cost a little less. General Lee's hardly fitted that mold. Despite the late hour it was well filled with diners, Asians and Occidentals who ate together or separately, and distinguishable only by the slight difference in their features. When he noted a Negro couple quietly enjoying themselves, he was grateful 30

for the fact that this was a new generation, not in age, but in thought.

The girl ahead of him walked with easy grace as she led him to a small alcove where, at a table that nonnally would have been reserved for at least four, a single man was seated. She nodded her head slightly to Tibbs, eyed him for a fraction of a second, and then silently withdrew.

"Sit down, Mr. Tibbs," the man said. "You look like you could use a drink."

Compared to the still form of Mr. Wang, Johnny Wu was a complete antithesis. He appeared to be of medium height, slightly rotund, and somewhere in early middle age. His Chinese ancestry could be read in his face, but that was as far as it went in his external deportment. He stood up to shake hands formally, then sat down again and without waiting for a comment from Tibbs signaled for a waiter. One was at his elbow almost immediately. "What will relieve your anguish?" he asked.

"What are you having?"

The waiter understood and left. As Tibbs sat down, Wu took the initiative. "You've come to see me about the death of Wang Fu-sen, I believe. I hope that you'll apply all your talents to finding whoever it was that did him in."

"You know then," Virgil said.

"Of course, things like that don't remain hidden. Especially when a man of Wang's stature is involved, and when it's on the newscasts."

"I see." He hadn't known that the murder had been made pubhc that quickly. "It would be a real help if you'd tell me all you can about him. Particularly any enemies he might have had.'*

Johnny Wu picked up a piece of paper-wrapped chicken and unfolded it. "You're Virgil Tibbs, aren't you?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Didn't you work on a murder done in a nudist camp?'*

"True."

"Lots of pretty girls running around with no clothes on."

"Some."

"CharUe Chan never got a break like that.'*

Virgil kept his face unchanged. "He had a large family,*' he answered. "He didn't need it."

Wu considered that. "You have a point," he conceded. "But don't say 'had.' Charlie is stiU living. He's an old man, of course, retired in Honolulu. Fve met him.*'

"Indeed," Tibbs said. The two men looked at each other,

then Virgil spoke again. "Since Mr. Chan is in retirement, I don't presume that I can consult him."

"Probably not. He is devoting himself to a study of ancient systems of calligraphy."

"In that case, perhaps you will help me. Do you know who did in Mr. Wang?"

Johnny Wu became serious. "No, I do not." He paused while Virgil's drink was served. "He mentioned to me once that some sort of difficulty had arisen, but he was the kind of person who might have said that very casually-^it was impossible to tell."

"Do you think that it might have involved his house-guest?"

"Yumeko? I doubt it. She's all right, I thmk. She's not a happy person, but I'd bet that she thought the world of Fu-sen. He was a genuine humanitarian."

"I understand that you also deal in jade, Mr. Wu."

"Johnny, please-I don't like formality. I do some jade dealing, yes, but right now there isn't too much to work with. I don't want any of Chairman Mao's junk-and that's what most of it is-and the supply of good merchandise is way off. Occasionally something comes in, but not often enough to make it a profitable line. Consequently I haven't gone out for business in jade to any degree. I M a few orders now and then when I'm lucky."

Tibbs thought about that, then tried out his drink. He couldn't name it or its ingredients, but it was excellent. "Did Mr. Wang have the same difficulties in getting good merchandise?'* he asked.

Johnny Wu shook his head. "I'd say that he had the best sources of anyone in the country. He seemed to be able to find excellent pieces when nobody else could. I've been on the other side several times on business and once I tried hard to develop some legitimate sources, but I didn't really get anywhere. Lots of imitation stuff was available, but nobody who knows anything wants that. There was some new work that had come out of Peking by various routes, but it was all fourth- or fifth-rate at the best. Nothing to compare with what was done during the Ching Dynasty. Do you know your Chinese history?"

"No," Tibbs admitted.

"You ought to brush up a little. And read a couple of good books on jade. You're a cultured man; you should know something about it. If you're going to find out who killed Wang Fu-sen, you'd better know about jade."

"In your opinion, then, his death may be connected with jade in some way?"

"Well, since he was stabbed to death with a jade knife, which I suspect was probably not a knife at all, I would definitely say so, yes."

Tibbs looked at his fingers for a moment, then he studied the face of the man opposite him. "Your point is well taken," he said, "but there is one detail. I don't know it for a fact yet, but I'm almost certain that the knife I saw sticking out of his chest didn't kill him at all."