Five pieces of jade

CHAPTER 8

When he checked in for work the following morning, Virgil Tibbs did not choose to remain in his office for very long. He had many things to do, in addition to which he did not welcome the idea that someone might drop in to ask him how he had enjoyed his date with one of his ranking suspects on the previous evening. News got around the Pasadena Police Department much as it did everywhere else; if anyone at all had seen him while he had had Yumeko in tow, everyone would know about it as a matter of course.

Fortunately no one came in to raise the issue; he was therefore able to dispose of a small pile of urgent paper work. Then he picked up his phone and rang the morgue.

He was advised that the report on the late Mr. Wang was ready; furthermore the pathologist who had performed the autopsy was on hand in case there were any questions.

Virgil did not particularly care for the morgue, but his duty took him to it often enough that the place was no novelty. When he got there he sat down in a small room with a tall, unconcerned young doctor who had probed the internal organs of the deceased. On the small, plain table which stood in the center of the room there was a carefully written document which told of the cause of death of the Chinese jade merchant and, almost conspicuously out of place, the antique stone implement which had been thrust into his chest

"I'd like to know something," the doctor said as he lit a cigarette. "How did you arrive at the opinion that the deceased had sustained injuries before he was stabbed?'*

"By some external evidence. What did you find?"

"He had been roughed up prior to his demise. He was throttled for one thing, but not enough to leave evident marks that were readily visible. He was also struck on the jaw and on the left temple."

"Did this physical abuse cause his death?"

"I won't attempt to answer that until we complete some more tests-the present report is preliminary."

"Is it possible that the blows could have produced unconsciousness?"

"Oh, yes."

"Sustained?"

"I'd say so. Remember that the deceased was an old man and in general terms probably in frail health. Nothing radically wrong with him that we've discovered so far, but he obviously didn't take much exercise and didn't have a lot of reserves to draw on."

"One more thing: how much force did it take to drive the stone knife into the body?"

"A moderate amount; I can't define it exactly unless you want me to take the weapon and make some cadaver tests. I could do that."

Virgil shook his head. "I don't think we'll need that if what I have in mind works out. One more question: was he initially attacked from in front or behind?"

"Behind. It's in the report."

'Thanks much." Tibbs got to his feet. "I thought that he was. I appreciate your time."

"Not at all. If you want the weapon, you know the routine for signing it out."

In the lobby Virgil consulted the business card which Johnny Wu had given to him and then picked up the counter telephone. He found his man in and cooperative.

"If you want to talk some more, fine," Wu told him. "How about meeting me at the Dynasty Club at eleven? It'll be open then and not too crowded."

"Good," Tibbs told him. "I want to get an opinion from you on something I'll have with me."

Since he had plenty of time, he drove down the Pasadena Freeway almost leisurely, found a spot open in the New Chinatown area, and flipped down the visor to identify the police vehicle. Then, still forty minutes ahead of his appointment, he entered the elaborately decorated commercial area which had been designed for tourist appeal and began to study the shop windows.

Few of the stores had any jade on display and those that did for the most part showed what even to his unpracticed eye was inferior merchandise. Some of the offerings were of a uniform, rather sickly shade of green which suggested that they had been dyed. He saw nothing at first that in

any way compared with the lapidary treasures in Mr. Wang's home. The more he saw, the more he came to appreciate the quality of Mr. Wang's oflferings. At the same time, even the relatively poor pieces he was seeing had their effect on him; when he spotted one or two that were better, the subtle allure of jade began to stir him. In Bamboo Lane he found a shop, heavily protected with burglar alarm systems, which displayed several carvings of obviously superior worth. They appeared in some cases to be of different materials, but there was no identification and no prices were shown. Since the store was closed there was little that he could learn there, but he wished that he might have gone inside.

He had never visited the Dynasty Club, but he had heard of it-a thoroughly plush private facility operated largely for the benefit of the Asian-American community's business and political leaders. It was the sort of place the average tourist would never suspect existed, which was probably what the management and clientele desired. A phone book gave him the location; as he rode up in the elevator he wondered about the package in his left hand. It appeared very ordinary, but the effect of unwrapping it in the Dynasty Club might prove to be something quite different.

When he touched the bell before the closed door, he had to wait only a few seconds before he was greeted by a hostess who, despite the early hour, was attractively gowned and turned out.

"Good morning, sir," she said, "can I help you?"

Virgil caught her manner at once; he was not a member, but her courtesy toward him was quite genuine-she was no more concerned that he was a Negro than he was especially aware that she was an Oriental.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Wu," Tibbs said. "He asked me to meet him here."

"Of course, please come in." She opened the door wider. "Your name, sir?"

"Virgil Tibbs."

"Thank you, Mr. Tibbs. I'll see if Mr. Wu is here."

That told him immediately that the Dynasty Club was well run. He waited a minute or two while he looked about at the decor; it was very good, as he had expected that it would be. When the hostess came back she motioned to him to follow and then led him through the interior to a small dining cove where Johnny Wu was on his fe^t waiting for him.

"Glad to see you again. Please sit down. I know it's early, but the sun has been over the yardarm for some time. Name it."

"Is a Coke OK?"

"Of course." He addressed the hostess. "Two Cokes and some breakfast rolls. Coffee for me too. Virgil?"

Tibbs shook his head. "Just the Coke."

Johnny waved a hand in polite dismissal. "What's the latest word?" he asked.

Carefully, and without dramatics, Virgil unwrapped his package. When at last the stone knife lay revealed, he put it carefully on the center of the table midway between them and then sat back, saying nothing.

Wu looked at it for several seconds. "May I pick it up?" he asked.

"Certainly."

The lighting in the booth was subdued, but it was adequate. For at least a full minute Johnny Wu turned the ancient implement over in his hands, studying it from every angle, but always holding it with what was clearly deep respect When he had finished he put it down with visible care and then waited while the refreshments were served. The waitress was surprisingly tall for an Oriental and also strikingly attractive. Her costume was definitely designed to display beautifully formed legs, but managed to be subdued at the same time.

"Where do you get them?" Tibbs asked.

*The girls?"

"Yes."

Johnny smiled. "It's amazing, Virgil, what you can find if you only know where to look. Most of the girls here are Japanese, and they're handpicked. You never see them on the street, but they can be found."

"Obviously somebody knows where to look."

"The club is managed by people who know their business. We have a matched set here that's especially nice- they're all taller than you might expect and quite charming."

"What is the degree of their availabihty?" Tibbs asked.

Johnny shook his head. "No dice, not as far as the club is concerned, at any rate. They're all nice yoimg ladies- and I'm not saying that just because you're the law."

Virgil smiled, and drank a good half of his Coke. "Now, to business. I'd appreciate an opinion from you concerning that object." He nodded toward the stone knife.

Johnny looked at him shrewdly. "Certainly you know quite

a bit about it already or you wouldn't have brought it to me.

"I think so," Tibbs admitted. "But I like to be sure about things. Especially in areas that are new to me."

"All right, I'll take it from the top. It's a ritual jade implement called a Ya-Chang. It's very ancient, before the Han Dynasty I'd say offhand-^weU before. There's some crystallization along one of the edges which establishes this. My preliminary opinion is that it is genuine, extremely rare, and very valuable. Now it's your turn."

"It may disturb you to know this," Virgil said. "But that weapon was extracted from the chest of Mr. Wang. That is, most of it was." He stopped and waited, watching the reaction.

Johnny Wu folded his hands and looked steadily at the Ya-Chang. "Wang Fu-sen was my good friend. In addition to that he was a man of exceptional character and great wisdom. If I could find the man who killed him, I would gladly take that jade knife and treat him in the same manner-and to hell with the consequences."

Virgil finished his Coke. "I have a better idea," he said. "Help me to catch him. Then he'll be punished, properly according to law, and there won't be any consequences- except for him."

"What do you want?" Wu asked.

"I need information on jade-a lot of it. More important, all the available data on Mr. Wang's background: his other business activities, if any, his social life, his past I need aU this and more to track down the person who wanted him dead."

As he finished speaking another striking waitress appeared and replaced both drinks, despite the fact that Johnny's was untouched.

Johnny poured out a cup of coffee from the warming carafe and took a careful swallow. "Virgil, I won't hold out on you-I promise you that-but I don't have too much to give you. Wang Fu-sen hved very quietly, by himself until he took the Japanese girl in. If you want my guess on that, I'd call it pure charity and nothing else. The girl helped him and earned her keep, but not in bed. You may not understand this, not being Chinese, but he was a man of great dignity; not the pompous kind, but the real quiet inner kind that counts. He wouldn't take advantage of the girl for that reason alone."

Virgn remained quiet.

"Now maybe I can give you something you can use-I don't know," Johnny continued. "First I have to make a point clear. There are two entirely different attitudes concerning Chinese in this country. I consider myself a Chinese-American, in other words an American citizen of Chinese descent. So do almost all of us. But to the Chinese in China- Taiwan or the mainland-either way, we are overseas Chinese. Their feeling is that once Chinese always Chinese; they simply don't understand the concept of America-that both of us can be Americans despite our own heritages or the fact that the majority in this country are Caucasians."

He drank more coffee. "What this means, Virgil, is that the Chinese in the old country feel that they have a permanent hold on us and that we owe them our loyalty simply because our eyes slant-if they do. Understand that a lot of us do feel a close attachment to the real China- not the communist one-just as a lot of your young people go around sporting Afro hairdos." He buttered a breakfast roU.

"You are suggesting, then," Tibbs said, "that some people in China were applying pressure to Mr. Wang on the basis that he was Chinese-in their eyes. Was he a U.S. citizen, by the way?"

"Yes, he was. And your surmise is accurate, based on my own guesswork. I've had a little of that kind of thing and I expect that I'll get more. Most of it comes through Hong Kong; one letter I got I turned over to the FBI."

"That gives me an idea," Tibbs said. "I'll check to see if Mr. Wang ever took a similar step. Unless you know offhand."

Johnny shook his head. "I don't know, I can only guess."

"When can I see your jade collection?" Virgil asked.

"You really want to?"

"Yes, very much."

Johnny thought. "Why don't we just stay here and have some lunch. Then after that we can go over to my place — it isn't very far from here-and you can inspect my jades all you'd like."

"Could we skip the lunch?" Virgil asked. "I'm honestly not hungry. Unless you are."

Johnny took some more coffee. "Not really. I just thought that you might like the scenery around here. A lot more of it comes on duty at twelve. Unless a policeman can't admire pretty girls the way we do."

"If that were true, I wouldn't be a policeman," Tibbs said. "Invite me back some time; I'll buy the drinks."

"A deal. If you come down here much, why not become a member? I'll be glad to sponsor you."

"Many thanks, but I don't think I could handle the tab."

"It isn't that bad."

"All right, maybe later. When this matter is cleared away."

Johnny glanced up. "Am I under suspicion?" he asked.

"Let me put it this way: when I find the guilty man, I'll let you know."

Wu accepted that. "Let's go; I'm quite close by."

The jade collection of Johnny Wu was much more modest than the one in Wang Fu-sen's home, but its high quality was immediately evident. Furthermore, each choice piece had been carefully placed to display it to the best advantage. The lighting inside the three cabinets was artful: bright enough to illuminate, but subtle enough to flatter the stone objects at the same time. They needed no flattery; they were exquisite and Tibbs knew it. gd

*The longer I look at these things," he said, "the more I have to admire the men who created them. Perhaps for the first time, I wish that I had some prospect of being rich."

"Jade isn't cheap," Johnny admitted. "But consider what goes into it. The stone comes for the most part from a small, very secluded section of Burma. It costs a great deal. After they get it and have it transported all the way to Peking, then the craftsmen are faced with one of the toughest and most intractable materials known to man. It takes weeks, and months, to turn out a good piece and the master carvers are dying out-they don't encourage them too much under the present regime. Do you know that they are actually making pieces now that show communist soldiers in battle and other propaganda subjects? It's a desecration; I've seen some in the commie department stores in Hong Kong."

When he had learned all that he could for the time being, Tibbs turned away from the cabinets. "Your collection is magnificent," he said.

*Thank you." Wu hesitated for a moment, then went on. "After a decent interval, I'm going to approach Miss Nagashima and see if she will sell me some of the pieces that Fu-sen had. You'll never find better in this country and there are a few things that I would like very much to own if I can get them."

Virgil looked at him. "Why Miss Nagashima?" he asked.

"I assumed that you knew. If you don't, you should. Fu-sen made a new will recently; in it he left almost everything he owned, including the jades, to her."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, but word gets around. Chinese have always been good at that. Do you want to leave that Ya-Chang with me for further study?"

"I think not," Virgil answered him. "It's evidence, so for the time being it should remain in police custody."

As Tibbs drove back to Pasadena certain ideas were forming in his mind, but they were too uncertain to be more than conjectures. There were elements missing and until they could be supplied, or accounted for, further development would be at the best slow and difficult.

He stopped at a coffee shop south of Colorado and had his usual lunch of a sandwich and a milk shake. He seldom varied this menu very much; the milk soothed his stomach and seemed to ease the tensions that went with his job. He could eat anywhere he chose now in the city, but there were still a very few establishments where he felt that his welcome was less than complete. He avoided them for the sake of the peace of his soul and allowed himself the luxury of eating where he knew that the color of his skin would have no bearing on his reception or how he was served.

After his meal he returned to his office for more paper work. There was no evading it and he had to keep up no matter what the cost in time and effort. Bob Nakamura was out on a bank holdup and this time there were no notes waiting on the desk. An hour later he made a phone call. Don Washburn was in his office and would be glad to see him if he cared to come to the plant.

As he drove north through streets Tibbs noticed how the mountains stood out in rare sharp relief; the air was remarkably clear and California looked as it probably had in the old Spanish days long before the internal combustion engine had been invented or oil refineries and power plants had been built to pollute the atmosphere.

At the gate that protected the research facility the formalities were at a minimum this time; he was expected. Once inside he was greeted by the receptionist and ushered almost at once to the large comer office where Washburn awaited him.

He had hardly seated himself before the trim executive

secretary who had served him last time came in with two cups of coffee. This time she had not had to ask how he liked it; she supplied it, smiled, and withdrew.

"Mr. Washburn," Virgil began. "I'd like to ask you some very pointed questions if you don't mind. My purpose is to find the person who killed Wang Fu-sen. I know that you understand that"

"I do." Washburn looked as though he meant it.

"You told me that you had had some direct experience with narcotics in the case of your son Robin."

His host nodded. "Yes, that's true."

"How is he coming along, by the way?"

Washburn smiled. "Very well-he's returning home shortly.'*

'That's good news, certainly. Mr. Washburn, have you ever, at any time, known or suspected any connection between illicit narcotics and Mr. Wang? You mentioned that he was your close and good friend, and I'm making allowances for that."

Washburn was firm and decisive. "Absolutely not; I don't believe that he used them and I'm positive that he never trafiicked in them. Let me give you a reason for that statement. I knew him for many years; for him to have dealt in dope of any kind would have been as out of character as a Salvation Army girl working in a bottomless bar."

Tibbs studied him before he put his next question. "Despite that endorsement, was there a possibility-and please note that word-that Robin might have been getting his supply of drugs from Mr. Wang? Please consider that carefully."

Apparently Washburn did. "Let me put it this way, Mr. Tibbs: Robin never met Wang Fu-sen to my knowledge except on one occasion when he came to our home for dinner. And perhaps not even then. I have a vague recollection that my boy was not home that night. Most certainly if they knew each other even casually, it was totally without my knowledge."

Virgil drank his coffee and changed the topic. "You confided in me the fact that you are doing research here foi the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. I don't wani to play games with you so let me put it directly: have yoi been working with keto-bedmidone?"

Washburn leaned back and drummed his fingertips againsl the top of his desk for a few seconds. "You couldn't have" hit on that one all by yourself," he said finally. "So you 72

must have been told. And by the Bureau. All right, the answer is yes. We've made some of the stuff here and it's been submitted to some tests. Even in the test lab, we lock it up in the safe overnight. And the people who work with it wear masks. It's pure hell."

Tibbs agreed. "I know that. What are its physical properties? In particular, what color is it?"

"White."

"A powder?"

"Tiny crystals."

"It's an injection drug?"

"Yes."

"Could a heroin addict use it in his usual manner?"

"Yes again. The heroin junkie could use his regular tools. If he did, God help him."

Virgil locked his fingers. "I want to ask you one more question that is vitally important. Please give me a candid answer; you know that I'll respect your confidence."

"I'll do my best."

"Mr. Washburn, do you have any knowledge, or well-founded suspicion, that keto-bedmidone may have appeared on the American market, particularly on the West Coast?"

Washburn more than took his time. "You are asking for highly confidential information, you know that."

"I do."

"You absolutely require it for your investigation?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."

"Then I've got to accept your sincerity. As I told you before, I know who you are. Yes, Mr. Tibbs, it has appeared here and we're scared stiff."

"In Los Angeles?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Don Washburn moved in his chair in a way that showed his discomfort His jaw worked slightly and his lips were hard together. When he spoke, his voice was matter-of-fact and unemotional, but only because he had made it that way. "A few months ago. And since you are sure to note it anyway, I might as well add that it began a very few days after the Japanese girl, Miss Nagashima I believe her name is, came to hve in Mr. Wang's home."