The Hua Shan Hospital Murders

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Fong was expecting a call from either the banking people or the cops looking for the American hotel guest with the camcorder but it was from one of the detectives who had been at the very first meeting. Fong had ordered the man to find the head nurse from the abortion clinic at the People’s Twenty-Second Hospital – the one who had left hair and blood but no other remains in the blasted-out surgery. He’d found her – or rather, her body.

Fong stepped past the detective and entered the small sub-basement room. Like so many other Shanghanese, the head nurse of the abortion clinic of the People’s Twenty-Second Hospital had lived below ground level. The small room was moldy and felt close. It smelt of things burnt – hair, cotton, something else he couldn’t identify. Curtains covered two walls; rugs lay on the floor. “I’ve got some basics from the house warden,” said the young detective handing Fong his notepad. Fong ignored it and approached the body. It lay on its back on the central rug, its arms out, palms up – inside a lightly scorched circle that circumnavigated the body. Fong touched the darkened circle on the carpet. It was cold. Then he saw it – a thin metal thread – phosphorus. He allowed the shiver to go to the base of his spine and spiral there. Phosphorus. Much light but little heat – he had been here. Right here.

Fong looked at the rest of the room. No signs of struggle. Nothing even a little out of place or toppled over. He eyed the scorched circle again, then looked back at the body. Light scratches on the cheeks and just one deep cut at the base of the throat. A jagged ugly wound. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and picked up her left hand and looked at her nails. They could do scrapings but Fong doubted that there was anything beneath her fingernails. He checked the right hand – the same. He slid his hand under her body – nothing. He put a finger on her chin and pushed gently. The head rocked to one side. The neck clicked. He looked at the scratch marks on either side of her mouth, then he opened her mouth and felt inside. Nothing.

Fong got to his feet, ordered in a CSU team, and then took the detective to one side.

“Good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Who is assigned to live here?”

“She is, sir.”

“What? Didn’t you check here first?”

“Certainly, but she wasn’t here then and her neighbours said she hadn’t been here for a while.”

“Then?”

“The house warden knew I wanted to speak to the head nurse so she checked in and found her – like this.”

“Why did she check?”

“Someone reported the smell of smoke coming from the room.”

“When?”

“Less than an hour ago.”

“He’s covering his tracks,” Fong muttered.

“The bomber, sir?”

“That’d be my guess.” Fong looked around. “No struggle except for those odd scratches on her cheeks. No forced entry. She knew her killer. She let him in.” Fong stopped and stepped away from the body and stood very still. “Her head was facing that way, wasn’t it?”

“Toward the curtain on that wall, right.”

Fong looked at the curtain then pulled it aside. A photograph of an old woman hung on the wall behind the curtain. “Find out if that’s her mother.”

“Why . . .?”

“Just do it, Officer.” Fong wasn’t in any frame of mind to answer questions. As he shoved his way toward the door his cell phone rang. “Dui,” he said into the device. He listened for a moment, then on a long line of breath let out a single English word:

“When!!!!”