Free Death In Shanghai by M J Lee

head. ‘It has already been returned to his family. I believe it is on its way back to France.’
    ‘That is disappointing.’ Inspector Danilov looked down at his hands. ‘Had Monsieur Flamini been threatened in any way?’
    ‘Not that we know. He had been a magistrate here for four years. He was known as diligent in his work. A wife and two children in France. A mistress in Shanghai but that is common, is it not? Even among the English.’ Masset shrugged his shoulders in a way only the French know how. ‘We checked all his recent cases to see if someone with a grudge would want him killed but he handled property related work rather than criminal law. There was a suggestion of small irregularities in some of the recent property cases that came up before him. But nothing could be investigated or proven. If we arrested every official for “small irregularities”, we would have none left to do the work.’
    Again he shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was when the pathologist undressed Monsieur Flamini that he found the strangest piece of evidence. There were Chinese characters carved into his chest. The characters for “vengeance”.’
    Danilov took the Lieutenant’s lighter and lit the cigarette he had been holding in his fingers. He inhaled deeply and blew out a long stream of blue smoke. ‘Now, that is interesting.’ He glanced across at Strachan. ‘And the second murder?’
    ‘A Russian prostitute. Not high class and not a street walker. Just another Russian prostitute.’ Masset stopped speaking, suddenly realising that the inspector in front of him had the surname Danilov.
    ‘Just another Russian. Please carry on, Lieutenant.’
    ‘She was found outside the abattoir close to the old Chinese city on Rue Albi, floating in a barrel of pig’s blood. For making
boudin noir
, you know.’
    Danilov nodded to encourage the Frenchman to continue.
    ‘According to our pathologist, Dr Legrand, she was alive when she was put in the barrel. He found blood in her lungs and trachea.’
    ‘How did she die?’ asked Strachan.
    ‘She drowned. According to our pathologist, she had been lying in the barrel of blood for at least two days before she was found.’
    Danilov took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Her time of death?’
    ‘He couldn’t be certain. The warmth of the pig’s blood you see…’ Lieutenant Masset stopped talking. He blew on his fingers once more and then continued. ‘Her hands had been tied with a thin rope. There was one other thing. She also had Chinese characters carved into her chest. But this time, they were different. They were the characters for “damnation”.’
    ‘Were the characters carved in the same style?’
    Lieutenant Masset shrugged his shoulders once more. ‘I think they were, but I can’t be sure. I didn’t spend a lot of time with the body. You’ll find the coroner’s report in our case files.’
    ‘Thank you, Lieutenant Masset, I’ll read it.’
    ‘We have no real leads to the killer. To be frank, our detectives are more used to managing brothels and opium dens than investigating murder.’ He brought his fingers up to his mouth and blew on them. ‘You seem to be very interested in these murders, Inspector. Why?’
    Inspector Danilov stubbed out the end of his cigarette and immediately rolled another. The office was now a warm fug of blue smoke, the whispers of fumes caught in the bright light from the sash windows.
    ‘We may have a similar murder ourselves. A young woman, or should I say a young man, found in Soochow Creek, his body nearly cut in two, his stomach and genitals slashed to ribbons.’
    ‘You think they’re connected?’
    Danilov shrugged his shoulders, copying the Frenchman, but not achieving the same Gallic elegance. ‘I’m not sure, but they do show similarities: hands tied, Chinese characters carved into the chest. And it is strange that all three murders should occur within such a short space of time. If it were the usual gangland squabbles, we