Free More Deaths Than One by Pat Bertram Page A

been.”
    An uncertain look crossed Kerry’s face. “They
thought it was stolen, and they still bought it?”
    Bob nodded. “Hsiang-li told me people go to
Thailand expecting to buy cheap antiquities. One way to get them to
pay what the objects are worth is to make them believe they’re
stolen. People are willing to pay a lot of money for stolen
merchandise, perhaps because they feel they are getting away with
something.”
    Kerry spread her hands. “I don’t get it. How
did he make people believe the stuff was stolen?”
    “Bribery, mostly. Periodically he paid cops
to arrest him on charges of selling stolen antiquities. They always
dropped the charges, of course, but word got around. Secret
meetings, hushed phone calls, sur-reptitious hand-offs, and other
clandestine activities also helped get the point across.”
    “That hidden room probably helped, too.”
    “He didn’t bring customers there. He told me
he’d never take the chance of showing the place to anyone who
seemed willing to break the law.”
    “Was pretending to sell stolen property worth
it?” Kerry asked.
    “Hsiang-li thought so. Mao Tse-tung killed
off perhaps sixty million Chinese and forced millions of others to
flee their homeland. All they had left were the few treasures they
managed to take with them, and Hsiang-li wanted to make sure they
got the true worth of their heirlooms. He also bought antiques from
dealers, added a hefty profit for himself, and sold them to rich
people who still paid less than if they got them through one of the
big international auction houses.”
    Kerry’s brows drew together. “So what does
all this have to do with the guys who are after you?”
    “Maybe nothing. You’re the one who wanted to
know what I did in Thailand. But I haven’t reached the end of the
story.”
    Kerry uncrossed her legs, and stretched them.
Then, curling up again, she said grandly, “You can continue
now.”
    “About three months ago, when I passed the
door to Hsiang-li’s office, I heard voices inside. Since I
understand a little Chinese, I knew someone was threatening
Hsiang-li. I stepped into the office. Two Chinese men of average
size with calm demeanors and very cold eyes leaned toward
Hsiang-li. Their hands hung loosely by their sides, but their
postures seemed menacing. They didn’t look like typical bruisers.
They wore expensive business suits and appeared well bred,
educated. They glanced at me. One said, ‘Oh, the kwai lo.’ Then
they turned their backs on me. Hsiang-li hunched in defeat, and I
knew something dangerous was going on.”
    Kerry gave him a questioning glance. “How did
you know?”
    “Kwai lo is the Chinese name for barbarian,
an insult of the highest order. To keep the back turned is a sign
of disrespect. In this case, the insult seemed to be directed not
so much at me but at Hsiang-li as my mentor. They spoke awhile
longer in Chinese, then they started to leave. One man looked back
and said, in English, ‘As we have explained, we’re consolidating
the antiques business. We want you to join us or get out. We have
excellent sources for new antiquities, and we don’t want or need
the competition. If you do as we say, your American dog will be
safe.’”
    Kerry shot bolt upright. “What? They
threatened you? Yet when I asked what happened in Thailand, you
said, ‘Nothing.’ How can that be nothing?”
    “Because Hsiang-li did what they wanted.”
    “He closed his antiques business to protect
you?”
    “I told Hsiang-li he didn’t need to give in
on my account. If I left he would be safe, but he said he had other
reasons for closing.”
    “Who were the men? Triads?”
    “Maybe. Hsiang-li called them thugs in
business suits. When I reminded him that he’d dealt with people
like that before, he said, ‘No, these men are different. Their
power is far reaching.’ When I continued to protest, he told me all
things must end. If it weren’t those men, there would be others.
Penalties for dealing in