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“Absolutely. I bought a couple of pieces myself—”
“That you knew were stolen relics.”
“If they were at Cosgrove’s and supported by proper authenticity papers, I considered my purchases clean and legal transactions.” He smiled. “Lily let me know what was coming up for auction. She took me on private tours even before the public previews. She made a lot of money off of me, but you have to understand that Cosgrove’s was just her day job. She made real money—I’m talking serious cash, and it was all cash—dealing on the side. It’s totally illegal and unprofessional. That’s why I never went to her directly, because it always seemed too risky. I guess I was right.”
“Can you talk a little more about your relationship with Lily?” Hulan asked. “Just how intimate was it?”
THE PILOT CONTINUED HIS SIGHTSEEING MONOLOGUE FOR Pathologist Fong’s benefit, but the trip down to Wuhan was hardly as grand as it had been in the Three Gorges. The floodwaters that had been confined within the high, narrow walls of the gorges now spilled over low, wide banks, inundating fields and farm buildings. David could see people sitting on rooftops, whether waiting to be rescued or waiting for the waters to recede he didn’t know. Bridges and roads disappeared into water. What had seemed like just high water back at Bashan now looked hugely destructive, but David felt numb to all of the misery below. He was exhausted and trying to hoard his resources to deal with the day ahead.
The government helicopter touched down at the Wuhan airport, and two vans pulled up. Under Fong’s watchful eye, a couple of men put Lily’s body in the back of one of the vans. David said good-bye and got into the other one. He passed through the terminal without incident, and the flight down to Hong Kong was uneventful. He landed at the new airport, where a Rolls-Royce was waiting to take him to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Tourism had been down ever since the handover, so he was given a spectacular room overlooking the harbor. He dropped off his bag, then immediately went to the mezzanine, crossed over into the Prince’s Building through an enclosed pedestrian bridge—thus avoiding Hong Kong’s murderous humidity, not to mention the torrential rain pounding the gray streets below—and entered his favorite tailor shop in the city.
When he’d left Beijing, he thought he was going only to an archaeological dig, but his khakis and short-sleeved polo shirts wouldn’t do in Hong Kong. He didn’t have the three days necessary to have a suit made, so he selected a Zegna suit of fine dark wool. The tailor promised to have the alterations done by three. David then continued on through the passageways and over another pedestrian bridge into the Landmark Building, where he bought some ties, a couple of dress shirts, a pair of shoes, socks, and a lightweight linen sports jacket to make himself moderately presentable when he went to Cosgrove’s.
The Hong Kong headquarters for the auction house was on the fifteenth floor of the Swire House, again just a short walk over yet another pedestrian bridge. The elevator opened onto a lobby paneled in rosewood. On the left, a Plexiglas case held a Tang horse; on the right, a carving of a seated Guan Yin. Framed posters of past auctions decorated the walls. Commerce may have been bustling outside and the weather abysmal, but in here it was utter quiet and sublime elegance.
David gave a business card to the receptionist and said, “I don’t have an appointment, but I’d like to see the person in charge. I have some information regarding Lily Sinclair.”
A few minutes later, the door to the inner offices opened, and a tall, dapper gentleman with silver hair and severe wire-rimmed glasses stepped through. He introduced himself as Angus Fitzwilliams, executive director of Cosgrove’s Hong Kong branch. Fitzwilliams led the way back to his office, and they sat down. The desk was as neat as the man. Although a big event would be happening later today, there were no papers or files strewn about. The only items on the desk were a phone and a photograph of a middle-aged woman sitting on a couch upholstered in chintz. Behind the desk was a credenza, also totally free from papers. The lack of a computer terminal added to the conceit that no work went on in this room.
“I see from your card that you’re a lawyer,” Fitzwilliams said in clipped tones, “so I suppose I should deduce that Lily has gotten into some sort of trouble over on the Mainland. I have to say it was only a matter of time, but if she thinks she’s going to get an
y help from us, you should report back to your client that she’s sadly mistaken.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t it, although I wish it were.” There was never an easy way to break this sort of news. “I’m sorry to inform you that Miss Sinclair is dead.”
Fitzwilliams visibly struggled to control his emotions, then managed, “I always worried about her traveling alone so far off the beaten track. And, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of just how bad those drivers can be on the Mainland.”
“It wasn’t a car accident. Miss Sinclair was murdered. Her body was found yesterday.”
Fitzwilliams’s fist clenched, and he brought it down on the desk with a dull thud. He stared at his hand in wonder and slowly released the tension.
David didn’t speak, curious about what Fitzwilliams would say next.
“When will her things be returned to us?”
Not the usual first question in such a moment.
“The Chinese government will return her personal effects to her family,” David answered.
“Lily considered Cosgrove’s her family,” Fitzwilliams assured David. “Her things should be sent here as soon as possible.”
No questions about how she was murdered or by whom. No questions about when her body might be returned.
“I’m not with the Chinese police,” David said, “so I’m the wrong person to speak to about that.”
Fitzwilliams’s eyes narrowed as he registered this. “Yes, of course you aren’t with the native police. Then what are you doing here?”
“I represent China’s State Cultural Relics Bureau. It was in this capacity that I met Lily.”
“Cosgrove’s cannot take responsibility for activities our employees do outside these walls.”
“But I think you can and must,” David said. “Lily was out in the field looking for artifacts and collections to bring to you. She also wooed clients for you. What she did clearly has a direct connection to Cosgrove’s, and I think any court would agree with me. What concerns me, however, is that it sounds as though not only did you know Lily was into things that she shouldn’t have been but you’re eager to acquire whatever she had in her possession at the time of her death.”
“I’m not accustomed to this sort of situation,” Fitzwilliams admitted. “I don’t know the proper responses you’re looking for.”
Again David waited, using the old prosecutor’s trick. Again Fitzwilliams came through, filling the void just as he was supposed to.
“Lily always said she was lucky, and who was I to deny it? She would browse the antiques shops up on Hollywood Road until she found some treasure or other, then she’d persuade the dealer to put it up for auction. It’s a lot easier to sell through us than to wait for a connoisseur to come through the door. Or she’d bring in a piece of porcelain saying that she’d picked it up in a pawnshop on the Mainland. Since the porcelain wasn’t marked as an antique, she’d bring it out simply as a curio. We’d come away with something that Lily said she’d bought for one hundred yuan suddenly worth twenty-five thousand Hong Kong dollars. She had a good eye.”
