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“Because Great Uncle Kee was at my wedding.”
“When was your wedding?”
“February fourteen,” Jennifer shrugged, “Wasn’t auspicious, but I’m sentimental.”
That was a month after Will was accused of killing Feng. Darcy took her sunnies off. The truth needed to be looked at without tinted lenses. “You’re sure?”
“I have pictures.”
“Why did you tell me this?”
“Because we’re scared they’ll try to control us. I’m telling you so you can do something. Maybe it will stop them.”
Darcy sucked in a breath. Being late to the party always was a fashionable move. “Did you tell the other journalists too?”
Jennifer Feng looked at her, a head to toe inspection that made Darcy want to tug at the hem of her shorts, tuck in her t-shirt, tidy up.
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “They didn’t ask.” She looked down at her son’s sleeping face. “And Michael likes you.”
26. Missing
“A man without a moustache is a man without a soul.” — Confucius
They didn’t stop. They drove straight through, Bo and Robert sharing the driving. Peter was waiting for them. They had enough evidence to cast doubt over Will’s guilt, if not to exonerate him entirely.
Darcy had wanted to call in the story from the car but she was scared to do anything that might have the unintended consequences of making things worse for Will. As soon as she had assurance from Peter, she’d file it with the wire service.
She had a wedding photo in her bag that showed the Feng wedding. Bride and groom in the foreground with a triple tier red cake with gold roses on the top, and the symbols for double happiness iced in gold. Great Uncle Kee stood proudly in the background with his much younger girlfriend.
On Robert’s camera was a photograph of a plaque on the fence of a basketball court. Kee had donated the facility to the village after the date of his supposed death, the same month as Jennifer’s wedding.
But Bo had found the smoking gun. In the Golden Lotus restaurant, he had tea with a toothless old woman who told him about the story of her business. About how she ran the best restaurant in town, serving only the freshest vegetables, the choicest meats and the most fragrant tea.
She told Bo with great pride how her father started the business, how she inherited it, and how one night she nearly lost it all, because some foolish men were drunk and dancing with the whores they’d brought.
She’d wanted to ask them to leave, but they were all men from the Feng family, the founders of the village, very powerful. They danced and they drank, and they picked a fight with her chef. Chef attacked the men with a carving knife, there was a chase and fat got tipped over and a fire started. The restaurant nearly burned down, the kitchen was gutted. It was probably chef’s fault he died, but he was an excellent cook so it still made her sad. The other man who died, good riddance. His name was Feng Kee but his family put out the story that he was beaten to death by a shady business partner in the city.
Zhongshan Road was quiet when they arrived, but Parker offices were lit up. Peter met them at the elevators. He wore jeans and a crushed linen shirt, no fancy watch. His hair was mussed up, and he had score marks under his eyes and down his cheeks from lack of sleep.
Bo had no sooner cleared the closing doors than Peter had him in a bear hug. “I don’t have the words to thank you for what you’ve done.”
Bo pumped Peter on the back. “We will get him out now.”
“We will.” Peter sighed from deep in his chest, from a place he’d carried heavy despair. Darcy felt the heft of it in his words. “It should be enough to end this nightmare.” He turned away. “Come through, all of you.”
Aileen met them in a reception room. She too was dressed for being called back to the office at eleven at night, but looked no less beautiful.
Dusty, sweaty and able to smell herself in a t-shirt she’d worn for two days, Darcy felt like a complete grunge in her presence. There was food and drink laid out. Robert was on it, groaning in delight as he discovered prawns.
Aileen went to Bo and the two hugged, soft words between them. She went to Robert and extended her hand, made him juggle his plate to accept it, stepped in to him, kissed him on the cheek, and almost made him drop it.
Then she came to Darcy, tears hovering in her eyes. “Thank you. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Me too,” said Peter. He had his hand extended. Darcy lifted hers, and was hauled into Peter’s hug. He smelled of expensive aftershave and was all elbows and ribs, nothing like the solidity and strength of Will. She clung to Peter momentarily. As uncomfortable as the hug was, it might be as close as she’d get to Will.
