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After I left the police station, I motored over to the block of flats near St. James’s park that Chaz called home. The building was only about ten years old and a top-notch example of Art Deco architecture. The walls were smooth, white concrete and curved extravagantly inward at the front. The doors were framed in brass, and a grated elevator squeaked and rattled its way from the ground floor to the sixth floor with excruciating slowness. I took the stairs.
I pounded on the door to flat 6A, somewhat out of breath. There was a pause, then Chaz himself opened the door in his shirtsleeves with smears of shaving cream still on his face. “Ophelia, old thing, whatever are you doing here?”
We exchanged air kisses, and then I sallied into his sitting room. He had a nice view of the park, a lovely tile grate, and enough room for a substantially sized divan, though he’d opted for club chairs instead.
“Darling, I need your help.”
“Of course you do, love. Let me just finish up, and I’ll be with you. You know where the drinks cupboard is.” And he disappeared down the hall.
I helped myself to whiskey neat since he didn’t have any ice or ginger ale. Sinking into one of his club chairs, I toasted myself by the fire, enjoying the music wafting from his radio at the back of the flat. I was nearly done with my drink by the time he rejoined me, properly shaved and attired.
“What sort of help do you need?” He asked, refreshing my drink before pouring himself one. “Let me guess. You need to break into the Tower of London and save Hale from the hangman’s noose.”
“Don’t be overly dramatic,” I said tartly, though I suddenly realized that if I couldn’t prove Hale’s alibi, the hangman might become an actuality. I shivered unpleasantly. “Hale has an alibi. He was at a pub in Chinatown. The Golden Flower or something like that. If we can find someone who saw him there, North will be forced to let him go.”
“And you want me to come with you to protect your honor.”
“Something like that.” While women weren’t exactly banned from pubs, or at least not all pubs, they were generally shunned to the far corners. And certainly proper ladies weren’t seen in pubs—perish the thought. Not that I gave two figs for what proper ladies did or did not do, but in this particular case, having a man along would certainly help me get answers. Beside which, Chinatown wasn’t exactly a safe place for a lady alone after dark. I didn’t imagine it was much better in daylight.
“Very well. I shall squire you about.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
I laughed at his nonsense. “Finish your drink first.”
He tossed it back. “No time like the present. Hurry it up, love. Time’s a-wasting.”
I sighed and drained my class. “Have you somewhere more important to be?”
“Not until tonight.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But do you really want your lover wasting away in prison?”
“Don’t call him that.”
“What? Your lover?” He drew out the last word.
I smacked him. “Don’t be a tease. Now help me on with my coat, and let’s get going.”
Once properly attired for the weather, I drove us across to Chinatown which was basically across the street from the theaters of the West End. Brick buildings packed tight together boasted vibrantly colored signs in Chinese. Fortunately for our purposes, most were translated to English, or at the very least had clear indicators of the type of business inside.
We walked the streets, looking for any sign of a Golden something. There were plenty to choose from: The Golden Dragon, The Golden Star, the Golden Noodle.
“Look. The Golden Lotus.” Chaz pointed at a rather dodgy looking building, its bricks black with soot. It looked like no one had cleaned it since the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. “Do you suppose that’s it?”
“Looks like. A lotus is a flower, or so I hear.” I eyed the building warily.
“Doesn’t look like the sort of place they let in women,” Chaz said.
I snorted. “Such misogyny. Come along, darling.” I strode straight for the door and yanked it open. Smoke billowed out, and I choked, tearing up against the stink. Most of it was tobacco, but there was something sweeter underneath. “Is that—?”
“Opium,” Chaz said grimly.
“Oh, dear,” I murmured. Chaz once had a problem with opium. “You probably shouldn’t go in there.”
He straightened his shoulders. “We’re doing this for Hale. I’ll be fine.” But his face was a little pale and there were beads of sweat at his hairline. I didn’t like it one bit, but it was his choice.
“Right behind you.”
As we walked into the dimly lit room, all conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to stare at us. The barman pointed a thick finger at me and said, “She ain’t wanted.”
“Maybe you better wait outside, Ophelia,” Chaz said softly.
“But—”
“I’m more likely to get the information we need from these gentlemen without you here.”
I glanced around at all those cold, hard eyes and realized he was right. I didn’t like it though. “Fine. I’ll be just outside. If anyone causes you a problem, there will be problems for him.” And I gave them all a hard stare before turning about and marching for the door.
The minute I was outside, I drew a deep breath of fresh air—as fresh as it gets in London anyway—relieved to be out of there. What a horrid place! I was shocked that Hale would frequent such an establishment. But then, I really didn’t know what had been going on in his life over the last couple of months.
The scent of sweet buns tickled my nose and my stomach rumbled, reminding me that tea at Louise’s had been hours ago. I figured it would take Chaz some time to get the information, and the area looked safe enough, so I wandered over to the building from which emanated the delicious aromas.
The brick facade was decorated with a gold and red sign in Chinese. I’d no idea what it meant, but the goods in the window spoke for themselves. I stepped into the steamy interior and everyone turned to stare at me. This was becoming an uncomfortable routine.
I was the only Westerner in the place. Everyone else was Chinese and wore Chinese-style clothing. I stood out like a sore thumb. Instead of creeping out, I lifted my head and marched straight to the counter.
“I’d like one of those, please.” I pointed randomly to one of the buns sitting in neat stacks in wicker baskets along the front of the shop.
The tiny little woman behind the counter bowed and then used a set of tongs to extract a bun which she dropped into a paper bag. Then she rattled out a few words which I didn’t at all understand.
“Oh, dear. Let me see what I’ve got.” I pulled out my coin purse and began to show her various coins. She just stared at me.
“It’s just a farthing, miss,” a voice from behind me spoke.
I turned to see a very pretty young Chinese girl dressed in a simple blue cotton dress with a high mandarin collar. “My grandmother doesn’t speak English.”
“As I don’t speak your language, I’m afraid,” I said apologetically. I selected a bronze coin and handed it to the grandmother who bowed again. “Please tell her thank you.”
The girl rattled off a few words which resulted in more bowing. I found myself bowing back and hoped neither of them took offence. They didn’t seem to. Instead the girl asked, “Have you had our buns before?”
“I haven’t, but their delightful smell lured me over.”
She grinned. “I hope you enjoy them then.”
“Oh, I’m sure I shall.” I eyed her closely. She was young, spoke flawless English, obviously worked here. Long hours no doubt. Perhaps she had seen Hale. “I was wondering... perhaps you might help me. My name is Ophelia.”
“Mai Lin.”
“Oh, what a lovely name. Well, Mai Lin, a friend of mine was down here the other night. Perhaps you saw him?” I described Hale. “I believe he spent some time in the Golden Lotus.”
Mai Lin shook her head. “Sorry, not me.” She spoke a few words to her grandmother. I expected a negative answer, but after a little back and forth, Mai said, “Yes. Grandmother saw him.”
My jaw nearly dropped. “She did? When? Where?”
More back and forth with a great deal of wild gesturing from the grandmother.
“She says it was two nights ago. Very late. She was shutting up shop when she saw Mr. Ling throw this man out of the Golden Lotus. He was quite drunk and refused to leave.”
“Does she know what time this was?” My heart beat excitedly.
“She says it was around ten o’clock. That’s when she went home that night.”
“Did she see where he went?” I asked. According to North, Dottie had been killed sometime between ten and midnight, which didn’t really help Hale’s case.
Mai Lin pointed to a park bench at the curb. “He laid down there and went to sleep. She doesn’t know how long he was there since she went straight home.”
I gave them both a smile and thanked them profusely before returning to my waiting spot outside the Golden Lotus. As I waited, I nibbled on the bun. It was lovely, light and sweet, with a creamy, exotic filling. I recognized it as coconut. Something I’d only had a few times but was inordinately fond of. I would have to remember to come back to this bakery.
I had just finished my bun when Chaz came out. I told him about my trip to the bakery and gave him a quick run-down on what the old lady had told me. “What did you find out?”
“The barman says he threw Hale out at ten for being too deep in his cups.”
“Wholly unlike Hale,” I said. “But it does put us in a bit of a bind. It still doesn’t give him an alibi.”
“True, but one of the other patrons assured me that if anyone saw him, it was Win.”
“Win? What sort of a name is Win?”
Chaz shrugged. “No idea, but he has a little bookshop over on Coventry. We can walk over. It’s not far.”
“Very well,” I said, not at all thrilled about the idea. My idea of exercise is lifting a cocktail glass.
Coventry Street was a couple of blocks down, past the China Gate which loomed above, it’s tiered roof lines of terra cotta tiles and brightly colored frontage gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Win’s bookshop was right on the corner in the ground floor of an old Victorian building, the bricks of which were stained nearly black—like those at the Golden Lotus—from decades of London fog. There was no sign, only simple letters on the door that read Win’s Books.
“Creative,” I muttered dryly.
“Don’t be a drip,” Chaz muttered back. “We need his help, remember?”
I sighed. “Very well, darling, but I can’t help it if people are boring.”
Inside, the shop smelled strongly of tinned sardines, cigarettes—which I detest—and old books. There was also a rather plump black cat sitting on the counter. It glared at me through slitted green eyes. I stared back, and I swear it smirked at me.
Books of all sizes and shapes were stacked about the shop in tottering piles. A few rickety shelves, crammed to overflowing, lined the walls while a large table, stacked nearly to the ceiling, took up the center of the room. Even the way to the counter was half blocked by books.
There was no one in the shop. No buyers or browsers. No one even stuck their head in. And there was no sign of the proprietor, Win.
Chaz cleared his throat and shouted out, “Hello? Anyone in? We’re here for Win.” He grimaced at the inadvertent rhyme even as I snickered.
From behind the counter rose first an orange and black Chinese silk cap with orange tassels hanging from its crown. That was followed by a round face with small, dark eyes and an enormous, drooping mustache with a pipe poking from beneath it. He was not Chinese, as I had assumed, but very obviously English.
He pulled the pipe from his lips. “’ullo. Looking for a book, are we? Come to the right place.”
Had he been napping back there? I coughed as a cloud of smoke billowed my way.
Since I was having trouble speaking for once in my life, Chaz took over, explaining our conundrum. “Chap down at the Golden Lotus said maybe you could help.”
Win tugged at his mustache. “Black fellow, you say? American? Oh, aye. I remember ‘im quite well. Got himself absolutely soused. Over a woman, I reckon. Always a woman. Sorry, ma’am.”
I waved him off, thinking he likely wasn’t entirely wrong, and stepped back a few paces to give myself breathing room. I pretended to peruse what appeared to be the travel section. There was a book about Paris. I flipped through a few pages, then set it down quickly when I realized it was more about Parisian women than Paris itself. And they all seemed to be lacking in clothing.
“So, you did see him, then?” Chaz’s voice caught my attention.
“Sure and certain,” Win said around his pipe. “Found ‘im passed out on the bench, didn’t I?”
“What time was that?” Chaz asked.
Win stared up at the ceiling as if it might give him inspiration. “Oh, ‘bout half ten.”
Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to walk to Hyde Park, murder Dottie, and get back to the bench for Win to find him. Could it be done?
I calculated quickly in my mind. Very unlikely. Both the barman and Win claimed Hale was drunk out of his mind. And while he might be able to fool Win, I doubted he’d be able to fool an experienced barman. Leaving that aside, it would take more than thirty minutes to walk from the Golden Lotus to Hyde Park. Even if he’d been able to catch a cab, it would still have been at least fifteen minutes each way, not to mention having to walk to the center of the park to kill Dottie. No, there was simply no way that he could have done it in that time frame. If that’s the time she died.
“Did you see him after that?” I asked.
Win squinted at me. “Well, sure ‘nough I did. It was cold, you see. Couldn’t leave the poor man sitting there to freeze to death. Wouldn’t be Christian. So, I roused ‘im and got ‘im to the shop, you see. Hot tea does the trick.”
I was feeling a little faint. “What time did he leave the shop?”
“He didn’t. Not til morning. He slept on my cot right here.”
We both peered over the counter to find that there was indeed a cot back there.
“Where’d you sleep?” Chaz asked.
“Upstairs, o‘course. Got a nice little flat above the shop.”
“How do you know he didn’t sneak out sometime during the night, then come back in later?”
“Couldn’t,” Win said firmly. “Door’s locked after closing. No way out ‘less you’ve got a key, and he ain’t got one. I let him out at six the next morning.”
Chaz and I exchanged glances. We’d done it. We’d proved Hale’s alibi. Now we just had to convince North.