From the records in the tiny office in the back, Fay Di showed me a photograph of Li Qiu. I asked for his address. “I shouldn’t be doing this!” she hissed. “I could get fired!”
“You are the manager. Unless Lim Xiao comes here himself, who’ll fire you? Right now Lim Xiao is worried about other things.” I tried to sound reassuring. Often in the course of a case, an investigator must convince people to do things they probably should not do.
Shaking her head, Fay Di quickly scribbled some Chinese characters on a counter check.
The address for Li Qiu was a rundown building on East Broadway. Standing outside looking at it, I cannot say I approved of the condition it was in. It was probably owned by a Hong Kong Chinese. They are investors who take very poor care of their buildings. I am not someone who likes to tell other people what to do, but the Hong Kong Chinese should go back to Hong Kong, taking their money with them.
I had many ideas of how I might gain entry to the building, but I was not forced to use any of them. The lock on the front door was broken. As I might have expected.
Li Qiu lived on the third floor. I myself live on the fourth floor, so climbing these stairs presented no difficulty. An investigator must be prepared to expend physical effort at any time if an investigation requires it.
When I found apartment 3D, I stood for a moment to catch my breath. I wouldn’t have done so, but I needed the full power of my lungs. Finally, I pounded on the door, screaming, “You make too much noise! All the time, noise, noise, noise! You have to stop! Be quiet!”
I went on like that until the door opened. It was only a tiny crack, but I shoved the door, still screaming, waving my arms. I am not a large woman. The man peering through the crack seemed startled when I pushed. “I live downstairs! How can I sleep? How can I play with my grandchildren? How can I do anything? Much too noisy up here! You shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” I ran out of things to scream, but I just started over.
Now I could recognize Li Qiu, standing at the half-opened door, glaring at me. He must have thought I was crazy. If I’d been able to understand him, I might have learned whether I was right, but he replied in angry Fukienese whispers. It was clear to me he didn’t want me to disturb the neighbors.
He tried to shut the door, but I jumped up as though to scratch out his eyes. Out of instinct he leapt back, as I’d planned. I was able to see into the room. No one else was visible, but I could see a closed door leading to another room. The place Li Qiu lived was quite untidy, with a bad smell. Clothes were strewn on the couch, take-out containers on the floor. The windows, which looked out onto a brick wall in any case, were covered by bed sheets hammered onto the frames.
The place was disgusting. I’d be humiliated if any of my children lived like this, even for five minutes.
Yet a Chloé handbag, open, its contents scattered, sat on a pizza box on a rickety table.
Chinatown is New York City’s center for knock-off designer goods. I’ve seen them all my life. I am not a person who likes to boast, but I can tell the real from the false on sight.
This handbag was real. It had cost its owner a good deal of money.
Li Qiu pushed my shoulder. I stopped screaming, as though he had frightened me. Shaking my head, I backed away. I walked down the stairs muttering.
Out on the street, I almost used the small telephone in my purse to call Carl Ting at his police precinct. Then I remembered my daughter telling me she had been able to find lawbreakers by their telephone numbers. I was not a lawbreaker, of course, but I didn’t want Carl Ting to find me. I called from a public telephone with a roof like a pagoda.
“A woman has been kidnapped,” I told Carl Ting. “She is in an apartment on East Broadway. You must hurry.” I gave him the address.
“Who is this?”
“A neighbor. The kidnapper is Li Qiu. He lives upstairs. He is a bad man.”
“Is this a joke?”
“Is it the kind of thing policemen think is funny?” I’m sure there’s nothing Carl Ting thinks is funny, as he has no sense of humor at all. “You must hurry to save her.” Remembering what my son had said, I added, “This information comes from Chin Tien Hua.”
“Tim Chin? What does he have to do with this?”
“Nothing. He wants someone to rescue her. He thinks you’re the best man to do it.”
“Why didn’t he call me himself?”
“He’s in a meeting. You cannot reach him. Rescue the woman. Then call my—call Chin Tien Hua.” Quickly, I hung up the phone.
Valerie Lim was rescued within the hour. I learned this because my son called me later, very upset.
“The cops told the Lims I was the one who told them! They’re furious!”
“But it was not you. Was it?”
“It must have been Lydia! I’ll kill her.”
“It could not have been your sister. She knows nothing about this case. I never reached her.”
“Then why do they think that?”