Death In Shanghai. M J Lee

kind about Margery, when she’s been such a witch.’

      ‘No she hasn’t.’ She leaned away from him, beating her little fist playfully on his jacket. He laughed, pulled her closer and together they shimmied across the dance floor.

      ***

      ‘Good afternoon, Inspector, good to see you again, even if it is always under the most trying of circumstances that we meet.’ The voice was elegantly patrician, the Received Pronunciation even more pronounced than usual.

      Dr Fang was dressed in his normal working attire: bright red bow tie with a fine gold weave, a crisp, rather old-fashioned shirt with wing collars and a beautifully tailored dark-green tweed suit. On his small feet, polished brown brogues peeped out beneath the turn-ups of the tweed trousers.

      Dr Fang had been educated in London, then studied under Locard in Lyon, which he never tired of telling people. He believed in Locard’s principles religiously. Procedures were to be followed to the smallest detail because every contact leaves a trace, however minute. There was no room for speculation, no margin for error. It was the facts, just the facts, that were important.

      ‘Come into my parlour.’ Dr Fang opened the door to the morgue. The pungent smell of formaldehyde hit Danilov like a Shanghai tram. And, as always, he was transported back to the sweets of his youth. He never knew why the smell of formaldehyde had this effect on him, bringing back memories of running down the streets of Minsk, his shoes clattering on the cobblestones, an aunt, elegant, austere, reaching into a large jar of sweets and bringing out a soft pink bonbon that melted in his mouth, covering his teeth in sticky sugar.

      But he wasn’t in the Minsk of his youth now. He was in a brightly lit white-tiled room that ached of loneliness and solitude. In front of him lay six stainless steel tables, each covered with a white sheet.

      Dr Fang stood next to the nearest of these tables and removed the cover revealing a white, bloodless corpse. The body had a Y-shaped incision on the chest that had been crudely sewn up with large, even stitches. The stomach and lower body was a mass of nothingness, revealing glimpses of pale meat hidden in the dark emptiness.

      He heard Strachan coughing behind him.

      ‘Is this your first post-mortem, young man?’ asked Dr Fang.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ answered Strachan with a voice that was much stronger than Danilov expected.

      ‘If you’re going to be sick, please do it outside. There’s a pail placed there precisely for the purpose. I will not have my clean floor covered in the acids of your stomach, is that clear?’

      ‘I’m not going to be sick, sir.’

      ‘I’m glad to hear it. Shall we begin?’

      Danilov nodded.

      ‘Good. I would like to thank you, Inspector Danilov. As ever you have given me a most interesting specimen to work with. Found in Soochow Creek wasn’t it?’

      ‘That’s right, sir. Early this morning, floating on the “Beach of Dead Babies”. It must have been washed down the creek on the ebbing tide,’ said Strachan.

      Dr Fang gave a loud sniff as if he had just inhaled a large dose of formaldehyde. ‘Oh, I doubt that, young man, it’s…?’

      ‘Detective Constable Strachan, sir.’

      ‘Well, Detective Strachan, we are here today to deal in facts, not idle suspicions, rumours, conjectures or suppositions. Is that clear?’

      ‘As the Soochow Creek, sir.’

      Dr Fang sniffed once again. ‘Let us begin, with just the facts this time.’

      Danilov watched as the doctor tugged at the end of his nose, letting the pause add to the drama, playing the game of silence.

      ‘As I said before, a most interesting case. Of course, a cursory examination of the body would conclude the victim had died from a deep incision across the lower abdomen and the pubic region.’ He indicated both areas with a retractable metal pointer. ‘But one would be wrong to leap to such an erroneous conclusion.’

      Here he stared pointedly at Strachan. ‘I’m quite sure the cuts were made post-mortem. See, there is no bleeding from the wounds.’ He pointed to the deepest slash across the base of the stomach.

      ‘But wouldn’t the creek have washed away the blood?’ asked Strachan.

      ‘For a layman, that would be the most obvious inference,’ sniffed Dr Fang, ‘but examining the capillaries under the microscope indicates no blood flowed through them when these cuts were made. Ergo, the victim,’ again he pointed to the body lying naked on the slab, ‘had already been dead before the wounds were made.’

      ‘Approximately how long had the victim been dead?’

      ‘I’m afraid it’s impossible to say. Being in water makes the time of death uncertain.’

      ‘So the victim drowned?’

      ‘It seems, Detective Strachan, you have quite a lot to learn about forensic science. The first thing you should learn is that we will complete these examinations more quickly if you keep quiet and not ask so many damn fool questions.’ Dr Fang adjusted his red bow tie and sniffed once again.

      Danilov held up his hand to prevent any response from Strachan. ‘Please continue, Dr Fang.’

      ‘As I was saying, the victim couldn’t have drowned because there is no water in the lungs. Interestingly, this medical phenomenon was first reported by a Chinese physician. His name was Song Ci and he produced a fascinating book called Xi Yuan Lu or The Washing Away of Wrongs, in 1248 during the Song Dynasty. I’m presently preparing an English translation which I would be happy to let you read, Inspector Danilov.’

      ‘I would be delighted, Dr Fang. But to return to our present investigation…’

      ‘Of course. I’m sure that the victim was killed before entering the water. An examination of the skin shows few signs of wrinkling, it wasn’t in the water for long.’

      ‘But there is one sign that indicates this more than anything else, isn’t there, Dr Fang?’

      ‘As ever, Inspector Danilov, you have noticed that something is missing.’ Again, the doctor paused for effect. ‘There are no rat bites. Normally, when a body ends up in any of the creeks or rivers surrounding Shanghai, our friends, rattus rattus and rattus norvegicus, like to partake of a little spot of luncheon or supper. One can usually estimate the length of time in the water from the number of bites. Of course, this can depend on the time of year and the exact place in the river they were found, but an absence of rat bites indicates the body was not in the creek long enough for our friends to gather a party for luncheon. In fact, after a thorough examination, I only noticed one bite, here…’ he pointed to the right side of the body closest to him ‘…and possibly one more, here on the intestines.’

      ‘Hmm, interesting and very illuminating, Doctor,’ said Danilov, ‘I thank you for the depth of your investigation.’

      Dr Fang beamed like a schoolboy who had just received a gold star for having spelt hypothalamus correctly. ‘But, there is more, Inspector. You see the bruising around the neck, here and here…’

      Danilov leant in to take a closer look. The dead eyes of the victim stared up at him. Cornflower-blue eyes, he noticed. Such a beautiful colour. He forced himself to look closely at the marks on the victim’s neck.

      ‘You will notice bruising on the neck. I would say with certainty this victim died from strangulation.’

      ‘The bruising seems to go all the way round.’

      The doctor nodded.

      ‘So it wasn’t manual strangulation?’ Inspector Danilov demonstrated by holding his hands out in front of him, grasping an imaginary neck.

      ‘I would say not. More likely to be mechanical or ligature strangulation, but using