Death In Shanghai. M J Lee

couldn’t say, Inspector. All I can say with certainty is the victim wasn’t strangled with the hands. There are no finger or thumb impressions or bruising.’

      ‘Thank you, Doctor. The facts are just what we need.’

      Dr Fang sniffed again. ‘There are four other facts that may interest you, Inspector.’

      ‘Please continue, my ears are on the top of my head, as we say in Russia.’

      ‘That would be interesting anatomically, Inspector, but a little painful when it rains.’

      Strachan laughed and received a warning glance from Danilov.

      ‘As I was saying, four facts. Firstly, here, on the inside of the wrist, the faint mark of a tattoo. Somebody has tried to remove this, but the words are still clear.’

      Danilov leaned forward once more and inspected the inside of the wrist. He reached into his pocket and produced a pair of wire-framed glasses. ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me,’ he said out loud.

      ‘Luke, chapter 18 verse 16,’ said Strachan, looking pleased with himself.

      ‘I’m sorry, Stra-chan?’

      ‘Luke, chapter 18 verse 16. “But Jesus called them unto him, and said, suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” Sunday school years ago, sir. Comes in handy once in a while, all those years on my knees, learning the bible. But I think everybody knows these particular verses.’

      ‘I suppose they do, Detective. But why would our victim have a tattoo like that? Not so common is it?’

      ‘Not common at all, sir. Usually, it’s a tiger. Or a heart with Mother written in the middle.’ Strachan seemed to think a little more. ‘Or even a naked lady. One time…’

      ‘Yes, yes, Detective, we don’t have time to hear about your experiences with naked ladies. I have two more bodies I have to examine before supper.’

      ‘Please continue, Dr Fang, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your bodies. Or your supper. It seems you have three more pieces of information to give us?’

      ‘Thank you, Inspector. The second is that the victim’s hair was dyed.’ He pointed to the long locks of blonde hair, now dry, that flowed from the head of the body. ‘Recently dyed, I would say. No traces of new growth coming through at all. The third is the characters carved into the chest with a knife or similar instrument. The characters are those for “justice”. Neatly cut, almost like a stencil. I will try to ascertain what type of knife made the strokes of the characters when I have time.’

      ‘And the final piece of information?’

      Now a smug smile passed across the lips of Dr Fang. ‘This is probably the most interesting thing I discovered in my examination of the body. Most interesting indeed.’

      ‘And what is that, Doctor?’

      ‘Well…’ Dr Fang dragged out the revelation, playing the moment for all it was worth, ‘our victim was a man, not a woman.’

      ‘But the hair? The breasts? The make-up?’ said Strachan.

      ‘Yes, detective, all there. But this is, without doubt, a man.’

      ‘How can you be sure?’

      Dr Fang sniffed as if the imparting of secrets of his profession was beneath him. ‘There are noticeable physical differences between the male and female bodies. The most obvious, the genitalia, are how most laymen distinguish between the sexes.’ Here, he stared at Strachan. ‘But there are other indicators. The first is bone size. Males tend to have larger bones then women. Next I would look at the pelvic region, here…,’ he pointed to the area around the body’s missing stomach. ‘But with this particular corpse, that area has been devastated by the murderer.’

      Strachan leant over to look closely. Dr Fang sniffed once more and pointed to the skull. ‘Then, I would look here. In males, the chin tends to be squarer. Females tend to have a more pointed chin. If you look closely, our corpse has a quite pronounced square chin. The last giveaway is the supraorbital ridge…’

      ‘The what?’ said Strachan.

      ‘The brow, for our young Detective Constable. In males it tends to be much more prominent. Finally, if all else fails, I check the fingers. On women the index finger is longer than the third finger. The reverse is true of men.’

      Danilov couldn’t stop himself from checking the hands of the victim.

      ‘This, taking everything into consideration, gentlemen, is most definitely a man.’ Dr Fang folded his arms across his chest, daring Strachan to question him any further.

      ‘Now that is interesting,’ said Danilov.

      ***

      Elsie glanced at her Vacheron Constantin watch, a present from Richard. ‘I’ve got to be off now, back for the evening show.’ She took one last swallow of her Old-Fashioned, draining her glass.

      ‘Such a bore,’ said Margery.

      ‘Terrible isn’t it? But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.’

      ‘Can I give you a lift?’ said Richard.

      ‘Don’t worry, you stay here and…’ she looked straight at Margery ‘…enjoy yourself with your friends. I’ll see you this evening at Ciro’s. Shall we say 11 pm? Don’t be late, it’s no fun sitting there all alone.’

      ‘I’ll pick you up from the theatre if you want.’

      ‘Don’t bother. Trevelyan gets awfully jealous when he sees any of his girls with somebody else. You know how old theatrical poofs get, more possessive and catty as they age. That one has the claws of a female tiger with cubs to protect.’ She looked at her watch again.

      With a blown kiss to Richard thrown over her shoulder, she dodged the white-jacketed waiters and ran out of the ballroom. With luck, there would be a taxi waiting, hang the expense. Anything was better than another dressing down from Trevelyan.

      She stepped out of the hotel, and immediately a taxi started its engine and pulled up in front of her. Maybe my luck has finally changed, she thought.

      Elsie Everett didn’t notice that a man had followed her out of the hotel.

      She didn’t notice that he nodded to the driver of the taxi as it picked her up.

      She didn’t notice that there was no meter in the taxi.

      ***

      He watched her leave, stepping past all the waiters and the scum who frequented these cesspits. How the smell of them disgusted him. The sharp odours of stale perfume sprayed on liberally to smother the even sharper stench of sweat. The powder spotting the women’s faces, clumping in small white boils as they pranced to the beat of the band. And the raucous laughs, hollow red-framed mouths showing nicotine-stained teeth. All laughing too hard, too long and too falsely.

      He saw all the dancers and their escorts, the waiters and waitresses, the musicians and their shiny dinner jackets, and he knew they couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see him for what he was. He blended in so well, like a chameleon in human form, he was changed by wherever he was, melting into the background, hiding in plain sight.

      If you never want to be noticed, just be bland, be ordinary. It was the same at the Front, just wear khaki like all the others and nobody could ever see the real you. Just another soldier they would say. Never noticed his face they would say. Well, you don’t, do you? Just notice the rank not the man, they would say.

       Here, in Shanghai, he needed to cleanse the city of its degenerates, to remove the bloated maggots that fed on its flesh. He had made a start in other places, of course, but somehow, it never felt right. Meaningless deaths to salve an itch. There was no pleasure in it. But here, he had found his reason to exist. Perhaps the city had fed it, like