Detained

“And he donated a basketball court to the village before our witness says he died in a fire after a fight in the Golden Lotus restaurant on February twenty. That’s six weeks after Will is supposed to have killed him. The story about him dying in his bed from injuries sustained in a fight with a business partner surfaced immediately after the fire. It was meant to be a more honourable way to die than in what was effectively a bar fight.”

“So, Will has been accused of beating a man to death who immediately after the said beating, attended a wedding looking like a handsome bastard, spent big for the kids of Tengtou, then got toasted in a fire,” said Peter.

Darcy nodded. “Is it enough?”

“It’s enough.” Peter still managed to look hesitant, but then he must have been worried about what it was still going to take to get Will freed.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Write the story.”

“I will. It’ll go out tomorrow. It should start syndicating almost immediately, with internet, radio and TV taking it up first.”

“And come with me to tell Will.”

Darcy started, “Me?” See Will? God, through all of this she’d not paused to think she’d ever see Will again. It was enough to know she’d done something to right the wrong she’d set in motion.

Peter got up from the table and walked across to a sideboard with coffee, tea and milk laid out on it. He poured a coffee. He spoke to the reflection of the room in the window.

“Will is convinced he killed Feng. He thinks I’d do anything to get him out, including fabricate evidence and lie to him. He’s already resigned to staying in jail or worse. He’s tried to hand control of Parker to me permanently, and he’s even had a new last will and testament drawn up.”

Darcy could see a distorted version of Peter’s face in the window, but the agony of what he’d said was distinct on Aileen’s face and made Bo mutter inaudibly.

“He went so far as to admit to killing Feng in an interrogation session.”

“Holy shit, they interrogated him,” said Robert.

“Every day in a bloodstained room. Sometimes twice a day. Two goons. They tell him he’s guilty and he’s going to die, and he should cleanse his conscience by confessing.”

Darcy put her hand over her mouth and tasted bile in the back of her throat as the horror of what Will was experiencing washed over her. She’d been so busy focusing on her crusade to find information to help him she’d not stopped to think about how he was coping with the terror of what his life had become.

The weight of Peter’s words blanketed them in silence until he spoke again. “They’ve put him in with the general population: with gang members, rapists, murderers, drug traffickers and child molesters. He hasn’t recovered from the beating he took from the kidnappers, and I haven’t been able to get him proper medical attention. He doesn’t sleep, he gives his food ration away. He thinks he’s guilty and he’s given up on trying to prove otherwise.”

Peter turned back to face them, his features showing the ravages of dealing with this nightmare. “You told me Will meant something to you. I think you mean something to Will too, Darcy. There’s a chance he’ll listen if this news comes from you. A chance we can reach him, shake him out of this. It’s going to take a lot to clear this through the legal system. I need him to be ready to fight, to be mentally on board. Will you help?”

She’d do anything. For Will Parker, she’d do anything at all.

“Of course, what else are we missing?”

“We’re missing Will,” said Peter. “We need to go and get him.”

27. Trouble

“Behind every smile there’s teeth.” — Confucius

Something was different about today’s interrogation. It started far earlier than normal and went on far longer.

Will felt like he’d only closed his eyes and they were dragging him from the sleeping platform. He was so groggy he could hardly stand, which earned him a kick in the shins. Amazing how quickly a well-aimed kick in the shins could get your faculties functioning.

The interrogations had changed subtly since he’d confessed, so he shouldn’t have been surprised by this one. He’d been naive to think giving them what they wanted would end the process. It’d seemed to excite them further. It wasn’t enough to say he’d killed Feng; they wanted details. So this morning he told them.

It was dark, it was late, it was wintertime. Will remembered he’d been cold walking from the office, remembered thinking he should’ve accepted Bo’s offer to wait and drive him home after working late. It’d caught him by surprise. At first he hadn’t understood who it was threatening him, thought it was random. Then he’d heard the voice, seen the knife and attacked. He beat Feng till he lay on the ground and didn’t move again. He’d left him on the street and gone inside to go to bed.

But none of that was enough for them. They said there was no knife. That Feng came to see Will out of friendship, and Will attacked without provocation, that he’d wanted to avoid paying his debt by killing Feng, who was his only friend and supporter in Shanghai.

They said it didn’t happen the way Will remembered it. They bombarded him with questions, and they twisted the scene until it resembled something Will didn’t recognise as remotely like the truth.

By the time they released him breakfast was over, and it would be a long time till lunch. He went back to his cell, if he was lucky he might get to doze a little while. He figured it would be better when he was given a work detail, then he’d sleep from sheer physical fatigue. Quingpu was a farm prison. It would be like being a kid again working on the land. Assuming they didn’t have him especially assigned to breaking rocks for the fun of it.