Dragon Bones (Red Princess 3)

Ma spoke reassuringly. “Of course it was. Our foreign friends must remember that our ways are sometimes different.” He paused, then added, “And very crude. You must think of our legal system as you might a jar of stinking tofu. Best to keep a lid on it.”

In another time, in another place, these might have been the last words that the director of the dig would have spoken in public. Hulan needed to see his dangan to understand who he was and why his words ran so freely.

A representative from one of the provincial museums was the first to speak. In Chinese he said, “I thought you were here to investigate corruption.”

“Often where there’s murder there’s also corruption,” Hulan crackled back in Mandarin.

The other museum representatives shifted in their seats. The foreigners—all apparently fluent in Mandarin—picked up on their colleagues’ sudden nervousness.

“I’m interested in whatever will lead me to a murderer,” Hulan continued in English. “If this Yu will lead me to Brian’s killer, then I’ll follow that path.”

“Are we in any danger?” Annabel Quinby asked.

Before Hulan could respond, Dr. Ma jumped in. “You are all perfectly safe.” He next addressed Hulan. “Almost everyone at this table helped search for Brian when he disappeared. We’ve come to accept that he fell in the river and drowned, and we’ve all taken extra precautions to be careful whenever we’re near the shore. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll show you what I think happened.”

“I wouldn’t be here, Dr. Ma, if the facts supported whatever accidental theory you might have.” Hulan scanned the faces at the table. “I think everyone should be careful until we’ve figured out exactly what happened.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group as this warning sank in. Then Stuart Miller swung his legs out and over the bench. “Come on, Cat, let’s visit awhile before I head back to the dam. You’ll give the old man that, won’t you? And don’t worry, Inspector, we’ll protect each other.”

His cavalier manner trumped everything Hulan had just said. Catherine gracefully rose out of her seat. Michael Quon also got up, and the others waved him off, teasing him about his afternoon walks and how hard it was to get a dilettante to do

any real work. Then the scholars carried on among themselves about the Four Mysteries just as Ma had predicted, while the men from the Chinese museums talked about the tastelessness of the dishes at the annual Cultural Relics banquet last spring.

All of this was out of Hulan’s realm of experience. Usually when the word murder came up, people wanted to hear the facts of the case; they wanted to know if there were suspects and who they might be; and they weren’t so easily convinced that they were safe themselves. Were the scholars so buried in their academic world that they didn’t care about what had happened to Brian? Were the museum scouts—the vultures—so sure of their positions that they weren’t even a little afraid of having someone from the MPS in their midst? Only Lily had shown any emotion about Brian’s death, but then she was the only person at the table who’d been accused of theft, smuggling, and murder.

AFTER LUNCH, DR. MA, DAVID, AND HULAN SET OUT TO WHERE IT was believed Brian had gone into the river. The late afternoon humidity felt as heavy and thick as porridge. The sky was a white blanket, and it looked as if it was about to rain, but for now dust billowed up with each of their footsteps and clung to the sweat on their arms, legs, and faces.

Hulan’s mind wandered in the heat. It was odd, she thought, how barren this area was. Coming down the river on the ferry, the hillsides had been lush and green, with vines cascading over rocks and ferns thriving in the moisture. Trees and bamboo had twisted into spidery forms as they reached for sunlight. Orchids and other tropical flowers had bloomed in shady spots. But here there were no trees or ferns or flowers. Instead Hulan saw only rocks and dirt and the occasional scraggly plant, while below them the murky waters of the Yangzi flowed past. Was it common for an archaeological site to be so desolate? Did the work that took place here require that the land be cleared of all flora?

Once they reached the upper path, Ba Mountain rose above them on their left. They passed a house—a hovel was more like it—that had been built into the cliff. The exposed portions, such as they were, had been constructed from bricks, cardboard, and corrugated metal sheeting. A woman in threadbare clothes sat on the front step, comforting a crying infant. This family would eventually be moved out of the inundation zone, but in the meantime, where was their kitchen garden? What did they eat?

The path narrowed, and now the cliff rose so high and steep next to Hulan that her shoulder and arm brushed along jagged outcroppings. To her right, the path fell away precipitously perhaps a hundred meters to the water. If Brian had fallen here and bashed his head on the rocks on his way down, he would have been dead when he hit the water, making his death an accident after all.

After climbing for half an hour, they reached a small crest, then began heading down the cramped walkway. Dr. Ma nimbly hopped from rock to rock, easily transferring his weight when the stones shifted under his boots. Hulan and David were more cautious, very aware that a false step could, at the very least, get them cut, scraped, or gouged.

They reached a small cove with a sliver of beach. Ma turned to them, hands on his hips, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “We found Brian’s daypack on a rock out there,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward the river. “He had a container of noodles, chopsticks, and a bottle of water sitting next to it.”

“Where?” Hulan didn’t see any boulders protruding from the water.

“You can’t see it now. With the rain the last few nights, the river’s been rising. It’s probably two meters higher than when Brian last came out here for lunch.”

“You think Brian walked all the way out here for a meal?” Hulan asked. “Why would he do that?”

“You just ate with us,” Ma answered. “Imagine having variations of that same conversation three times a day for several months, then coming back here a year later and having them all over again. Even I like to get away sometimes.”

Hulan edged down the bank. The rocks were wet, and with her shoe she tested to see how slippery they were. Plenty slippery. The river was narrow here too, so the current was fast. Brian’s body would have been carried away very quickly.

“Who found his things?”

“I did,” came Ma’s quick reply.

“And what brought you here?”

“Inspector, we’re a small group in a small area. We all have our little sanctuaries to get away from the others. Some of our people have places where they like to get away together, if you know what I mean. Men and women working side by side, the heat, the isolation….”

“Was Brian seeing anyone?” she asked.

“In particular?” Ma seemed to consider the possibilities. “I don’t think so.”