City Of Shadows. M Lee J
could, bringing the knee to rest on the edge of the gutter.
He breathed out.
Don’t look down.
He promised himself that this was the last time he would ever chase a criminal. No more. He would leave it to Inspector Danilov from now on. His chasing days were over.
He inched his knee upwards, gripping with his nails and pushing upwards to let his body rest on the slates. The sole of his shoe touched the gutter.
Slowly, Strachan, slowly.
He pushed with his leg. The gutter strained and groaned against the joint holding it to the wall. His body inched up the roof.
He breathed out, offering prayers to all the gods he knew, and some he didn’t.
There was a sharp screech. The metal gutter jerked away from his foot, hung in the air for a few moments, before clattering to the ground.
Strachan rolled his back onto the cold slates and breathed out again, enjoying their hard embrace. He looked up at the sky. Three swallows were dancing in the air, weaving figures of eight above his head.
A faint scuffling noise off to his left. The man was further away now, escaping.
He crawled up the steep roof, this time pushing off with his feet, always looking for handholds. He was near the ridge line now. Heaving himself across it, he looked over to his left. At the end of the terrace, the thug was standing on the edge of the roof. The man looked over his shoulder and, for a short moment, his eyes met Strachan’s.
Then he jumped.
Strachan shouted. He couldn’t remember what he shouted. All he knew was that the shock of seeing the man suddenly leap out into nothing expelled all the air from his chest.
Up above, ominous grey clouds were coming in from the East, bring with them the threat of rain. Already, the wind was lapping at Strachan’s jacket. He sat up until he was on all fours and crawled along the ridge, scraping his knees on the rough edges.
A few more feet left. He reached a large tile that marked the end of the ridge line and peered over the edge, trying to see where the body of the man had fallen.
But there was no body. Instead, a latticework of bamboo crawled up the wall, left behind by some builders.
He stood up slowly, took a deep breath and jumped over the edge.
After what seemed like an eternity of a fall, he landed on the bamboo platform, which immediately began to move away from the wall and topple backwards.
He dropped to the platform, getting down as low as he could. The bamboo shook and rattled for a few seconds before it settled down again, the only sound the wind whistling through its lattice.
Why the hell am I doing this? I could be safely tucked up at home in bed. Or enjoying my mum’s sweet soup. Or even spending my time typing an incident report in the comfort of the office, another detective snoring at the desk next to me.
‘Don’t be scared, youngster. It’s nought but a wee tree.’ His father’s strong Scottish brogue encouraged him to climb up to the tree house. How he missed the warmth of his father and the strength he gave him. He wasn’t going to let him down now, he was never going to let his father down.
He remembered seeing the scaffolders on the buildings of Shanghai ascending and descending the bamboo scaffolds with the ease of monkeys. They had a careless rhythm, using the area between the lattice and the support to make their way up and down.
He moved away from the support and swung his leg over the edge. Immediately, it touched the crossbeam of the lattice. He lowered the other leg and it stepped onto another crossbeam. He let his legs slide down until they were both standing on the join where the crossbeams met.
He stood there and repeated the step down again, holding on to the upper crossbeam with his hands. Easy, he thought. This is how it’s done.
Strachan moved confidently now, descending the bamboo scaffold with all the grace of an elephant tap dancing. Finally, his feet touched the hard concrete of the alley and he sank to his knees
Never again. Never, never again.
Then he remembered the man he was chasing. He ran down to where the alley turned into another lane. He looked both ways. More terraces, a few kids playing with a top and a rope. No sign of any man.
Time to go back and tell Danilov the good news. He had let the man escape.
Strachan took one last glance at the roof and the bamboo scaffolding. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked up into the sky.
‘What the hell do you think you were doing?’ Danilov stood in the entrance hall of the house with his hands on his hips.
‘I chased after…’
‘Across the roof? What the hell were you thinking, Detective Sergeant Strachan?’
‘I didn’t think, I just went…’
‘I didn’t think – damn right, you didn’t think. Listen, I don’t want brawn and stupidity, there’s plenty of that in the Shanghai Police. I wanted someone with a brain. And you have one, Detective Sergeant Strachan. It’s time you used it. If you get killed, I have to find another copper to take your place.’
Strachan looked down at a spot just in front of his feet. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’
‘Don’t do it again, Strachan, I don’t want to stand over your body while Dr Fang tells me that you died from stupidity. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Danilov took three deep breaths. ‘You look a mess.’
Strachan’s jacket was ripped and his face, body and hands covered in black dirt from the roof slates, and paint from the bamboo scaffold. ‘I’m afraid he got away, sir.’
‘I thought so. While you have been away enjoying yourself, I’ve been using the photographs to work out what happened here on the last night.’
Danilov walked to the main entrance, followed by Strachan. ‘See here, our first body.’ He pointed to the chalk outline in the hall of the house. ‘We know from the photograph that this is where the son was found with his throat cut. Now the two don’t match exactly, the body had been moved after the photograph was taken, before they drew the outline. Cowan’s team were incompetent or worse.’ Danilov sniffed. He pointed to the wall. ‘See there, a line of dark spots that goes up the wall starting from the left.’
He walked to the wall and pointed to a line of diagonal black spots. ‘I think we’ll find that they are blood.’ Danilov leant in to see the small dark spots on the wall. ‘That’s strange. The drops of blood are missing from here, and here.’ He pointed to two areas of the white wall where there were no marks. ‘Most strange.’
Strachan reached up to a higher spot on the wall. ‘Why are they getting longer and thinner here, sir?’
Danilov tugged once more at the skin between his eyes at the bridge of his nose. ‘The spots are in ellipses which suggest our victim’s head was moving as he was killed. Not surprising when we know that he had his throat cut. Here’s what I think happened. The killer entered through that unlocked door.’ Danilov pointed to the door they had come through. ‘He crossed the courtyard and knocked on the main door and, for some reason, the young boy answered it, not the maid. You may ask where was she? But I think that’s a question we will save for later. The killer steps in and grabs the boy from behind. The boy may or may not have had time to shout. I think he probably did. The killer then slits the boy’s throat with a knife from right to left, producing the blood spatter on the wall.’
A frown appeared on Strachan’s forehead. ‘I see what you mean, sir, I think.’
‘Keep