Murder of Mr Ma (eBook)

John Shen Yen Nee, SJ Rozan (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
256 Seiten
TITAN BOOKS (Verlag)
978-1-83541-047-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Sherlock-esque crime set in early 20th century London, packed with action and martial arts elements, this is the first book in a series to feature a daring, opium-addicted Chinese judge and his shy, academic sidekick, solving fiendish mysteries among the Chinese community in London's Limehouse district. For fans of Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes films, this stunning, martial-arts series opener by a powerhouse duo of authors is at once comfortingly familiar and tantalizingly new. Two unlikely allies race through the cobbled streets of 1920s London in search of a killer targeting Chinese immigrants. London, 1924. When shy academic Lao She meets larger-than-life Judge Dee Ren Jie, his life abruptly turns from books and lectures to daring chases and narrow escapes. Dee has come to London to investigate the murder of a man he'd known during World War I when serving with the Chinese Labour Corps. No sooner has Dee interviewed the grieving widow than another dead body turns up. Then another. All stabbed to death with a butterfly sword. Will Dee and Lao be able to connect the threads of the murders-or are they next in line as victims? John Shen Yen Nee and SJ Rozan's groundbreaking collaboration blends traditional gong'an crime fiction and the most iconic aspects of the Sherlock Holmes canon. Dee and Lao encounter the aristocracy and the street-child telegraph, churchmen and thieves in this clever, cinematic mystery that's as thrilling and visual as an action film, as imaginative and transporting as a timeless classic.

SJ Rozan SJ Rozan has won multiple awards, including the Edgar, Shamus, Anthony, Nero, Macavity; Japanese Maltese Falcon; and the Private Eye Writers of America Life Achievement Award. She's served on the national boards of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, and as President of Private Eye Writers of America. She was born in the Bronx and lives in Manhattan. Twitter/X: @SJRozan; Instagram: @sjrozan

Textauszug

CHAPTER FIVE

“SO, WHAT BRINGS you to London, Dee?”

The question came from Bertrand Russell. Dee, Russell, Russell’s wife, Dora, and I were at the table. We were eating, with silver chopsticks brought back from the Russells’ time in Peking, a Shandong feast of Dee’s creation. The Russells were both adept with their chopsticks, and seemed to be enjoying the cuisine as much as Dee and I.

It was Dee’s determination to cook this meal (“To repay Russell for his efforts, Lao, and also because as many good meals as I’ve had abroad, there’s nothing like the food of home”) that had brought on the ire of the cook, Mrs. Hennessey, whose planned menu had been shunted aside for it. Her wrath had been turned away by Dee’s cleaver lesson and his promise to leave with her all the herbs and spices that remained after he’d prepared the dishes. Those dishes—stuffed tofu, four joy meatballs, and now a whole ginger-steamed carp, all accompanied by a tureen of jasmine rice—simultaneously filled me with delight and deepened my homesickness. Since I’d first let rooms from Mrs. and Miss Wendell I’d generally taken breakfast and dinner with them. This arrangement offered the dual advantages of providing nourishment and affording me an opportunity to spend time with Mary. As to the latter, I hoped little by little to win Mary’s affection; but in terms of the former, though I was unable to fault Mrs. Wendell’s skills in what was called “plain cooking”, I could not be said to be enthusiastic about the cuisine. The East End held a number of Chinese eateries and noodle bars, and I occasionally made my way to one for a midday meal. Nothing I’d eaten since my arrival in London, however, held a candle to the rough, salty meatballs or the silken sauce on the fish, the golden-brown color of the tofu squares or the rich aromas of all the dishes mingled together in the feast we were sharing tonight.

“The answer to your question, Russell, goes back to the war,” Dee said. “As you know, but, Lao, perhaps you don’t, I was seconded from Geneva to the trenches of France to adjudicate disputes between the British military and the men of the Chinese Labour Corps. It was there that I met Captain Bard.” Dee paused to sip his wine.

“Bard was a British Army officer in charge of a large battalion of Chinese laborers,” Russell informed Dora and myself. “His disciplinary measures were apparently . . . harsh.”

“We did not”—Dee smiled slightly—“see eye to eye. Within the battalion were smaller labor bands. One of these groups, four men, made their way to London at the end of the war.”

“But Dee, that’s extraordinary,” Dora Russell said. She was a woman of even features and bobbed brown hair. “Quite pretty” might have been one’s mild assessment until the lively beam of her dark eyes and the compassionate smile playing on her lips worked their compelling magic. “To our disgrace, Britain has been adamant about refusing to admit any men of the Chinese Labour Corps. Yet you say some are here?”

“As far as I know, just these four. Their admission here was engineered by Captain Bard.”

“My,” said Russell. “Do we detect remorse? An attempt with a good deed to atone for ill behavior?”

The smile Dee offered now was, I thought, a touch bitter. “If that was his intention, it will take more than a single good deed. It’s possible you’re right, though, Russell, because I understand he’s been calling on these men periodically, to see how they’re doing. Unfortunately, not all are doing well. One was murdered last week.”

Dora Russell gasped. Even Russell turned pale. “Murdered, Dee? Surely not!”

“Murder?” I said, leaning forward. “Who was the poor fellow? What were the circumstances, do you know?”

Dee smiled. “Asked like a true novelist, Lao. But yes, murder.” The smile faded. “His name was Ma Ze Ren. He’d set himself up as a merchant, a Limehouse dealer in Chinese antiquities. I imagine we weren’t far from his shop earlier today, at the police station and again at Sergeant Hoong’s.”

Sergeant Hoong had already been identified to the Russells as the font of the bounty before us.

“When these men learned they’d be permitted to come to London at the end of their Labour Corps contracts, they were excited,” continued Dee. “It gave them the prospect of continuing to earn a good wage before returning home. But one thing still worried them.

“One of the four—in fact, this very man, Ma Ze Ren—had been wounded in a German barrage attack. Of course the contracts of the Chinese laborers with the British government guaranteed they’d be far behind the battle lines, but that provision was regularly violated. These men were all young and strong, and I’d wager, until Ma’s injury, they had never considered the idea that any of them might die. Now, with a chance to spend some years in England, they sent for me in the camp. They asked, if any of them should die there, that I would undertake the arrangements to return his body to China. I agreed.

“Now that, of course, can be done from a distance through the Chinese legation. I was once again in Geneva when I was contacted about Ma’s death, and I would have handled the situation in that way—but for the fact of murder. Suspecting the London authorities might not delve deeply into the death, natural or otherwise, of a Chinese, I determined to investigate Ma’s case myself. I arrived last night and had barely left my hotel this morning to start my work when I was caught up in the arrest of the agitators.”

“Why did you let them take you?” Russell inquired. “London constables are no match for your skills.”

“I saw Bard there directing his men. He’s familiar with my fighting style. If he knew I was in London—and had escaped his custody—he’d become determined to recapture me.”

“Why such enmity?” Dora Russell asked.

“In France I delivered rulings in which he came out badly more than once. He had no authority over the men of the Chinese Labour Corps, yet he was determined to put them in harm’s way to keep the British soldiers safe. Sacrificial lambs, if you will. He maintained that I was the one overstepping, yet in each instance his superiors accepted my judgments. The military record of disciplinary actions against him is, I believe, one reason his career in the Metropolitan Police has not gone as he would have liked since his return.”

“He blames you?”

“One must always blame someone.” Dee smiled, putting down his wineglass. “When I saw him this morning, I realized his focus on apprehending me would divert his attention from Ma’s murder—if, indeed, he was giving that matter any attention at all—and my need to avoid him would have the same effect on me. So I decided to avoid drawing his attention and see what you, Russell, could devise.”

“Seriously, Dee, all that calculation in the moments between being swept up in the protest, and your arrest?” I could not work out if he was being serious.

“Indeed. I barely had time to steal a beggar’s eye patch to disguise my face.”

“Dee! Tell us you did no such thing!” Dora Russell remonstrated.

“The man could use both eyes as well as you or I. I could tell by the way he walked, consistently tapping his cane onto things instead of running it into them. I tossed him a shilling for the use of the patch. He plucked it out of the air.”

The entire company laughed. For myself, I was nonplussed at Dee’s ability to notice the tiny detail of the cane in the middle of the swirl of agitators and policemen.

“So now that you’re free,” I asked, “what steps do you propose to take, Dee?” I was intrigued to hear his plan. Investigation of this nature was new to me, and Dee was renowned for his success at it.

“I’ll see where paths take me, but I’ll start by visiting Ma’s shop. I’ll consult Sergeant Hoong in the morning to see if he knows where it is. It’s called ‘Ten Thousand Treasures’.”

“Oh!” I said. “If that’s Ma’s shop, no need to bother Hoong. I’ve passed it many times. I can take you there.”

Dee regarded me silently. Russell spoke up. “Dee, that’s a fine idea. In fact, you might consider having Lao assist in this investigation. He’s been in London for some time. I’ve no doubt his knowledge can save you time and effort.” He looked to me. “For one thing, he’d have steered you clear of those agitators.”

Dee lifted his eyebrows at Russell. “His knowledge is one thing. His courage is also not at issue. His ability to hold his tongue, however . . .”

I felt my face grow hot. “If you gentlemen would like to discuss my flaws and virtues, I’d be happy to withdraw.”

“Oh, come, Lao,” Russell said. “You have to admit it’s a worthwhile suggestion.”

I didn’t feel I had to admit anything of the kind; but I didn’t like to contradict Bertrand Russell, especially in his own home.

“Also,” Russell went on, “you’ve said that your teaching burden at the university is not heavy, and that you arranged things that way to give you the opportunity to gather material for your novels. Although the book you told me about—The Philosophy of Lao Zhang, is it?—sounds delightful, I fancy a murder investigation will offer inspiration you’ll not find elsewhere.”

Dee’s eyes were on me, but he didn’t speak.

Stiffly, I said to him, “If you think I could be of use.”

After another few uncomfortable moments, during which I felt like an insect under a scientist’s glass, Dee said, “I do....

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 2.4.2024
• Verlagsort: London
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller
• Schlagworte: Ambrose Parry • Anne Perry • Ann Granger • aristocracy • aristocrat • Arthur Conan Doyle • Bertrand Russell • Butterfly sword • China • Chinese • Chinese community • Chinese immigrants • Chinese Labour Corps • Cinema • Doctor Dee • doctor watson • gong’an • gong’an crime fiction • Judge Dee • Judith Cutler • Kaite Welsh • Kung Fu • Limehouse • London • Mick Finlay • New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes • Opium • Peter Ackroyd • Sherlock • Sherlock Holmes • Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson • Sherlockian • Thief • Thieves
• ISBN-10: 1-83541-047-2 / 1835410472
• ISBN-13: 978-1-83541-047-9 / 9781835410479