The Interior

"What's happening?" Henry asked.

"We've got to get over to the Holiday I

"That snake of a woman?" Henry asked.

"Um," Hulan agreed, "but we must."

A few minutes later, they arrived at the downtown Holiday I

"We're not going in there!" Henry half yelped when he saw David open the door. "You have to figure they're dead, right? We're too late."

Hulan grabbed his arm and gave the older man a not-so-gentle push. "We're absolutely going in there, Mr. Knight, and you're going to lead the way. You're the VIP-er. Do what you're supposed to do-bluster, bluster, bluster. We'll be right behind you."

And so, with Henry Knight out in front, they walked straight into the air-conditioned lobby of the hotel. When a young Beijing policeman tried to stop them, Henry said imperiously, "I don't understand." When the policeman, seeing that Hulan was Chinese, said they weren't permitted to pass, she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and David said, "We're in a hurry! Business meeting! Foreigners! Foreigners!" Henry boldly pushed past the policeman and walked to the bank of elevators with David and Hulan following close behind. As the elevator doors closed, they saw the policeman face front as though he'd never let anyone past.

"Which floor?" Henry whispered, then colored as he realized no one else was on this car.

"We'll go to the top and work our way down the stairs," Hulan said.

Of course, the stairs weren't air-conditioned, and by the time they'd gone down five flights they were all sweating. Hulan worried about Henry-a heart attack was the last thing they needed-but he seemed spry enough. On the other hand, the same lethargy that had gripped her in David's office now came back full force, and she wished she could step into one of the air-conditioned hallways, find a room, and lie down.

They continued down, opening the fire doors and checking for activity. On the ninth floor they found what they were looking for. Hulan wiped the sweat from her forehead with a tissue and said to her companions, "Follow me, but don't say anything."

She pulled out her MPS credential, stepped into the hallway, and walked purposefully down the hall. A policeman sat with his back against the wall, looking green, beside him a splash of vomit. A few of his buddies stood around in support, offering by turns cigarettes and bottled water. But the truth was, they looked none too well themselves. It must be bad, Hulan thought, very bad.

At the door to the room Hulan held up her credential, although the person guarding it was well known to her. Yang Yao had worked at the Ministry of Public Security for almost thirty years, but he'd never risen above the rank of investigator third grade. An a

The smell of death even in this highly air-conditioned environment assaulted them: the rustiness of blood, the sour odors of excrement, the nervous perspiration of the officers in the room. All death was gruesome-even for those who supposedly died peacefully in their sleep-but even Hulan, who'd seen more murder scenes than she cared to remember, had a hard time processing what had happened to Pearl Je

They were on the double bed together, both naked. They looked to be involved in some sort of sexual act, although Hulan couldn't fathom the wheres and hows of such an act. Pearl 's wrists and ankles were bound together behind her by a length of rope. The rope had also been looped around her neck, stretching her whole body back-knees pulled open to accommodate the inhuman position-so that her private parts would have been totally exposed if not for the other victim positioned against her. From the knots that bound Pearl 's ankles, the rope led to the other victim. Guy Lin was bound in much the same position, his loins pressed to Pearl 's.

In her weakened state Hulan felt the blood drain from her head, and she thought she might faint. Then behind her she heard shallow panting. With great effort she pulled herself together and turned to escort David back out of the room. Only it wasn't David. He was fine-as fine as could be expected given the spectacle-but Henry had gone completely white and was trembling like the old man he was.

"Investigator Yang," Hulan commanded imperiously. "Take this man to the hall. Find him some tea and a chair." Yang did as he was told. As she turned back to the hideous tableau, she saw that David had edged closer to the bed where Pathologist Fong squatted, gloves on, bifocals perched on his nose. When Hulan approached, Fong looked up and beamed.

"They always send you out to see the pretty ones, hey, Inspector?" Fong said in heavily accented English for David's benefit. Fong didn't stand up. He never liked to be reminded how much shorter he was than Hulan. To cover this, Fong cocked his head back toward the bodies. "Foreigners," he grunted. "The propaganda tells us they are decadent, but you have to see something like this before you really believe it is true."

"How long have they been dead?" Hulan asked.

"That's my inspector!" Fong a

Some of the others in the room, who were dusting for fingerprints, looking through luggage, and picking through the trash receptacle, chortled. Hulan was not amused.

Fong rocked back on his haunches. "Two hours at most."

"How were they discovered?"

"The maid came in. Imagine what she thought!" Pong gri

He pointed at the bodies and assumed a scholarly tone. "You see how it works, don't you? With every one of his thrusts, her ropes are pulled tighter. Every time he pulls back, his ropes are pulled tighter. The lack of air is supposed to heighten sexual pleasure. People die like this all the time in the West," he said more in wonder than disapproval.