Whispering Shadows by Jan-Philipp Sendker Read Free Book Online Page B

think time is on my side,” she had said, with a shy smile.

VI

    Paul was still sitting on the harbor promenade more than an hour after his meeting with the Owens.
    He pulled his cell phone out. Zhang’s number was saved somewhere in the phone; all he had to do was find it among all the extras, programs, services, profiles, and functions. He pressed the wrong button a few times until he finally got the ring tone.
    â€œHello?”
    It was always good to hear Zhang’s deep, familiar smoker’s voice.
    â€œIt’s me. Am I disturbing you?”
    â€œYou? Never. You know that.”
    â€œWhere are you?” asked Paul. “Do you have a minute?”
    â€œI’m sitting on the other side of the street from the police station, eating a bad noodle soup. Awful.”
    â€œAre you alone?”
    â€œWhat a question. Have you ever seen a Chinese person eating alone? I’m surrounded by . . .”
    â€œI mean, do you have other officers with you?”
    â€œNo.”
    Paul told him about his meeting with the Owens in a few sentences. When he had finished, he waited for a reaction from Zhang, but in vain. He heard the sound of traffic and a couple of men’s voices in the background, but not his friend’s. He heard the scrape of chairs and tables and someone swearing. “Zhang? Are you still there?”
    â€œOf course. I was just paying and looking for a quieter spot totalk in. Paul, what do you think about coming to visit me again?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œExactly what I said.”
    â€œUh, yes, of course, I’d love to, sometime,” Paul replied, confused and unsure about whether his friend had heard what he had said.
    â€œYou haven’t been for a long time. A lot has changed.”
    â€œYes, but you know how I hate leaving Lamma.”
    â€œWhat about this evening?”
    At first, Paul thought he had misheard him. This evening? What on earth was Zhang thinking?
    â€œAre you crazy? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”
    â€œI’m not asking anything. I’m simply asking my dear friend to dinner.”
    â€œZhang, that’s very kind of you, but Hong Kong is already too much for me. How am I supposed to make it over to you in Shenzhen?”
    â€œListen, we’ll meet at the station, buy some groceries together, go to my house, and I’ll cook for you. After that I’ll take you back to the border and put you on a train.”
    It sounded as if he was inviting his doddery old father, who suffered from dementia, over on a visit. Paul paused to think, and Zhang pounced on the hesitation.
    â€œYou can do it,” he said immediately. “Just for a couple of hours. You climbed the Peak yesterday, right?”
    â€œHmm.” Zhang would not leave him in peace.
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw Mei? She’ll be so pleased to see you.”
    Paul liked Zhang’s wife very much and, apart from at Justin’s funeral, it really was years since he had seen her. It was quiet now in the background. Zhang had clearly found himself a spot where no one could hear him.
    â€œApart from that, there are a few things that I’m not too keen to discuss on the phone.”
    â€œHas something happened?” Paul asked, startled.
    â€œThere’s quite an uproar at the station. I heard something about it in the corridor just now.”
    â€œAbout Michael Owen?”
    â€œI don’t know. They found a body in Datouling Forest Park this morning. I think it’s a foreigner.”
    â€”——
    Hung Hom. Tai Wai. Sha Tin. The Kowloon-Canton Railway train sped from station to station. Paul was still not sure if he had taken far too much upon himself. But his friend had sounded quite definite and convincing; in the end, Paul had placed more trust in Zhang’s encouraging voice than in his own feelings of weakness. He also felt a strange sense of duty toward Mrs. Owen, a