Nick made a circuit of his office, located on the topmost floor of a three-story limestone-faced building. Shelves held books on real estate legal matters and building methods and designs. Maps of California and San Francisco hung on the walls. A red, gold, and blue patterned carpet covered the floor, muting Nick’s footfalls. Overlooking Sutter were two floor-to-ceiling arched windows, through which he saw long shadows cast along the road. Nick could just glimpse the onion domes atop the towers of Temple Emanu-el farther up the street. All in all, a pleasant spot.
“You’ve built up a nice business for yourself,” said Nick, continuing his circuit of the room. “How long did that take?”
“Since I and my family arrived in ’sixty-two,” he answered. “Hard work, but a man cannot be afraid of that if he wishes to succeed.”
“Suppose not.”
Palmer folded his hands over the leather blotter atop his mahogany desk, its wood polished to a blinding sheen, and followed Nick with his gaze. His eyes were hawklike, and he wore a suit of clothes as costly as his friend’s. A gold watch chain looped across his checked silk vest and a ring glimmered on his left pinkie. Nick had once served under an officer who’d worn a pinkie ring. He’d never thought much of the man.
“Would you care to explain why you might be here, Detective?” Palmer asked.
Pursuing a lead that nobody except me is going to care about, now that Tom Davies has been arrested.
“I have some questions about the Chinese girl killed on Monday. I’ve been told you knew her.”
“Ah. Li Sha.” He frowned. “She was a poor creature, God rest her soul. The crime in this city. Hmm. But I would not say I knew her. Not really.”
“Not really?” Nick asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I do not care for what you are implying, sir.”
“So you weren’t a client.”
The man didn’t break a sweat. “What an unseemly suggestion.”
“Okay, so you’d only met her once.”
“Mrs. Celia Davies introduced us at a Chinese Mission function. She was proud of her efforts to assist Miss Li with her new life and wanted those of us who support her clinic to see that her work could go beyond merely curing ills.” Palmer studied him. “I presume Mrs. Davies is the one who told you I had met Miss Li.”
Nick straightened a silver inkstand on Palmer’s desk, aligning it with the desk’s edge. A cedar cigar box occupied another corner of the desk, and the air was sweet with the smell of recently smoked Havanas. Two stubs rested on a brass ashtray. “I’ve learned that on the night she was murdered, she approached somebody for money in order to leave town. Was that person you?”
“Why, no, Detective Greaves. I was in Santa Clara County that night. Had been for a number of days. Looking at some land I would like to buy, as well as visiting some associates of mine who live in that area. I didn’t return home until the next afternoon.” He grazed his knuckles over his goatee. He had hands that had never seen manual labor, his wealth earned by cunning rather than brawn. “I was due to return on Monday, but the horse I hired caught a rock in his shoe and pulled up lame. I rested him overnight, then rode on. Mighty inconvenient.”
“Where’d you stay?” And would somebody verify his story?
“I camped in a dilapidated old adobe I came across. It was raining. I was awfully lucky to find dry shelter, even though I had to share it with a family of mice.”
“Yep. Lucky.” Nick eyed letters stacked in a shallow wood tray. One had come from the governor’s office. This man had friends in places higher than the police office. “Who do you think murdered her?”
“Why, I have not had the time to consider, Detective. But I am sure I don’t know. A woman like that . . .” Palmer shook his head mournfully. “It could have been anyone. There are so many disreputable men in this city. Such a shame.”
A shame that Li Sha was dead? Or that there were
“You’ve built up a nice business for yourself,” said Nick, continuing his circuit of the room. “How long did that take?”
“Since I and my family arrived in ’sixty-two,” he answered. “Hard work, but a man cannot be afraid of that if he wishes to succeed.”
“Suppose not.”
Palmer folded his hands over the leather blotter atop his mahogany desk, its wood polished to a blinding sheen, and followed Nick with his gaze. His eyes were hawklike, and he wore a suit of clothes as costly as his friend’s. A gold watch chain looped across his checked silk vest and a ring glimmered on his left pinkie. Nick had once served under an officer who’d worn a pinkie ring. He’d never thought much of the man.
“Would you care to explain why you might be here, Detective?” Palmer asked.
Pursuing a lead that nobody except me is going to care about, now that Tom Davies has been arrested.
“I have some questions about the Chinese girl killed on Monday. I’ve been told you knew her.”
“Ah. Li Sha.” He frowned. “She was a poor creature, God rest her soul. The crime in this city. Hmm. But I would not say I knew her. Not really.”
“Not really?” Nick asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I do not care for what you are implying, sir.”
“So you weren’t a client.”
The man didn’t break a sweat. “What an unseemly suggestion.”
“Okay, so you’d only met her once.”
“Mrs. Celia Davies introduced us at a Chinese Mission function. She was proud of her efforts to assist Miss Li with her new life and wanted those of us who support her clinic to see that her work could go beyond merely curing ills.” Palmer studied him. “I presume Mrs. Davies is the one who told you I had met Miss Li.”
Nick straightened a silver inkstand on Palmer’s desk, aligning it with the desk’s edge. A cedar cigar box occupied another corner of the desk, and the air was sweet with the smell of recently smoked Havanas. Two stubs rested on a brass ashtray. “I’ve learned that on the night she was murdered, she approached somebody for money in order to leave town. Was that person you?”
“Why, no, Detective Greaves. I was in Santa Clara County that night. Had been for a number of days. Looking at some land I would like to buy, as well as visiting some associates of mine who live in that area. I didn’t return home until the next afternoon.” He grazed his knuckles over his goatee. He had hands that had never seen manual labor, his wealth earned by cunning rather than brawn. “I was due to return on Monday, but the horse I hired caught a rock in his shoe and pulled up lame. I rested him overnight, then rode on. Mighty inconvenient.”
“Where’d you stay?” And would somebody verify his story?
“I camped in a dilapidated old adobe I came across. It was raining. I was awfully lucky to find dry shelter, even though I had to share it with a family of mice.”
“Yep. Lucky.” Nick eyed letters stacked in a shallow wood tray. One had come from the governor’s office. This man had friends in places higher than the police office. “Who do you think murdered her?”
“Why, I have not had the time to consider, Detective. But I am sure I don’t know. A woman like that . . .” Palmer shook his head mournfully. “It could have been anyone. There are so many disreputable men in this city. Such a shame.”
A shame that Li Sha was dead? Or that there were
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