The Hamlet Murders by David Rotenberg

was still looking at him. He turned to Li Chou, “Isolate those fingerprints. Did you print the counterweights by the pinrail?”
    “No.”
    “How about the chair by the pinrail?”
    “No, not that either, but I . . . ”
    “Do it. I want to know everyone who touched the ladder, the chair or the counterweights. I also want fibres collected from the ladder, the noose and the whole area around the counterweights on the pinrail.”
    To Fong’s amazement, Li Chou leapt to his feet and signalling his men to follow him said, “Will do, Zhong Fong.”
    There it was again. Zhong Fong pronounced like Traitor Zhong.
    Once Li Chou was gone, Fong turned to Chen, “Find out how the wooden batten that the rope was threaded through is lowered and who has control of that. While you’re at it, test the pulleys. I want to know if they both work. I also want to know if there are prints on the pulleys.”
    “You still want to see the people called to rehearsal, sir?”
    “And the actors last to leave the theatre that night.”
    “I’ve already arranged that.”
    “Good. What about that Shakespeare expert?”
    “His contact numbers are on your desk.”
    “Good.”
    Chen divided up assignments among his men and headed out, leaving Fong alone with Lily. “You can tell Chen that he’s allowed to look at you in these meetings. He’s your husband.”
    “Chen is very formal. You are his superior officer, Fong. I may be his wife but this is a business meeting not a cocktail party.”
    “True, Lily,” and without a beat of segue he asked, “What kind of paint was used in the theatre?”
    “I don’t know offhand. You want the paint used on the platforms or on the thing that . . . ”
    “The proscenium arch?”
    “Yeah, you would know the name for that.”
    “I would. It’s called the proscenium arch.”
    “Fine. So you want to know the kind of paint used on the arch?”
    “Yes.”
    “Fine. I’ll check.”
    “Good. Then would you check if it matches the smudge of paint on Mr. Hyland’s right shoe?”
    Lily looked at him with a wry expression on her face. “Sure, I can do that.”
    “How long to get that information, Lily?”
    “Not long.” Suddenly she shifted and leaned forward. “How are you managing, Fong?”
    “Okay,” he said, very uncomfortable to be talking like this.
    “You miss Xiao Ming?”
    “Yes. But I get to see her almost as much as I did when we . . . ”
    “Were married, Fong. You’re allowed to say that.”
    “Yes.” Fong began to pack up his things. “You look happy, Lily.”
    “I am Fong.”
    “I’m glad. I’ll be on time picking up Xiao Ming Sunday.”
    “If this case is solved by then.”
    “Yes, Lily, if this case is solved by then.”
    Fong stopped packing up.
    “Something I can help you with, Fong?”
    “Yes. But I don’t know what just yet.”
    “You’ll let me know?”
    “I will. . . . Lily . . . ”
    She stared at him closely, “What Fong?”
    “What happens to people when they lose a sense of purpose?”

    Fong went directly to his office. Captain Chen was waiting there. “Who’s that, sir?” Chen asked, pointing at Shrug and Knock who had stationed his desk across the hall from Fong’s door. Fong ushered Chen into the office, closed the door and explained the who and what, if not the why, of Shrug and Knock. Chen nodded. “Men like him are a reality in the politics of this place. If you want to work here, you have to deal with the politics as well as the job but if you look at things closely, almost every situation can lead to either problems or opportunities. It’s all a matter of seeing the possibilities.”
    Chen nodded. “Can I have a word, sir?”
    “Sure, take a seat.”
    Chen sat then began without preamble, “So you believe this is not a suicide, sir?”
    “Yes. I believe this was a murder made to look like a suicide.”
    “Are you sure, sir? How do you keep a noose on a man’s neck, make him walk up ten steps of a ladder then kick the ladder