Lies and Weddings(42)
Hong Kong, 1995
ARSENAL HOUSE, HONG KONG POLICE HEADQUARTERS
“If they hadn’t all been drinking so much, Roger Gao might not have reacted so recklessly. And if the victim hadn’t jumped up onto the banquette, the trajectory of his fall would not have sent him over the railing. And if those new Philippe Starck candelabras made of Czechoslovakian crystal had not just been placed on the dining tables that evening, the victim would in all likelihood have survived the fall. Maybe he would have broken his back, at worst,” the chief inspector reported.
“It was a chain of very unfortunate events,” the police commissioner said, shaking his head.
“How many years will Roger Gao get?” Dr. George Tong asked.
“Voluntary manslaughter. Given his age, clean record, and the circumstances…ten-year sentence, at minimum.”
“Depends on the judge,” the chief inspector chimed in.
As they left the police headquarters and walked along Lockhart Road, the old doctor turned to his son Thomas Tong with a weary look. “Henry is dead. Nothing we do will bring him back. And now the Gaos will be ruined. The poor girl who loved Henry, and her brother in prison for decades.”
“It’s all very sad,” Thomas said.
“My only consolation is that your mother didn’t live to see this day. It would have broken her heart.”
Thomas thought about his mother and the way she’d worshipped his younger brother. He could never do wrong in her eyes.
“I feel we should use a portion of Henry’s windfall to help the Gaos obtain the best solicitor possible. Perhaps they can help get him a reduced sentence. It does no one any good for this boy to rot away in prison during the most productive years of his life.”
“Not many people would think the way you do, Dad, after losing a son.”
“The Gaos have lost a son too. I feel that I bear some responsibility in all this tragedy. Because I was never able to say no to my son.”
“None of us could.”
The old doctor nodded. “Now, what do we do for the sister?”
I
THE NAGS HEAD
BELGRAVIA, LONDON ? FIVE DAYS LATER
Thomas walked nearly to the end of Kinnerton Street and entered the tiny pub that had been a watering hole since Victorian times. The quaintly misshapen room was plastered with over a century’s worth of paraphernalia, the walls and ceiling so thick with picture frames, news clippings, and armed service patches that you felt as if you’d stepped into a giant, teeming collage. Passing the crowded bar festooned with naval hats, Thomas gave the bartender a friendly nod as he ducked into the back room, where he knew he’d find Francis.
Sure enough, the earl was there nursing a whiskey at his usual corner table, and in his rumpled cords and Pringle jumper, Francis would have appeared to Thomas almost as he had back when they were cramming for their GCSEs, if only his slumped posture didn’t betray the decades that had passed. Thomas sat down on the rickety leather chair across from him. Francis looked up, his expression almost one of surprise. “Isn’t it strange? Lava can erupt on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, but the Nags Head never seems to change.”
“Thank god for that!” Thomas said.
“I’m surprised you could meet up on such short notice.”
“My last patient canceled, so it worked out perfectly.”
“Ah, that’s right. You’re always up in London on Fridays, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been here since yesterday, catching up on the backlog. Did you just get back this morning?”
“We landed at noon. Been trying to stay awake ever since.”
The bartender came around the corner and plonked a frothy pint of beer in front of Thomas, who immediately reached into the breast pocket of his houndstooth blazer for his wallet.
“Put that away! Your money’s no good here, Dr. Tong!” the barman said gruffly before retreating.
“What’s that about?” Francis inquired.
“His sister’s a patient of mine,” Thomas replied simply.
“Ah, of course. You’re always saving lives, while I just seem to ruin them…”
Thomas knew that Francis was likely to keep sinking into his own pity party, so he cut to the chase: “So, how was the survey?”
“Terrible! They flew us around in a chopper over the resort. Only way to see it as they’ve closed all the roads leading down.”
“How’d it look?” Thomas asked as he took a swig from his mug.
“Even worse than we expected. A third vent has opened on top of the hill, and the main buildings are now in the direct line of the lava flow.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any way to divert it?”
“Pointless—the lava just obliterates everything in its path. Only a matter of days till the entire resort is destroyed. Thank god no houses or towns are in danger. The Hawaii County Civil Defense Agency wants to declare all of Bellaloha a disaster zone.”
“Jesus,” Thomas muttered, shaking his head. “I’m very sorry.”
Francis shrugged. “Do you remember the first time I brought you to Greshamsbury Hall at half term? When we were fourteen?”