Three Men in a Tea Shop

She left her heels by the door as she stepped inside the dingy alley’s cha chaan teng. It wouldn’t have made a difference, blood on the red backing, but years of discipline in her father’s household had made her wary of the customs respecting elders and respecting death. Detective Fong quickly procured a pair of elastic slippers from the forensic team and handed them to her in the doorway as she exhaled the last of her cigarette into the night air and dropped it into the rusted milk can hanging on the door hinge for that purpose. 

The murders took place at approximately 8:20 p.m. in the back of Master Chun Kwok-tai’s tea parlor in the Wong Tai Sin District. Entering off a nondescript alley, one was faced with a caricature of the grimy cafes littered throughout every island in the city. Greasy tabletops gleaming under fluorescent bulbs, the creaky stools and low ceiling a walking hazard for anyone over the age of ten. An iron fan, duct taped above the kitchen entrance and barely stirring the air was the only relief to be found from the ever present haze of smoke wafting in with each customer coming through the door. Nevertheless, these inlets offered sanctuary from the noise, the crowds, the litterboxes of social and corporate obligations, reducing life down to its bare needs: a filling meal, a warm beverage, and a crumbling, but intact roof that dripped in the most inconvenient places. The youngest and oldest and the most desperate of the city found refuge in these tucked in holes, gathering to play Nintendo, Mahjong, and poker. 

“Could you explain what you found here, Detective, please?” Madam Leung asked, flashing him a ruby smile before donning the mask and gloves passed to her. 

“Yes, well” he said, scratching his balding head “Three salarymen, family men, childhood friends according to old Chun back there, gather at the back as you can see, every Wednesday he says, Chun that is–”

“Same table?”

“No, Miss” a grizzled white-haired man slouched in a nearby chair spoke up. “They’re usually by the calendar in the corner, but someone was sitting there today, so they took the one right next to her.”

“Mr. Chun, I presume?” She turned toward the old tea master. “Was there anything else unusual that happened tonight?”

“I wasn’t here, Miss. My wife could tell you, but she went to take the kids home.”

“I’ll talk to her when she gets back then. Detective?” Madam Leung walked over to where Detective Fong stood, adjacent to the forensic team talking in low murmurs. Three men lay dead: two sprawled out on the floor, the one on the right slumped over the remains of his sandwich, the blood clotted into black clumps like bugs devouring what was left. All three were middle aged and the two whose faces she could see might pass for brothers. The other, she believed, did not, for even from the back he looked stockier and darker than most salarymen. And yet they all wore the same uniform of corporate camouflage, dyeing the streets and subways twice a day. After work, their ties loosened and jackets removed, leaving their starched white shirts vulnerable to the crimson now staining their collars and sleeves. The man on the left – Lam, as Detective Fong informed her – worked in a trading firm, his tie now strung about his neck in a decorate pattern of purple, white, and red. The man on the right – Wan – in real estate. 

“I believe you know our forensic lead, um, Chief Yuen–”

“Yes, unfortunately.” Her eyes met the man’s own and despite the hygienic mask, she could tell he was smiling. She hoped he could see she wasn’t.

“Hui-Ling,” he said with a nod. “Miss.”

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

Detective Fong always proved more perceptive than she wanted him to be. “Excuse me?”

“Whatever asshole did this had to have had a plan,” she spoke up, stepping around the recently deceased Mr. Wan to examine the one in the middle, closest to the wall. Crouching down, she perched on the edge of his overturned stool. “Did you happen to move the table at all?” she asked.

“Just a little,” one of the forensics spoke up. “There wasn’t enough room to get a clear shot of the bloodstains.”

“The fingerprints?” Madam Leung pointed at the table’s edge without looking up from the man’s face. 

“Yes, Miss.”

“What’s your opinion, Detective?” she asked, standing up, straightening her dress, and stepping back around.

“Heart attack, likely, these two killed first, you see, the table’s in the way, well, the shock must have done him in, the killer couldn’t have gotten to–”

“No,” she interrupted. “He choked to death. See, he was clutching his throat but your team pulled the table away so his arm slipped down. This makes him more likely to have died before the other two – maybe even at the same time.”

Detective Fong squatted down, peering through the table legs. He grunted. 

“The infamous Madam – I’m sorry – Miss Leung strikes again.” Chief Yuen leaned against a nearby table and pulled his mask down. “Why not just give us the murderer already?” he said, rolling a cigarette between his fingers and lighting it. 

“Because I don’t have the database you men at the service are compiling,” she spat. “If those fingerprints have a match, then you can be the one to find the culprit for once.” She stalked over and snatched the cigarette out from between his lips. “Have some respect.”

Walking back to the door, she leaned out over the entryway to drop the stub in the milk can when a short and rotund ball of a woman came barreling into the store. “When this investigator coming, mei?” Her yell interrupted Fong hissing at Yuen “Can’t you two stop! It’s been two years–” 

“This is my wife Miss,” Master Chun wheezed, hurriedly getting up out of his chair. 

“Oh!” Mrs. Chun turned around, almost knocking Madam Leung over. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you – and I went and knocked your shoes over gaa maa, aren’t these limited edition?” 

“It’s okay Auntie,” she bent over Mrs. Chun who was propping them back up and whispered conspiratorially, “They’re fakes.”

They were grinning at each other when Detective Fong pushed past, followed by Chief Yuen and another forensic. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience Madam, but, well, there’s been another murder in Kwun Tong, three escorts, no witness. I would like another set of eyes, if you please.”

Yuen swore in the background, but Madam Leung smiled and unhooked her mask. Her hunches had been confirmed. “It was nice to meet you,” she said to the shop owners as she removed the slippers. Delicately stepping into her heels, she addressed the remaining forensic crew, “Make them some tea, will you?” As she followed the team out into the street, she overheard old Chun, “Why are you wearing our A’tong’s gym shoes?”

“My boots disappeared, laa! Who was that lady?”

“The investigator, you old woman. Oh, just sit down!” 

As they walked back up the alley to where an unmarked van sat waiting, Madam Leung sidled up to Chief Yuen. “Could an ex possibly borrow your jacket in this chill?” He just snorted and tugging his arms closer to his body, joined Fong in the front seats. Hui-Ling filed into the back with the other forensic and found – miraculously – a black, military grade jacket with the Forensic Science Division seal imprinted on the back. Snuggling into the corner, she gazed at the window, a hint of a smile on her lips and storm clouds in her eyes as they drove into the depths of the cold, hard city.

HKM