“Oh . . . it’s a cruise; I think there was just one port in France? Then on to Italy. It’s been a whirlwind.”
“Yet you ended up in Paris.”
“My brother Tinseng—he’s very impulsive. He’s lived in Paris the last three years and decided he could be a better tour guide than the cruise.” They’d agreed to this story beforehand, too. It wasn’t unusual for people to leave the cruise early. She only hoped she wasn’t asked too many questions about it; Tinseng would probably embellish his version.
“So you decided to travel to Paris. What night was this?”
“Two nights ago. The 23rd. We have suites at Le Bristol.”
“Did you know that another couple from your cruise also traveled to Paris that same night?”
“No.” She swallowed. “I didn’t know that.”
The detective’s mouth twitched. “Hmm. What can you tell me about a woman named Marissa Grodescu?”
They weren’t tracking Mei Jinzhao, then. This was hardly better, but at least Mei Jinzhao was safe.
“She was a woman on the cruise. We sat in the same sewing circle for a few days. Why, did something happen to her? Is she all right?”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was . . . Polish? That’s the one next to Germany?” She tried to sound as insipid as possible.
“Mm. What else?”
“She smoked. No children, I believe; she only worked on dresses for herself.”
The detective suppressed a sigh and asked, “Did she mention her husband at all?”
“Oh, naturally! A husband always comes up in conversation.” Play dumb, she reminded herself. Be the stupid housewife. “What meals you can cook in under half an hour, which starch is best for collars—we have such different products in Hong Kong than you do here! Women’s topics. You understand.” She smiled. “And she seemed happy enough. Every couple has problems, of course, but we’re meant to weather those troubles. In sickness and health.”
Did he believe her? It was impossible to tell; he kept his head down.
“Another guest said you two seemed close,” the detective said.
“I enjoyed her company. She was an outsider, coming from Poland, and we had that in common. Is she—” She made her voice wobble.
“She’s missing,” the detective said, “and we’re very worried about her, Mrs. Li. Anything you may remember, no matter how small, may help us find her.”
Liar, she thought.
“Let’s see . . . she went to the beach in Lisbon. She visited Gibraltar with her husband, and we played bridge together. Things like that?”
The detective struggled with his impatience.
Good, she thought, be impatient with me. Think I’m a fool; send me away.
“We’re more interested in her feelings. Moods. Did she ever seem upset? Did she ever talk about getting away from it all?”
“Don’t we all?” She tried to laugh like Mrs. Duncan. If they really thought Marissa was missing, she wanted to give Marissa as much of a head start as possible. If they thought her a suspect, Yukying wanted to muddy the water. But which would help more? “She loved travel. That’s why they booked the cruise. She spoke of all the places she wanted to visit and always wanting to get out of the city. Maybe she’s gone to the countryside? I think she mentioned a house not far from here?”
“Hmm.” The detective ignored her bait about the house. “Did she mention any places in particular?”
“Cairo,” Yukying said randomly. “New York.” Based on what Tinseng told them about the couple’s last conversation, Marissa was likely traveling to wherever her sister lived. Hopefully it wasn’t either of those places. “We discussed Hong Kong, and she seemed interested . . .” Yukying added before panicking. What if the police came to Hong Kong? What if they started watching them? What if I’ve just—
As sweat began pooling in her armpits, the detective spent a few moments writing. Was he trying to break her? It was working. She could feel gambits rising up, desperate attempts that might ruin everything, but she felt outside herself. She heard herself ask, “You don’t think it was her husband, do you?”
“Why would you say that?”
Yukying leaned in, as if they were friends discussing a bit of gossip. “Well, that’s always who it is, isn’t it? Not in mystery novels—those have to keep you guessing—so it can’t be the husband every time. But in the papers, in real life, it’s always the husband or the father or the boss, isn’t it?”
The detective stared at her. “Did you ever meet Mr. Grodescu?”
“Yes, a . . . a few times. At Casino Estoril, in Portugal—that was our first port. My husband and I had a drink with them, and we . . . we danced. My husband is a horrible dancer, you see, and the Grodescus looked so regal on the dance floor, so . . . happy. So I asked for a few dances with him. It was a very nice night.”
“And the other times?”
“Just here and there. He borrowed a cigarette from our group once. It’s hard to avoid people on a ship.”
“Avoid?”
“I just mean, I couldn’t have avoided them even if I wanted to.” A bead of sweat rolled down her side. “But other than the dance, I only really saw her.”
The detective wrote in his notebook.
“Anything else, Mrs. Li?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, then gave a fluttery laugh. “Nothing that isn’t sewing patterns and tips about the casinos. I’m sorry I can’t be more help. She was such a nice girl.”
