I catch her name, Lorelei, and Anthony gestures to us.
Mr Du makes a sound, a grunt, when Anthony has finished explaining.
‘Yes,’ Anthony says to us, ‘Lorelei came here on the Sunday evening.’
‘Ask him about the hobbies project,’ I say to Anthony. ‘Did Lori photograph him?’
‘Bú yào,’ Mr Du says, ‘bú yào,’ and something else I don’t catch, then ‘zài jiàn’. Goodbye.
‘He says no. He’s busy now. He wishes you well.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Tom says, ‘our daughter is missing. Nu ér, shī zōng.’ He pushes a leaflet at Mr Du, who waves it away.
‘Did she talk to him about photographs?’ I say. ‘Or tell him who else she was going to photograph?’
Anthony speaks, and Mr Du shakes his head. He flips his hands as though he’s brushing us away.
‘He doesn’t know anything about this,’ Anthony says.
Mr Du seems curt, but is that just the sound of the language?
‘He has spoken to the police,’ Anthony says.
‘Did he see Lori on the Monday? The seventh of April?’
Mr Du scowling, speaks rapidly, and Anthony says, ‘No, he saw her for the lesson on the Sunday. Now he says he must go.’
‘Please, wait,’ I say.
But Mr Du shuts the door.
Tom bangs on it.
‘Don’t,’ I say. ‘He’s told us all he’s going to.’
‘Fuck,’ Tom says. I think he’s going to hit the door again, but he just throws his arms up, swearing some more.
In the lift, Tom turns to Anthony. ‘Did you believe him?’
Anthony doesn’t answer. He looks uncomfortable.
‘Why was he so cagey?’ Tom says. ‘If he is an innocent witness and no more than that, just a student of Lori’s, why wouldn’t he want to help?’
‘Chinese people, they do not like to be close to a big problem like this. They like harmony. Things to be… smooth.’
‘Bad for business?’ I say.
‘Like this,’ Anthony agrees.
Three wise monkeys: see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. It’s not exclusively a Chinese trait, I think. The British have a great capacity for avoiding public confrontation, of acting as though nothing is happening, for turning a blind eye when someone creates a scene. I think of the stag do at the airport.
But is that all it is – reticence, embarrassment – or has Mr Du something to hide?
In the garden the little boys are still fishing; one of the grandmas holds her charge by the straps on his dungarees.
‘Oh, great,’ Tom mutters, looking ahead.
Striding towards us are two guards. They call to us, in harsh tones, gesturing to the exit.
‘They wish us to go,’ Anthony says.
The guards follow us to the gates, where Anthony presses the exit button. I feel their eyes on us as we leave.
