“I knew the story about the girls was bollocks, but I did it to help a mate.” She folded her arms into her sleeves and muttered, “Doesn’t mean I liked doing it.”
“What did she tell you about her ‘painting lark’?”
“Gents with an itch for the East. Some blokes like ’em dusky. Fancy a ‘touch of the tar brush,’ as they say.”
“Who? Did she mention these gentlemen’s names?”
“No, but she always said they were all the same with their trousers off . . . more or less.” Sal cackled. “Margot laughed at the toffs with their airs and graces and gentlemen’s club.”
“What club was she talking about?”
“No idea. Margot never said too much. She was nobody’s fool.”
“Someone got the better of her.” Sal’s gaze held steady. She didn’t flinch when he added, “The last time I saw her, she was stretched on a slab with her throat cut.”
“You think you can frighten me? Think I don’t know the world’s a dangerous place? Ask any woman on her own. And it’s no use depending on husbands or lovers or the law to see you through.” She balled her fist and rapped her chest. “China Sal looks after herself.”
Tennant let a few seconds tick by. “Margot Miller thought so, too.”
Sal glared at him, then shouted, “Yee! The inspector’s leaving.”
Tennant stood and scanned the man up and down. The inspector stood a head taller, but he wouldn’t want to tangle with Yee on a foggy night.
Tennant looked back at China Sal. “A few words of advice. Women are dying, so keep this fellow close.”
Yee escorted Tennant to the door and watched until he turned off the Causeway. The inspector retraced his steps to the West India Dock Road and looked for the blue lamp of Limehouse Police Station. He spotted it at number twenty-nine.
Tennant asked the duty sergeant if he’d heard any talk on the street about Chinese girls brought into the country for prostitution.
“You’d need two sets of ears for two lines of talk, sir.”
“Meaning?”
“Chinamen over on Ming Street haven’t a clue what they’re saying down on the Causeway. Different parts of China, different languages. Still, I haven’t heard a squeak about the thing you’re talking about.”
“I’ve just come from China Sal’s. She claims to know nothing either.”
“You think she’s involved?”
“I suspect Sal’s establishment is a way station only.”
The sergeant grinned. “Did you meet that thug of hers, Yee?”
“Yes . . . What’s the significance of that triangular tattoo on his fist? Anything?”
“Means he belongs to one of the triads, one of the Hong Kong gangs with fingers in a dozen illegal pies.” He paused. “So far, Sal seems mostly on the up-and-up.”
Tennant asked the duty sergeant to keep an eye on China Sal and keep him informed.
* **
Sergeant O’Malley eased his bulk into Tennant’s office chair, stretched his legs, and winced. “I’m knackered and mad to be out of these boots.”
“And Stackpole?”
“He legged it straight for the Bunch of Grapes on Narrow Lane. Got drunk as a lord and staggered off to a rooming house three doors down after asking everyone in sight if they knew of a ship taking on a crew.”
“Sounds as if he’s packing it in.”
