Necropolis

overpass that twisted through more office and apartment blocks. It was only seven o'clock in the morning, but already the traffic was building up. Soon it would start to jam. Looking down, Scarlett saw what looked suspiciously like a London bus, trundling along with far too many passengers crammed on board. But it was painted the wrong colors, with Chinese symbols covering one side. Hong Kong had once belonged to the British, of course. It had been handed back at the end of the nineties, and although it was now owned by China, it more or less looked after itself.
    They passed a market where the stalls were still being set up and made their way down a narrow street with dozens of advertisements, all in Chinese, hanging overhead. Finally, they turned into a driveway that curved up to a set of glass doors in a smaller tower block. Scarlett saw a sign: wisdom court
    . The car stopped. They had arrived.
    Wisdom Court stood to the east of the city in what had to be an expensive area, since it had the one thing that mattered in a place like this: open space. The building was old-fashioned, with brickwork rather than steel or glass. It was only fifteen stories high and stood in its own grounds. There was a forecourt with half a dozen neat flower beds and a white marble fountain, water trickling out of a lion's head.
    There were two more lions with gaping mouths, one on each side of the door. Inside, the reception area could have belonged to a luxury hotel. There were palm trees in pots and a man in a uniform sitting behind a marble counter. Two elevators stood side by side at the end of the corridor.
    They went up to the twelfth floor, Karl carrying the luggage. Audrey Cheng had barely looked at Scarlett since they had left the airport, but now she fished in her handbag and took out a key that she dangled in front of her, as if to demonstrate that she really did have a right to be here. They reached a door marked 1213. Mrs. Cheng turned the key in the lock, and they went in.
    Was this really where her father lived? The apartment was clean and modern, with a long living room, floor-to-ceiling windows, and three steps down to a sunken kitchen and dining room. There were two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. But at first sight there was nothing that connected it with him.
    The paintings on the walls were abstract blobs of color that could have hung in any hotel. The furniture looked new — a glass table, leather chairs, pale wooden cupboards. Had Paul Adams really gone out and chosen it all, or had it been there when he arrived? Everything was very tidy, not a bit like the warm and cozy clutter of their home in Dulwich.

Looking around, Scarlett did find a few clues that told her he had been there. There were some books about the
    Second World War on the shelves. He always had been interested in history. The fridge had some of his favorite foods — a packet of smoked salmon, Greek yogurt, his usual brand of butter — and there was a bottle of malt whiskey, the one he always drank, on the counter. Some of his clothes were hanging in the wardrobe in the main bedroom, and there was a bottle of his aftershave beside the bath.
    And there was the note.
    It was printed out, not written, in an envelope addressed to Scarlett. There wasn't even a signature.
    Scarlett wondered if he had asked his secretary to type it. He only used two fingers and usually made lots of mistakes. The note was very short.
    Dear Scarly,
    Really sorry to do this to you, but something came up and I've got to be out of Hong Kong for a few days. I'll try to call but if not, enjoy yourself, and I'll see you soon. No need to worry about anything. I'll explain all when we meet.
    Dad
    Scarlett lowered the note. "It doesn't say when he'll be back," she said.
    "Maybe your father doesn't know."
    "But he's the only reason I'm here!"
    Mrs. Cheng spread her hands as if to apologize, but there was no sign of any regret in her face. "This afternoon I will take you into the place where your father works," she promised. "We will go to Nightrise, and you will see the chairman. He will tell you more."
    Karl had carried Scarlett's suitcase into the spare bedroom. So far he hadn't said a word. He was waiting at the front door.
    "I'm sure you're tired," Mrs. Cheng said. "Why don't you have a rest, and we can explore the city later.
    Maybe you would like to do some shopping? We have many shops."
    Scarlett didn't want to go shopping with Audrey Cheng. It seemed that the two of