Mr. Chen froze, as though any movement might break something. Mr. Zhang, though, just said mildly, “Yes. The Shanghai Moon.”

“I heard the story yesterday,” I told them. “That the Shanghai Moon might be in the company of these pieces. I also heard that these pieces aren’t worth killing over, but the Shanghai Moon is.”

Mr. Zhang smiled. “You’ve cleverly sidestepped my question.”

“As you have mine.”

His smile grew delighted. “I’m unused to being clever, but I suppose I have. Ms. Chin-the Shanghai Moon? Was it there?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “If it was found, my client wasn’t told.”

Mr. Zhang inclined his head. “Thank you for indulging me.” Something passed between the two cousins then; I couldn’t read it, but they’d reached a decision. “I hope,” Mr. Zhang said, “we are able to answer your questions as fully as you have answered mine.” He sipped some tea, waiting.

“Well, to start with, let’s go back to this question: Have you seen these pieces?”

“Yes.”

I nearly jumped off my seat. “Wong Pan, the man who stole them, he’s been here?”

“No.”

“But-”

Mr. Chen spoke. “We have seen them.”

“Why didn’t you-”

He raised a hand. “Yes, we have seen them. But not for sixty years. They are my mother’s.”

Under the bright lights in the jewelry store office, I stared from one old man to the other. “Your mother’s?” I said. “But these are Rosalie Gilder’s, that she-” I stared again: Mr. Chen’s rounded eyes, his sharp nose. Oh, I thought. Oh, oh, oh. “Rosalie Gilder? She was your mother?”

“Yes. Do you-”

“Chen,” I breathed. “Chen Kai-rong. He’s your father.”

Mr. Chen gave a bow of his head. “It does me honor to acknowledge them. I’m surprised to find you know their names, however.”

“They were in the book. Where I read about the Shanghai Moon. But of course, Rosalie’s-Miss Gilder’s, I mean”-I corrected myself, not wanting him to think I was taking liberties-“my client told me her name. And I found Chen Kai-rong’s name in her letters.”

“Your client’s letters?”

“No, your mother’s.”

A pause. “My mother’s-”

“I suppose,” Mr. Zhang interrupted gently, “Ms. Chin means the letters at the Jewish Museum?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Chen. “Yes, of course.” He nodded a few times. “Yes, at the museum.”

Not sure why his face had clouded, I said, “I apologize if you feel I’ve invaded your mother’s privacy. But she was a fascinating woman.” A thought struck me. “Mr. Chen, is she-” Not that way, Lydia. “I’d be thrilled to find her still with us.”

Mr. Chen smiled sadly. “As to that, I must disappoint you.”

It was true, I did feel disappointed. Though really, Lydia, I pointed out to myself, if Rosalie were alive, she’d be near ninety. But to me she was a scared, brave young woman I’d just met, and grown fond of.

I looked at Mr. Zhang, the cousin. “Is your relation in the Chen family line?”

“Yes. My mother, Mei-lin, was Chen Kai-rong’s sister. But Ms. Chin, this is not the time for reminiscence. We have more urgent matters before us.”

“The jewelry.” I nodded. “You haven’t been offered it?”

“No.”

“But you want to find it before it’s sold.”

Mr. Chen answered that one. “Yes, of course. Anything that was my mother’s is precious to us.” Again the smile. It faded and he said, “However, the piece not pictured here… the Shanghai Moon… you’ve heard nothing?”

“No. I’m sorry. If it was your mother’s, I understand how much it must mean to you.”

He nodded. The hungry look was gone from his eyes, replaced by a stoic disappointment.

“My cousin has been searching for the Shanghai Moon all his life,” Mr. Zhang said.

“When it disappeared, what-” I was stopped by a tiny shake of Mr. Zhang’s head. He cut his eyes toward his cousin, who, with an air of resignation, was pouring tea.

What was Mr. Zhang telling me? Not to ask any more questions in front of Mr. Chen? What could that mean? Nothing in that story could be news to Mr. Chen. Mr. Zhang shot a look at the phone on the desk. Got it: He’d call me later. Well, okay, for now. I had his card, too.

“Gentlemen,” I said, “whether or not what happened to my associate and the police officer has anything to do with the Shanghai Moon, it still may have to do with the rest of this jewelry. If you hear from Wong Pan, or anyone else who wants to talk about these pieces, will you let me know?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Zhang, and Mr. Chen nodded. “But there is still another matter.”

“What’s that?”

“The heirs.”

“What about them?”

“You say you don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t know their names. They’re grandchildren of Rosalie’s uncle, Horst Peretz.”

Mr. Chen lifted his eyes to me. “Ms. Chin, are you familiar with Jewish naming practices?”

I shook my head.

“My father chose my Chinese name. My mother gave me a European one. Horst Chen Lao-li. An odd name, is it not? Ms. Chin, Jewish people do not name babies for living relatives, in case the Angel of Death, coming to collect the elder, should make an error. When my mother named me for her uncle Horst, she knew he was gone. She gave me his name so he would be remembered. There was none other to remember him: He died childless.”

It took me a moment to process this. “Then who are these clients?”

“Whoever they are, they are not who they claim to be,” said Mr. Zhang. “That in itself is worrisome, wouldn’t you say?”

I called Alice as I headed back to my office but only got her voice mail. Come on, Alice, pick up! Your clients are bogus! Could this be what Joel had meant by “fishy”? But how would he have known? I left a message to call me, then switched directions for the subway, to go up to the Waldorf and bang on the door myself. Before I’d gone two blocks, my phone rang the Wonder Woman song.

“ Lydia, we were right.”

“We’re always right. About what?”

“A few days ago a pay phone a block from Wong Pan’s hotel made a call to the Waldorf.”

“To the Waldorf? Wong Pan called Alice? But she never said anything. She wasn’t even positive he was in New York.”

“The call was short. He might have tried, didn’t get her, and hung up. The point is, he knows where to find her.”

“If it was him. All you have is a pay phone calling the Waldorf.”

Mary ignored my magical thinking. “I’m here, but she’s not. Have you heard from her?”

“Here, the Waldorf? You’re there? And she’s not? Now you’re worrying me. I just called and got voice mail. I was about to go up there. Was that pay-phone call before the Chinese cop was killed or after?”

“His death can’t be pinned down that exactly, but it was probably within a few hours. Let me know right away if you hear from her.”

“I will. And Mary? I have a couple of other bombshells.” I told her about Mr. Chen, Rosalie’s son, and Mr. Zhang, Rosalie’s nephew, and about Alice ’s clients, not Rosalie’s relations at all.

“Oh,” Mary said slowly. “Oh, Lydia, I’m not liking this.”

“Me either.”

“I’m going to alert the sector cars to look out for her. Meanwhile, Shanghai ’s sending a new cop over.”

“They are?”

“Hey, it’s a homicide of one of their own, plus a theft from the Chinese people. It wouldn’t surprise me if they sent a whole squad. Inspector”-a pause-“Wei De-xu. The e-mail says, ‘Inspector Wei is one of Shanghai Police Bureau’s most esteemed officers.’ I’m going to the airport in the morning to collect him.”

“How come you get to go? Instead of someone from Midtown Homicide?”

“Captain Mentzinger’s squeezing this. Technically, once the John Doe was identified, I was done, but he wants me to stay with it. After the screw-up on the room, Midtown can’t really object. They’re saving face by saying it’s okay for me to collect this guy because I can talk to him.”