A Loyal Character Dancer - [Chief Inspector Chen Cao 02] (17 page)

“But that happened even before the Cultural Revolution.”

“Well, that’s like what happens in an investigation,” Li said. “You are not doing anything now, but it’s still what you have already done.”

Chen was astonished by Li’s reproof, which was not totally irrelevant.

“Also, I’m concerned by the accident in Zhu’s place. Those old houses with dark, rotten staircases. Fortunately, nothing serious has happened, or the American might really get suspicious.”

“Well—”
I
really am suspicious,
Chen did not say.

“That’s why I want to reemphasize that you must provide a safe and satisfactory stay for Inspector Rohn. Think of something else to do. You have served as an escort for Westerners. A cruise on the river is a must for a tourist. And a visit to the Old City.” Li said, “I’m going to invite her to a Beijing Opera. I’ll let you know as soon as I have made arrangements.”

So Party Secretary Li actually wanted him to stop the investigation, though he did not say so explicitly.

Why? Chen was perplexed. There were so many possible points for him to ponder over. As he had suspected, he’d been given this assignment more for the appearance of carrying out an investigation than to obtain a result. If he was going to do a real job, it would have to be done without the bureau’s knowledge.

He tried to clear his mind on the way home, but he was still exasperated when his apartment building came in sight.

Turning on the light in his apartment, he compared his strikingly plain room with Li’s. No exquisite orchids breathing the owner’s elegant taste. No silk scrolls sporting the calligraphy of renowned scholars. A room is like a woman, incapable of standing comparison, he reflected.

He took out the cassette tape of Yu’s interview in the village. It had been express-mailed to his home. The information provided by Wen’s neighbors was not really new. The apathy shared by them was also understandable, considering what Feng had done during the Cultural Revolution.

To some extent, the chief inspector thought he could understand the isolation Wen had inflicted upon herself. During his first few years in the police bureau, he had also alienated himself from his former friends who had started teaching in colleges or interpreting at the Foreign Ministry. A cop’s career had not been his expectation for himself, nor his friends’. Ironically, that was one of the reasons that he had thrown himself into translating and writing in those days.

Wen must have been a proud woman.

The tape rolled slowly on to the interview with Miao, the owner of the only private phone in the village, about how the village folks paid her for their calls to people overseas. When people called home from abroad, they also used her phone. Miao explained, “When someone calls from overseas, there may be a long wait before his family comes to the phone. As international calls can be very expensive, some of them make a point of calling at a scheduled time. For Feng, it was always Tuesday evening, around eight o’clock. But for the first two or three weeks, he called more frequently. Once Wen was not at home, and another time she did not want to come to pick up the phone. They did not get along so well, you know. With such a husband, I do not blame her. A fresh flower stuck in a heap of ox dung. It’s surprising that he calls every week. I don’t think he has made much money. He has been there for only a few months...”

He pushed the stop button, rewound the tape, listened to it again, stopped it, made a note, and pushed the play button again.

“Anyway, before eight o’clock on Tuesday, Wen would come to wait by the phone. The last call was an exception. It came on a Friday. I remember. Feng said that it was urgent. So I had to run to get her. I do not know anything about the contents of their talk. I thought she looked upset afterwards. That’s about all I can tell you, Detective Yu.”

As the tape came to an end, Chief Inspector Chen lit a cigarette, trying to do some thinking.

Normally, for the first couple of days, there were a number of directions to pursue in search of a missing person, but once they were covered, and no clue discovered, the search came to a dead end. Still, some details were worth exploring. For one thing, why would Wen have refused to answer an expensive international call? Even if their relationship was terrible, wouldn’t she still want to join her husband in America?

He slipped off his shoes, lay down on the sofa, picked up a copy of
Wenhui Daily.
There was a column discussing doctors and nurses taking “red envelopes” or petty graft from patients. Maybe that was another reason why Mr. Ma enjoyed such good business. Visits to a state-run hospitals were covered by insurance, but the amount in the “red envelopes” could be staggering. Some called it a form of corruption; others attributed it to unreasonable distribution of wealth in the society. He put aside the newspaper, intending only to rest his eyes for a few minutes. He dozed off in spite of himself.

The insistent clanging of the phone intruded into his fading dream. It was Old Hunter.

“Sorry to call you so late,” Old Hunter said.

“No, I’ve been waiting for your call,” he said. “I was with Inspector Rohn in the hotel. So please go on with your report, in detail.”

“First, about the victim’s pajamas. Some part I have told you already. No label in the pajamas, but there is a fine design woven into the material, shaped like a V connected with an elliptical circle. I spoke with Tang Kaiyuan, a fashion designer. According to Tang, the design stands for Valentino, an international brand. Very expensive. There’s no store selling it in Shanghai. So the victim must have been a rich man. Possibly from another province. Maybe from Hong Kong.”

“It may be a fake, a knockoff,” Chen commented.

“I thought about that, too. Tang said that it’s not likely. He has never seen fake Valentino pajamas here. Knockoffs come in large quantities. No one will try to make just one or two pieces. A month ago, there was a raid on a warehouse and more than three hundred thousand cheap Polo logo T-shirts were found. If they had been put on the market, the real, high-priced Polo brand shirts would have been unsaleable.”

“Tang has a good point.”

“I also had a discussion with Dr. Xia. That’s why I did not have time to call you. The good doctor’s willing to go out of his way for you. Remember the unidentified drug he found in the body of the ax-murder corpse? When we discussed the fact the victim had had sex shortly before he was killed, the doctor got an idea that the mysterious drug might be a sort of aphrodisiac, and he took out a thick reference volume there and then. Sure enough, he found a drug with similar molecular structure. At the time when the book was published, this drug was available only in Southeast Asia. It can be very expensive.”

“The victim must have been able to afford expensive luxuries, with such a brand of pajamas, and such a drug, but he doesn’t sound like one of those new capitalists to me.”

“I agree,” Old Hunter said. “I will do further research tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Uncle Yu. Not a single word about your discovery to the people in the bureau.”

“I understand, Chief Inspector Chen.”

It was almost twelve as Chen put down the phone. All in all, the day had not ended too badly, though his dream had been broken into by the phone call.

Of that dream, only one fragmented scene remained in his mind. He was walking to an ancient bridge over a Qing dynasty moat, alone, crunching over a blanket of golden leaves, somewhere in the Forbidden City. A poem by Zhang Bi, a Tang dynasty poet, came to mind.

The dream comes lingering back to the old place:

The winding verandah, the circling balustrade.

There is nothing like the moon, still shining on the petals

Fallen in the spring court, for the lonely visitor.

Chief Inspector Chen made himself another cup of black coffee, trying to cleanse his palate and his mind of the dream. This was not a night for recollecting poems. He had to think.

* * * *

Chapter 12

he phone began ringing before her alarm went off. Rubbing her eyes, Catherine snatched up the receiver. It was her boss’s voice on the line, clear, familiar, though thousands of miles away. “Sorry to wake you, Catherine.”

“It’s okay.”

“How are things?”

“Lousy,” she said. “The Fujian police have made no progress. Here in Shanghai, we’ve not gotten any leads by interviewing Wen’s possible contacts.”

“You know the trial date. The INS has been driving us crazy.”

“Is it possible to postpone the trial?”

“Not a popular idea, I’m afraid.”

“Politics. Here, too. Is there any information about the gang that threatened Feng?”

“Feng has not heard from them again. We have taken your suggestion and are keeping him in the same place. If the gang has Wen, they will send another more explicit message to him.”

“The Chinese believe that the triad is looking for her but may not have her yet.”

“What’s your opinion of the Chinese?”

“The Shanghai Police Bureau or Chief Inspector Chen?”

“Well, both,” Spencer said.

“The bureau has made a point of treating me as a distinguished guest. Party Secretary Li Guohua, the bureau’s top official, is going to meet me today or tomorrow. A courtesy, I guess. As for Chief Inspector Chen, I would say he works conscientiously.”

“I’m glad to hear they treat you well, and your Chinese partner is a decent guy. Now about Chen, the CIA would like you to gather some information on him.”

“They want me to spy on him?”

“That is too strong a word, Catherine. Just pass on the information you happen to have about him. What people is he associated with? What cases does he handle? What books does he read and write? That kind of thing. The CIA has its own sources, but you are someone they can trust.”

She agreed but she did not like it.

Then the phone rang again. It was Chen.

“How are you this morning, Inspector Rohn?”

“Much better.”

“Your ankle?”

“The paste has worked. No problem today,” she said, rubbing her ankle, which still felt slightly tender.

“You scared me yesterday.” There was relief in his voice. “Are you up for another interview today?”

“Sure. When?”

“I have a meeting this morning. What about this afternoon?”

“Then I’ll do a little research in the Shanghai Library in the morning.”

“About Chinese secret societies?”

“Right.” In addition, she was going to collect some information about Chen. Not merely for the CIA.

“The library is also on Nanjing Road. A taxi will take you there in less than five minutes.”

“I’ll walk if it is so close.”
                            

“That’s up to you. I’ll meet you at twelve in a restaurant opposite the library, across the street. The Verdant Willow Village. That’s the name of the restaurant.”
                    

“See you then.”

After a quick shower, she left the hotel. She strolled along Nanjing Road, an extended shopping center, not only lined with shops on both sides, but also with rows of peddlers in front of the shops. She crisscrossed the street several times, lured by the interesting window displays. She had not done any shopping since her arrival.
                                  

At the intersection of Zhejiang Road, she had to resist the temptation to enter a vermilion restaurant with engraved pillars sustaining a yellow-glazed tile roof—an imitation of the ancient Chinese architectural style. A waitress dressed in the Qing dynasty costume bowed enticingly to the people passing by. Instead, Catherine bought a piece of sticky rice cake from one of curbside peddlers, nibbling it like the Shanghai girls walking in front of her. It was rather fashionable to talk about the Chinese people as natural capitalists, born wheelers and dealers, and to explain the economic boom in that way, but she believed it was their collective energy released after so many years of state economic control, being given the opportunity to do something for themselves for the first time, that had led to the transformation she saw around her.