The Interior (37 page)

“Once my tour was up,” Henry was saying, “my dad wanted me to come home, which I did. But I still wanted a life in China. My father continued to take a very dim view of that idea, but I was working on him. In the meantime I kept sending money back to help Sun. The Chinese called it ‘tea money.’ But after the war the Nationalists and the Communists went back to their own bloody fight. In 1949 Chiang Kaishek was beaten back to the island of Taiwan, Mao marched into Beijing, and the Bamboo Curtain fell. Both of you weren’t even born yet, but back then anti-Communist sentiment was strong, vicious. To have any contact with China became very dangerous. By 1950 an embargo was in effect, McCarthy was doing his mad dog thing, and little tea money at all crossed the Pacific.”

“People here would have been scared too,” Hulan said. “How do you explain to your new comrades that you’re getting money from foreign imperialists?”

“Without question it was dangerous,” Henry agreed, “but you can always find a crack, and if you’re smart, and Sun Gan was, you learn how to hide your money, live frugally, and spend carefully. And you have to remember, I wasn’t sending a fortune, just fifty or a hundred here and there. It was enough to buy him food, enough to get him to college, and later, as China became increasingly corrupt, enough to get himself out of various jams.”

Again Hulan thought about Sun’s
dangan
. Sun had taken Henry’s money for years. If he was a true Communist, how could he have done this? Could he have turned the money in to the government? Not according to the
dangan
. So he must have squirreled it away, which had to explain how he’d been able to buy his way out of trouble during the Cultural Revolution. But how could it not have come to light? Could he have used his stash to buy his way into the file, hire someone to make the critical changes, and clean up his past?

“Not one word of what you’ve said reassures me,” David said, verbalizing what Hulan was thinking, “because in a sense you’ve been paying Sun bribes for over fifty years.”

“I was helping a friend!” Henry sputtered. “What I sent him was nothing compared to what he’d given me. He saved my life! Can’t you see that?”

“I see a nice man who tried to do the right thing, who may have chosen to call an apple an orange—a bribe a gift—and in doing so became a pawn in Sun’s game.”

“You are blind and stupid,” Henry retorted.

The two men scowled at each other. Henry was the first to break eye contact by standing and going to check the fax machine. Still, nothing had come through. He came back to his seat, strapped himself in, and looked out the window. David too looked out the window, putting aside all he had heard and plotting their next moves. Once the plane landed, they would need to proceed quickly and efficiently. He also thought about Hulan. No matter what she said, he could see that something was wrong with her. She looked hot even in this air-conditioned environment. She was falling asleep every chance she got, and her mind didn’t seem all there. He needed to get all this over with so he could get her to a doctor.

As they had done many times before, Taiyuan airport authorities gave Mr. Knight’s plane permission to land, which it did without incident. But from this point all activity associated with Mr. Knight’s Gulfstream deviated from anything they had seen before. Fortunately, they showed no curiosity about this. They didn’t even come out to investigate why no one except a solidly built Chinese man who looked suspiciously like a law enforcement officer stepped off the plane, trotted across the tarmac, exited the terminal, bargained fiercely and paid handsomely to “rent” a car from a driver (which really meant that Lo flashed his MPS credential and made a few bone-chilling threats), then drove back around through the airport’s south gate, back across the tarmac, parked, then disappeared back into the private jet, where there appeared to be no further activity.

Inside the plane the minutes dragged on as everyone waited for Anne Baxter Hooper’s fax to come through. One by one they checked to see if all of the fax lines were plugged into the right places. David became increasingly convinced that the call was being blocked in some way, but Hulan—who’d awakened from dreams filled with unsettling images of war and the Knight factory floor, of mutilated bodies and dirty money—doubted that could be so. Finally the machine hummed to life and the papers began to spew out. David picked up each sheet as it came through. As with the others, they made no sense by themselves or even when compared to the papers Sun had given him.

Over Henry’s objections, they decided not to look for Sun. “If your friend is hiding on Tianlong Mountain, he’ll be hard to find,” Hulan offered reasonably after Henry had shouted at David that his judgment was clouded and that he was only concerned with saving his own hide. “For now he’s probably better off where he is. Let’s get this resolved once and for all. If Sun is innocent as you say, Mr. Knight, then we can bring him out safely. If he’s guilty, then he’ll be found, prosecuted, and shot no matter what we do.”

“All I’m saying is that your boyfriend here keeps forgetting that Sun is his client—”

“I’ve told you twenty times, Henry, I haven’t forgotten that—”

“Can we just go?” Hulan asked.

The copilot released the door and stairs. The heat and humidity hit the travelers, instantly drenching them in sweat and sticky, polluted moisture from the torpid air. Lo and Hulan got in the front seat, and Henry and David got in the back, of a Wuhan-manufactured Citroën. Lo drove them back through Taiyuan City, across the anemic Fen River, then south on the toll road. Lo pulled off at the exit for Da Shui Village, and they proceeded west until they reached the crossroads. From here Lo turned again and drove the short distance to Suchee’s little farm.

Midday hung heavily on the little compound. The cicadas shrieked with heat, and the roasting air undulated off the fields. Hulan ducked into the house to make sure Suchee wasn’t there, then came back outside and called out across the fields to her friend. Shortly they saw Suchee emerge through a distant cornfield, then trudge across another field of her home vegetables. When she reached them, Hulan introduced Henry. Realizing that this was the man who’d hired her daughter and who in her eyes had corrupted the village, Suchee stared at him with steady, unforgiving eyes, ignoring his passable attempts at polite conversation. Without shifting her gaze, Suchee asked Hulan, “Why have you brought him here?”

“We need to see Miaoshan’s papers again.”

Suchee stood as still as an ox under the beating sun, thinking, weighing. Then she turned and with heavy steps plodded slowly to the little outbuilding where she kept her tools. A few minutes later, she returned and led the way into her house. Lo remained outside to stand guard.

The heat inside was almost unbearable with the temperature hovering at about a hundred and fifteen degrees. Suchee began to unroll the plans, but David said, “Not those. The other papers.” Suchee left the factory plans on the table, and as they waited, Henry smoothed them out, looking at them with sadness. David took this time to check on Hulan. She’d dropped onto one of the overturned crates. Her face was pale, and sweat dripped down her neck. She too stared at the factory plans, but David could see that her eyes were unfocused.

“Here,” Suchee said sharply, putting the papers with the columns and numbers on the table.

Henry set the fax down on the table next to the other papers, then looked expectantly at David, who hesitated. Sun was his client. If he was guilty, David would be exposing him. But if he was innocent, this was the only way to prove it. Reluctantly he reached into his briefcase, pulled out Sun’s papers, and set them on the table with the others. The four of them stared at the papers, trying to decipher them. After a painful moment Suchee turned away. But to the others a pattern began to emerge. Ann’s fax really was the key, providing the various bank names, account numbers, and pathways between the SUN GAN accounts and the dummy corporations.

Each week monies had left the main Knight International account from the Bank of China branch in Taiyuan. From here varying amounts had traveled into other accounts in the same branch, where they never stayed for more than a day. These accounts were the ones that matched Suchee’s list and used the Sam & His Friends characters to spell out SUN GAN. Then these monies were wired abroad to what looked to be Sun’s actual accounts in the U.S. However, Sun’s actual account numbers meant absolutely nothing in the scheme. They had been placed in the columns next to the names of the dummy corporations only to deceive, which they had done quite successfully. This was where Keith’s key provided another list of accounts. These covered an unusual spectrum of primarily West Coast American-and Asian-owned institutions, the first letters of which also spelled out SUN GAN—Sumitomo, Union, National, Glendale Federal, American, and Nippon Kogyo Ginko. The monies had stayed in these accounts sometimes for a day, sometimes for as much as two months, but then they’d been moved again, traveling through another series of accounts in the United States, Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and, finally, back to China to accounts at the Bank of China, the China Industrial Bank, and the China Agricultural Bank in Taiyuan. By the time the monies reached these institutions, they’d been perfectly laundered, appearing as pristine American dollars deposited directly into the Chinese accounts of Henry Knight. The proof was irrefutable.

At last, and with some embarrassment, Hulan and David turned to Henry. He stared at them with agonized eyes. He didn’t try to deny what they’d found, nor did he try to defend himself, which made the moment all the more awkward. He’d lied to them and lied some more. He’d bluffed and they’d called him on it. But before any of them could speak, a scream rang out in the distance. Then another, and another. Each one came closer. Hulan looked around and saw Suchee with her hands over her ears, trying to block the sound as if it were coming from inside her own head. But it wasn’t, and Hulan watched Suchee’s face change as she realized that the horrible, primitive wail was coming from outside.

23

T
HEY RAN OUT OF THE HOUSE. LO LOOKED AROUND, GUN
drawn. Suchee took off in the direction of the sound, and the rest of them followed. David shoved Henry ahead of him, keeping him within grabbing distance. Running in this heat made Hulan’s entire arm throb, but she pushed on, staying right behind Suchee as she led the way through the fields toward—Hulan suddenly realized—the home of the Tsai family. Without warning, a woman burst through the green wall of corn ahead of them. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes frenzied. “Tsai Bing! Tsai Bing!” She pointed behind her, turned, and retraced her steps to her own little farm.

This place was almost identical to Suchee’s homestead. There was a house made of mud brick, an outbuilding or two, some chickens, a pig. Next to the well lay the sodden form of Tsai Bing, Miaoshan’s betrothed, beloved of Tang Siang, and only child of the Tsai family. Tsai Bing’s father was trying to resuscitate his son. Hulan knelt at his side and gently pushed him away. She felt for a pulse in the boy’s neck, but his milky, unseeing eyes told her he’d been dead for some time. She put her fingers on his eyelids and closed them, triggering a new round of bone-chilling wails from the dead boy’s mother.

“Investigator Lo,” Hulan said, “please go to Da Shui. You will find Captain Woo at the station house in the center of the village. We need his presence here.”

While they waited for Lo’s return, Hulan inspected the body, checking his fingernails, his eyes, his mouth, gently running her hands over his limbs. Under the hot sun Tsai Bing’s clothes dried quickly, making the body seem somehow less pathetic. At last Hulan let the boy’s parents come close. They kneeled on either side of their son, tears streaming down their cheeks. Tsai Bing’s mother held his hand to her chest, imploring him to speak to her.

Hulan retired to the one spot of shade she could find, a foot-wide stretch alongside the mud-brick wall of the Tsais’ home. She sat down on her haunches as any peasant might do, except that she cradled her burning arm between her chest and her raised knees. From this position she took in the scene around her. David was staying with—no, guarding—Henry, who had turned away from the body and was looking out across the fields. Suchee had moved to Tsai Bing’s mother’s side and had an arm around her. The two women—one pale in the shock of tragedy; the other ravaged by loss and bitter acceptance—were now united by the worst pain a mother could experience.

Tsai Bing’s mother’s cries had alerted other neighbors as well, and they stepped through the fields and onto the hard-packed earth, some armed with the tools they’d been working with, others empty-handed but all with a shared look of dread. Hulan recognized only one of them. Tang Dan had been one of the first to arrive, and he circulated among the others, keeping them at a respectful distance from the body and its parents. At one point he ventured toward the quartet near the well, put a reassuring hand on Suchee’s shoulder, and held it there. His strength seemed to travel down through Suchee’s body, and she in turn seemed to tighten her arm around Madame Tsai’s shuddering form.

About twenty-five minutes later, two cars arrived in a swirl of dust. Lo led Captain Woo to the body, while three other officers in green short-sleeve shirts pushed the neighbors farther away. Woo barely glanced at Tsai Bing, then ordered the parents to step aside. Then he began writing in his notebook. Never did he stoop down to look at the body. Never did he attempt to question Tsai Bing’s parents. He did, however, stroll to the well and look into it. He made a few more notes, snapped the notebook shut, and strode to his car while calling for his men to follow.

Hulan stood, felt a wave of dizziness come over her, reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall of the house, then stepped forward.

“You can’t possibly be done,” she said.

Captain Woo’s eyes raked her from head to toe and back again.

“This is none of your business,” he said. “Leave it to the police.”

“What do you think happened here?” she asked.

He stared hard at her, unaccustomed to being questioned. “You ask for trouble,
taitai
.”

But Hulan didn’t move from her spot. The peasants who’d clustered here gawked openmouthed at her impudence.

Suchee, sensing the danger her friend was in, took a few tentative steps, and warned, “Hulan…”

“I remember you,” the captain said to Hulan. “You came to my office before. We don’t like troublemakers in our county. Now, I will tell you again, this is an official matter, but if you wish to interfere, I will have no recourse except to have my men take you down to our office. I can assure you that you will not find the experience very pleasant.”

All of this had taken place in Mandarin so David didn’t understand what was happening. The others did, however, and not wanting to be associated with any disturbance that might come back to haunt them, began to shuffle off into the surrounding fields.

“Wait!” Hulan commanded. “Please come back, all of you.” As the neighbors hesitated, she reached into her purse and pulled out her Ministry of Public Security identification and held it up for all to see. The effect was immediate. The neighbors stopped in their tracks.

Captain Woo, however, was not so easily cowed. “You have no jurisdiction here.”

Hulan felt another wave of dizziness, and she swayed as she waited for the blackness to fall away from her eyes. She didn’t think she had the strength for this. Then Investigator Lo came forward. With one hand he held out his credential, while the other rested on the grip of his weapon. A couple of the neighbors gasped. This was not a good place to be.

“I think,” Lo said in a menacing tone, “you will be wise to listen to what Inspector Liu has to say.”

Out of the corner of her eye Hulan saw David edge toward her. He may not have understood the words, but he couldn’t mistake the standoff that was taking place before him. Henry grabbed his shirtsleeve to hold him back. Captain Woo perhaps had not seen the foreigners. Their appearance could only complicate things.

“With great respect, I would like to ask you again.” Hulan spoke evenly, hoping to temper the situation. “What do you think happened here?”

“It is very clear,” Woo responded at last. “The boy must have fallen into the well. Either that or he committed suicide.” Woo now addressed the neighbors. “We all know that he was engaged to Ling Miaoshan. He must have been despondent at her death.”

“You did not look at the body,” Hulan said. “How can you know this?”

“The boy drowned. Of that I am certain.”

“What he says is true,” Suchee said. “You saw him. He was wet, and his body came out of the well.”

“That’s right,” Woo said. “You knew the boy. You knew the situation. Tell your nosy friend how it is.”

Hulan looked at Suchee sadly. Of course, Suchee—even knowing what she did about her daughter—still was hoping to paint a picture of true love between Miaoshan and Tsai Bing.

“Captain Woo, please, come with me,” Hulan said. She walked to the body and knelt at its side. Reluctantly Woo came to stand next to her. Hulan called out to Lo, “Keep the others away, but don’t let anyone leave.” Then she lowered her voice so that only Woo could hear. “I know you aren’t familiar with corpses. I’m sorry to put you through this, but please, take a look with me.” The policeman squatted beside her. She smelled his frightened sweat. Looking up from under her lashes, she saw that the color had drained from his face and she hoped that he wouldn’t vomit. Any further loss of face would make what had to come next even more difficult.

Keeping her voice low, she asked, already guessing the answer, “Did you examine the body of Ling Miaoshan?”

Woo almost imperceptibly shook his head. Hulan sighed. What might have been found on the dead girl’s body if only this policeman had had the courage and/or the experience?

“I will not go into the physiology of drowning, because Tsai Bing did not drown. Instead I will ask you to look at some other markers. Please note that his eyes are pricked with red. His chest and face too have broken capillaries. This is consistent with suffocation. Hanging, strangulation, garroting.”

“But wouldn’t that also be consistent with drowning? Don’t you suffocate that way too?”

Good, Hulan thought. He’s beginning to focus.

“I have already explained. Tsai Bing didn’t drown.”

“Then what?”

“Look at his hands, at his fingernails in particular,” Hulan ordered gently. It was important that this appear as though Woo had made the discovery. “What do you see?”

“His fingernails are broken and bloody. He must have struggled to get out of the well.”

“He was dead when he went in the well. I guarantee that,” Hulan said. “What else do you see?”

“The color under his nails is good. Pink.”

“Too good, wouldn’t you say?”

Captain Woo didn’t know. This was only the second body he’d ever had to deal with and only the first that he’d really looked at.

“Tsai Bing is cyanotic,” she said.

“Do you mean cyanide poisoning?”

“Do you smell almonds?” she asked gently.

Woo shook his head.

“Neither do I,” Hulan said. “But there is another possibility. Carbon monoxide poisoning mimics these symptoms. If we were somewhere else, I would say that Tsai Bing might have committed suicide by locking himself in his car and rigging the exhaust pipe to come back inside. He would have died quickly and nearly painlessly.”

“Tsai Bing didn’t have a car—”

“And wherever he was, he struggled to get out,” Hulan added.

They were silent for a minute. Other than the cicadas there was dead quiet. Even Madame Tsai had stopped crying. Hulan let the silence drag out, hoping Woo would figure it out for himself. At last he spoke.

“In Da Shui Village the cars are all government-owned. Our police department has two sedans. The doctor also has a car. We have one other that is shared by a consortium for driving people to other villages for a small fee. Other than this, we have buses and trucks used for transportation of people and merchandise. However, we do have one other category of vehicle that uses gasoline.”

“Farm equipment,” Hulan said.

For the first time Woo’s eyes met hers. Suddenly what had been clear to her from the moment she saw the body registered on Woo. His eyes widened and she nodded. Yes, his conclusion was correct, she seemed to say.

Woo heaved himself to his feet and addressed the assembled neighbors. “We have a saying in our government that I would ask you all to hear again. Leniency to those who confess, severity to those who don’t.”

The neighbors—all from the poorest class—looked nervously at their feet. Tsai Bing’s mother began to weep again with the realization that her son’s death had not been a horrible accident.

“Our neighbor and friend, Tsai Bing, was murdered by one of our own,” Woo said. “The murderer has one minute to reveal himself.” Woo looked at his watch, then around at the peasants. “When this minute is over, any leniency that I or the courts or your neighbors would see fit to treat you with will evaporate forever.”

No one spoke, but instead of staring at their feet, the people had begun to look around the courtyard, checking the familiar faces of those they had known for years. Woo, now emboldened, circulated among the peasants.

“There is only one person here whom we all hold above reproach,” he said loudly so that all could hear. “He has done much for our community. As his wealth has grown, he has shared his mechanized farm equipment with his neighbors. He is the only man who has the capability of killing Tsai Bing, and I’m sure when we inspect the garage where he keeps his equipment, we will find Tsai Bing’s blood on the door, for this poor boy tried to scratch his way out until he was too weak to fight anymore.”

The peasants knew of whom Woo was speaking but couldn’t believe what they were hearing.

“There is only one person here who fits this description, and we all know who he is.” Captain Woo stopped before Tang Dan. “The only remaining question your neighbors have is, why?”

Madame Tsai screamed in anguish and collapsed into her husband’s arms.

Tang Dan stared proudly at the policeman.

“Why!” Woo shouted.

Tang Dan blinked, then said, “I believe my minute is up, so it doesn’t matter what I say.” He held out his wrists to be handcuffed.

Woo glanced back at Hulan, unsure of what to do next. She nodded. He brought out his handcuffs, roughly clasped them on Tang Dan, then gave the murderer a shove toward the police car.

Suddenly Suchee rushed forward and slammed into Tang Dan’s chest with both fists, sending him into the dirt. “Why? Why? Why?”

The other neighbors circled in closer, now gripping their hoes and other tools as weapons. Even those who were empty-handed crept closer, their bodies taut with anger and the desire for revenge. A boy, an only son, had been murdered by a man who had grown rich while they had remained poor.

“He comes from the landlord class,” someone spat out.

“You can’t change a tiger’s stripes,” said another, quoting an almost universal epithet.

“Pig ass!”

“Mother of a fart!”

Chinese villagers had five thousand years of precedence for dealing with such a crime. In the olden days a robber, kidnapper, or vandal was brought before the populace of a village and made to walk among them, where they might scream out his crimes and what they thought of him, where they might throw stones or beat the evildoer with sticks. The criminal might be made to wear a
cangue
, a huge wooden collar that made it nearly impossible to eat or even to shoo away flies. His wrists and ankles might be locked into a public stock so that everyone in the village might know that this was a bad person.

According to Confucian tradition, punishment was meted out no less swiftly or brutally for domestic crimes. If a son hit his father, then the father had the right to kill his son. If a father hit his son, there was no punishment. If a landlord stole from the people or raped a daughter, then nothing could be done except to kowtow to that landlord and hope it didn’t happen again. If a peasant dared to do anything against a landlord, then punishment was brutal and final. For five thousand years retribution had been carried out thus; then the Communists had come into power. The forms of crime changed but the punishments very little. Now it was the government that acted swiftly. As the saying went—you sometimes had to kill a chicken to shock the monkeys. And yet the government understood that the masses still needed to have their moment of power, which was why the civil war and the Cultural Revolution had been so cruelly savage.