The Mystery of Revenge (3 page)

“Oh, Yi-yun, my dearest,” he jumped up, overjoyed. “I love you,” he said, embracing her passionately, “and I always
will.”

She stood woodenly in his arms. Her body felt the kisses and hugs, but her mind wasn’t functioning. Oh dear, she was engaged. Did she really want to be married right now? She wasn’t even twenty-two!

“I’ll take care of you and support you,” he whispered into her ears while kissing her tenderly. “We’ll be happy
together.”

“Yes,” she said, crying silently on his
shoulder.

Fang Chen left when it was time for his class. He promised he would let her choose the diamond engagement ring. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he
said.

Yi-yun wandered aimlessly through the hall and stepped outside. It was a warm day in mid-October with bright sunshine and a soft breeze. The Charles River in front of her was sparkled with shiny twinkles, and the trees lining the streets were covered with colorful leaves. When the wind passed smoothly by, the grass surrounding the campus shook in delight. What a beautiful
day!

Bathing in the fresh air under the sun, a stream of happy thoughts floated through her mind. At last, with a marriage to one of the richest students on campus, she was on her way to achieve the goal she had set for herself when she left
China.

It all started in 1976 when the Cultural Revolution ended without a bang. As the country struggled toward a painful recovery, it opened its door unguardedly to the foreigners for the first time. Soon, the daring and eager investors flooded in, so were the ways and means of outside world. The pictures of the much-developed western countries found their way into the household of two middle school
teachers.

Yi-yun was a ten-year-old when she first laid her eyes on an American magazine. Amazed, she couldn’t take her eyes away from the colorful photographs: the big houses, the beautiful yards, the shining cars, and the gorgeous clothes! Look how people in other parts of the world lived! She remembered being ashamed when she looked down at her own clothes—the shapeless gray Mao uniform, one of the few outfits people were allowed to wear at that time, so lifeless and ugly in
comparison.

Her family was supposedly middle class, both her parents being college grads, which made them the cream of the crop in their country. Before 1966, they did live rather comfortably if not luxuriously in a two-bedroom apartment in a brownstone town house built in the 1930s in the old French quarter in Shanghai. But the Cultural Revolution had changed everything. As intellectuals, her parents were doomed. Two working-class families, now the new ruling class, moved into their apartment and occupied the two bedrooms under the slogan of “equal living” in the height of the revolution, leaving her parents and their only daughter jammed into the living room. As long as Yi-yun could remember, her home was a small square room that she shared with her parents. On one side, it was a big bed for her parents; on the opposite side, it was a small bed for her. They slept there, ate there, even entertaining guests there, and they had to share the only bathroom with the two working-class families. During her childhood, Yi-yun had broken down more than a few times when she couldn’t hold her pee any longer while waiting for the bathroom to be
vacant.

“I wish I lived in a different country!” she sighed when she put down the magazine. Several nights after reading the magazine, she had some beautiful dreams, only to be woken up by the snores of her parents. Unwaveringly, she kept her dream alive—when she grew up, she would move to a foreign country and have a beautiful house of her
own.

“Guess what?” she said, totally upbeat again, when Amy returned from school in the
evening.

“What?” her roommate asked, rather uninterested. She was so tired that she dropped her backpack, sank into the couch, and closed her
eyes.

“I’m engaged,” Yi-yun proudly
announced.

“No!” Amy’s eyes popped open as she sat
up.

“Yes,” Yi-yun said, laughing loudly while opening her
arms.

“Oh, Yi-yun, what a surprise!” Amy cried, rushing into her arms and hugging her “You almost made me speechless! Now, show me the
ring!”

“No, I don’t have it,” she said regretfully. “We have to buy it tomorrow. It happened so suddenly that Fang wasn’t
prepared.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Amy crooned, giving her another big hug. “Did you set the wedding date yet?” she
asked.

“Maybe someday next month?” she responded doubtfully. “I don’t know if I’ll be ready
though.”

“You will,” Amy said to her assuredly. “Fang Chen is such a nice guy, Yi-yun! You’re so
lucky!”

Yi-yun beamed. The approval, tinged with envy in her roommate’s voice made her happy and proud. “I have to call Shao Mei and Ann,” she said to Amy. Shao Mei used to sleep on her couch, so Amy knew her well. She moved out only recently after her son came to the United States. Ann and Amy were
classmates.

“Yes, you have to. I’ll have to make a few phone calls as well. I’ll need a roommate sooner rather than later; otherwise, I won’t be able to afford this
apartment.”

Chapter 3

“To be honest, I was surprised,” Ms. White admitted while rocking back and forth habitually in an old-fashioned rocking chair in her living room, “to see him leaving with a roller. He never left with a roller. The biggest luggage he ever carried was a duffel bag before that
day.”

Paul Winderman was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in front of him on the coffee table. The furniture in this neat and sunny one-bedroom apartment was a mixture of antique and semimodern. Even though the color of the couch and matching love seat in the living room had been faded, he knew they were rarely
touched.

“What time was this?” he asked, looking at Ms. White who had her mostly gray permed hairs pulled neatly behind her ears. She was rounded in the middle but looked very energetic for a seventy-year-old.

“Oh, around seven in the morning,” she said, trying to be precise. “I was having my first cup of coffee, and I looked out the window, and there he was, rolling away this big
suitcase.”

“Did you hear anything unusual the night
before?”

She stiffened, remembering the moaning of their lovemaking. “The usual stuff,” she said rigidly. “They had sex. That’s for
sure.”

Paul Winderman studied her while sipping his coffee, which to his delight, was very strong. For some reason, old Ms. White seemed to dislike her young neighbors; he was wondering if she disliked both or just one of them. Aloud, he asked: “What type of people were
they?”

“Hard to say. She was nice enough, always said hello when we ran into each other. Sometimes, she and I would exchange some pleasantries and news,” she said. “He’s a snob, always looking down at the tips of his shoes when he walks, never even say hi” she added
distastefully.

“Do you think they were on good
terms?”

She became all rigid again. “I suppose so. She was devoted to him, I’m sure. The guy never lifted a finger on anything around the house. All he did was playing his piano. She told me that he had to protect his fingers”—she snorted—“protect his fingers indeed! I’d say he’s just lazy. What type of a man would live on his girlfriend’s wages! She’s been supporting him for years. As my father used to
say—”

Paul Winderman lifted his right hand to interrupt her as he knew perfectly well what her father would have said about a man living on a woman’s wages. His father would have said the same thing. “But I thought he got a job as a concert
pianist.”

“He signed a contract with the Boston Symphony. At least that was what she told me. But he didn’t start getting paid until very recently. She said she had been working at a Chinese restaurant so he could concentrate on his piano. She’d been supporting him since when, I don’t even want to know,” she said sordidly. As an independent woman, she had been working all her life, teaching little kids. Even after retirement, she had volunteered at the local library for years until
recently.

“Do you think he loved
her?”

“If love is about sex, then I say yes,” she blurted out. “All they did when they were home is have sex! Piano and sex. That’s about
it!”

He nodded knowingly. That could be one of the reasons she despised him. “Now think carefully, Ms. White. Because you are so intelligent, you might have noticed something other people wouldn’t.”

She turned a little pink with
pleasure.

“Did you hear anything unusual, anything, before he left, either the night before or the early
morning?”

“Now, it could be something,” she said, sitting a bit more upright. “I did hear him raising his voice a couple times the night before, and she cried out once or twice. It didn’t sound like arguing. I thought at the time she might have burned her hand while cooking. You see, the building’s old, so the walls and the floors have deteriorated quite a bit. I could hear the sounds they made, but words were barely audible.” She colored up a bit when she tried to explain. “And I couldn’t distinguish between a moan and a cry. That’s why I didn’t pay much attention
then.”

“Did she cry out before or after he raised his
voice?”

She shook her head. “Couldn’t tell, I wasn’t really listening you know. She was a very reserved woman normally. The only time she made lots noises was when they had sex.” Her face blushed pink again as she looked at him apologetically. “Sometimes, he pinned her against the wall while doing it, and I could feel my side of the wall vibrating. The man is a pig,” she said
disgustedly.

Paul Winderman shook his head unconsciously. Due to the condition of the body, which was badly decomposed, they hadn’t been able to pinpoint the exact timing of the murder. It could be before or after Tom Meyers had left for his tour. If it was after, he could walk free even though every clue they found had pointed to him as the prime suspect. Just this morning, they had found a pillow with a gunshot burn in one of the trash bins nearby. Whoever shot the victim had used the pillow to stifle the sound. It was his pillow all right, there were no fingerprints other than his and
hers.

If Tom Meyers had shot her, most likely he had done it the night before. If he had killed her in a convulsive fit, she would’ve cried out or screamed before she died unless, of course, he had shot her when she was asleep, then dragged her to the living room. But there was nothing in the crime scene indicating the body was being dragged or carried over from somewhere else, and the autopsy had confirmed
it.

“Did you see his face when he left that morning?” he asked. “Was he
nervous?”

“I only saw his back and his suitcase when he walked out. Oh, he did turn sideway once. Yes, his face was rather pale, but he’s always as pale as a ghost, hiding in the apartment all day long,” Ms. White said
nastily.

“After he left, did you hear any unusual noises or activities
downstairs?”

“No,” she shook her head. “If you mean someone came in afterward and shot her, I’d have
known.”

He thought for a while. “How many units are there in this
building?”

“Twelve, mostly one-bedroom apartments, but four of them are two-bedroom
apartments.”

“Bet you know all your neighbors in this building,” he said, smiling at her
encouragingly.

“Yes, I do,” she said with assurance. “Most of them are students. This is the ideal location for students who go to Boston University or Boston College. Then there are several young couples who work in downtown
Boston.”

“So during the day, you are the only one who’s in the building?” Paul asked, looking at her
thoughtfully.

“Yes, I’m the only old person who lives in this young building right now. It wasn’t always the case, when I moved
in—”

“Do you mind telling me your daily routines?” he interrupted her
again.

“No, not at all. I get up at six every morning. After breakfast, I like to walk to the corner market to get some groceries. I don’t like to buy groceries on a weekly basis like young people do. I’d rather go every day so everything I buy is fresh. After lunch, I like to take a nap. In the afternoon, I walk around the neighborhood and get some exercise and fresh air. I like to have early dinner, and after dinner, I watch TV, then go to
bed.”