Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

Yu didn’t have Old Hunter’s passion for old sayings, but Yu couldn’t help thinking of one in particular: Treating a dead horse as if it’s still alive . Yu couldn’t help wondering how Chen would have handled Liang’s case. Of course, Chen had connections, some quite powerful, that Detective Yu couldn’t imagine having.

When Peiqin finally came into the room, the ashtray on the nightstand was half full. She cast a glance at it, frowning.

“Old Hunter finished all of the chicken tonight,” she said. “I’ll have to scramble two eggs with onion for your lunch. I have to leave early tomorrow to go to the new restaurant, so there won’t be time to make anything else.”

About half a year ago, Peiqin and a partner had started a small restaurant of their own. She had managed to hold on to her job as the accountant for a state-run restaurant by agreeing to do the work mostly online at half pay. This allowed her to invest the time necessary to launch her own restaurant.

“Don’t worry about it. I can eat lunch at the canteen.”

“I don’t even want to think about the food in your canteen.”

She slipped into a blue-and-white striped pajama top that barely reached her waist, and slid under the quilt beside him.

Absentmindedly, he put his hand on her shoulder. She sighed, nestling up against him.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Old Hunter mentioned that Chen had electronic copies of two case files on his laptop. So I’m going to go through the rest of them. I was just thinking about the Liang case.”

“What’s your reason for focusing on that one first?”

“The case file was handed over to Chen the day before he was removed from the bureau,” Yu said. “He didn’t have to accept the case. In fact, corruption cases involving Party officials like Liang are usually handled by the Party Discipline Committee, so Chen could easily have said no.”

“Then why didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. The Liang scandal first broke on the Internet, and then it snowballed rapidly. Before the Discipline Committee could do anything, Liang disappeared. As a result, it wasn’t a corruption case, like it should have been, but a missing person case.”

“I might have read about Liang online, but with so many corruption scandals, I didn’t follow it closely.”

“It started with an invoice posted online for the accessories like chairs, tables, and sinks that Liang’s private company was supplying for the new high-speed train. The prices listed on the invoice were outrageous, at least ten times more than normal. How could Liang have gotten away with charging so much? That wasn’t hard to figure out, and a lot of information about Liang and his dealings, from a broad range of sources, was quickly posted on the Internet. No more than a couple days later, Liang disappeared.”

Yu picked up the laptop, clicked a bookmarked page, and the screen filled with the invoice in question. Underneath it were hundreds and hundreds of angry comments and armchair analyses.

“You’ve learned fast,” she said, with an approving smile. “Your Internet search skills have really improved.”

“I’ve learned it all from you.”

“What have you done so far to find Liang?”

“Well, I tried to get his bank account records, but I was refused by the higher-ups. I tried to get a copy of his phone records, but again, no. As I mentioned, anything concerning a Party official is turned over to the Party Discipline Committee to handle. Any files or records that might prove Liang had corrupt dealings have been denied to my squad. We’ve been given only the missing person part of the case to handle.”

“Perhaps he’s in shuanggui,” Peiqin said with a sigh. “You know how a disgraced Party official is frequently placed in secret interrogation, so the dirty details won’t become known to the public. It’s all done for the Party’s interest, which is above and beyond the regular legal system.”

“I made a list of what Liang did right before his disappearance-as much as I could find out, anyway. Considering the Internet storm he was facing, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual. According to his colleagues, the day he disappeared, he received a phone call right before leaving the office in a hurry. The call came in about eleven thirty that morning. After he left the office, he wasn’t seen by anyone. However, even though his colleagues were certain that he got a call at work, there was no record of any such call-according to the official in charge of office phone records-coming in at that time.

“After interviewing his colleagues, I went to Liang’s home and interviewed his wife.”

“Hold on. She’s still there?”

“I had the same question. She’s much younger that Liang, an attractive woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Her name is Wei. She apparently had a role in Liang’s private company, and she’s well connected in her way. But other than being married to Liang, there was nothing really suspicious about her.”

“Tell me about your interview.”

Yu sat up, propped against a pillow, and launched into a detailed account of his interview of Liang’s wife, Wei.

“Officials who flee the country commonly move their families out first. That’s what the term ‘naked official’ is about, isn’t it?” Peiqin said, after Yu finished his account. “Is she an ernai-made-into-wife?”

“No. She’s Liang’s first wife, and she works in his office. She’s in charge of PR,” Yu said. “Of course, she claims that she doesn’t know anything about his disappearance, but I caught a suggestion of genuine fear in her voice. She does seems to really care for him.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“It wasn’t anything she said, but it was apparent that she’s worried sick about him. At first, I thought she might be just making a show of it, but at one point, she said something surprising. ‘People might have said all sorts of things about our marriage. But I’ll tell you what. I’m nothing without Liang.’”

“Was there anything else that caught your attention?”

“Yes. In answer to my question about whether Liang had any unique or identifiable physical characteristics, she shivered and said something even more surprising. ‘If you must know, there’s one thing. He has a tattoo on his lower belly, just above the hairline. It’s a tattoo of a blue dragon interwoven with my name.’”

“Oh, that’s really strange,” Peiqin said. “Perhaps it was his way of saying he wouldn’t have another woman-”

Suddenly, the room was filled with a shrill sound almost like crickets. Both were reminded of their younger years in Yunnan, when the sounds of crickets filled the night. Tonight, however, it was Yu’s cell phone. Yu must have accidentally touched a key on the phone, changing the ring tone.

Peiqin went over to get the phone, which was plugged into a charger in the corner. She still had a fit figure-her bare legs firm, her ankles shapely-but Yu noticed the pajama top she had on was worn, threadbare.

Peiqin handed the phone over to Yu. It was a text message. It was a list of properties registered under the name of Liang’s wife, Wei, a list Yu had managed to obtain through connections. The properties consisted of a villa, a condo, and three high-end apartments.

“I’m so sorry, Peiqin,” Yu said.

“Why?”

“After all these years, we still don’t have a decent apartment. Only these one and a half rooms. Compared to Wei’s properties, I don’t know what to say to you.”

“You don’t have to feel bad. I’m more than content,” she said in a soft voice. “I have you. Whatever she may have can be taken away tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. Nothing has been done about Liang’s private company yet. For them, it’s still business as usual.”