Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

Afterward, he was barely aware that he had started walking again, absentmindedly, along the shore, following an unexpected turn, heading toward the dorm despite his earlier decision. The dorm building appeared little changed, silhouetted against the night. He came to an abrupt stop, thinking he recognized a lit window in the distance, before he walked into a deserted pavilion by the shore.

He also thought he recognized the pavilion with its antiquated vermilion-painted balustrade and white stone-topped bench. It was here that Shanshan had told him an anecdote about when she’d first moved into the dorm. It was quite late, the darksome water lapping against the shore under the moonlight. It would be his last chance to go and visit. No one knew what would befall him tomorrow. Reflexively, he reached for the napkin with the number on it…

But he grabbed his vibrating phone instead. It was after ten, he noticed, glancing at the time before pressing the accept button.

“I had to call you this evening.” It was Peiqin. “Yu was suspended from the police force for leaking information about Liang to the press without first reporting it to Party Secretary Li. They questioned whether you had conspired with him, controlling him behind the scenes.”

So Yu’s investigation had rattled them. The hastiness of the move suggested that that Li and the people above him were responding helter-skelter. But was it just about Liang? Chen hadn’t thought Yu would last long as the head of the Special Case Squad. Promoting him was nothing but a gesture. However, that Yu had been removed so quickly was a surprise.

Peiqin went on to give a detailed account of the interview Yu had conducted with Wei before his suspension.

“Yu has a feeling that she knows something about Liang’s murder,” Peiqin concluded. “She is heartbroken, but she chose not to say anything.”

“So Liang may have been a scapegoat of some kind. Killed and buried under the waste, lest he speak out against somebody high above him.”

“We’ve also learned that someone in Beijing pointed his finger at the people in Shanghai, recommending you as the one to investigate the recent high-speed train incident. Then the city government arranged for you to be removed from your position in the police bureau. That’s unverified, of course. It comes from a so-called ‘hostile’ Web site.” Peiqin then added, “Yu also went to the law firm for Liang’s company, a prestigious one for which Kai is a special advisor.”

“They felt that to be another strike at them, I believe.”

Stories on the Internet may not be reliable, but Yu’s move must have been in the right direction. What would be next move for the ex-chief inspector?

Wei might know something. But clearly she also knew it was useless for her to talk, particularly now that Yu was suspended and possibly under surveillance. A push in that direction no longer seemed sensible.

“There’s something else,” Peiqin continued. “About the American. We found some more info online…”

“We?” It was the second time Peiqin had used the plural pronoun this evening. He was worried about Yu, who had enough trouble already.

“Your friend, another filial son, came to the restaurant for our noodles, so we compared notes regarding our wall-climbing efforts. Strangely, the American’s death has become a topic of conversation on various Web sites, not just in Chinese but in other languages, too.”

Melong, it seemed, had joined forces with Peiqin.

“Here’s a short bio of the dead American. His name is Daniel Martin. He came to Shanghai after having been a student at a college in Beijing. That was more than a decade ago. He was clever and industrious and took on all kinds of odd jobs. He was a representative for an American company, consulted on business opportunities in China, dabbled a little in the export-import business, and at one point, even ‘played’ as a ‘special CFO’ for a textile company, making occasional appearances to show off the strength of their joint ventures. Anyway, he muddled along like so many other expatriates, with no specific skill or large amount of capital. Then he suddenly seemed to have made a huge fortune. He bought properties in both Beijing and Shanghai, and he married a Chinese ex-model. He set up a consulting office in Shanghai, and with the local housing market on fire, he successfully brought various multinational corporations into the city-he acquired government-owned land for them through his connections. In addition to his consulting office, he apparently had a side business helping the children of Chinese officials study abroad. Before his sudden death in Sheshan, he was said to be a healthy man, rarely drinking or smoking.”

“That’s quite comprehensive. Thank you, Peiqin.”

“But we have no idea whether all this is relevant or will be useful.”

Chen already knew the death of Daniel Martin was suspicious. Martin was the very reason Chen was in Wuxi, tracking down the local cop who secured the scene of Martin’s death. But the Party might do anything and everything to protect its interests when a potential international scandal was involved. He decided not to tell Peiqin he was currently in Wuxi instead of Suzhou.

After the prolonged phone call, he lit another cigarette. He needed time to digest this latest information, and he had an acute headache even before he started.

It was a little chilly at this hour of the night. He couldn’t help looking over at the dorm building once again. In the distance, the solitary window was still lit.

There was no walking back into that favorite poem of his: “Such stars, but it’s not last night, / for whom you stand against the wind and dew?”

His phone rang again. It was not a night for poetry.

“Are you still up, Chief Inspector?” It was Gong.

“Yes.”

“Can I come over to the hotel?”

“Well, actually, I’m at a deserted pavilion two or three blocks east of the hotel.”

“That’s no problem. You can never tell about a hotel room nowadays. I’m on my way.”

About fifteen minutes later, Gong stepped out of his car.

“I couldn’t fall asleep, so I took a walk and ended up here,” Chen said.

“Nor could I,” Gong said. “I called his daughter in Beijing. Fei hasn’t contacted her either. That’s alarming. She is young, probably busy with her own life, but Fei calls her at least every other day. His wife passed away years ago, so he brought her up single-handedly.

“I went over the details of this trip of his, reviewing it like a movie in my mind. There are things that are not right. He came here to help the Wuxi police with a suspect from Sheshan because he had background information on the suspect. But was that necessary? A phone call or an e-mail would have been enough. In fact, Fei himself seemed to be puzzled.

“Then there was his reticence about it. We’re both cops, we know what to talk about and what to be discreet about, but between two old friends, there should be at least a word or two about what we’re doing, right? But no, he didn’t say anything at all about his assignment here.

“After the phone call he got in the hotel cafeteria, Fei did something else puzzling. He asked me whether I’d told my colleagues about our meeting. He seemed relieved when I told him I hadn’t. And then, he insisted that I not walk him out to the car because my face was ‘red like a cockscomb.’ I don’t think that was something that mattered…”

“That’s a good point,” Chen said nodding. “Anything else he said or did after he got the phone call?”

“No, nothing except-he went into the restroom for a minute or two. Then the car arrived, and he looked like he was going to say something, but he gave me a pack of cigarettes instead. Supreme Majestic. ‘Just opened on the train,’ he said. ‘Some of the residents in Sheshan are real Big Bucks.’ And then he left in a hurry.” Gong paused and looked around nervously before he continued, a catch in his voice. “Unable to sleep this evening, I opened the pack, and I found a mysterious note tucked in there: ‘Jiang: If something happens, you may have whatever was left behind, with your nose stuffed or not.’”