Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

“That’s strange indeed. Can I have the note, Gong?”

“Of course, you take it. Let me know if you find anything. I’m really worried sick.”

CHEN RETURNED TO THE Sheshan neighborhood police station the next morning. Jiang seemed like he was waiting for Chen. The moment he walked in, Jiang went over and hung an “out of office” sign on the front door and closed it after him.

As Chen took a seat at the other end of the desk, Jiang started talking.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Chief. I went to Fei’s home yesterday,” Jiang said hurriedly. “I was hoping against hope, you know. He’s not back yet, but according to the neighborhood committee, there was a break-in at his apartment. Since his only daughter works in Beijing, they believe that someone in the neighborhood must have noticed that no one was home and took the advantage of the situation.”

“Even though they know Fei’s a cop, someone in the neighborhood broke in? That doesn’t add up.”

“Exactly. After I came back to the office, I also noticed some suspicious signs here, as if someone had done a secret search of the office. But the lock wasn’t damaged, and the windows weren’t broken. Whoever got in must have had a key. Without any hard evidence, it would be a joke to try and report it to the district office,” Jiang said. With a bitter smile, he added, “Perhaps I’m imagining things due to all the tension.”

“No. It’s another inside job.”

“But what are they looking for?”

“Something left by Fei.”

“You mean something from the scene at the hotel?”

“Yes, that’s a possibility.”

“What it could be is beyond me. There was another ‘coincidence’ yesterday. Internal Security came to the office in the late afternoon, asking a lot of questions about what Fei had said to me after we left the hotel. But as I’ve told you, he didn’t say anything to me.”

“Did they believe you?”

Jiang didn’t answer.

“I’ve told you about Liang, who disappeared so conveniently.” Chen went on after a deliberate pause, “Well, I went to Wuxi yesterday. Fei hasn’t been seen or heard from after he met with Gong at a hotel. Gong tried to contact him numerous times, without success. He’s called you, and last night he called Fei’s daughter, who also hasn’t heard from her father.”

“So you think Fei has disappeared, just like the other man?”

“But that’s not the end of it, Jiang. Suppose they’re after something they believe was in Fei’s possession, something they failed to get from him. That’s why he disappeared. And that’s the reason for the break-in at his apartment, and the professional search of this office. What will happen if this item in question is still out there?”

“What will happen then?” Jiang asked. He added, “I’ve heard a lot about your brilliant investigations, Chief Inspector.”

“With only Fei and you at the death scene in the hotel room that day, it’s not difficult to imagine what will happen next.”

Again, Jiang appeared to be momentarily tongue-tied.

“I was only in that hotel room for ten minutes or so,” Jiang finally managed to say, “and Internal Security was there the whole time.”

“But what about afterward? The only way out for you,” Chen said slowly, “is to make them give up looking for whatever it is.”

“But how can that be possible? I don’t have any idea what it is.”

“If it turns up somewhere else, they’ll be still worried, but they won’t be focused on you.”

“I’m confused, Chief Inspector.”

“Here is a note to you from Fei, written before he was taken away in Wuxi.”

Jiang stared at the scrap of paper for several minutes. The note was unambiguously ominous.

“‘Jiang: If something happens, you may have whatever was left behind, with your nose stuffed or not.’ What does this mean?”

“According to Gong, that note was slipped into a pack of cigarettes Fei gave him just before he drove away in the car. If anyone can get to the meaning of the note, it’s you.”

“If something happens-”

“His disappearance probably counts as ‘something,’”

“It is something-but even if we figure out what Fei ‘left behind,’” Jiang said deliberately, “I’m afraid these people still might not let us go.”

“Whatever it is, it’s related to his examination of the American’s death scene, right? Now, you have no idea what ‘it’ is, but somebody else does.”

Jiang pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Let me think.”

“What’s he referring to with ‘your nose stuffed or not?’” Chen murmured.

“Wait a minute-” Jiang jumped up and rushed into the back room. He came back with a glass jar in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“Fei’s parents came from Ningbo. I don’t think he’s ever been to Ningbo himself, but he’s crazy about Ningbo food. Particularly the stinky fermented tofu. He keeps a whole jar of it in our mini refrigerator. We got along well together in this small office, except for our constant squabbles over this jar. We both bring our lunches with us and eat them here. Once he takes out the stinky tofu, however, I have to flee the building. Except for rainy days, when I simply have to stay inside and stuff my nose with my fingers.”

“If that’s the case, you can step outside and smoke a cigarette. I’ll take a look at the jar in here.”

If there was really something in the jar, as long as Chen didn’t tell Jiang and he didn’t see it, then Jiang wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences.

The moment Jiang sidled out, Chen picked up the jar. It was quite large, with seemingly nothing but fermented tofu inside. There were at least thirty small pieces immersed in the amber-colored liquid, some of them with a grayish fuzzy surface.

He wrenched open the lid with a pop, and an overwhelming smell surged out. Jiang wasn’t to blame for the reaction he’d described. For people from Ningbo, however, stinky foods were considered delicacies, and fermented tofu was probably the most popular of them.

Chen stuffed his nose with a paper napkin before inserting a ballpoint pen into the jar. Sure enough, it touched something other than fermented tofu at the bottom. With two fingers, he reached gingerly into the jar and pulled out a tiny package wrapped in layers of plastic sheets.

Except for some bits of tofu that had broken off in the extraction process, the jar soon recovered its tranquility. No one would notice any difference, he thought, screwing the lid back on and wiping his fingers with the paper napkin. He put the package in his briefcase.

Then he opened the front door to find Jiang smoking outside.

“That smell is really horrible, Jiang.”

“I told you,” Jiang said, stepping back into an office still beleaguered by the smell. “You haven’t found anything, have you?”

It was a question with the expected answer implied.

“No. Nothing.”

“I put my lunchbox into and take it out of the refrigerator every day. If there were something there, I would have seen it.”

“Exactly,” Chen said. Jiang must have rehearsed his words while he was outside smoking.

“But some people just want to catch the wind and shadow,” Jiang said, looking worried again.

“Don’t worry too much,” Chen said, handing him a SIM card. “That’s for you. I’ll call you on this number exclusively. But don’t try to call me. I’m constantly changing my number.”

“But what if they continue…”

“Things may change soon, possibly in a couple of days. I’ll keep you posted,” Chen said, “but I think I have to leave now.”

Forty-five minutes later, Chen arrived at a teahouse called Tang Flavor on Hingham Road, close to the subway exit there. He had been to this teahouse before. There were nice private rooms equipped with Wi-Fi.