Qiu Xiaolong - Shanghai Redemption

At the recommendation of a bespectacled waiter, Chen ordered sliced spicy pork draped like clothing on a tiny bamboo pole, pock-faced granny’s spicy tofu, and a steamed live bass with ginger and scallion.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Maybe. She might come, but I’m not sure.”

“These will be enough for now, I think. When she comes, you can order more,” the waiter said considerately. “Anything to drink?”

Chen was thinking of hot tea when the waiter opened up the menu to the wine page.

“How about the Bordeaux? It’s very appropriate and fashionable to have red wine with the Sichuan dishes.”

“Well, whatever you recommend, but I’d like a pot of green tea too.”

He wasn’t surprised to see that the two Westerners across the aisle-both men-were dining with three young Chinese women. Each of them was holding a glass of red wine, laughing, and using chopsticks as if they had done so all their life.

He found himself the only solitary diner there. Few, Shanghainese or not, would go to a stylish restaurant alone. The waiter came back to the table, carrying a medium-sized live bass jumping in a hand net for his inspection. He nodded absently.

At the next table, the diners were from Russia, which gave him an idea. Just a couple of days ago, he had planned to visit Overseas Chinese Lu in Pudong but had ended up staying at White Cloud’s apartment. This evening, he’d finally go to Overseas Chinese Lu’s place. But first, he had to think about what he was going to do, tomorrow, with the footage from the hotel surveillance camera.

The spicy tofu was brought to the table. It was quite tasty, but after just a spoonful, he lost himself in a tangle of ideas, one after the next, in a futile attempt to find a way out. He worked through the possible scenarios so many times that thinking only exhausted him.

The next dish that came out was the thin-sliced pork. It was beautifully prepared and looked almost like a table decoration.

Before Chen could take a bite, he thought of something Peiqin had said about Kai’s son studying at an Ivy League college and Daniel Martin’s business of making arrangements for the children of high officials who were going abroad. Was there a connection? But it was probably such small change for those officials…

“The live fish,” the waiter said, serving a large, colorful platter with the steamed fish covered with green onion, red pepper, and golden ginger.

Was Chen just like the Watch Boss, anxious to have a last fling before the end?

The dead fish eyes seemed to be staring back at him.

Outside, it started raining. It could be difficult to get a taxi on a rainy night. Most of the customers here had come in their own cars, so they weren’t worried. Not so for Chen, but then again, he wasn’t anxious to leave for Pudong.

He was beginning to have second thoughts about his plan for the night. Given the present circumstances, there was no telling if visiting them would cause trouble for the Lus. Besides, Chen couldn’t afford to spend the night in sentimental conversation about the old days. Overseas Chinese Lu had grown impossibly nostalgic of late. In the meantime, Chen didn’t have much time left-the net was closing around him.

Then his cell phone buzzed.

“Where are you?” Wenting asked, her voice energetic and exuberant against a background of muffled noise.

“In a Sichuan restaurant-Heavenly Sichuan-near the American consulate.”

“Oh, I know it. It’s close to Wulumuqi Road, right? I’m in the subway on the way to the train station. I’m glad I called you to check, so now I just have to take a taxi over to the restaurant. This way I don’t have to make a trip to Suzhou to talk to you. I’ll see you at Heavenly Sichuan in half an hour.”

Twenty minutes later, Wenting scampered into the restaurant, heading straight over to the table as if she were late for a date.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She reached across the table to peck him lightly on the forehead, her hand taking his tenderly. She put something in his hand.

“Oh, you look terrible,” she said with a note of affectionate concern.

That might be true. He’d slept little, what with Gong’s phone call that stretched late into the night, and then the train back to Shanghai so early in the morning.

“The latest update,” she whispered in his ear, her finger touching his unshaven face like a lover.

The waiter hurried over, carrying a bottle of red wine in his hand.

“No, I have to leave soon,” Wenting said. “I’ve got some urgent business.”

Nodding, the waiter withdrew in quick steps.

“He’s waiting for me,” she said to Chen, standing up. “He insists I shouldn’t take up too much of your time.”

After Wenting left, Chen turned on his laptop and inserted the new flash memory drive she had delivered from Melong. It had the same three folders as before, updated to include recent e-mails. There weren’t too many e-mails in the past two days. He skipped over those between Sima and Jin.

But some of the e-mails in Shen’s folder caught his attention. The date stamp on these e-mails was today. Melong must have captured them this afternoon.

In one message from FL earlier this morning: “The widow may have started talking.”

Shen’s response was curt: “Talking about the guy buried and dug up again? I’ll have her place bugged tomorrow.”

“Do whatever necessary,” FL wrote back. “Better something done once and for all.”

FL wrote again five minutes later, as if in afterthought. “Just like in the hotel.”

There were no further e-mails from Shen.

Was the widow in the e-mail Liang’s widow? If so, she could be the next target. But Liang was dead and buried with all his secrets-why were they being so ruthless toward her? Whatever the answer, once again it pointed to some high, unknown stake that had put them on an unbearable edge.

It also meant that surveillance cameras or secret agents would be installed outside her house. Fortunately, Yu had been suspended, unable to visit Liang’s widow again, no matter what breakthrough might come from her. It was good that Yu wouldn’t be caught on the new surveillance.

Was FL the First Lady? If so, then the Chinese man caught on the hotel camera beside her must be none other than Shen. Judging by the latest e-mail, Shen knew something about what had happened at the hotel. Whatever the real identity of FL, it seemed they were becoming really desperate.

But the cell phone buzzed again and broke his train of thought. To his surprise, it was Huang from Wuxi.

“I have to report the latest development, Chief.”

He hadn’t really instructed Huang to do anything, but Huang had taken the matter into his own hands.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve checked the missing person files. A body was found not too far from the Grand Buddha temple. Nobody has reported a missing person or tried to claim the body. It originally looked like it was a tourist who fell sick suddenly and died. But the body matches the description of Fei that I got from Gong. I’ll need some more data to be a hundred percent sure. I’m on the way to check out the body, Chief. I’ll send you a list of its traits, and once we identify the corpse definitively, I’ll let you know-before anyone else.”

“Thanks, Huang. You might want to send pictures of the body to my phone too. His colleagues can help us to identify it.”

One victim after another in quick succession. Liang had been killed, and Qian, and Fei, and Skinny Wang, who lay paralyzed in the hospital.

It was just a matter of time before they silenced Wei, too.

Wei had chosen not to talk, but what if she was made aware of the impending danger to her? Detective Yu hadn’t been able to change her mind, but Chen thought he might be able to do something different, particularly with all the new information that he had to share. He helped himself to another spoonful of cold tofu, which tasted slightly greasy.