Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

“Remember,” Chen said, “you’re in charge of the investigation, not I. Whatever move you decide to make, you don’t have to consult me first. You know that proverb; ‘A general fighting at the borders doesn’t have to listen to the emperor sitting far, far away in the capital.’”

“So you mean-”

“You have a free hand. If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility-”

Chen was interrupted by his ringing cell phone.

“Hi, Chief Inspector Chen. It’s Lianping, the journalist from Wenhui Daily . Do you remember me? I’ve just read something about you.”

“Of course I remember you. What’s the news, Lianping?”

“Let me read it to you. ‘According to Chief Inspector Chen, so far there’s no evidence whatsoever to suggest that Zhou’s death could be anything other than suicide.’”

“That’s absurd,” he said. “Who gave that irresponsible statement to Wenhui Daily ?”

“Jiang, of the city government.”

“The investigation hasn’t been concluded. That’s all I can say to you today.”

“Jiang’s statement is vague about that, but it reads as if you have already concluded your investigation.”

“That’s wrong, but thank you so much for calling me, Lianping. We’re still following possible leads. I’ll let you know as soon as we do conclude our investigation.”

“Thank you so much, Chief Inspector Chen. Please don’t forget the poems you promised me for our newspaper. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The statement released by Jiang wasn’t exactly a surprise to Chen. On the contrary, it was more or less what he had anticipated.

Next to him, Detective Wei was standing up, a grin on his face. “I have to go back to work, Chief Inspector Chen,” Wei said.

Chen was known among his colleagues as a romantic poet and for having had an affair with a Wenhui journalist. Wei might have overheard that the caller was from Wenhui and guessed it was that female journalist calling.

But Chen had said what he wanted to say to the journalist. He began thinking about their conversation at the Writers’ Association, and what lines she reminded him of that day, as she came tripping over from the garden path, a blue jay’s wing flashing in the light.

After Wei left, Chen stayed at the café. The chief inspector had to sort through all the bits and pieces of information he had just learned.

He ordered another cup of coffee, which tasted better than expected. The soft sofa seat was comfortable, its tall back providing a sense of privacy, and the window commanded an ever-changing view of the pedestrians out on the street.

Chen sat and stirred the coffee with a small spoon.

Something in the interview of the hotel attendant fluttered across his mind, but the hunch was an elusive one. It was gone like a rice paddy eel before he could grasp it. He knew that Detective Wei might not have told him everything-not directly, at least. If so, it was understandable. High-ranking officials could be involved, lurking in the background, and that would be too much for an ordinary cop like Wei. Especially since he didn’t have any solid evidence or leads at present. But Chen thought he understood what Wei was driving at.

Chen took a small, measured sip of the coffee and mentally reviewed some of the details Wei had mentioned. For one, if a man talked about eating Jinhua ham again in a couple of days, it was hard to conceive of his committing suicide an hour or two later.

The photo that started it all was another puzzle. Could Zhou have taken it himself? If so, he was truly hoist with his own petard.

Detective Wei was determined to move the investigation in a direction that Jiang wouldn’t like. Of that, Chen had no doubts. As Wei’s colleague and consultant to the investigation, Chen was supposed to back him up.

Still, he was in no hurry to confront Jiang.

If the authorities were really anxious to close the case, they could do so with or without Chen’s “endorsement,” let alone Wei’s opinion of their conclusions. A Party member must, first and foremost, act in the interests of the Party, and Chen had to speak or shut up accordingly. But in spite of the statement that had been given to the media, Jiang was still staying at the hotel, allowing the cops to continue investigating, and constantly checking in with them. There was no point in going to the hotel, Chen concluded. If anything, it would be better to try and maneuver around it.

On his way out of the café, Chen bought a hundred-yuan gift card, which he thought he would give Detective Wei for his son.

Near He’nan Road, Chen slowed down at the sight of a towering building still partially covered in scaffolding. Already, several top brands had their logos displayed proudly at the construction site, with a billboard declaring, “Open for business soon.” It was going to be another high-end department store.

For some reason, there weren’t any workers there that afternoon, nor were there machines hustling and bustling around.

Standing by the construction site, Chen pulled out his phone and called Mr. Gu, the chairman of the New World Group. It wasn’t a long talk, but it was long enough to confirm what Wei had told him regarding Teng Jialiang, chairman of the Green Earth Group.

At the end of the conversation, Chen accidentally pressed the wrong button on the phone, which brought up the message function. He thought about writing a text-to himself-detailing the possible clues before he forgot them, but it was awkward to walk and write at the same time. So he looked up and walked over to the Eastern Sea Café, which was a little farther east. In his experience, writing down the random thoughts that passed through his mind sometimes helped him straighten out his thinking.

Eastern Sea Café, a survivor from the days of the Cultural Revolution, looked shabby, overshadowed by the new buildings that surrounded it. There he sat down and had his third cup of coffee of the afternoon while he composed a text to himself.

Teng had reason to hate Zhou, possibly enough reason for Teng to retaliate. While Teng might not have been at the meeting, people from his company were there and could have seen the pack of cigarettes. So the Internet frenzy started by the photo of the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty could well have been Teng’s revenge.

But what about after the downfall of Zhou?

The chief inspector didn’t think that after Zhou was disgraced, there was any motive-or, at least, not enough for Teng to murder Zhou at the well-guarded hotel. It was technically possible, since Teng was connected to the triads. If Teng really wanted to get rid of Zhou, however, it would’ve been easier before Zhou was shuangguied.

Chen saved the text, finished the coffee, and dialed the number for Jiang as he walked out of the café.

Chen managed to convey the simple message that it was too early to draw any conclusions regarding Zhou’s death. He didn’t say anything specific about the news in Wenhui Daily and Jiang knew better than to talk about it. Chen did not say much else, except to make sure that Jiang would remain at the hotel for the day.

Chen cut across to Jiujiang Road, where he hailed a taxi at the back of the Amanda Hotel. About five minutes later, he arrived at the office of the Housing Development Committee, which was in the Shanghai City Government Building near People’s Square. He didn’t have to take a cab for such a short distance, but a man walking up to the City Government Building might be taken by the security guards as another troublesome “complainer.”

He got past security and headed straight to the office of Deputy Director Dang of the Housing Development Committee.

On Detective Wei’s list of possible benefiters, Dang was at the top. Dang was also at the fateful meeting, seated next to Zhou at the rostrum, capable of seeing the cigarettes at close range. It was a common scenario in Party power struggles: the number two succeeded the number one after the latter fell from grace.