Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

Melong began to see why Chen set up this meeting at the teahouse. The chief inspector was intent on revenge, and in desperation, he was seeking Melong’s help. But if he thought it involved something like hacking into Zhou’s computer, the way the netcops did, then Chen was making the same mistake.

“It’s difficult for me,” Chen continued, “because there are so many different people working on the same case, and some of them were involved before we were brought to it. The shuanggui of Zhou began a week earlier, and they already had his computers and files taken away. All the information made available to me looks like it was secondhand or preselected.”

“According to one of the netcops who spoke to me,” Melong said tentatively, “the hard drive of Zhou’s computer was destroyed before they got to it. But who do you think are the likely suspects?”

“For the moment, I’m working on one possible direction, though it’s only one among many. The picture in the newspaper is too small and the resolution too low for anyone to be able to see the cigarette brand. So whoever sent the picture in must have had access to the original one on Zhou’s computer-one that was high enough resolution that it could be enlarged so that the details would be readable. This occurred to me when I was looking at some other pictures that were sent to me electronically.”

“That makes sense,” Melong said, without adding that it was the same theory that the netcops were working on.

“Now, who could have access to the original photo? The people close to Zhou, who would be able to sneak into his office and check his computer or his camera,” Chen said. “As Detective Wei said to me, one approach would be to focus on who might have benefited from making Zhou’s problems public.”

“That would narrow down the list.”

It was like a tai chi performance. Each of the players made a show of striking out in a direction, without really hitting the opponent. The true intention was to understand each other. Melong got it. While Chen seemed to be moving in the same direction as the netcops, he wasn’t after Melong.

Whether a target or not, Melong didn’t want to have anything to do with the police.

“But it’s just a list. That’s why we have to help each other, Melong. Once the case is solved and everything comes out, I don’t think the netcops or any of the others will waste their time on you.”

The hint was unmistakable. Given Chen’s position and connections, it wasn’t impossible for the chief inspector to help. At least this time. Melong started debating with himself.

A cell phone rang. It was Chen’s. He pulled out a white phone.

Melong moved to step out of the room, but Chen gestured for him to stay.

“Sorry, it’s just from my mother, but I have to take it.”

Chen spoke like a filial son. Melong couldn’t help noticing the change of expression on Chen’s face. It looked like one of immediate relief. The next few fragmented words and sentences that were Chen’s side of the conversation didn’t make much sense. They were, of course, out of context.

“I did… my colleague’s widow… to Mr. Gu about it… Yes, I’ll thank Dr. Hou properly… come around either tomorrow or the day after that… Yes, I will… East China… Take good care. See you.”

Chen put the phone back into his pants pocket and said, “My mother had a minor stroke, and she’s just checked out of East China Hospital. I keep the phone on at all times. She’s old and all alone, so I’m concerned.”

“She doesn’t live with you?”

“No, she insisted on not moving in, saying that she prefers to stay in the old neighborhood. But she won’t stay in the hospital too long, worrying about the cost.”

“Which hospital did you say it was?”

“East China Hospital.”

“No surprise, for a high-ranking cadre like you.”

“No, that wasn’t it. She was admitted because of a doctor I know there. He’s also the head of the hospital. It was due to connections, you might say, but I have to do whatever I can for my mother. Anyway, he’s been taking good care of my mother, whether it has anything to do with my position or not.”

“In today’s society, no one is capable of doing anything without connections, and connections come from one’s position,” Melong said, then added in spite of himself, “Not everybody is as lucky as you are.”

“What do you mean, Melong?”

“My mother has been diagnosed with lung cancer, second stage, but before any hospital in the city will admit her, she has to wait at least two months. She has no chance of getting into a top one such as East China. I feel so helpless,” he said, with a slight sob in his voice. He drained the last of the tea from his cup. “I’m a total unworthy son.”

“I understand. I feel exactly the same about myself,” Chen said; then he pulled out another phone and punched in a number.

Melong watched Chen, puzzled.

“Dr. Hou, I have to ask you for a favor,” Chen said emphatically. “A friend’s mother needs to get into the hospital as soon as possible. She has advanced lung cancer. I know how difficult it is for you to arrange an admission at East China, but I still want to beg you for it this time.”

Melong couldn’t hear Dr. Hou’s response, but it wasn’t long before Chen spoke again.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Hou. I owe you a big one.”

Apparently Dr. Hou was saying something on his end, but Chen cut him short. “We can call it even now. Don’t mention that again.”

The last part was intriguing. It sounded like an exchange of favors, but Chen was already turning back to him. “Dr. Hou will admit your mother first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t worry. He’ll take care of everything.”

“Such a huge favor,” Melong said as he stood up and bowed low. “I have to say, as in a martial arts novel, ‘If I cannot pay you back in this life, in the next I will be a horse or an ox working for you.’”

“You don’t have to say that, Melong. But in those martial arts novels, people also say, ‘The green mountains and the blue water will always be there, and our paths will cross again.’”

That quote was to the point, Melong knew.

“Now I have to go and prepare for her admission tomorrow. As a son yourself, you must understand,” Melong said. “But I’ll call you, I give you my word, as soon as I have something.”

On the evening of the next day, Chief Inspector Chen left the bureau and walked out into the gathering dusk, still lost in thought.

Walking sometimes helped him think, especially when he was confronted by many possible directions. It was like an English poem that he’d read back in college. The poet could afford to speculate about the consequences of a road not taken in the yellow wood; a cop could not.

That afternoon, after the routine bureau meeting, he’d once again tried to shift his investigation in a new direction.

First, he tried to look into what Zhou had done during the last days of his life. But soon Chen gave up. What if the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty was just a trigger? Zhou might have been involved in something long before that. The presence of the city government team at the hotel pointed to such a possibility. Then Chen tried to figure out what Detective Wei had been doing on the last day of his life. Chen made several phone calls, reaching out to every possible contact, but it would be days before he learned anything useful.

Finally, Chen tried to find out the reason the Beijing team had been dispatched to the hotel. Comrade Zhao hadn’t written back yet, and there were all sorts of whispered stories, but none of them proved to be substantial.

Ultimately, he was exhausted, with nothing really accomplished. He decided to call it a day and go pay a visit to his mother. She was back home and living alone, where only an hourly maid who could hardly speak Shanghainese came by occasionally.