Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

It contained a bunch of pictures of Zhou and Fang in the office, the two touching and kissing each other there. One picture showed Zhou sitting on the desk with his trousers half removed, and her kneeling in front of him on the carpet, naked to her waist, her hair cascading down over her bare back. Then there were several more explicit ones showing the two of them in bed, totally naked, engaged in the entangling ecstasy of rolling cloud and rain. The pictures were of low quality, and most of them were rather blurry.

“Where did you get these?”

“You know a thing or two about my work, don’t you? These photos were found on Dang’s computer.”

“Dang’s computer-how?”

But Chen didn’t have to wait for the answer. One of the angles he’d discussed with Detective Wei was who would benefit from Zhou’s murder, an approach he had mentioned when talking with Melong. While the relationship between Zhou and Fang was not unanticipated, the source of the pictures put Dang in a new light. Figuring out why Dang had taken them was a no-brainer. They were evidence he could use against Zhou, having secretly installed a video camera in Zhou’s office.

The pictures would have been enough to bring down Zhou and for Dang, the second in command, to succeed to Zhou’s position. Dang might have simply been biding his time until the 95 Supreme Majesty scandal broke out, making it no longer necessary for him to release those photos.

Alternatively, he could have been blackmailing Zhou with these pictures.

“The other day you mentioned that people in Zhou’s office were on your radar,” Melong said. “I checked into each of them, and this is what has come up so far.”

He didn’t have to explain further. Chen nodded.

But that led Chen back to a question that had occurred to him earlier in the day.

He wasn’t interested so much in Fang’s appearance in these pictures as he was in Jiang’s panic about her sudden disappearance. A clandestine relationship between a boss and his little secretary wasn’t really surprising in China. Jiang must have known something about it before Fang disappeared: but was he now worried about these graphic photos coming to light? Was Jiang just irrationally panicky?

Or was it something else?

When Chen pulled himself back into the present moment after being so lost in thought, he realized that Melong was looking at him with a wry smile.

“What is it?”

“The noodles are now cold and taste like glue with all the soup soaked in.”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault entirely.”

“No, it’s my fault. I should have shown you the pictures after we’d finished eating.”

“Let’s order something else.”

“No thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

“I owe you one, Melong. I’ll treat you to a better meal another day.” He added belatedly, “How is your mother?”

“She’s already in the hospital. The doctor is taking special care of her. I should go over there now. The hospital won’t admit visitors after eight.”

Watching Melong get into a taxi, Chen felt a twinge of guilt about not visiting his mother. In a somber mood, he pursued his plan to have some cooked food delivered to her. He walked over to Little Shaoxing Chicken Restaurant and settled on the Shanghai-style smoked carp and half a three-yellow chicken.

Even though it was getting late, Chen contemplated, perhaps it wasn’t too late for him to go and interview Fang’s parents.

So he walked back over to the Internet café. The attendant recognized him and led him to a computer without asking to see his ID again. He logged on and retrieved the file Jiang sent, then copied Fang’s address.

He couldn’t shake the feeling, however, that there was something else, something dancing just on the edge of his thoughts. Was it in Lianping’s call about the festival in Shaoxing, something possibly connected to the investigation, that slipped away when he was distracted by Melong’s call?

Then he got an idea.

He took a folder out of his briefcase and looked through it. It turned out to be just as he remembered.

Last year, Zhou had made two trips to Shaoxing. Born and raised there until he was seven, he left for Shanghai when his father’s job was transferred. Zhou hadn’t been back there even once until last year. The information gathered by Detective Wei was quite detailed, including all of the trips Zhou had taken in the last several years and their purpose, as well as the people, especially the local officials, he met with. But that wasn’t the case with his trips to Shaoxing. Wei had no details on them. So Zhou had gone to Shaoxing for some unrevealed personal reason.

There was a note in the folder stating that Zhou had no property under his own name in Shaoxing. Wei had done a thorough job, taking into consideration Zhou’s position and connections.

Of course, a man could suddenly be so nostalgic as to decide to visit his old home, even going there twice in one year. But that wasn’t likely, particularly not for a busy official like Zhou.

Chen took out his phone and made a call to Party Secretary Li, saying that he might have to make a speech at a literary festival outside of Shanghai but that he’d be back in a day.

“Of course you need to go, Chief Inspector Chen.”

Li didn’t even ask where the festival was, or about the ongoing investigation.

“If there’s anything urgent, just call me, and I can be back in an hour or two.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go. After all, you’re a celebrated poet.”

After hanging up, Chen checked the Shanghai-Shaoxing train schedule online. There were several fast trains going there the next morning. He’d take one, even though this trip was nothing more than a long shot.

He stood up and left the Internet café.

Outside, there was a lone black bat flittering about in the evening that was spread out against the somber sky.

The next morning, Chen took the new fast train to Shaoxing station.

Once on the train, Chen called Detective Tang, one of his connections in the local police bureau. A few years ago he’d helped Tang break a tough case, one which, if Chen hadn’t intervened, would have taken months longer before it got any official attention from the city of Shanghai.

“What good wind brings you to Shaoxing today, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“Well, somebody told me there was a literature festival here, and I just happened to have something else to do in town.”

“What can I do for the Shanghai Police Bureau?” Tang said, coming directly to the point.

“No, I’m not here in an official capacity, so I didn’t make contact through official channels. However, I do need to ask a favor.”

“I’m glad you thought of me. Of course I’ll do whatever I can to help. I could never forget your assistance back in Shanghai when that pig-headed Party Secretary Li-”

“Let’s not talk about him right now. You might have heard of the Zhou case-the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty and all that. It’s not exactly my case, but it’s a case that’s special to the bureau, and one of my colleagues died in an incident possibly connected to the investigation.”

“One of your colleagues died. I’m sorry to hear that. So now the investigation is on your radar.”

“Yes. I’ve learned that Zhou was born in Shaoxing, but he left for Shanghai when he was six or seven years old. He hadn’t returned to Shaoxing until about a year ago. And he came back more than once. It would be a great help if you could assemble any information about Zhou’s two visits to Shaoxing and about any relatives he might have contacted here-perhaps you could bring the information to the train station? Let me give you my cell phone number,” Chen said, rattling off the number of a cell phone he’d just purchased. “Of course, please, not a single word about my visit to your colleagues.”