Qiu Xiaolong: Enigma of China

It’s not you that chose the beam, / but the beam chose you. A couple of lines came echoing out of nowhere, but Chen failed to recall the author.

What thoughts would have come across Zhou’s mind at the sight of the rope dangling in the last minutes of his life? It wasn’t hard to understand the rationale behind his suicide. A Party cadre, at the peak of his successful career, tripped up because of a pack of cigarettes, had fallen headlong into an infinite abyss, from which he saw no hope for a comeback.

“I’m glad you’re here, Chief Inspector Chen,” Jiang said cordially.

Chen had met Jiang a couple of times at city government meetings but had never been formally introduced. Liu smiled beside him, nodding without saying anything. Chen had a feeling that Jiang was the one that dominated here.

“Both Liu and I have talked to the hotel night-shift staff,” Jiang said. “Nothing suspicious or unusual was seen or heard the previous night.”

“In such a well-guarded hotel,” Wei commented, “people might have slept too soundly to notice.”

Before there was any further discussion, the crime scene technicians arrived. Chen nodded to one of them he knew. The scene itself was compromised. Jiang and Liu had been there for hours, moving about, touching here and there, examining this or that. In spite of their expertise in shuanggui interrogation, they weren’t cops. A considerable number of hotel people had been in the room too, helping to take Zhou’s body down and move it to the floor.

Jiang led Chen and the others into another room-room 303-next to Zhou’s on the same floor. It was an impressive suite, which turned out to be Jiang’s.

When they were all assembled, Jiang started up with an air of authority. “Since each of us arrived at the scene at different times and from different angles, Detective Wei, you might as well sum everything up for the benefit of Chief Inspector Chen.”

Wei started accordingly.

“Zhou checked into the hotel at the beginning of shuanggui, about a week ago. Since then, he never stepped outside. Shuanggui consisted of a strict routine. He got up around seven, with breakfast delivered to his room at eight, then he talked to Jiang or Liu about his problems or wrote self-criticisms in his room. Lunch and dinner were delivered to him the same way. He seldom talked to the hotel people, he never made any outside phone calls, and he wasn’t allowed visitors.

“This morning, a hotel attendant came to his door with a breakfast tray as usual, but there was no response from inside. The attendant returned about thirty minutes later. Still nothing. After a while, he called another attendant, and they opened the door-only to see Zhou hanging from the beam.

“To the best of their memories, despite their being very flustered, there was no sign of a break-in or struggle, no indication that anything had been removed or was missing from the room.

“Liu, who had stayed overnight in the hotel, was immediately awakened. That was about eight forty-five or nine in the morning. As for Jiang, he was delayed by a special meeting of the city government the previous evening, so he’d gone home instead. Upon getting Liu’s call, he rushed over less than twenty minutes later. They examined the scene together, and around nine thirty, Jiang called Party Secretary Li of the police bureau.”

At the end of Wei’s summary, Jiang stated emphatically, “We were going the extra mile in Zhou’s case. Whoever was involved, we were determined to learn everything. But it wasn’t easy to make him talk. We thought we could bring more pressure to bear by staying in the same hotel with him. For security reasons, there were only the three of us staying here on the third floor.”

“To fight corruption in the Party,” Liu echoed, “particularly among high-ranking Party officials, is a top priority for us. No one can question that…”

Chen listened to the official harangues. Though not really registering what they were saying, he nodded like a wound-up toy soldier, seemingly in agreement.

But Wei, not as accustomed to the official language, began losing patience.

“What about the security videotape?”

“There was nothing on the tape. I checked,” Jiang said.

Liu took a small sip of tea in silence.

“We have to study it,” Wei said.

Jiang said nothing in response.

“So nobody heard or saw anything unusual during the night?” Wei stubbornly went on.

“Both Liu and I have already talked to the hotel staff,” Jiang said, ignoring his question. “And I will double check with them.”

With the death of Zhou, Liu and Jiang weren’t supposed to remain at the hotel anymore, since they could offer no help to the investigation. But they showed no sign of departing anytime soon or of leaving the case to the police. Chen supposed both of them might be waiting for new orders from above. As a result, the two cops were not in a position to proceed as they would have preferred.

“I think the two of us have to go back to the bureau,” Chen said, rising. “Inspector Liao was collecting a file on Zhou. We’ll study it with him. And then when it arrives, we’ll study the autopsy report too.”

Surprise flickered across Wei’s face, but he didn’t say anything.

“Contact me as soon as you find out anything,” Jiang said, also rising.

“Yes, certainly,” Chen said. “And I’ll report to you too, Comrade Liu.”

With that, the two cops took their leave.

Walking out of the hotel, Chen pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Wei.

“Oh, you smoke China,” Wei said, reaching for one. It was an expensive brand, though not as exorbitant as 95 Supreme Majesty. “What do you think, Chief?”

“If it was suicide, we don’t have to be here, but if it was murder, they don’t have to.”

“Well put,” Wei said, taking a deep draw on the cigarette. “Besides, they were here much earlier, and have all the information we don’t.”

“So we’ll have to go our own way.”

“You’re right about that. You’re busy with so many other things, Chief Inspector Chen. Let me do all the legwork, and I’ll keep you posted.”

“You’re the one in charge of the investigation, Wei,” Chen said, wondering at the possible note of sarcasm in Wei’s words. “I’m just a consultant to your team. You may call on me at any time, of course.”

Wei took his leave and headed on; Chen stayed behind and smoked. As Wei’s figure disappeared into the crowd around the corner, Chen looked up at the overpass ahead and pulled out a cell phone.

Chief Inspector Chen was sitting in his new office-a larger one assigned him because of his new position as deputy Party secretary-and was busy polishing off a stack of administrative paperwork. He usually put off such paperwork until the last minute, but today he was taking perverse delight in doing it.

Something from Professor Yao’s lecture echoed in his mind. An enigma, the problems involved in the characteristics of China, he reflected as he skimmed through the documents on his desk-just glancing at the title more often than not-and signed them.

He wondered whether or not Zhou’s death might be such an enigma. The chief inspector hadn’t yet done much about the case. For one thing, Chen had practically nothing with which to work. The “folder of information” he had mentioned at the hotel was only an excuse to get away. There was no lack of pre-scandal information about Zhou. A pile of newspaper clippings sat on the corner of his desk, but all of them were from official media and were about his exemplary work as director of the Housing Development Committee.

Zhou had enjoyed a spectacular rise concurrent with the amazing transformation of the city. He went from being an ordinary worker in a small neighborhood production group in the late seventies to the director of the Housing Development Committee. Zhou launched an incredible number of new housing projects that, in fairness, dramatically changed the city’s landscape. Even as a Shanghai native, Chen found himself frequently lost among the new skyscrapers, which had appeared like bamboo shoots after a spring rain. So it was surprising that a crowd-sourced investigation about a pack of cigarettes could have toppled a Goliath like Zhou.