Qiu Xiaolong - Enigma of China

“That occurred to me as well,” Chen said, “so it might be an inside job.”

“Or someone with access to inside information. A computer hacker, for example, could have accessed the original without anyone knowing. The moderator of the original Web forum is a hacker, and we’re doing a thorough background check at the moment.” Sheng then went on with a serious air. “As for it being an inside job, the sudden disappearance of Fang, Zhou’s secretary, speaks for itself.”

“But wait-I’m confused. What could she have possibly gained? Zhou helped her when she was in need. Because of Zhou she obtained a secure, well paid job.”

“You must have heard something about the secret relationship between the two.”

“According to Detective Wei’s files, which included several pictures of her, she’s not a knockout, and already in her early or mid thirties. One could easily imagine younger and much prettier girls flocking around Zhou.”

“Zhou was a cautious man in his way,” Sheng said, the lines on his face knitting deeper. “As a high-ranking Party cadre, he had to be conscious of his public image. With a middle-aged secretary, he didn’t have to worry about gossip. As for what might have happened between a boss and his little secretary, one never really knows. True, Fang is no longer that young, but she still could have been able to demand something of Zhou. Her status in the office, for instance. And through that position, she might have amassed a lot of inside information. That wouldn’t be a new story in the sordid dramas of these corrupt officials.”

That was an unusual analysis from an Internal Security officer. Chen thought; then he nodded and said, “But she’s disappeared.”

“She might be off in hiding, preparing to sell her inside information for a good price.”

“I see your point.” Of course, that was a possibility. But was Sheng moving in the same direction as Jiang, as far as Fang was concerned? Chen couldn’t tell.

“In the meantime, we’ll focus on that Internet café as well as on the Web forum. The Internet regulations are new, so there might be some loopholes. We are going to request reinforcements and put more manpower on the task. By checking the movements of every one of them during that period, we’ll be able to find the culprit.”

Sheng was apparently under a lot of pressure to find the person who sent the photo and mete out a severe punishment as a serious warning to other potential troublemakers. Those would-be troublemakers would think twice before trying to “harm China’s stability.”

“By the way,” Sheng went on, changing topics, “have you heard anything from the Central Party Discipline Committee in Beijing?”

Chen had anticipated the question. It was whispered among people in the know that Comrade Zhao, the ex-secretary of the Central Party Discipline Committee, had taken on Chen as a sort of protégé. Chen, because of his connection to Comrade Zhao, might have been assumed to be able to tell Sheng something about what was really going on at the top, possibly the true purpose of this meeting.

For an instant, Chen was filled with the same frustration as those netizens. The one and only focus of Internal Security was politics, on the necessity of “maintaining stability” at the expense of these so-called “troublemakers.” Zhou’s death, and for that matter Wei’s death, were totally irrelevant to them. On the spur of the moment, Chen decided to respond cryptically, instead of answering Sheng’s question.

“I appreciate your telling me all this, Sheng. Now between you and me, let me say something. If I were you, I wouldn’t rush into action.”

“Yes?”

“Across the street, you can see the Moller Villa Hotel. It’s a special hotel, in which are currently stationed two special teams-Jiang’s team from the Shanghai city government, and another team from the Central Party Discipline Committee in Beijing. A week earlier there were three. The Shanghai Party Discipline Committee Team, which was also there, has already decamped. It’s all rather unusual, isn’t it?”

“Very unusual-”

“And you were sent from Beijing as well, right?” Chen asked, then paused deliberately. “Usually, a case like Zhou’s would have been concluded long ago. It’s in the Party’s interest to wrap up cases like this quickly, isn’t it? Why has it been dragging on?”

It was Sheng’s turn not to respond. Silence hung heavily over the room.

Chen continued. “The water may be too deep for us to jump in headfirst. Like pieces on a chessboard, we’re positioned there by others. Our respective roles might not be known to us, that is, in the larger picture. As long as we do our jobs conscientiously, that’s about all that is asked of us. But we also have to make sure that our work doesn’t get in the way of the larger picture.”

“Yes, I think I’m beginning to catch your point, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“That’s why I quoted the metaphor about the blind man and the blind horse. To be frank, some of your Internal Security officers and I may have had misunderstandings in the past. But I hope not this time. You’re different, Lieutenant Sheng. You invited me over to talk about our common goals, even though we have different priorities.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“But do you think the Central Party Discipline Committee team would come from Beijing and stay here for a small potato like Zhou?”

“No, I don’t…” Sheng added hesitantly, “I think I’ve heard of something between Beijing and Shanghai.”

“As the song goes, ‘I don’t know which direction the wind is blowing,’” Chen said, then added in a whisper, “I’ve just received an e-mail from Beijing.”

“From Beijing?”

“He quoted a poem to me by Wang Yangming. From what I can tell, the basic message is: you can’t afford to lose sight of the big things in the distance because of the small things close at hand.”

“There’s no point in his stating things too explicitly,” Sheng said, without even having to ask who “he” was.

It was then that Sheng’s phone rang.

As Sheng picked up his phone, Chen stood up and started walking toward the balcony for a cigarette. Then he came to a dead stop. He heard the name of Fang repeated by Sheng into the phone. Chen slowed down, pretending to look for matches, walking back two or three steps to retrieve some from the coffee table. He overheard several more fragmented words.

“Shaoxing, or near Shaoxing… a public phone… her parents don’t know anything…”

He lit a cigarette, stepped out to the balcony, and inhaled deeply. The city was looming all around him, with old and new skyscrapers, impersonal and oppressive.

When he went back inside, Sheng had finished his call and had made another coffee for the chief inspector.

Sheng didn’t say anything about the call, probably thinking that the chief inspector wouldn’t be able to make anything out of one or two out-of-context words.

But Chen knew what he’d heard, and what he was going to do.

Twenty minutes later, Chen stepped into a public phone booth on Yan’an Road, took a quick look around, and then dialed the number of the cell phone he’d given Fang.

When she picked up, Chen blurted out, without pausing to greet her, “I warned you not to call your parents.”

Despite his warning, she’d called her parents in Shanghai from a pay phone near Dayu Temple, like a lonely, lost tourist.

“I’m all alone here, in the house he bought me, surrounded by nothing but memories of him, and the echoes of my own footsteps. I really can’t stand it anymore.”

“But their phone in Shanghai was tapped,” he said. “Now they’ve been able to narrow down your location to Shaoxing. It’s only a matter of time before they track you down to that villa. You have to move-as soon as possible.”