Qiu Xiaolong - Don't cry Tai lake

“Exactly, like in ‘The Purloined Letter.’ It speaks of a devilish mind.”

“What?”

“That’s the title of a short story by Poe.”

“Then I have to read it, Chief. Still, working a case under you, I could learn far more than from ten years of reading Conan Doyle or Poe,” Huang said, paraphrasing an old proverb. “Anyway, after I bagged the statuette, which was covered with his fingerprints, as well as some tiny black stains-which are Liu’s blood, I bet-I went to join my team at the chemical company. They were still working on Fu, who denied everything except for his clandestine affair with Mi, saying that he had just broken it off with her, so she must be out of her mind and reacting to that. With Mi still hysterical and Fu continuing to deny everything, Internal Security actually tried to call into question the investigation’s shift from Jiang. Fu might still have had a chance to get away with it, but the sight of the statuette finished him. He collapsed right then and there, and confessed everything.”

“What did he say about that night?”

“He said it wasn’t premeditated. Shortly after Mi went back to the company, he sneaked into Liu’s apartment. Sure enough, he saw the draft of the restructuring plan on the desk, and began to copy it with a scanning pen. According to him, he wanted to get the details of the plan, so he could file a report accusing Liu of plotting to turn a state-run enterprise into a private one run by his family. But Liu unexpectedly stirred, his arm stretching out-”

“Mi might have fed him a handful of pills,” Chen cut in, “but not enough to knock him totally out.”

“Panic-stricken, Fu snatched a statuette up from the desk and cracked Liu’s head with the heavy marble base-”

“Hold on, Huang. The statuette was on the desk, not on the shelf?”

“That’s what Fu said.”

“It’s possible, I suppose. Liu could have had it to the desk for some reason, but it’s also possible that Fu said that to make his actions seem less premeditated.”

“Afterward, Fu wiped away his fingerprints from the apartment and brought the statuette back home, along with the copy of the restructuring plan and the cup with the sleeping pills from Liu’s desk. He burned the document, splintered the cup and threw the pieces away, but he didn’t get rid of the statuette. Apparently, he didn’t think anyone would notice it in his place, or if they did, would suspect it was the murder weapon. After all, the statuette was now rightfully his, since he was going to be the new head of the company.”

“What cruel karma!”

“What do you mean, Chief?”

“The award for the chemical company’s success under Liu turned out to be the weapon that killed him. Now, with the company falling into Fu’s hands, the statuette became the irrefutable evidence that will convict him. All from an award for increasing production and profit at the expense of the environment. Bad karma indeed.”

“You always see things from a different angle, Chief.”

“What about Mi?”

“Once she leaned that Fu had made a full confession, she also spilled everything. However, she insisted that she knew nothing about Fu’s real plan, and that she didn’t give Liu a lethal dose-just a large enough dose of sleeping pills so he would sleep heavily. She also confessed to arranging those threatening calls to Shanshan. That was Liu’s idea-to use the hint of triad enforcers to silence her at the critical juncture before the IPO. He asked Mi to make the arrangements, so she paid a thug to call Shanshan from a public phone booth. When Liu died, there was no need to continue.”

“No wonder Shanshan stopped receiving those phone calls,” he said. “Though that’s pretty much what I guessed.”

“But you must have realized it was an important clue. I should have followed it all the way back.”

It would be useless for Chen to explain. He’d asked Huang to check on the calls simply because of his interest in Shanshan. But to the young cop, the chief inspector must be like Sherlock Holmes, with his every move full of insight.

“Oh, I am calling from my car,” Huang continued. “I’m very close to the bureau now. I’ll be taking Jiang to prison from there, you know. I have to end this call, but I’ll keep you updated one way or another.”

“Thanks, Huang. If there’s anything new, let me know.”

Setting his cell phone down on the table, and then taking another sip at the tea, Chen remembered the special delivery letter he had stuffed in his jacket pocket back at the center. Wondering who could have sent it, he tapped the cigarette ash slowly into a black shell-shaped ashtray.

He took the envelope out, opened it, and upon reading it, sat up in spite of himself.

Dear Chen:

I’m writing this letter because I don’t think I can bring myself to say good-bye to you. It is an ending that you and I both should have known was inevitable.

Now looking back, I think it was during the night at your place I began to make up my mind-subconsciously, as you might say. Even at our first meeting at Uncle Wang’s eatery, I was aware of something different in you-that you were a man of resources and connections, but at the same time, of integrity and idealistic passion. No, I’m not saying so just for the sake of this letter. What you have done for me, especially after learning that there was something between Jiang and me, speaks volumes for you.

You’ve never asked any questions about it. With so many things happening around us, and so quickly, I didn’t even have an opportunity to tell you more about myself. Yes, I have known Jiang for a long while. We shared a lot of common interests, as you know, and our relationship developed. You must have read the files on him-a man obsessed with his vocation as an environmentalist, to such an extent that he landed me in a mess. I was so upset, I broke up with him. That was before I met you.

Then he got into serious trouble-more serious than he bargained for. It was beyond me to do anything to help. Not for one moment, however, have I suspected him of committing the crimes he was accused of.

For the last few days, I’ve also been thinking a lot about him. Perhaps I was wrong about him. He must have been aware of the risks, but having made his choice, he has accepted the consequences for what he believes in. That, too, happens to be what I believe in. If I left him in the lurch, I would never be able to have any peace of mind.

Besides, he’s not strong, not like you. He needs me-more than ever.

I hope you understand why I’m making this decision. Believe me, it’s not an easy one. Can you do me the favor of not making it more difficult for me?

I still don’t know what work you are really engaged in. No, I am not complaining. You must have your reasons. But far from being the bookish schoolteacher as you have claimed to be, you are a man with great potential in our society. You can go a long way, I’m sure, within the system.

In contrast, I’m on a political blacklist for what I have done.

You believe you can get me out of trouble, and perhaps you can. This time. If we’re together, however, I may bring you no end of trouble, for which I’ll never be able to forgive myself. You are “in a position”-as you sometimes say-to make a difference in today’s society. You’ve already demonstrated as much. For your career, you don’t really need me-except as a temporary companion during one of your vacations, for a short moment.

Still, the memory of that moment will go a long way for me. One of these days, I may come to pride myself on having been once close with you, being nearly the one for you, even though a voice in the back of my mind said: No, I’m not the one for you.