Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

“What do you mean?”

“She was not married.”

“Sorry, we didn’t notice anything,” Wei said. “We are not in the habit of spying on others.”

“Come on, Wei,” Hua intervened. “The chief inspector is just doing his job.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Do you know that man’s name?”

“We were not formally introduced to one another, but I think she called him Little Tiger. It could be his nickname.”

“What was he like?”

“Tall, well-dressed. He had a fine foreign camera, too.”

“He did not speak much, but he was polite to us.”

“Did he speak with any accent?”

“A Beijing accent.”

“Can you give a detailed description of him?”

“Sorry, that’s about all we can-” Wei stopped suddenly, “The gas-”

“What?”

“The gas is running out.”

“The gas tank,” Hua said. “We’re too old to replace it.”

“Our only son was criticized as a counter revolutionary during the Cultural Revolution, and sentenced to a labor camp in Qinghai,” Wei said. “Nowadays he’s rehabilitated, but he chose to stay there with his own family.”

“I’m so sorry. My father was also put into jail during those years. It’s a nationwide disaster,” Chen said, wondering if he was in any position to apologize for the Party, but he understood the old couple’s antagonism. “By the way, where is the gas tank station?”

“Two blocks away.”

“Do you have a cart?”

“Yes, we have one. But why?”

“Let me go there to fetch a new gas tank for you.”

“No, thank you. Our nephew will come over tomorrow. You are here to question us, Comrade Chief Inspector.”

“But I can be of some service, too. There’s no bureau rule against it.”

“All the same, no,” Wei said. “Thank you.”

“Anything else you want to ask?” Hua added.

“No, if that’s all you can remember, our interview is finished. Thank you for all your information.”

“Sorry, we have not helped you much. If there are some questions-”

“I’ll contact you again,” he said.

Out on the street, Chief Inspector Chen’s mind was full of the man in Guan’s company in the mountains.

The man spoke with a clear Beijing accent.

So did the man with an unmistakable Beijing accent in Uncle Bao’s description.

The man was tall, polite, well dressed.

Could it also be the same tall gentleman that Guan’s neighbor had seen in the dorm corridor?

The man had an expensive camera in the mountains.

There were many high-quality pictures in Guan’s album.

Chief Inspector Chen could not wait any longer. Instead of going back to his office, he turned in the direction of the Shanghai Telephone Bureau. Luckily, he had carried in his briefcase stationery with an official letterhead. It took him no time to pen an introduction on it.

“Nice to meet you, Comrade Chief inspector,” a clerk in his fifties said. “My name is Jia. Just call me Old Jia.”

“I hope that’s enough,” he said, showing his I.D. and the letter of introduction.

“Yes, quite enough.” Jia was cooperative, keying in the numbers on a computer immediately.

“The owner’s name is-Wu Bing.”

“Wu Bing?”

“Yes, the numbers starting with 867 belong to the Jin’an district, and-”The clerk started fidgeting. “It’s the high-ranking cadre residential area, you know.”

“Oh, Wu Bing. Now I see.”

Wu Bing, the Shanghai Minister of Propaganda, had been in the hospital for most of the last few years. Wu Bing was out of the question, but somebody in his family… Chen thanked Jia and left in a hurry.

To find information about Wu’s family was not difficult. A special folder was kept for every high cadre, along with his family, in the Shanghai Archive Bureau where Chen happened to have a special connection. Comrade Song Longxiang was a friend he had made in his first year in the police force. Chen dialed Song’s number from a street corner phone booth. Song did not even ask why Chen wanted the information.

Wu Bing had a son whose name was Wu Xiaoming.

Wu Xiaoming, a name Chen had already run across in the investigation.

It was in a list Detective Yu had compiled of the people he had interviewed or contacted for possible information. Wu Xiaoming was a photographer for Red Star magazine; he had taken some pictures of Guan for the People’s Daily.

“Do you have a picture of Wu Xiaoming?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can you fax one to my office? I’ll be there in half an hour, waiting by the fax machine.”

“Sure. You don’t need a cover letter, do you? Just a picture.”

“Yes, I’ll call you as soon as I get it.”

“Fine.”

Chen decided to take a taxi.

He soon had a faxed copy of Wu Xiaoming’s picture. It might have been taken a few years ago. But clearly Wu Xiaoming was a tall man.

It was urgent for Chief Inspector Chen to move forward.

He did two more things that late afternoon. He made a phone call to the Red Star editorial office. A secretary said that Wu was not in.

“We’re compiling a dictionary of contemporary artists, including young photographers,” Chen said. “Any information about Comrade Wu Xiaoming’s work would be helpful.”

The tactic worked. A list of Wu Xiaoming’s publications was faxed to him in less than one hour.

And Chen went to visit the old couple again. The second visit turned out to be less difficult than the chief inspector had expected.

“That’s him,” Wei said, pointing at the fax copy in Chen’s hand, “a nice young man, always with a camera in his hand.”

“I’m not sure if he’s nice or not,” Hua said, “but he was good to her in the mountains.”

“I’ve got another picture,” Chen said, taking out Xie Rong’s picture. “She was your guide in the mountains, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, actually-” Wei said with an inscrutable smile, “she may be able to tell you more about them, much more.”

“How?”

“Guan had a big fight with Xie in the mountains. You know what, Guan called Xie a whore.”

S unday morning, Chief Inspector Chen took more time than usual brushing his teeth, but it was a futile attempt to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

He did not like the development of the investigation. Nor his plan for the day: to do a day’s research in the Shanghai Library.

It was evident that Guan Hongying had had an affair with Wu Xiaoming. Though a national model worker, Guan had led a double life under a different name in the mountains. So had Wu. This was far from proving, however, that her death came about as a result of the clandestine affair.

Whatever complications might be involved, Chen was determined to solve the case. He could not be a chief inspector without taking up the challenge. So he planned to learn more about Wu Xiaoming by examining his work. The approach could be misleading; according to T. S. Eliot’s “impersonal theory,” Chen recollected, what could be learned from a creative artist’s work was nothing but his craftsmanship. Nonetheless, he would give it a shot.

In the reading room of the Shanghai Library, Chen soon found that there was a lot more for him to do. The list he had received the previous day included only the work published in the Red Star magazine; as for Wu’s publications elsewhere, the list gave only the total number with abbreviated magazine names minus dates. As most of the magazines had no year-end index for photographs, Chen had to go through them issue by issue. The back issues were in the basement of the library, which meant a long wait before he could get what he ordered.

The librarian was a nice woman, moving about briskly in her high heels, but a stickler for library rules. All she could give him at one time were the issues of one particular magazine for a year. For anything more, he had to write out a new order slip and to wait for another half an hour.