Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

After unwrapping the paper covers from their bamboo chopsticks, and placing a generous helping of curry sauce in their soup, the proprietress withdrew to the kitchen.

“A surprising place for this area,” Chen said, chewing at the aniseed-flavored peas, as he filled Yu’s beer glass.

Yu took a deep draught and nodded in agreement. The beer was cold enough. The smoked fish head was also tasty. The squid had a special texture.

Shanghai was indeed a city full of wonderful surprises, whether in the prosperous thoroughfares or on small side streets. It was a city in which people from all walks of life could find something enjoyable, even at such a shabby-looking, inexpensive place.

“What do you think?”

“Wu killed her,” Yu repeated. “I’m positive.”

“Perhaps, but why?”

“It’s so obvious, the way he answered our questions.”

“You mean the way he lied to our faces?”

“No question about it. So many holes in his story. But it’s not just that. Wu had a prompt answer for everything, way too prompt-didn’t your notice? It echoed of research and rehearsal.

Just a simple clandestine affair would not have been worth all that effort.”

“You’re right.” Chen said, sipping at his beer. “But what could Wu’s motive be?”

“Somebody else had entered the picture? Another man? And Wu got insanely jealous.”

“That’s possible, but according to the phone records, almost all the calls Guan got in the last few months came from Wu,” Chen said. “Besides, Wu is an ambitious HCC, with a most promising career, and a number of pretty women around him- not only at work, I would say. So why should Wu have played the jealous Othello?”

“Othello or not, I don’t know, but possibly it’s the other way around. Maybe Wu had another woman or women-all those models, naked, from his work to his bed-and Guan could not take it, and made an ugly scene about it.”

“Even so, I still cannot see why Wu had to kill her. He could have broken off with her. After all, Guan was not his wife, not in a position to force him into doing anything.”

“Yes, that’s something,” Yu said. “If Guan had been found to be pregnant, we might suppose she was threatening him. I’ve had a case like that. The pregnant woman wanted the man to divorce his wife for her. The man couldn’t, so he got rid of her. But Guan’s autopsy report said she was not pregnant.”

“Yes, I’ve also checked that with Dr. Xia.”

“So what will be our next step?”

“To confirm Wu’s alibi.”

“Okay, I’ll take care of Guo Qiang. But Wu will have arranged things with him, I bet.”

“Yes, I doubt if Guo will tell us anything.”

“What else can we do?”

“Interview some other people.”

“Where are they?”

Chen produced a copy of the Flower City from his briefcase, and turned to a full page picture of a nude female reclining on her side. She showed only her back to the camera, but all her lines and curves were soft, suggestive, her round buttocks moon like. A black mole on her nape accentuated the whiteness of her body melting into the background.

“Wow, what a body,” Yu said. “Did Wu take the picture?”

“Yes, it was published under his pseudonym.”

“That S.O.B. surely has had his share of peach blossom luck!”

“Peach blossom luck?” Chen went on without waiting for an answer. “Oh, I see what you mean. Luck with women. Yes, you can say that again, but this picture is a sort of artwork.”

“Now what’s that to us?”

“I happen to know who the model is.”

“How?” Yu then added, “Through the magazine?”

“She’s a celebrity, too. It is not surprising that Wu, a professional photographer, uses nude models, but why she chose to pose for him, I cannot figure out.”

“Who is she?”

“Jiang Weihe, a rising young artist.”

“Never heard of her,” Yu said, putting down the cup. “Do you know her well?”

“No, not really. I’ve just met her a couple of times at the Writers and Artists Association.”

“So you’re going to interview her?”

“Well, perhaps you’re a more appropriate officer for the job. At our previous meetings, we discussed nothing but literature and art. It would be out of place for me to knock on her door as a cop. And I would not be able to exercise the necessary authority, psychologically, I mean, in cross-examination. So I suggest you go to see her.”

“Fine, I’ll go there, but what do you think she will tell us?”

“It’s a long shot. Maybe there is nothing. Jiang’s an artist herself, so it’s no big deal for her to pose without a shred on. It’s just her back, and she thought no one would recognize her. But if people know that it is her naked body, it will not be too pleasant for her.”

“Got you,” Yu said. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll make a trip to Guangzhou.”

“To look for Xie Rong, the tour guide?”

“Yes, one thing in Wei Hong’s statement intrigues me. Guan called Xie a whore. It’s really something unusual for Guan, a national model worker, to have used such language. Xie, too, might be involved in some way, or at least she knows something about the relationship between Wu and Guan.”

“When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I can get a train ticket.” Chen added, “Party Secretary Li will be back in two or three days.”

“I see. A general can do whatever he wants if the emperor is not beside him.”

“You surely know a lot of old sayings.”

“I got them from Old Hunter,” Yu said with a laugh. “Now what about our old Commissar Zhang?”

“Let’s have a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Fine.” Yu held up his brimming cup. “To our success.”

“To our success!”

Afterward, Chief Inspector Chen was quick to grab the bill from the small tray on which it was presented, and to pay for them both. The proprietress stood smiling beside them. Yu did not like the idea of arguing in front of her. As soon as they got outside, Yu started explaining that the total bill amounted to some forty-five Yuan, so he insisted paying his share. Chen waved away the proffered twenty.

“Don’t say anything more about it,” Chen said. “I’ve just received a check from the Wenhui Daily. Fifty Yuan, for that short poem about our police work. So it’s proper and right that we use the money for our lunch.”

“Yes, I saw it on the fax sent you by the Wenhui reporter- what’s her name-it is really a good one.”

“Oh, Wang Feng.” Chen then said. “By the way, when you talked about peach blossom luck, it reminded me of a Tang dynasty poem.”

“A Tang dynasty poem?”

“This door, this day / -Last year, your blushing face, / And the blushing faces / Of the peach blossoms reflecting / Yours. This door, this day/-this year, where are you, / You, in the peach blossoms? / The peach blossoms still/here, giggling / At the spring breeze.”

“ Does the expression come from this poem?”

“I’m not sure, but the poem is said to be based upon the poet’s true experience. The Tang poet, Cui Hu, was broken-hearted when he failed to see his love after his successful civil service examination in the capital.”

That was just like Chief Inspector Chen, rhapsodizing about a Tang dynasty poem in the middle of a murder investigation. Perhaps Chen had had too much beer. A month earlier, Detective Yu would have taken it as an instance of his boss’s romantic eccentricity. But he found it acceptable today.

Commissar Zhang had had a totally rotten day.

Early in the morning, he had gone to the Shanghai Number One Old Cadre Club to choose a gift for a comrade-in-arms’ birthday.