Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

“Outrageous!”

“Even more outrageous was the way he kept records on the back of those photos.”

“What kind of record?”

“Well, in a Sherlock Holmes story, a sexual criminal kept pictures of the women he had conquered, along with descriptions of their positions, secrets, and preferences in bed-all the intimate details of the sexual intercourse he had with them-oh, come on, Detective Yu, you surely know the story well.”

“Chief Inspector Chen has translated a few Western mysteries,” Detective Yu said equivocally, having never read the story himself. “You can discuss it with him.”

“Really, I thought he wrote only poems.”

“Now what could Wu have wanted to do with these pictures?”

“I don’t know, but he’s not just a Don Juan who wants to satisfy his ego by looking over his naked conquests.”

“That S.O.B.,” Yu cursed, not familiar with Don Juan either.

“I could live with a Don Juan, but that kind of cold-blooded cynicism really put me off. So I decided to part with him.”

“You were wise to make that decision.”

“I’ve got my work to do,” she looked down somberly. ”I did not want to be involved in a scandal. Now I’ve told you all I know.”

“That’s really important information. You’re helping us a lot, Comrade Jiang. We’ll make sure that your name will never be mentioned in the official investigation record.”

“Thank you.”

She stood up, accompanying Yu toward the door. “Comrade Detective Yu.”

“Yes?”

“I may have something else for you, I think,” she said, “but I need to ask you a favor.”

“As long as it’s in my power.”

“Wu and I have parted. Whatever grudge I have against him, I should not throw stones into the well where he is drowning. So I won’t tell you anything I’ve not seen or heard myself. But I happened to know one of Wu’s girls at the time we parted.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Ning Jing. How Wu had picked her up, or what he saw in her, I’ve no idea at all. Perhaps just another object for his camera’s eye, to be focused, shot, and pasted into his album.

I’m mentioning her because she may know something about Wu and Guan. Guan could have been the next girl after her.”

“Yes, that may be an important lead, Comrade Jiang. I’ll definitely check it out. But what can I do for you?”

“If it is possible, please try not to involve her in any publicity. That’s the favor I’m asking. I have had my share, and a column more or less in tabloid magazines does not make much difference to me. But she is different. She’s going to get married soon, I’ve heard.”

“I see,” he said. “I will do my best. Do you have her address?”

“She has her name listed in the phone book,” she said, taking down a directory. “Let me find it for you.”

He got the name, address, and phone number.

“Thank you. I’ll tell Chief Inspector Chen about all the help you’ve given us.”

“And say hello to Chief Inspector Chen.”

“I will. And good-bye.”

At the foot of the stairs, Yu turned around and saw her still standing barefoot on the landing. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was gazing at the distant horizon behind the multi-colored roofs.

A nice woman, though her philosophy of life was beyond him. Perhaps it was the price one pays for being an artist, Detective Yu suspected. Being different.

Just like Chief Inspector Chen-who was nonetheless a capable cop.

With Wu Xiaoming, however, it was more than being different.

Yu decided to go to Ning Jing’s place immediately. It would not be a pleasant visit, nor would it be easy.

Jiang Weihe had been cooperative, but only after the combined pressure of “the hard and the soft.” The threat of revealing her identity as the nude in the magazine, and the note from Chen. But with Ning, Detective Yu had nothing to use. Nothing but the scanty information from Jiang who, despite her declaration, might well have harbored a personal grudge against Ning. So the only card he could play would be that of bluff, one of the effective tactics to bring a potential witness around, especially with the possibility of a “peach-colored scandal.” A phone call to her work unit from the Shanghai Police Bureau would be enough to start a wildfire of gossip, finger pointing, head shaking, saliva spitting on her back, and whatnot. It need not take a formal investigation to put her under suspicion.

Ning’s apartment was on Xikang Road, close to the Gate to Joy, a nightclub that had been rehabilitated and reopened.

A young woman appeared at the door where he rang the bell. “What do you want?”

Ning wore a white T-shirt several sizes too large that completely covered her shorts. It was difficult to guess her age. The way she dressed was almost like a teenager, or else it was too fashionable for him. She had wide black eyes and a straight nose; her hair was pulled back and held in place by a kerchief. Her full lips were moist, sensuous, even somewhat wanton.

“I’m Detective Yu Guangming, of the Shanghai Police Bureau. I need to ask you a few questions.”

“What have I done?”

“Not about you, but about someone you know.”

“Show me your identification,” she said. “I’m on my way out.”

“It won’t take long.” He produced his I.D. “We’d appreciate your help.”

“Okay, come in.”

It was a small, cozy apartment, but unkempt for the home of a young single woman. A creased bedspread lay over the unmade bed. On the table was an empty but unwashed ashtray. There were no framed pictures, but a number of magazine photographs of cars and movie stars were taped to the wall. On the floor were two pairs of shoes, peeping out from under the bed. There was one thing in common between Jiang and Ning. Each had an apartment to herself.

“What do you want from me?” she said after he seated himself on a rattan chair.

“A few questions about Wu Xiaoming.”

“Wu Xiaoming-why me?”

“You’re his girlfriend, right?”

“No, he’s just taken a few pictures of me. For his magazine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about answering my questions. If you cooperate, everything you say will be kept off the record.”

“Now what do you mean, Comrade Detective?”

“Wu is involved in a murder case.”

“Heavens, what…” Her black eyes grew even wider now. “How?”

“We don’t know everything yet,” he said. “That’s why your help would be appreciated.”

“But I cannot help you. I hardly know him at all.”

“You can refuse to cooperate, but then we’ll have to go to your work unit,” Yu said. “Huanpu Elementary School, right?”

“Go there if you want to. That is all I will say,” she said, standing up and making a gesture toward the door.

She was beginning to irritate him with her attitude, so damned antagonistic. And he did not like this way of conducting the interview. There was some hard object on the rattan chair beneath him, which made him feel even more uncomfortable as he sat opposite her.

“But there is more than that, I’m afraid,” Yu said. “We’re not talking about your pictures in magazines, but about the ones in his album. Surely you know them better than I.”

“What are you talking about?” She flinched involuntarily, but she covered it well. “Show them to me.”

“We will show these pictures to your principal, every one of them.” He was bluffing now. “They’re by no means decent for a schoolteacher. And a number of other people will see them, too.”

“You’ve got no right.”

“Yes, we have every right. We’re here in socialist China. The Party authorities are calling on the people to fight Western bourgeois decadence. These pictures will serve as a good example.”