Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

There was only one night-shift worker standing at the end of the market, his cotton padded collar upturned as high as his ears as he hammered at a gigantic bar of frozen fish in front of the refrigeration house.

The shortcut through the market proved to be a mistake, so he had to turn into another side street, spending even more time on his way back home.

In retrospect, many of his decisions had been mistakes, he admitted, whether serious or trivial. It was the combination of these decisions, however, that had made him what he was. At the moment, a suspended-though not officially-chief inspector, with his political future practically finished. But at least he had tried to be an honest, conscientious decision maker.

Whether sending the letter to Beijing was just another mistake, he did not yet know. He started whistling, off-key, a song he had learned years ago: “Yesterday’s dream is driven by the wind, / Yesterday’s wind is still dreaming the dream…”

It was maudlin, even more so than Liu Yong’s poem.

It was late Friday afternoon. Detective Yu was still at his desk, staring at the files of the special case squad.

Chief Inspector Chen was not in his office. He was serving as an interpreter and escort for an American writers’ delegation. This had been an unexpected assignment announced by Party Secretary Li the previous day. A writer and translator in his own right, Chen had been chosen as a representative of the Chinese Writers’ Association.

The announcement had come so suddenly that Yu had hardly any time to exchange information with Chen. They had missed each other on the first day of Chen’s return from Guangzhou. And early the second day, when Yu had just stepped into the large office, Chen’s new assignment had been made. Chen left for the airport almost immediately.

On the surface, it was not too bad a signal. It could even signify that Chief Inspector Chen was still a trusted Party member, but Yu was worried. Since that crab banquet, he had in Chen an ally, and a friend as well. Old Hunter had told him about the snag their investigation had struck, and the trouble Chen was in. And in the afternoon, Yu, too, had talked with Party Secretary Li, who assigned him to an important conference in Jiading County, to act as temporary security.

“What about the case?” Yu asked.

“What case?”

“Guan Hongying’s case.”

“Don’t worry, Comrade Detective Yu. Comrade Chief Inspector Chen will be back in a couple of days.”

“Our squad also has a lot of work.”

“Finish as much as you can before reporting to the conference on Monday. Other people will take care of things here.” Li added without looking at him, “Don’t forget to ask the accountant about the standard meal allowance. It is possible that you will be staying there for quite a few days.”

Yu had not finished much of his work by five o’clock. Files of unfinished cases were stacked high on his desk. The case of the Henan abduction ring that kidnapped girls and sold them as wives to peasants in faraway provinces, Yu thought gloomily, could be turned over to the Henan Province Bureau. As for the pilferage case at the Shanghai Number 2 Steel Plant, he did not know what to do. Factory pilferage was constant and enormous. For some workers, it was a form of additional compensation. Ordinarily, if caught, a worker would be either fined or fired. But in accordance with a recent Central Party Committee document on the damage caused by pilferage from state-run enterprises, a culprit could be sentenced to twenty years. And there were several other cases, special just because the city government wanted to make them examples to warn young people in one way or another.

Detective Yu closed the file in frustration, scattering a thin layer of cigarette ash on the desk. Justice was like colored balls in a magician’s hand, changing color and shape all the time, beneath the light of politics.

A murderer was at large, while the police officers were in trouble.

In his position, however, there was nothing Detective Yu could do-except what he was told to.

At a quarter to six, the phone started ringing again.

“Detective Yu,” he said, picking up the phone.

“What in heaven’s name are you up to, Yu?” Peiqin’s voice sounded exasperated.

“What’s wrong?”

“Did you remember the parents’ meeting in Qinqin’s school today?”

“Oh-I forgot. I’ve been so busy.”

“I’m not nagging, but I hate being here all by myself, and taking care of him without your help.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a long day for me, too.”

“I know. I’ll come home right now.”

“You don’t have to come home just for my sake. It will be too late for the meeting anyway. But remember what your father said yesterday.”

“Yes, I do remember.”

Peiqin had been worried since Old Hunter told them about Chief Inspector Chen’s trouble. So it was not just a call about his absence from the school meeting, but more about his continuing the investigation. Peiqin was too sensible to say a single word on the phone about that case.

Yu had chosen to be a cop, even though there had not been too much for him to choose from. He had not given much thought to the comfortable orthodoxy that law and order were the cornerstone of the society. He simply thought that the job was right for him, not only for his self-support, but for his self-justification, too. A capable cop, he had believed, could make a difference. Not too long after he had joined the force, however, he had few illusions left about it.

The more Yu pondered, the more upset he became about Commissar Zhang. That ancient diehard Marxist, with an always-politically-correct smile printed across his face like a postmark, must have tipped off somebody high up. Somebody who had the power to protect Wu-at any cost. Now both Chief Inspector Chen and he were practically suspended.

Outside the sun was passing behind heavy clouds. Yu hoped that he would still get a phone call from Chen. It was late, and nobody else was in the large office. He turned off the electric cup, a gift from the First Department Store, which the manager had given him in gratitude for his work on the case. At the moment, it served as an ironic reminder.

Forty-five minutes later, Yu remained sitting doggedly at his desk, with a piece of blank paper in front of him, a reflection of his mind.

The telephone started ringing. He snatched it off the hook with an uncharacteristic eagerness.

“Special case squad.”

“Hello, I want to speak to Detective Yu Guangming.”

It was a stranger speaking with a gurgling voice.

“Speaking. This is he.”

“My name is Yang Shuhui. I work at Shanghai Number Sixty-three Gas Station in Qingpu County. I think I have some information for you.”

“What kind of information?”

“The information your squad has offered a reward for.”

“Hold on.” Yu immediately became alert. There was only one case in which he had offered a reward. “About the corpse in the canal, right?”

“Yes, that’s it. Sorry, I forget the case number.”

“Listen, Comrade Yang, I happen to be on my way out, but I would like to meet you today. Tell me where you are right now.”

“At home, near the Big World, on Huangpi Road.”

“Good, I have to pick up something at Jingling Market, not too far from there. There is a Hunan restaurant on the corner of Xizhuang Road. Yueyang Pavilion, that’s the name, I think. If you can be there in about forty-five minutes, we will see each other.”

“Is the offer of a reward still good?” Yang asked. “It’s been some time. I happened to read about it in the old newspaper today.”

“Yes, three hundred Yuan. Not a cent less. And your telephone number?” Yu added almost automatically. “Oh, well, don’t worry. We’ll meet, I’m leaving right now.”