Qiu Xiaolong - Death of a Red Heroine

I t had been three days since Chief Inspector Chen resumed work at the office.

Party Secretary Li had promised to talk to him, but he had not done so yet. Li had been avoiding him, Chen knew, to avoid discussion of the case. Any contact between them might be watched. Party Secretary Li was too cautious not to be aware of it. There was no telling when Detective Yu would come back from his “temporary” assignment. Commissar Zhang was still having the week off. His presence would make no difference, but his absence could.

No news from Beijing, though Chen was not really expecting any.

He should not have written the letter to Ling. And he was not going to write a second one. Nor was he going to dial that number she had given him. For the moment, he did not even want to think about it.

Maybe it was wise to wait, as she had said, to do nothing until “further signal.” And there was nothing he could really do, with the knowledge that Internal Security was lurking and, ready to pounce if he made a move. Nor was there any new development except, to his surprise, he learned that Wu Xiaoming had applied for a visa for America.

Once more the news came from Overseas Chinese Lu, who had obtained it from Peiqin, and Peiqin, from Old Hunter, from his connections in Beijing. Wu was applying not for a business visa, but a personal one. It was an unusual move, considering that Wu’s name was on the top-candidate list for an important position in China. If Wu was trying to get away, Chief Inspector Chen had to act promptly. Once Wu was abroad, there would be no apprehending him.

The white Lexus was Wu’s; Old Hunter had identified the license plate number. In the last few days, one of the things Chen had been doing himself, which might not appear suspicious to Internal Security, was research on the regulations concerning high cadres’ car service. A high cadre at Wu Bing’s level was supposed to have a car exclusively, including a full-time chauffeur at the government’s expense, but the cadre’s family members were not entitled to use the car. With Wu Bing lying in the hospital, it was not justifiable for his family to have the chauffeur drive them around. So Wu Xiaoming, citing the necessity of visiting his father in the hospital every day, had offered to drive himself. Who had been driving it while Wu was in Beijing?

Overseas Chinese Lu had not succeeded in identifying the driver of the car. Nor had his repeated attempts to contact Ouyang in Guangzhou borne fruit. Ouyang was not at home. This could mean Ouyang had also gotten into trouble-like Xie. Internal Security was capable of anything.

The uncertainty of waiting, in light of the recent information as to Wu’s application for a U.S. visa, was becoming too much for Chen. He had to talk to Party Secretary Li.

Despite his high rank, Li was in the habit of fetching hot water for tea from the boiler room at eleven fifteen every morning. So at eleven fifteen, Chen was also there, holding a thermos bottle. It was a place where people would come and go. Their encounter might seem natural.

Several other people were filling thermoses with water in the boiler room. Li greeted each of them warmly before he moved over to Chen. “How are you, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?”

“I’m fine, except that I’m doing nothing.”

“Take a break. You’ve just come back.” Leaning over to pick up his thermos bottle, Li added under his breath, “Have you found what we talked about the last time?”

“What?”

“After you have found it,” Li said, “come to my office.”

Li had already turned toward the stairs, taking with him the filled thermos bottle and the last word.

The motive.

That was what Li had asked for the last time they met in his office. Chen had to find it. There was no point discussing anything more in the boiler room. Politics aside, justification of further investigation depended on discovery of Wu’s motive.

Chen went over it again. If Wu had wanted to part with Guan, she was in no position to stop him. She was a third party-the other woman-a notorious person in China’s ethical system. She would have found herself in a socially condemned position. Furthermore, revelation of an extramarital affair would have been political suicide. Even if she had been desperate enough to make such a disclosure, she probably would not have got anywhere. Wu had had an affair with her, but he wanted to end it. So what? As Party Secretary Li had pointed out, an affair would not have been considered too serious a political lapse now. With his family background and connections, Wu could have gotten away with it easily.

She could not have presented a real threat to Wu, even at a time when people were talking about Wu’s promotion.

On the other hand, Guan was a national celebrity-not some provincial girl. Wu would have to have known that her disappearance would be investigated, which could lead to him, secret as their affair had been. Wu was too smart not to have realized this.

So why should he have taken such a risk?

Guan must somehow have posed a much more serious threat to him, a threat Chief Inspector Chen had not yet discovered.

And until he did, Chen could only occupy himself in reading the latest Party documents delivered to his office. One was about the ever-increasing crime rate in the country and the Central Party Committee’s call on all Party members to take action. He also had various forms to fill out for the coming seminar of the Central Party Institute, though he doubted if he would be able to attend after all.

In frustration, he dug out his father’s book. He had not read it since the day he had bought it. It was a difficult one, he knew. He turned to the end of the book, to an epilogue in the form of a short fable entitled, “A Jin Dynasty Goat.”

Emperor Yan of the Jin Dynasty had many imperial concubines, and one favorite goat. At night, the emperor let the goat amble before him through a sea of bedrooms. When the goat stopped, the Emperor took it as a sign from Heaven to spend the night in the nearest room. More often than not, he found the goat halted in front of the three hundred and eleventh concubine’s pearl-curtained door. She was wrapped in white clouds, in anticipation of the coming rain. So she bore him a son who became Emperor Xing. Emperor Xing lost the country to barbarian aggressors through his thirst for a sea harbor. It was a long, complicated story, but the three hundred and eleventh concubine’s secret was simple. She sprinkled salt on her doorstep. The goat stopped there to lick the salt.

The late professor used the fable to illustrate the contingency of history. But for a chief inspector, everything about a criminal case should be certain, logical.

It was almost three. Chief Inspector Chen had skipped lunch, but he did not feel hungry. He heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

To his surprise, Dr. Xia stood in the doorway carrying a huge plastic bag in each hand.

“My shoes are wet.” Dr. Xia shook his head, showing no inclination to step in. “I’m bringing you a Beijing roast duck from the Yan Cloud Restaurant. Last time you generously treated me. As Confucius says, ‘It is proper and right to return other people’s kindness.’”

“Thank you, Dr. Xia,” Chen said, standing up, “but a whole duck is too much for me. Better bring it back to your family.”

“I have another one.” Dr. Xia lifted up the other plastic-wrapped duck. “To tell you the truth, a patient of mine is the number-one chef there. He insisted on giving them to me-free. Here is a small box of their special duck sauce. Only I don’t know how to prepare green scallions.”

“As Confucius says, ‘It is not proper and right to decline a senior’s gift.’” Chen tried to imitate Doctor Xia’s bookish style. “So I have to accept it. Have a cup of tea in my office?”