Peter May - The Firemaker

In his office, Li brewed himself a jar of green tea and sat at his desk to begin sifting through the files that had gathered on it during the night. The piles of transcriptions under the window had grown, and a selection had been pulled out by the lead detectives in each murder for his attention. He lit a cigarette and began the weary process of wading through the statements and testimony of drug dealers and small-time crooks, building workers from all over China, early morning habitués of Ritan Park. By seven o’clock he was on his third jar of green tea, his fifth cigarette, and was none the wiser. The air in his office was thick with smoke, the temperature rising as the sun sneaked in his window at an angle to lay long slabs of pale yellow light across the floor. The day shift detectives next door already had the business of the day well in hand. The third one to knock on his door with some fresh piece of information, and a comment on his suit, got his head bitten off, and Li had not been disturbed for the past half-hour. He liked this time in the early morning, to think, and consider, and sometimes reconsider his thoughts of the previous day. A fresh day often gave distance and perspective to events.

At seven he phoned the Centre of Material Evidence Determination to be told that his test results would be some hours yet.

At seven fifteen there was another knock at his door. Li raised his head, ready to bark at whoever had the audacity to disturb his thinking time. But he closed his mouth again before speaking when he saw that it was Section Chief Chen, carrying with him his habitual cloud of gloom. ‘Morning, Li Yan.’ He stopped as he took in Li’s suit and frowned. ‘You haven’t got an interview for another job already, have you?’

‘No, Chief. Just thought I’d better tidy up my act, given my new position.’

Chen grunted, unimpressed. ‘Anything overnight?’ he asked.

Li shook his head. ‘Nobody knows anything. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as we get those results back from forensics.’ Chen opened the door to go out. Li said, ‘Oh, by the way…’ Chen waited. ‘I’ve reconsidered the university’s offer to lend us the American pathologist.’ He tried to make it sound as casual as possible.

‘Oh, have you?’ Chen said. He looked at Li thoughtfully. ‘Have you been talking to Old Yifu about it, by any chance?’

‘I… might have mentioned it.’

‘Hmm-hmm. And he thought it was a good idea, did he?’

‘He, ah… he did think her experience could be valuable.’

‘Ye-es. It’s a pity you’re more inclined to listen to your uncle’s advice than mine.’

Li was indignant. ‘If it had been your advice, Chief, I wouldn’t have ignored it.’

Chen grunted. He had allowed Li to have his way yesterday only to have that decision thrown back at him today by Old Yifu. It rankled. ‘First we tell her we want her, then we tell her we don’t. Then we tell her we’ve changed our minds and want her after all. She may very well not want to do it now.’

‘We can live in hope,’ Li muttered under his breath.

‘What was that?’

‘I said we can only hope she will,’ Li said.

Chen grunted again and started out the door. Then stopped. He turned back. ‘Almost forgot. Deputy Procurator General Zeng wants to see you.’

‘Me?’ Li was taken aback.

‘Yes, you.’

‘What about?’

‘I’ve absolutely no idea. But when a high-ranking procurator says jump, you jump. Nine o’clock, at the Municipal Procuratorate.’ And he was gone. But the door opened a second later and he poked his head back in. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you already knew — all togged up like that.’ He shut the door again.

Li sat wondering what a Deputy Procurator General could possibly want with him. Procurators were among the most powerful people in Chinese law enforcement. It was the People’s Procuratorate who issued warrants for arrest at the request of the police. The Procuratorate also reviewed evidence collected by police and determined whether there was sufficient merit in pursuing a case through the courts. They would then fulfil the role of prosecutors. In particularly sensitive cases, regarding matters of state, corruption, fraud or police malpractice, the People’s Procuratorate was empowered to pursue its own investigations. It was sufficiently unusual for a detective to be summoned to the presence of a Deputy Procurator General, outside the specifics of a case in hand, for Li to feel faintly uneasy about it.

Two uniformed officers, gun belts strapped around khaki-green shirts, stood to attention in the shade of large umbrellas on either side of the main entrance to the Municipal People’s Procuratorate. Li parked his Jeep in the street and walked in through the gates with a sense of trepidation.

The Procuratorate was housed in a modern three-storey building backing on to the High Court, not far from the Municipal Police Headquarters in the old legation quarter. Windows up and down and along the length of the grey-brick building stood open, like so many mouths gasping for air. A detachment of the Armed Police responsible for guarding public buildings was exercising in a compound in front of a huge mural depicting a traditional scene of ancient rural China. Li walked briskly past in the rising heat of the morning and went inside, where he was asked to wait.

Although his appointment was at nine, it was nearly twenty past before a secretary came to fetch him, leading him upstairs and along corridors, through an outer office and eventually knocking on the imposing door of the office of Deputy Procurator General Zeng. ‘Come,’ Zeng called, and the secretary opened the door for Li to enter. Zeng rose from his desk, a tall, thin man with steel-grey hair swept straight back from a long face punctuated by round spectacles in metal frames. He was in shirtsleeves, with a jacket draped over the back of his seat. He held out a hand. ‘Congratulations on your promotion, Deputy Section Chief Li.’

Li shook his hand. ‘I am honoured to meet you, Deputy Procurator General Zeng.’

The formalities over, Zeng waved at a chair. ‘Have a seat, Li.’ He wandered round the desk and perched on a corner of it, one foot still on the floor. Li sat uncomfortably in a deep leather chair. A fan swinging lazily overhead blew hot air from one part of the office to another. ‘Second day on the job, hmm?’ Li nodded. ‘An eventful first day.’

‘It was.’

‘Three murders in one night. More like New York than Beijing.’ Li was uncertain how he was expected to respond, so he said nothing. Zeng stood up and walked to the window, lowering Venetian blinds to stop the sun from streaming in. ‘That’s better. Can’t stand to have it too bright in here. Autumn’s a better season in Beijing, don’t you think? Not so hot, and the light has a softer quality about it.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re from Sichuan.’ Again, Li was unsure if this was a statement or a question. ‘A lovely province. Can’t stand the food, though. Too hot for my taste. What do you say?’

This was a good question. Li hadn’t a clue. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Wouldn’t know what?’

‘About your taste, Deputy Procurator General.’

‘No, I meant your taste, Li. Do you like all that spicy food?’

‘Very much.’

‘Well, I suppose you grew up with it. Must be tough.’

Again, Li was lost. Zeng seemed to switch subject without any obvious rationale. It was almost as if he were trying to trip Li up. ‘What must be tough?’

‘Following in the footsteps of someone as famous in the police department as your uncle was. Lot to live up to. Given you problems, has it?’ He watched Li carefully.