Peter May - The Firemaker

‘No, it hasn’t. Following in my uncle’s footsteps has been an honour and a privilege.’ Li was deeply ill at ease. What was this all about?

Zeng moved back to his chair, leaning on one elbow and regarding Li speculatively. ‘Can’t say I approve particularly of using an American pathologist to perform autopsies on Beijing murder victims. Apart from anything else, she’s not going to be around when we’re prosecuting the case in court.’

So that’s what this was about. It occurred to Li briefly to wonder how Zeng already knew that the Chao Heng case was a murder and not a suicide, but then it wasn’t exactly a secret, and he was a Deputy Procurator General. ‘Her expertise was invaluable in determining that what appeared to be a suicide was, in fact, murder. And since Professor Xie was the lead pathologist, he will be available to give evidence when, hopefully, we bring the case to court.’ He saw that Zeng was about to pass some further comment, and added quickly, ‘Of course, her offer of assistance was entirely unofficial, a personal favour to Section Chief Chen.’

‘Yes, so I understand. I also understand that the Public Security University offered her services for the rest of the investigation — and that you turned them down.’

He was up to date, Li thought. ‘That’s correct,’ he said.

‘Good. I don’t think it would have been politic to have some American thinking they can show us how it’s done.’

‘That’s a pity.’ Li was starting to find his feet. ‘Because I changed my mind this morning and took them up on the offer after all.’

Zeng’s face darkened. ‘Why?’

‘After discussing it with my uncle… I realised that to turn down the chance of such expert assistance simply because she was an American would have been small-minded and petty. At least, that was my uncle’s view. But if you disagree…’

‘Good God, who am I to take issue with your uncle?’ Zeng was visibly annoyed. It was clearly on his mind to go further, but he thought better of it. He cast a more appraising look in Li’s direction. ‘I think, perhaps, I can see now why you haven’t found it such a problem following in your uncle’s footsteps.’

‘They are big footsteps, Deputy Procurator General. I still have some way to go before I can fill them.’

Zeng rocked gently back and forth in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up, without offering one to Li. Suddenly he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, a decision having been made. ‘I’d like a daily written report from you on this case. Chao Heng was a very senior scientist and government adviser. We take his murder very seriously. I want you to write up the report yourself, every night, so that it is on my desk first thing every morning. Is that clear?’ Li nodded. ‘That’ll be all.’ Zeng drew a file towards him and opened it. Li realised he had just been dismissed.

It was as well, Bob thought, that this was a very long corridor. Otherwise, he was sure, Margaret would simply turn around when she reached the end of it and stride back along its length. She seemed to need to burn up her anger in long, quick strides, and he was having trouble keeping up with her.

‘First they say they want my help. Then Mr Smartass Deputy Section Chief Li decides I’m superfluous to requirements. “Superfluous”, no less!’

‘I’m sure that’s probably lost — or gained — something in the translation, Margaret. Li wouldn’t mean it like that.’

‘Oh, wouldn’t he? Well, whatever he meant last night, he’s changed his mind this morning. Maybe he woke up and realised what an inadequate he really was. Now, it seems, I’m not “superfluous” after all, and they’d be “very pleased” to accept my help. I mean, as if I was offering! They asked me , then told me I was superfluous . Talk about losing face! Jesus!’

‘Superfluous’ had been an unfortunate choice of word, Bob thought. Almost certainly a result of Veronica expanding the breadth of her vocabulary at the expense of its nuance. Tactless, at the very least. He must have a word with her about it. Unfortunately, where Margaret was concerned, the damage was already done. Clearly it had got right under her skin. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know. I know what I’d like to do. I’d like to tell them to stick it.’

‘That would hardly help the cause of Sino-American relations.’

‘Fuck Sino-American relations!’

‘You know,’ Bob said, starting to get breathless now, ‘most pathologists in the US would give their right arm to be asked to assist in a murder investigation in Beijing.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Bob, whoever heard of a one-armed pathologist?’

‘You know what I mean,’ he said, irritated, and she flashed him a wicked half-smile, to his further irritation. ‘The thing is, it’s going to look pretty damned good on your résumé. Don’t you think?’

She stopped suddenly, taking him by surprise, and he was a pace and a half beyond her before he could pull up. He wheeled round. ‘For God’s sake, Margaret!’

But her eyes were burning with some fresh inspiration. ‘Well, if I do it,’ she said, ‘there’ll be a price to be paid. I must have accumulated a little bit of guanxi in the bank by now, don’t you think?’

For the last two hours Li had been locked in conference with the detectives working on the three murders. A pall of depression and cigarette smoke hung over the meeting. From all the interviews, statements, witness accounts, not a single shred of evidence had emerged to shed any light whatsoever on any of the murders. Detectives had been circulating in Ritan Park since six that morning, talking to everyone who came through the gates, trying to jog memories, elicit some — any — piece of information, no matter how small. Still nothing. They knew who all three victims were, but had established no motives for their killings, and no link between them, except for a very tenuous drugs connection between Chao Heng and Mao Mao. But, as yet, they had been unable to determine that the two men even knew one another.

Detective Wu suggested they pull in The Needle for questioning. He knew that Li was interested in The Needle and had asked for the file. But he was not expecting the laughter that came from around the table, and was embarrassed by it. ‘What the hell’s funny about that?’ he demanded.

‘The Needle’s not going to tell us anything,’ Detective Zhao said, indignation overcoming his group shyness. ‘Because if he confessed to knowing anything about Chao Heng’s habit or Mao Mao’s drugs connection, he’d be implicating himself in the drugs scene.’

‘And since we’ve been unable to do that in the last five years,’ Detective Qian added, ‘he’s not likely to hand it to us on a plate now, is he?’

‘Especially when we’ve got nothing on him,’ said Zhao. ‘No leverage.’

Wu looked at Li, chastened by the derision of his colleagues. Fighting to recover face, he said, ‘I just thought, since the boss had asked for the file…’ He waited for Li to bail him out.

‘I agree with the consensus,’ Li said. ‘There would be little point in bringing The Needle here. But if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain…’ He smiled at the consternation around the table. Muslim mythology had not been on the school curriculum, and none of them had Old Yifu for an uncle. ‘I understand he hangs out at the Hard Rock Café during the day, that it’s his… unofficial office.’

‘You’re going to see him?’ Qian asked, surprised.

Li nodded. ‘If he could be persuaded to talk to us — off the record… it could save us a lot of time and effort.’