Peter May - The Firemaker

‘And how many students?’

‘Around three thousand.’

Margaret gasped. A three-to-one student-teacher ratio was unheard of in the States.

‘It’s kind of like the West Point for police in China. Down here.’ And they set off down a long featureless corridor.

Margaret had had no idea the university was on such a small scale. She was seriously regretting now not having read her briefing material.

‘Of course,’ Bob went on, enjoying his possession of superior knowledge, ‘you’ll be interested in the pathology department and the forensics. That’s all down the far end of the playing fields. The Centre of Material Evidence Determination. They got some pretty sophisticated stuff down there, including a brand-new block with all the latest laboratory testing facilities — DNA, you name it. Stuff from all over China gets sent there. Christ, they even take ear-prints — you know, like fingerprints, only ears. But I got to admit, I can’t see many perps leaving their ear-prints at the scene of a crime, unless they’ve beaten somebody to death with their hearing aid.’ He laughed at his own joke. But Margaret was distracted. His smile faded. ‘Not my field, of course.’

‘What is your field?’

‘Computer profiling. I’ve been helping them set up a system here that’s going to be as good as anything the FBI’ve got back home. In here.’ He opened the door into a tiny office, no bigger than eight feet square, with one small window at ceiling height. There were two desks pushed together, three small plastic chairs of the stacking variety, and a single filing cabinet. Three cardboard boxes stood side by side on one of the desks. ‘This is you.’

Margaret looked at him in consternation. ‘This is me what?’

‘Your office. And think yourself lucky. Space is at a premium.’

She was about to voice an opinion on Bob’s definition of the word ‘lucky’, but was prevented from doing so by the arrival of two middle-aged men and a woman all wearing the uniform of senior police officers. They smiled and bowed and Margaret smiled and bowed back, and then glanced anxiously at Bob for help.

‘These are your colleagues in the Criminal Investigation Department here at the university.’ He rattled off something in Chinese and they all bowed and smiled again. Margaret bowed and smiled back. ‘Professors Tian and Bai, and the delightful Dr Mu,’ Bob introduced them. They all shook hands, and then one by one solemnly produced their business cards and presented them to Margaret, the corners held between thumb and forefinger, the English translations of their names facing towards her. She took them each in turn and fumbled in her bag for her own cards and handed one back to each.

‘ Ni hau ,’ she said, exercising the only Chinese she knew.

‘You’re supposed to present your cards to them the way they did to you,’ Bob said.

‘Am I?’ She was flustered by this, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

‘Didn’t you read your briefing material?’

‘Sorry, I forgot.’

She smiled at them again and they all smiled back, then one by one lifted a cardboard box from the desk and left.

Margaret looked around in despair. ‘This is hopeless, Bob. I can’t work in this space for six weeks.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Wrong with it? It’s like a cell. I’ll be banging my head off the walls after a week in here.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t mention it to Professors Tian, Bai and Dr Mu.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t think you’d find them very sympathetic. They probably don’t like you very much already.’

Margaret couldn’t believe she was hearing this. ‘Why wouldn’t they like me? They’ve only just met me.’

‘Well, for one thing…’ Bob sat on the edge of one of the desks, ‘… you probably make more in a week than they earn in a year. And for another… they’ve just been moved out of their office to make way for you.’

Margaret’s jaw slackened.

‘Anyway…’ Bob stood up. ‘… time you met Professor Jiang. He’ll be waiting for you.’

Professor Jiang was a thickset man in his late fifties, who looked like he’d been scrubbed and freshly pressed for the meeting. He had a head of beautifully cut thick hair, greying in attractive streaks, and wore the rank-equivalent uniform of a Senior Commissioner. His dark-rimmed glasses seemed a little too large for his face. He rose expectantly as Bob ushered Margaret into the reception room. It was cool in here, blinds drawn to keep the sun at bay, two rows of soft low chairs facing each other across the room, even lower tables in front of each, bottles of chilled water placed before every chair. Also rising to greet them were a younger man in uniform, and a pretty girl in her early twenties wearing a plain cream dress. Bob made the introductions. First in Chinese, then in English.

‘Margaret, this is Professor Jiang, Director of the Criminal Investigation Department — your department head.’ They shook hands and exchanged formal smiles. ‘And his assistant, Mr Cao Min. He’s a graduate of the university who’s been out there doing it in the real world for a while. A real-life detective.’ Mr Cao shook her hand solemnly. ‘And, uh, this is Veronica.’ Bob chuckled. ‘Lots of Chinese girls like to give themselves English names. Come to think of it, I don’t believe I know what your real name is, Veronica.’

‘Veronica do fine,’ Veronica said, shaking Margaret’s hand and smiling sweetly. She was extraordinarily tiny, her childlike hand almost disappearing inside Margaret’s. ‘I translate for you.’

They all took their seats, Professor Jiang, Mr Cao and Bob on one side of the room, Margaret facing them on the other. Veronica sat in neutral territory on a chair by the window. Margaret felt as if she were attending an interview, and sat with a strained smile on her face, waiting for whatever would happen next. After a moment, Professor Jiang composed himself, sat forward and began addressing Margaret directly in Chinese. She found it strangely disconcerting not being able to understand a word he said but being obliged, somehow, to maintain eye contact and listen with interest. Professor Jiang’s voice was very soft, its cadences almost hypnotic, and Margaret caught herself beginning to sway back and forth. She had a sudden, overpowering desire to sleep. She blinked hard. The professor spoke for what seemed like an eternity before finishing with a tiny smile and sitting back in anticipation of her response.

Margaret looked to Veronica for enlightenment. Veronica thought for a long time. Then she said, ‘Ah… Professor Jiang say he welcome you to the Chinese People’s University of Public Security. Very pleased to have you here.’ Margaret waited for more, but Veronica had clearly finished, and all eyes were on Margaret for her reply. She smiled and locked eyes once more with the professor.

‘Uh… It’s a very great honour, Professor, to be invited to lecture at the People’s University of Public Security. I only hope that I can live up to your expectations of me, and that I can bring some enlightenment to your students.’ She caught Bob winking encouragingly at her from across the room, and not for the first time that day felt an urge to punch his smug face.

Professor Jiang leaned forward again and breathed Mandarin across the room for another eternity.

‘Professor Jiang say he sure you bring much light to students.’

The professor watched eagerly for Margaret’s response. She was at a loss, so just smiled and nodded. Which seemed to go down well, for the professor grinned broadly and nodded back. They smiled and nodded back and forth for the next quarter of a minute before Mr Cao suddenly sat forward and said, in a West Coast American accent, ‘You and I will meet tomorrow morning and go over your schedule of lectures. If you require any audiovisual facilities, or access to the pathology labs, then I can arrange this.’