Peter May - The Firemaker

Li was shocked. In all the years he had known Chen, he had never before heard him swear. As his lawyer pulled him to his feet, The Needle turned his hate-filled eyes on Margaret before being drawn reluctantly towards the door. The two men left the room.

There was another long silence. Chen looked at Li dangerously, and in Chinese said, ‘What’s going on, Li?’

Li shrugged. ‘Beats me, Chief.’

‘It’s not how we conduct our business.’

‘Of course not.’

Chen turned to Margaret, and in English said, ‘Thank you, Dr Campbell. You have been very helpful.’

And again to Li, in Chinese, ‘Do it again and I’ll have you drummed out of the force.’

In the corridor, Margaret said to Li, ‘I want to talk to you.’

He knew what was coming and sighed. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘Now!’

They walked into the detectives’ room, faces turning towards them in eager anticipation. Margaret marched straight through and into Li’s office, her face like the thunder rumbling among the storm clouds gathering in the heat outside. Reluctantly, and to the disappointment of the detectives, Li followed her in and closed the door behind him.

‘You bastard!’ Margaret almost spat at him. ‘That’s why you took me along this morning. So I would lie for you!’

Li shrugged innocently. ‘How could I know you would lie for me?’ Her eyes narrowed angrily and she wanted to punch him and kick him, to hurt him any way she could. ‘Why did you?’ he asked.

She turned her head away, counting up to five to herself, trying to keep control. ‘That’s a good question. I’ve been asking it myself. I think…’ She tried to keep her breathing slow and steady. ‘I think because I didn’t want to make your uncle ashamed of you.’ A sudden thought made her turn to face him again, eyes blazing. ‘Is that why you took me to see him this afternoon? So I would like him, and not want to see him dishonoured by the behaviour of his nephew?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I can’t believe how stupid I was not to realise this morning why you took me to the stadium. You wanted a witness. Someone of unimpeachable character. Someone you knew wasn’t going to rat on you, no matter how much they disapproved of what you did.’ She waited for some kind of reaction. None came. ‘Are you going to deny it?’

He couldn’t think of anything to say. She stood for several moments, glaring at him, and then quite unexpectedly started to laugh. He looked at her in amazement. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘You. No, not you. Me. I actually thought you were shy. And sensitive.’

‘I am,’ he protested, a smile breaking across his face.

‘You’ — she jabbed a finger at him — ‘are a selfish, insensitive, calculating, cold-blooded bastard. And you’d better buy me dinner, ’cos I’m fucking starving!’

It was after seven thirty as the BMW swung south down the west side of Tiananmen Square. Great dark storm clouds were gathering in the evening sky. The light was a strange pink colour, as if the world were covered in a film of it. The air was oppressive, the heat almost unbearable. A hot wind gusted among the crowds in the square, blowing kites high into the blue-grey sky above the Great Hall of the People.

The atmosphere in the car was oppressive, too. Lily was clearly displeased at not being apprised of events in Section Chief Chen’s office. She was even less pleased to be excluded from the arrangement that Li and Margaret had made to meet that night. Margaret was getting very tired of Lily Peng, and their last exchanges had been terse and tetchy. She was no longer sure whether Lily had been given some watching brief, or whether she was simply being officious and nosey. A third possibility that Margaret had toyed with was the notion that Lily might be jealous, that she had some secret fantasy about Deputy Section Chief Li. Whatever the truth was, Margaret was just anxious to shake her off.

They turned on to West Qianmen Avenue and headed towards the university to pick up her bicycle. Shimei, the diminutive driver, had assured her that it would fit in the trunk. Lily had insisted that they drive her back to the hotel, and Margaret wasn’t about to argue. She also needed to call in at the Centre of Material Evidence Determination and ask Professor Xie to arrange further tests on Chao’s blood, to confirm that he actually had been infected with AIDS. Then back to the hotel, another quick shower, a change, and a taxi to meet Li outside the Foreign Languages Bookstore in Wangfujing Street.

She felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect. She was hopelessly confused about her feelings for him now. All she knew was that for the first time in months her mind was being stretched, her emotions engaged, and she felt alive again.

Wednesday Night

Above the Foreign Languages Bookstore in Wangfujing Street the sky was ominously dark, the evening light fading prematurely in the shadow of the black clouds congregating overhead. The heat was suffocating. Sweat soaked Li’s shirt, his third that day. On the way there from the railway station he had noticed a digital display on a tower block, alternating time and temperature, reading 20.10 and 37 °C. Some time tonight, he knew, lightning would illuminate the sky, thunder would crash and rumble across the city, and it would rain. Hot, torrential rain that would swell the gutters and wash away the dust of weeks. And after, it would be fresher, cooler, and possible to breathe again.

After writing his report for the Deputy Procurator General, he had turned up unexpectedly at the railway station to see his uncle off on the train. Old Yifu had been glad to see him. Surprised, but pleased. The old man had been quiet and solemn, and they had shaken hands before he climbed aboard the Sichuan express to take his seat in Hard Class among the smoking, eating, spitting travellers that jammed his compartment. Li had watched the train pull away from the platform, gathering speed into the misty evening. A deep depression had settled on him, an unaccountable sense of foreboding. He had wanted to call the train back and tell his uncle not to go. That his sister and her husband could look after themselves. His uncle seemed so fragile, somehow. Old in a way that Li had never seen him before. My only regret is that I was separated from my wife for that period. We had so little time together afterwards , he had told Margaret. Li had never heard him express his loss like that before. It had always been something held close and private.

A red taxi pulled up at the kerbside and Margaret got out of the back. Li’s spirits lifted at the sight of her. She had put on a touch of fresh make-up, her lips warm and red, a smudge of brown on her eyelids emphasising somehow the blue of her eyes. She wore a pair of light, baggy cotton pants that hugged her behind and tapered to fine, slim ankles. She had a pair of white tennis shoes on her feet, and wore a short-sleeved silk blouse tucked in at the waist. A dipping neckline revealed a hint of cleavage, and emphasised the fullness of her breasts. Her hair cascaded back over her shoulders in loops and curls. Her smile was wide and affectionate as she ran up to him, and for a moment he thought she was going to reach up and kiss him. He experienced a mixture of fear and pleasure at the prospect. But she didn’t. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ Li responded, suddenly self-conscious. He thought she looked beautiful.

Margaret had seen him standing in front of the bookshop as the taxi drew up. He, too, had changed again, and was wearing a red brushed-cotton shirt, and fawn pants pleated at the waist. Red suited him. Strong and vibrant against the jet black of his hair. He had seemed distracted as he stood waiting for her, something sad in his expression. But his face lit up when he saw her, and his smile had made her stomach flip. She’d had to resist the temptation to reach up on tiptoe and kiss him, a natural, instinctive response to the feelings of affection that filled her with warmth and weakness. Instead, she slipped her arm through his and said, ‘Where are you taking me?’