Peter May - The Firemaker

‘Oh yes they can, Margaret.’ He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’

She shrugged his hand away. ‘None of your fucking business,’ she said, controlling her tears long enough to get into the elevator and press for her floor. As the doors slid shut, the tears came, hot and salty, and a deep sob tore at her chest. It wasn’t fair. How could they make her go? What right did they have? But she knew she couldn’t fight them, and she saw all her choices dwindling to zero.

She ran, still sobbing, along the landing to her room, past two astonished attendants. Inside, she slipped the chain on the door and sat on the edge of the bed, and let the tears flow freely down her cheeks. Her sense of powerlessness was overwhelming, like that of a child manipulated at the whim of an adult world whose power was absolute. The phone rang and startled her. It couldn’t be Li. She let it ring two or three times, fear growing inside her like a tumour, before lifting the receiver.

‘Hello.’

‘Dr Campbell?’ An American accent, the voice oddly familiar.

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Dr McCord.’

Her relief was almost palpable. ‘McCord? What the hell do you want?’

‘I need to see you.’

‘In your dreams.’ Her fear was replaced by anger. ‘You’re the guy who told me to fuck off twice. Remember? Why would I want to see you?’

‘Because I know why Chao Heng was killed. And I think I could be next.’

She caught her breath. There was no doubting the fear in his voice, an odd desperation. ‘I’ll meet you downstairs in the bar.’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Too public. Take a taxi to Tiantan Park — the Temple of Heaven. I’ll meet you at the east gate.’

Her fear was returning. ‘No. Hang on a minute…’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘For God’s sake make sure you’re not followed. I’ll see you there in half an hour.’ He hung up, and in the silence of the room she could hear her heart beating.

Li drove with the flow of traffic down Fuxingmennei Avenue towards the Gate of Heavenly Peace. Floodlit buildings on either side illuminated the way ahead. People had taken to the streets again to escape the heat of their homes. The sidewalks were crowded, families gathered beneath the trees on the south side. Li could see the tail-lights of vehicles stretching for miles ahead into the shimmering hazy night. Somewhere in the city Johnny Ren was patiently watching, awaiting further instructions. From whom? Deputy Procurator General Zeng would not be able to sleep for fear that Li had, perhaps, already begun to suspect his involvement. Somewhere, in some dark and secret place wherein power resided, a paymaster or paymasters must be trembling in fear of exposure. But exposure of what? Li’s ignorance seemed limitless. Whatever he knew, whatever they thought he knew, he felt a long way away from enlightenment.

How did one begin an investigation of a deputy procurator general without at least some proof? Who would authorise it? And who else might be involved? Not Chen, surely? But then, he had been so dismissive of the idea that Chao’s body had been deliberately destroyed, of the thought that Professor Xie might have been complicit in the incineration of blood and tissue samples. What was it they were so desperate to prevent him from discovering, and who stood to lose most from it?

Li knew he needed his uncle’s advice. Old Yifu would listen to everything he had to say without fear or favour. He would trust Li’s instincts but have a different perspective. His years of experience, of the police, of the justice system, his ability to calmly rationalise and sift through conflicting evidence, would be invaluable. More than ever before in his life, Li needed his uncle’s help now.

He drove past the Gate of Heavenly Peace, Mao’s portrait gazing down implacably upon the crowds in Tiananmen Square and his own mausoleum, a stern paternal figure remembered now with affection, his excesses and failures forgiven and forgotten. Past the gates of the Ministry of Public Security, and then right into the shady seclusion of Zhengyi Road. Immediately Li stood on the brakes, bringing his Jeep to a standstill. Near the foot of the road, outside the gates to the Ministry-provided police apartments where he lived with his uncle, were the blue and red flashing lights of several police vehicles and an ambulance. The road was blocked off, several uniformed officers milling on the sidewalk. Li felt a knot of nausea turn in his belly, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He jammed his foot on the accelerator and sent the Jeep careering down the street to screech to a halt behind the ambulance. The uniformed officers turned in surprise as he leapt out of the car. ‘What’s happened? he demanded.

‘There’s been a murder,’ said the senior officer.

Li looked up and saw all the lights on in his apartment, the shadows of figures moving around inside. He started running. ‘You can’t go up there.’ The officer tried to stop him, but Li pulled free.

‘I live there!’

There was no sign of the duty policeman as he ran to the front door of the apartment block. But inside, the ground-floor landing was swarming with uniformed officers. Li went up the stairs two at a time. Behind him he heard someone say, ‘That’s Li. Better radio up to the apartment.’

When he got to the second landing it, too, was full of uniformed officers. The door of his apartment stood wide open. Lights were on everywhere. Inside he could see more bodies in uniform and plainclothes, and forensics men in white gloves. He recognised most of the faces. They all stood looking at him, frozen as if in a still frame from a movie. The silence was eerie, broken only by the odd crackle of a walkie-talkie. Li pushed through the figures in uniform and into the apartment. Still no one spoke or moved. He passed down the hall, glancing into the living room. It was a shambles, furniture upturned, the television set smashed. Fear rose like bile in Li’s throat. He carried on down to the bathroom where there seemed to be the biggest concentration of plainclothes and forensics officers. Detective Wu, chewing almost manically on a piece of gum, stood in his way. He looked pale and shocked, and his eyes were full of incomprehension.

‘What’s happened, Wu?’ Li’s voice was husky, almost a whisper. He cleared his throat.

Wu said nothing. He simply stepped out of the way, and Li saw the red spray of blood across the while tiles, and the body of Old Yifu in the dry bed of the bath, impaled by his own ceremonial sword, driven with such force that it had passed right through him, through the plastic of the bath, and into the floorboards below. The shock brought tears immediately to Li’s eyes and he started to shake. He looked at Wu.

‘He put up a hell of a fight,’ Wu said.

Li wanted to scream. He wanted to smash his fist into faces and walls, lash out with his feet. He wanted to inflict maximum damage on everyone and everything within reach. He put up a hell of a fight . But it was Li’s fight, not Yifu’s. Why had they done this? What possible point could there be in killing his uncle? Wu shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve got a warrant for your arrest, Li. Issued by the Municipal Procuratorate.’

Li knew now that this was a dream. A nightmare from which he was certain to wake up. ‘A warrant?’ It didn’t even sound like his own voice.

‘For the murder of Li Li Peng.’

Li was almost incapable of taking in this new twist to the nightmare. ‘Lily?’ he heard himself say.

‘Got her head bashed in at her apartment,’ Wu said, almost as though it were the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’m afraid I’m also going to have to hold you on suspicion of the murder of your uncle and the duty police officer here at the apartments.’