Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

‘Revenge for what?’

‘Someone like Yuan Tao might have been seen as having jumped ship,’ Stan said, ‘and then betrayed his country by going native in the States.’

Margaret was incredulous. ‘So they wait thirty-odd years for him to come back and then bump him off? You don’t really believe that, do you?’

‘Not for a minute.’ Stan shook his head. ‘But you’ve got to remember, Margaret, the right wing back in the States has been scratching about looking for another bogeyman ever since the Soviet Union turned turtle. And China’s it. The press is full of anti-China propaganda. Some of it’s pretty gross. But some of it’s pretty subtle, too. Sometimes it’s all in the tone. And then they make movies like Seven Years in Tibet or Red Corner which get the folks back home all in a rage about Chinese injustice. I mean, Red Corner ’s an entertaining story if you like that kind of thing, but its portrayal of the Chinese justice system was just ludicrous. Laughable. Except that the Chinese authorities weren’t laughing. They banned it, and then got accused of censorship.’

Margaret followed him to a desk where a woman sat at a cash register. ‘I didn’t know you were such a champion of the Chinese, Stan.’

‘I’m not,’ he snapped. ‘But people back home who don’t know anything about this country should keep their ignorance to themselves. All it does is make our job more difficult.’

He passed in his order, paid for it and collected a bottle of water from the cold cabinet before heading for a table where Jon Dakers was waiting for them. Margaret realised she was expected to pay for herself. She took a few yuan from her purse, grabbed a Coke and joined them. Sophie sat down beside Dakers and folded her hands on the glass top that covered a garish floral print tablecloth. She hadn’t ordered anything to eat. Dakers had already eaten. He grunted some kind of acknowledgement across the table to Margaret and passed her a buff-coloured folder. ‘The Yuan Tao file,’ he said. ‘Sophie tells us you don’t believe he was murdered by the same person who killed the other three.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you think it’s a copycat job?’

‘That’s how it looks.’

Stan and Dakers exchanged glances. Dakers said, ‘So what about this cop who’s leading the investigation?’

‘What about him?’ Margaret looked suspiciously at Stan.

‘You trust him?’ Dakers asked.

‘Trust doesn’t enter into it. He’s a good cop. As straight as they come.’

They all sat back as a Chinese waitress came to the table with their orders. Margaret flipped open Yuan Tao’s file and glanced down the photocopied pages. A few dates and paragraphs, reports and statistics. A man’s life in black and white. As easy to scrumple up and throw in the trash as it had been to cut off his head. She wondered if he had gone to the same middle school as the other victims but couldn’t immediately see where to find it.

‘The thing is, Margaret,’ Stan leaned in confidentially when the waitress had gone, ‘this is already making headlines back home. Chinese-American murdered on return to ancestral homeland. You know the kind of thing. But a lot more lurid. The anti-China brigade are jumping on it, rubbing their hands with glee. And with the Chinese President due to visit Washington next month we’d like this cleared up as soon as possible.’

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with me.’

Dakers said, ‘We want you to stick with the investigation.’

Margaret laughed. ‘When I finish my autopsy report, I’m out of here. Why don’t you investigate it yourself, Jon? You used to be a cop.’

‘The Chinese wouldn’t contemplate taking an American cop on board. Even an ex-cop like me. You’re an expert in a specific field, one they acknowledge we know more about. That’s quite different. And besides, you’ve worked with them before.’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I figure you’ll find that after what happened last time, they wouldn’t consider involving me again.’

‘I reckon you could be wrong there, Margaret,’ Stan said.

Margaret shook her head, smiling at his ignorance. ‘What makes you think that, Stan?’

‘Because we already asked them,’ said Dakers.

It was dusk outside Li’s top-floor office window. Streetlights had gone on all over the city. People were eating at streetside stalls, or were hurrying home to cook meals for themselves. The barber shops were doing brisk business. Traffic had ground to a standstill on the ring roads and on the tree-lined avenues and boulevards, and arc lights had snapped on high above those construction sites where work would go on all night, bare-chested workers scrambling over bamboo scaffolding twenty storeys up.

The trees in Beixinqiao Santiao below cast deep shadows and darkened the street. The staff of the All China Federation of Returned Overseas Chinese opposite had all gone home. Police vehicles, some blue-and-whites, some unmarked, were parked bumper to bumper on the sidewalk. Officers going off duty greeted officers coming on for the night shift.

Li stood at the window, smoking, engulfed by a deep inertia. He heard a couple of kids laughing as they kicked a ball along the street. Other people had real lives out there. Hopes, aspirations, a future. Life went on. There was a purpose to it. He wondered if he had just lost all purpose to his. For as long as Margaret had existed in his mind, just as he remembered her before they were parted, he could not really believe that he would never see her again. Somewhere deep inside him was buried a small seed of hope. Now that he had confronted her, felt her anger and hurt, and told her they had no future, that seed had withered and died. It was finally over.

There was a knock at the door and Qian appeared with a folder in his hand, fluorescent light flooding in from the detectives’ office outside. ‘You not want a light on in here, boss?’ he said. ‘Can’t see a thing.’

Li shook his head. ‘I like it that way.’

Qian shrugged. ‘That’s the file on Yuan Tao in from the American embassy.’

‘Leave it on my desk.’

Qian dropped the file on the desk and went out.

Li ran his fingers lightly down his cheek, still tender where Margaret had slapped him with such force. When he had arrived back at Section One, the detectives had all looked at him very oddly. But no one had said anything. As he had gone into his office he had been aware of some stifled laughter, and each time he emerged the room had fallen silent. Finally he had demanded to know what was going on. There had been a moment’s embarrassed silence before Wu said, ‘The boys were just speculating, boss, about your new technique for collecting handprints from crime scenes.’ There was laughter around the detectives’ room. Li had frowned at first, not understanding. Wu went on, ‘So, you just press your face against the print and lift it off — is that how it works?’

Li had put his hand immediately to his face and felt the weals that ran diagonally across it, left by Margaret’s fingers. His embarrassment was acute, but he daren’t show it or he would lose face. He must wear his slap like a trophy. After all, it was not so uncommon in China for men to be assaulted by women. A large percentage of the ‘domestics’ that the police were called out to involved husbands being battered by their wives. Li had grinned ruefully and said, ‘Come here, Wu, and I’ll show you how it’s done.’ He held his hand out, palm open, towards the detective.

Wu had backed off, grinning like an idiot. ‘Hey, boss, if you hit me half as hard as she hit you I’ll not get up again.’

‘Damn right you won’t,’ Li said, to roars of laughter.