Peter May - The Runner

‘I’m perfectly happy here,’ Margaret said, lying. ‘I have everything I need. And, anyway, after the wedding Li and I will be moving into family accommodation provided by the police. They’re big apartments.’

Her mother was struck by another horrifying thought. ‘Margaret, you do have another bedroom here, don’t you?’

‘Nope. Just the one.’

‘Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to share a bed with you?’

‘No, Mom, I’ll be sleeping on the settee.’

Her mother looked at her. ‘Is that wise? In your condition?’

‘Maybe you’d like to sleep on the settee, then.’

‘You know I couldn’t do that, Margaret. Not with my back.’

And Margaret permitted herself a tiny, bitter smile. That fleeting moment of worry about her pregnant daughter sleeping on the settee was the extent of her mother’s concern.

Another thought occurred to Mrs. Campbell. ‘I hope you’re not an early bedder,’ she said. ‘You know how I don’t sleep so well. I like to sit up late watching television.’

‘Mom, you can watch television as much as you like, but you do realise it’s all Chinese?’

‘What? Don’t you have any American channels?’

‘You’re in China, Mom. People here speak Chinese. They don’t watch American television.’

‘I suppose the Communists wouldn’t allow it.’

Margaret shook her head in despair. ‘Nobody would understand it!’

It took nearly an hour for them to unpack and find places for all of her mother’s clothes. And for the first time, Margaret realised just how limited her space really was. She could not imagine trying to cope in this apartment with a baby, and fervently hoped Li would be allocated their new home before the child was born. Her mother was clearly having doubts about whether she could last out until the wedding. ‘Is it really a week till you get married?’

‘Six days,’ Margaret said. ‘But we have the betrothal meeting tomorrow night.’

‘What on earth is that?’

‘It’s kind of where Li Yan officially asks me to marry him. In front of both families.’

‘You mean I’m going to have to meet his people tomorrow?’

‘Just his father. His mother died in prison during the Cultural Revolution.’ Mrs. Campbell looked shocked. Such things just didn’t happen in the United States. ‘But Li’s sister and his niece will be there as well. We’ve rented a private room in a restaurant, and we’ll have a traditional meal.’

Mrs. Campbell screwed up her face. ‘Margaret, you know I don’t like Chinese food.’

‘They don’t have Chinese food in China, Mom.’

Her mother frowned. ‘Don’t they?’

‘No, they just call it food here.’ And Margaret added quickly. ‘Just eat what you can. Another traditional thing we’re going to have, before the meal, is an exchange of gifts. Between the families.’

Mrs. Campbell was startled. ‘But I haven’t brought anything.’ She wouldn’t have liked anyone to think of her as mean. Particularly if they were Chinese.

‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing too elaborate. We’ll get what we need tomorrow.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, an easy one is money. Just a token amount. Usually ninety-nine yuan, or even nine hundred and ninety-nine. Nine is a very lucky number in China, because it is three times three, and three is the luckiest number of all.’

‘Hmmm-hmmm,’ her mother said. ‘And who is it who gives the money? Them or us?’

‘Well, I think we should, since we’re a little better off than they are.’ She knew that would please her mother. Anything that underscored her sense of superiority. ‘Other gifts are things like tea, dragon and phoenix cake, a pair of male and female poultry—’

‘I have no intention of giving or receiving hens,’ Mrs. Campbell said firmly, rising up on her dignity. ‘They’re dreadful, smelly creatures. And what would we do with them? You couldn’t keep them here!’

Margaret couldn’t contain her smile. ‘People in the city don’t exchange real poultry, Mom. Just symbols. Usually china ornaments, or paper cut-outs.’

‘And what would we do with a picture of a hen?’

Margaret shook her head and pressed on. ‘They also usually give candy and sugar, maybe some wine, or tobacco. But tea is the most important one. Because, traditionally, both families will want the couple to provide them with as many descendants as there are tea leaves.’

Mrs. Campbell cocked an eyebrow. ‘That would be a little difficult in a country that only allows couples to have one child, would it not?’

And for a dreadful moment, Margaret saw and heard herself in her mother. The tone. The withering sarcasm. And she was not at all sure that she liked it. Like catching an unexpected glimpse of your own reflection, revealing an unflattering side of yourself you don’t usually see.

Her mother went on, ‘I’m not sure I approve of any of it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This…betrothal meeting, and God knows what the wedding itself will be like! Margaret, it all smacks to me of heathen ritual. You were brought up a good Christian, I don’t know why you couldn’t have had a simple church ceremony. But, then, I suppose these Communists are all atheists.’

She headed back down the hall to the living room. Margaret sighed and followed, and found her, hands on hips, looking around the tiny room and shaking her head. ‘And if you think I’m going to spend the next six days sitting around in this pokey little place all day doing nothing, you’re very much mistaken.’ She delved into her purse and pulled out a brochure. Margaret recognised a photograph of the Gate of Heavenly Peace. ‘My travel agent told me if there was one thing worth seeing while I was here, it was the Forbidden City. Of course, I saw it in the film, The Last Emperor , but it’s quite another thing to see a place for yourself.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And no time like the present.’

Margaret wished she had never even told her mother she was getting married. ‘Aren’t you tired, Mom? I mean, wouldn’t you like a lie-down. It’s the middle of the night back home.’

‘If I sleep now, I’ll never sleep tonight. And there’s nothing like a bit of fresh air for keeping you awake.’

Li had all the reports on his desk in front of him. Autopsy, forensic, toxicology. Reports from officers on every case under investigation. The official results, faxed to Section One that morning, of all the dope tests carried out on the dead athletes in the weeks and months before their deaths. He had read through everything. Twice. From the accounts of the ‘witnesses’ to the death of the cyclist, to Sun’s accounts of their visits to the apartments of Sui Mingshan and Jia Jing. Still nothing made any sense to him. None of them, it seemed, had been taking drugs. The random urine tests, and the results from toxicology, bore each other out.

And why would anyone fake the deaths of people who had already died, apparently from natural causes? The odd thing here was that in the case of the three relay sprinters, none of them had even consulted a doctor in the recent past, so clearly they had no idea they were unwell. But where had they been when they died, prior to being bundled into their ill-fated car and sent speeding into a lamppost? And had they all died at the same time? Li found it baffling.

They had no evidence whatsoever that the cyclist had been the victim of foul play. But the witnesses to his ‘accidental’ death were, very conveniently, unavailable to them, and distinctly unreliable.

And he, too, had had his head shaved.

The shaving of the heads worried Li. He felt that somehow this had to be the key to the whole sordid mystery. Was it some kind of ritual? A punishment? And this mystery virus which would probably have killed them all. Where had it come from? How had they been infected? Who wanted to cover it up, and why? No matter how many times Li turned these things over in his mind, it brought him no nearer to enlightenment. There were so many blind alleys he might be tempted to turn into, wasting precious time and deflecting him from the truth. He was missing something, he was sure. Something simple, something obvious that he just wasn’t seeing. Something that would make all the difference and maybe, just maybe, tip him in the right direction.