Peter May - The Runner

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. He called irritably, ‘Come in.’

It was Qian. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Chief. I got the information you asked for on the break-in at that photographer’s studio.’

Li frowned, for a moment wondering what photographer Qian was talking about. And then he remembered. The American married to Margaret’s Chinese friend at the antenatal classes. He almost told Qian to forget it, but he had taken it this far, he might as well hear him out now. He waved him into a seat. ‘Anything interesting?’

Qian shrugged. ‘Not really, Chief.’ He sat down and opened a folder containing a one-page report from the investigating officers, and notes he had taken during a telephone conversation with the photographer himself. ‘Just a break-in. The photographer’s name is Jon Macken. An American. He’s worked in Beijing for more than five years. Married to a local girl.’

‘Yeh, yeh, I know all about that,’ Li said impatiently. ‘What did they take?’

‘Well, that’s the only strange thing about it, Chief. They didn’t take anything. A roll of film. That was it.’

‘Are we investigating petty robberies now?’ Tao’s voice startled them both. He was standing in the open doorway with an armful of folders.

Li said, ‘I asked Qian to look into this one for me.’

Tao came in and laid the folders on Li’s desk. ‘For signing, when you have a moment,’ he said. Then he glanced at the folder in Li’s lap. ‘What’s our interest?’

‘I don’t know,’ Li said. ‘Maybe none. Why don’t you draw up a chair, Deputy Section Chief, and listen in? Then we can decide together.’

Tao hesitated for a moment, but Li knew he would take up the offer. Curiosity, pride, and the fact that it was a first. Tao was hungry for Li’s job, and here was a titbit to whet his appetite. He brought a chair to the desk and sat down at the window end of it. Neutral territory. Neither one side nor the other. Qian recapped for him.

‘So why would someone go to the trouble of breaking into a studio with an alarm system just to steal a roll of film?’ Li asked.

‘It was a used roll,’ Qian said. ‘I mean, Macken had already taken a whole bunch of pictures with it and developed them.’

‘So it was the negatives that were taken,’ Tao said.

‘That’s right. They made a bit of a mess of the place, but that was all that he can find missing.’

‘And what was on the film?’ Li asked.

‘Nothing of much interest,’ Qian said. ‘Macken’s been commissioned to take pictures for a glossy brochure advertising a club that opened in town about six months ago. He’d been there on a recce the day before and taken a few pictures for reference. Just gash stuff. Nothing that you would think anyone would want to steal.’

‘Well, that’s something we’ll never know,’ said Tao, ‘since he no longer has them.’

‘Oh, but he has,’ Qian said. ‘Apparently he’d already taken a set of contact prints. He’s still got those. He told me he’d looked at them all very carefully, but can’t find a single reason why anyone would want to steal the negatives.’

‘Maybe they didn’t,’ Tao said. ‘I mean, not specifically. It might just be coincidence that it was those ones that were taken.’

‘This place that he’s been commissioned to photograph. What is it, a night club?’ Li asked.

‘No, nothing like that, Chief.’ Qian’s eyes widened. ‘Actually, it sounds like a really amazing place. Macken told me all about it. It’s some kind of investment club for the very rich.’

Li frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Qian said, ‘It costs you a million yuan just to join, Chief. A million!’ He repeated the word with a sense of awe, as if in rolling his tongue around it again he might actually be able to taste it. ‘And that then entitles you to five million in credit.’

‘Credit for what?’ Tao asked.

‘Investment. This place is plumbed into stock exchanges around the world. If you’re a member you can buy and sell stocks and shares anywhere at the touch of a button. Macken says it’s got about thirty private rooms with TV and lounge chairs, two restaurants, four conference rooms, a communications centre that feeds the latest stock market quotes on to every TV screen in the place. There’s a sauna, swimming pool…you name it.’

‘A high-class gambling den, in other words,’ Tao said with a hint of disapproval.

Li was shaking his head in wonder. ‘I had no idea places like that existed,’ he said, and then he remembered Beijing Snow World, and thought that maybe he was more out of touch than he realised.

Qian shrugged. ‘Like everything else, Chief. It’s all change these days. It’s hard to keep up.’

Tao stood up. ‘Well, it doesn’t sound like there’s much there to interest us,’ he said.

Li said, ‘I agree. I think we’ll leave it to the locals.’

Qian closed his folder and got to his feet. ‘There was just one other thing,’ he said. Li and Tao waited. ‘Macken got the job because he and his wife are friends with the personal assistant of the club’s Chief Executive. She recommended him.’ He hesitated. ‘Well, apparently, she’s disappeared.’

Li scowled. ‘What do you mean, disappeared?’

‘Well, there’s not necessarily anything sinister about it,’ Qian said quickly. ‘It’s just, you know, she’s a young girl, early twenties. Lives on her own and, well, nobody seems to know where she is. Macken says he can’t raise her by phone, she’s not at her work…’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Tao said dismissively. ‘She could be anywhere. I mean, has anyone actually reported her missing — apart from Macken?’

Qian shook his head. Tao looked at Li, who shrugged. ‘Pass it back to the bureau,’ Li said. He had more important things on his mind.

Overhead lights reflected off the surface of polished marble on the floors and walls and pillars. At the top of the stairs, Margaret handed their tickets to a girl wearing trainers and an army greatcoat who turned timid, dark, inquisitive eyes to watch them descend to the platform below.

‘I don’t see why we couldn’t have taken a taxi,’ Mrs. Campbell said breathlessly.

‘I told you, Mom, it would take twice as long. The subway’ll get us there in ten minutes.’

‘If only it hadn’t taken us half an hour to get to the subway!’

In fact, it had taken twenty minutes to walk to the subway station at Muxidi, wind-chill reducing temperatures to minus twelve or worse. And her mother had complained every step of the way, tottering precariously on unsuitably high heels. Margaret had told her that the walk through the Forbidden City itself would take nearly an hour and that she needed sensible shoes. But her mother said she didn’t have any. Margaret suspected it was more a case of keeping up appearances. Image had always been very important to Mrs. Campbell.

They had only a matter of minutes to wait on the nearly deserted platform before a train arrived that would take them east to Tiananmen Square. Mrs. Campbell endeavoured to recover both her composure and her coiffure. The train was half-empty, and they found seats easily. A hubbub of chatter in the compartment ceased as they came in, but the silence was not at first apparent because of the recorded announcement in Chinese and English informing them which station was next. In this case, Nanlishi Lu. Then there was the rattle of wheels on rails. Margaret became aware of her mother nudging her.

‘What is it?’

‘Everyone’s staring at us.’ It was her mother’s stage whisper again.

Margaret glanced down the carriage and saw that nearly everyone was indeed watching them, in silent but unabashed curiosity. It was something Margaret had long since ceased to notice. But even today the sight of a westerner still drew stares of astonishment. Sometimes people would ask to touch Margaret’s hair, and they would gaze, unblinking, into her eyes, amazed at their clear, blue colour. ‘That’s because we look so strange,’ she said.