Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

“Those are just Hollywood stereotypes. I majored in Chinese studies, Chief Inspector Chen.”

“I was joking.” Why had he become so sensitive about the image of the Chinese police in her eyes, he wondered. Because of Party Secretary Li’s emphasis? He shrugged his shoulders, touching hers again. “Off the record, I’m quite good at cooking Gongbao chicken, too.”

“I would like to taste that.”

He changed the topic. “So what do you think of Shanghai? It’s your first time, right?”

“Yes, I’ve heard so much about this city. It’s like a dream come true. The streets, the buildings, the people, and even the traffic, all seem strangely familiar. Look,” she exclaimed as the car passed Xizhuang Road. “The Big World. I had a postcard of it.”

“Yes, it’s a well-known entertainment center. You can spend a day there, watching different local operas, not to mention karaoke, dance, acrobatics, and electronic games. And there’s a variety of Chinese food available in Yunnan Gourmet Street beside it. The street is lined with snack bars and restaurants.”

“Oh, I love Chinese food.”

The taxi turned into the Bund. In the play of the neon lights, the color of her eyes seemed not to be exactly blue. He saw a greenish tinge. Azure, he thought. It was not just the color. He was reminded of an ancient line: The change from the azure sea into the blue mulberry field, a reference to the vicissitudes of the world, which came to have a melancholy connotation-about the experience of the irrecoverable.

To their left, concrete, granite, and marble buildings stretched along the Bund. Then the legendary Hong Kong-Shanghai Bank came into view, still guarded by the bronze lions which had witnessed numerous changes in its ownership. Next to it, the big clock on the top of the neoclassical Custom House chimed the hour.

“The building with the marble facade and pyramid-shaped tower at the corner of Nanjing Road is the Peace Hotel, originally the Cathay Hotel, whose owner made millions from the opium trade. After 1949, the city government changed its name. Despite its age, it maintains its rank as one of the finest hotels in Shanghai…”

The taxi pulled up in front of the hotel before he finished his speech. That might be as well. He had a feeling that she had been listening to him with tolerant amusement. A uniformed porter strode over, holding the door for the American. The red-capped-and-red-clad employee must have taken Chen for her interpreter and showered all his attention upon her. Chen observed this with wry humor as he helped to put the luggage on a hotel cart.

In the lobby, he heard fragments of jazz. A band composed of old men was playing in a bar at the end of the hall, pumping out old standards for a nostalgic audience. The band was so popular that it was mentioned in the newspapers as one of the Bund’s attractions.

She asked about the dining room. The porter pointed to a glass door farther down the corridor, saying the dining room would remain open until three in the morning, and that there were bars nearby that stayed in business even later.

“We could have a meal now,” he said.

“No, thanks. I ate on the plane. I’ll probably stay awake until two or three o’clock tonight. Jet lag.”

They took the elevator to the seventh floor. Her room was 708. As she slid in the plastic card, light flooded over a large room furnished with dark wood furniture inlaid with ivory. The room was decorated in Art Deco style; posters of actors and actresses of the twenties contributed to the period feeling. The only modern items were a color TV, a small refrigerator beside the dresser, and a coffee maker on the corner table.

“It’s nine o’clock,” Chen said, glancing at his watch. “After the long journey, you must be tired, Inspector Rohn.”

“No, I’m not, but I would like to wash up a little.”

“I’ll smoke a cigarette in the lobby and return in twenty minutes.”

“No, you don’t have to leave. Just sit down for a minute,” she said, gesturing toward the couch. As she headed to the bathroom with a bag, she handed a magazine to him. “I read it on the plane.”

It was a copy of Entertainment Weekly with several American movie stars on the cover, but he did not open it. First, he checked the room for bugs. Then he moved to the window. Once he had wandered along the Bund with his schoolmates, wondering, looking up at the Peace Hotel. To look down from its windows had been beyond his wildest dreams.

But the view of Bund Park pulled him back to the present. He had not done anything about the homicide case yet. Farther to the north, buses and trolley buses rumbled across the bridge at frequent intervals. Nearby bars and restaurants displayed neon signs that flashed incessantly. Some stayed open all night. So there would have been hardly any possibility that people could climb into the park without being noticed, just as he had initially surmised.

He turned to make a pot of coffee. The talk he would have to have soon with this American partner would be difficult. He decided to call the bureau first. Qian was still there, dutifully waiting by the phone. Perhaps he had misjudged Qian.

“Detective Yu has just phoned in with an important lead.”

“What is it?”

“According to one of Wen’s neighbors, Wen received a phone call from her husband shortly before she disappeared on the night of April fifth.”

“That’s something,” Chen said. “How did her neighbor know?”

“Wen did not have a phone at home. The conversation took place in her neighbor’s home, but her neighbor knew nothing about the contents of that call.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Detective Yu said he would try to call again.”

“If he phones in soon, tell him to try me at the Peace Hotel. Room 708.”

Now he had something concrete to discuss with Inspector Rohn, Chen thought with relief, putting down the receiver as she came out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. She was dressed now in blue jeans and a white cotton blouse.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. Not tonight,” she said. “Do you know when Wen will be ready to depart for the United States?”

“Well, I have some news for you, but it’s not good, I’m afraid.”

“Something wrong?”

“Wen Liping has disappeared.”

“Disappeared! How is that possible, Chief Inspector Chen?” She stared at him for a second before she added sharply, “Killed or kidnapped?”

“I don’t think she has been killed. That would have done nobody any good. We cannot rule out the kidnapping possibility. The local police have started their investigation but so far, there’s no evidence supporting that hypothesis. All we know is that she got a phone call from her husband on the night of April fifth and disappeared shortly afterward. Her disappearance might have been caused by that phone call.”

“Feng is allowed to call home once a week, but not to say anything that might jeopardize the case. A record is kept of the calls he makes; I hope his conversation was taped, but it may not have been. He’s anxious for his wife to join him. Why would he say anything to cause her disappearance?”

“You had better check on his calls on April fifth. We would certainly like to know exactly what was said.”

“I will find out what I can, but what are you going to do, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“The Fujian police are looking for her. Checking all the hotels and buses there. No leads yet. It is important to find her as soon as possible, we understand. A special group has been formed. I’m in charge of it. My partner, Detective Yu, went to Fujian last night. In fact, I got the tip about this phone call just five minutes ago. He will keep us informed with respect to developments there.”