Qiu Xiaolong - A Loyal Character Dancer

“I’m not saying all of them are tied to the triad, but one insider can do a lot of damage.”

“Take a break, Comrade. Both Yu and you are overwrought. There’s no need to imagine yourself fighting in the Bagong Mountains, with every tree and weed an enemy soldier.”

Li referred to a battle during the Jin dynasty, when a panic-stricken general’s imagination turned everything into the enemy chasing him into the mountains. But Chen suspected that it was Li who had lost sight of the enemy. This was no time to take a break. Perceiving a slight change in Li’s attitude toward the investigation, he wondered whether he had done something more than his Party boss had expected.

He shifted his focus to Inspector Rohn’s cooperation, one of Li’s main concerns.

“The Americans are pursuing the investigation in their interests,” Li commented. “It is a matter of course for her to cooperate. As long as they know we are doing our best, we don’t have to worry. That’s all we need to do.”

“That’s all we need to do,” Chen echoed.

“We’ll try to find Wen, certainly, but it may not be easy to accomplish this within the time frame-their time frame. We don’t have to go out of our way for them.”

“I’ve not worked on such a sensitive international case before. Please give me more of your specific instructions, Party Secretary Li.”

“You’ve been doing a great job. The Americans must see that we are trying our best. That’s very important.”

“Thank you,” Chen said, familiar with Li’s way of saying something positive to soften what would follow.

“As an old-timer, I would just like to make a few suggestions. Your visit to Old Ma, for example, may not have been an excellent choice. Ma is a good doctor. No question about it. I still remember your effort to help him.”

“Why not, Party Secretary Li?”

“The Mas have their reasons to complain about our system,” Li said, frowning. “Have you told Inspector Rohn the story of Dr. Zhivago in China?”

“Yes, she asked me about it.”

“You see, the Cultural Revolution was a national disaster. A lot of people suffered. Such a story is nothing new here, but may be sensational to an American.”

“But that happened even before the Cultural Revolution.”

“Well, that’s like what happens in an investigation,” Li said. “You are not doing anything now, but it’s still what you have already done.”

Chen was astonished by Li’s reproof, which was not totally irrelevant.

“Also, I’m concerned by the accident in Zhu’s place. Those old houses with dark, rotten staircases. Fortunately, nothing serious has happened, or the American might really get suspicious.”

“Well-” I really am suspicious, Chen did not say.

“That’s why I want to reemphasize that you must provide a safe and satisfactory stay for Inspector Rohn. Think of something else to do. You have served as an escort for Westerners. A cruise on the river is a must for a tourist. And a visit to the Old City.” Li said, “I’m going to invite her to a Beijing Opera. I’ll let you know as soon as I have made arrangements.”

So Party Secretary Li actually wanted him to stop the investigation, though he did not say so explicitly.

Why? Chen was perplexed. There were so many possible points for him to ponder over. As he had suspected, he’d been given this assignment more for the appearance of carrying out an investigation than to obtain a result. If he was going to do a real job, it would have to be done without the bureau’s knowledge.

He tried to clear his mind on the way home, but he was still exasperated when his apartment building came in sight.

Turning on the light in his apartment, he compared his strikingly plain room with Li’s. No exquisite orchids breathing the owner’s elegant taste. No silk scrolls sporting the calligraphy of renowned scholars. A room is like a woman, incapable of standing comparison, he reflected.

He took out the cassette tape of Yu’s interview in the village. It had been express-mailed to his home. The information provided by Wen’s neighbors was not really new. The apathy shared by them was also understandable, considering what Feng had done during the Cultural Revolution.

To some extent, the chief inspector thought he could understand the isolation Wen had inflicted upon herself. During his first few years in the police bureau, he had also alienated himself from his former friends who had started teaching in colleges or interpreting at the Foreign Ministry. A cop’s career had not been his expectation for himself, nor his friends’. Ironically, that was one of the reasons that he had thrown himself into translating and writing in those days.

Wen must have been a proud woman.

The tape rolled slowly on to the interview with Miao, the owner of the only private phone in the village, about how the village folks paid her for their calls to people overseas. When people called home from abroad, they also used her phone. Miao explained, “When someone calls from overseas, there may be a long wait before his family comes to the phone. As international calls can be very expensive, some of them make a point of calling at a scheduled time. For Feng, it was always Tuesday evening, around eight o’clock. But for the first two or three weeks, he called more frequently. Once Wen was not at home, and another time she did not want to come to pick up the phone. They did not get along so well, you know. With such a husband, I do not blame her. A fresh flower stuck in a heap of ox dung. It’s surprising that he calls every week. I don’t think he has made much money. He has been there for only a few months…”

He pushed the stop button, rewound the tape, listened to it again, stopped it, made a note, and pushed the play button again.

“Anyway, before eight o’clock on Tuesday, Wen would come to wait by the phone. The last call was an exception. It came on a Friday. I remember. Feng said that it was urgent. So I had to run to get her. I do not know anything about the contents of their talk. I thought she looked upset afterwards. That’s about all I can tell you, Detective Yu.”

As the tape came to an end, Chief Inspector Chen lit a cigarette, trying to do some thinking.

Normally, for the first couple of days, there were a number of directions to pursue in search of a missing person, but once they were covered, and no clue discovered, the search came to a dead end. Still, some details were worth exploring. For one thing, why would Wen have refused to answer an expensive international call? Even if their relationship was terrible, wouldn’t she still want to join her husband in America?

He slipped off his shoes, lay down on the sofa, picked up a copy of Wenhui Daily. There was a column discussing doctors and nurses taking “red envelopes” or petty graft from patients. Maybe that was another reason why Mr. Ma enjoyed such good business. Visits to a state-run hospitals were covered by insurance, but the amount in the “red envelopes” could be staggering. Some called it a form of corruption; others attributed it to unreasonable distribution of wealth in the society. He put aside the newspaper, intending only to rest his eyes for a few minutes. He dozed off in spite of himself.

The insistent clanging of the phone intruded into his fading dream. It was Old Hunter.

“Sorry to call you so late,” Old Hunter said.

“No, I’ve been waiting for your call,” he said. “I was with Inspector Rohn in the hotel. So please go on with your report, in detail.”

“First, about the victim’s pajamas. Some part I have told you already. No label in the pajamas, but there is a fine design woven into the material, shaped like a V connected with an elliptical circle. I spoke with Tang Kaiyuan, a fashion designer. According to Tang, the design stands for Valentino, an international brand. Very expensive. There’s no store selling it in Shanghai. So the victim must have been a rich man. Possibly from another province. Maybe from Hong Kong.”