Qiu Xiaolong - The Mao Case

Such a scenario threw light, however, on several aspects of the mystery: the source of Jiao’s money and the timing of it too. In today’s market, those antiques could be worth millions – so long as she could find a buyer. That also explained her frequent visits to Xie’s place – potential buyers. Furthermore, selling the hoard piece by piece accounted for the fact that Jiao didn’t have a large bank account but yet was capable of living in affluence.

At least it appeared to be more solid than the scenario about a book advance. A publisher could hardly have paid the money if they didn’t get the Mao material, whatever it might be.

There was something that didn’t add up, however, in the treasure scenario. True, Mao could have easily carried anything out of the Forbidden City. Kang Sheng, one of Mao’s closest allies in the Party, smuggled out quite a lot from the palace. Since Kang was tied up with the Gang of Four during the Cultural Revolution, his stealing was exposed. But Mao didn’t have to smuggle out artifacts. Mao was more than an emperor – he was a communist god. Women ran to him, not the other way round.

Such a scenario could be a scandal, but the Beijing authorities didn’t have to acknowledge it. After all, nobody could prove it. So why would they have launched an investigation?

The solitary teacup on the table stared back at him.

Finally, as he was about to leave, his cell phone vibrated violently, as if rippling out of the half-empty cup.

“A girl’s body was found in Xie’s garden,” Lieutenant Song said shortly.

“What?” Chen stood up. “When?”

“Early this morning. I called your home, but you weren’t in. So I got your cell phone number from Party Secretary Li.”

Chen thought he had given Song his number, but it wasn’t the time to worry about that. He glanced at his watch. It was probably already two or three hours after Internal Security had arrived at the crime scene.

When Chen made it to the mansion, to his surprise, he didn’t see any police outside.

Nor a curious crowd lingering on the street.

There was no one in the living room, either, as he stepped in.

At the end of the living room, however, he glimpsed a plainclothes cop stationed at the foot of the staircase. Xie must be in his bedroom upstairs.

Chen walked out into the garden. The body had been removed. Internal Security hadn’t waited for him. There were two cops still checking around the area cordoned off with yellow plastic tape. It was close to the spot where Chen sat with Xie the other day, under the blossoming pear tree.

Song strode over, and Chen gestured for the lieutenant to follow him to the back of the garden. He didn’t want others to overhear anything.

Song showed Chen pictures of the crime scene in silence. The girl was in a yellow summer dress, with the straps fallen off her shoulders, her skirt pulled high over her thighs, and one white sandal missing from a bare foot. She appeared to have suffered some sort of sexual attack. There wasn’t much indication, however, of any struggle in the pictures – nor in the garden, as Chen shifted his gaze to the cordoned-off spot.

It was Yang, the girl who had tried to take Jiao and him to another party just a couple of days earlier. Like Jiao, she was also said to come from a “good family,” though Chen had no idea what hers really was.

“Considering the circumstances, we have blocked the news for the time being,” Song said. “She was killed in a struggle against a sexual attack.”

Chen nodded, holding up a picture for close examination. “Any clues?”

“The identity of the deceased has been established. Yang Ning. One of Xie’s students. The time of death is estimated to be between ten p.m. and midnight last night.”

“But there was no class yesterday, as I remember.”

“No class. No party in the evening either.”

“Then how did she come to be here?”

“The question is,” Song said deliberately, “how did she get in here?”

“What do you mean, Song?”

“She couldn’t have flown into the garden like a butterfly. Someone must have opened the door to let her in. Who else was here at the time? Nobody but Xie.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t know anything, of course. What else would he say?” Chen didn’t have an immediate answer. “Xie says he alone has the key,” Song went on. “With the place frequently mentioned in the media, he makes a point of keeping the door locked all the time. People have to ring the bell and be let in. Yesterday evening he went to bed early.”

“Well…” Chen knew what Song was driving at. “We’ve put a man outside his room.”

Could the body’s appearing in the garden be a set up? It would serve as an excuse for “tough measures” by Internal Security, but Chen decided to put such a possibility aside for the moment.

“Tell me more about the discovery of the body, Song.”

Song provided a rather scanty summary. Around seven, Xie took his usual morning walk in the garden, where he was shocked by the sight of the body, lying face down under the tree. He called the police. It took about twenty minutes for the first officers to arrive at the scene. And it wasn’t until the cop turned over the body that Xie recognized it as Yang, a student in his painting class. He had no idea how she had come into the garden.

“Yang could have sneaked in by herself,” Chen commented, “with a key she had obtained.”

“Technically possible, but for what, Chief Inspector Chen?” Song countered. “To be attacked and killed by someone who had sneaked into the garden earlier?”

“She could have chosen the garden as a romantic place for her rendezvous. Quiet and secluded, especially when there’s no party at the house. Xie usually goes to bed early, which she knew.”

“Do you think that she would have gone to the trouble of obtaining a key for that purpose?”

“For some, it is a romantic place. These students come here not just for the painting class, you know,” Chen said. “Did Xie have any visitors yesterday?”

“He hemmed and hawed, saying only that he fell asleep early.” That was a problem for Xie. No alibi. It might not be uncommon for a man of his age to go to bed early, but that wasn’t good enough for Song, in spite of the fact that Xie himself had called the police.

“What are you going to do, Song?”

“We’re going to conduct a thorough search of the house,” Song said. “As for Xie, we’ll take him into custody first.”

So the Mao Case was back to ground zero: the “tough measure” that Internal Security had opted for – to break Xie, and then Jiao, for the sake of the Mao material.

“A body in his own garden, and no alibi – Xie whould have known better,” Chen resumed. “No one would be that stupid. Besides, what could be his motive?”

“Xie’s different. What’s his motive for his classes and parties? You never know.”

“He’s different, but if we lock him in as the suspect, it could mean the real criminal will walk away.”

“We have waited for your approach to work, patiently, for a week, but what? A young life was wasted. Had we acted earlier…”

Song was upset. So was Chen.

But for the case – the Mao Case – such a move could prove disastrous, even more so in the light of the latest information from Detective Yu. Chen was debating whether he should share it with Song when the latter’s cell phone shrilled out. Presumably it was something new about Yang. Song listened, furrowing his forehead, while cupping the phone in his hand.

Chen made a vague sign to Song and headed back to the living room.

He was surprised at the sight of Jiao standing behind the French window, her eyes slightly squinting in the sunlight. She wore a white T-shirt and jeans with a leather label near the waistline. She could have seen them talking in the garden.