“Are you threatening her?” Wang Zhen was in the man’s face, but the foreigner ignored him. Dao Ming could see that Wang Zhen was struggling to know how to respond to being treated like a stick of furniture.
Singh’s tone grew soft. “The girl who died – she wasn’t much older than you.”
Dao Ming’s head was bowed as she tried to avoid meeting his eyes.
“Where is Professor Luo, Dao Ming?” asked Singh. “Why has he not been to work?”
She hesitated and he followed up more aggressively. “What’s wrong? Is he in hiding?”
She looked up at this and, maybe reading the fear in her eyes, he added insistently, “Has he been arrested? You can tell us. We’re on your side.”
It was reckless, but she was desperate. She needed someone on her side, even if it was this ridiculous fellow in the turban with the kind eyes. She sat up, ignored Wang Zhen’s half-articulated yelp, and nodded once.
Ten
He fought, of course. When they came for him, he fought. But he was tied down to the bed with leather straps. Around his wrists and ankles. Luo Gan still made it difficult for them. His thrashing body meant that they couldn’t give him a sedative. The nurse held the needle while the male assistants tried to hold him down. His body arched and fell, arched and fell. He was pouring with sweat, crying and screaming. The other prisoners in the hospital wing were beginning to struggle too. His fear was infectious. Besides, now they knew. As the word was spread from bed to bed in whispers, many accepted the truth. It made sense – the fact they were in hospital despite not being in bad shape, a few cuts and bruises from beatings, but since when had the authorities cared about that?
The naive had hoped that it meant they were about to be released, the government surely didn’t want them to go home with the evidence of abuse writ large on their bodies. The more cynical had assumed they were being patched up so they could take further beatings until their re-education was complete. None had suspected the reality – not even when individuals were wheeled away on their beds. Not even when they did not come back.
The nurse was frantic. “Hold him! Hold him!”
The orderlies tried and tried again. They kept glancing up at the other rattling beds, at the screaming patients. “What’s the matter with everyone?” one of them yelled. “Do you think this will help you? Greater punishment will follow! I promise you that if you do not settle down.” In that moment when his attention was distracted, Luo sunk his teeth into the man’s hand and his howls reverberated through the ward, in harmony with the patients even as he managed to wrench free. Luo felt his jaw dislocate in the effort to hang on.
One of the prisoners, the big man known as Little Horse, successfully rocked his bed over. It fell on its side with a crash. He was still restrained and his body strained against the belts as gravity tried to have its way. His pose resembled the crucifixion. The orderlies hurried over to try to right the bed, prevent any further efforts to break free. Little Horse was strong though and he wrenched his body this way and that, fighting off their attempts to get a hold.
Professor Luo stopped thrashing as the nurse and the orderlies rushed over to Little Horse. He was exhausted and felt faint. He closed his eyes, trying to recover his breath. Points of light drifted against the darkness of his eyelids. His jaw was throbbing and twisted, drowning out the pain from the rest of his body.
He knew they would come again. They’d wanted blood type B, and he was the only one on the ward who fitted the bill. He’d heard the nurse say so in an undertone when one of the men had complained that he was too old.
Luo sensed the nurse approach from the other side. She’d seen an opportunity in his stillness. He opened his eyes a crack and watched her approach, syringe at the ready. A few feet away, Little Horse was still fighting his corner. He’d managed to bite an orderly who had been foolish enough to reach across him to hold him down by the shoulders. No surprise – teeth were the only weapons the prisoners had. He’d drawn blood and the orderly was enraged. Luo knew it was only a matter of time before they knocked the big man out. As if the thought was father to the deed, the second orderly grabbed a chair and brought it crashing down on Little Horse. His face split open and blood spurted everywhere.
“Stop it!” screamed the nurse. “We cannot damage them – you know the orders!”
Her back was turned to Luo as she said this. He saw his opportunity. Reaching as far as the straps would allow, he grabbed her wrist, twisted it and stabbed her with the syringe in the same action. All the years of falun gong exercises in the quiet of his home had left him in good shape. The nurse stared at the syringe sticking out of her upper arm and then yanked at it, shouting her anger and fear. But even as he watched, he saw her eyes glaze over as the powerful narcotic kicked in and she slid to the floor. The other two men had barely noticed. They were still wrestling Xiao Ma. The big man was gasping for air through his broken nose and teeth but still he struggled like a demon. Luo yanked at his bonds despite knowing the futility, desperate to go his aid, aware that time was running out.
Time ran out – there were shouts in the corridor and the swing doors at one end of the ward burst open. Soldiers rushed in wearing the khaki green of the PLA. They were armed with machine guns and pistols. It didn’t take them long, despite the mêlée, to identify the main source of trouble. They rushed over, boots thumping against the cement floors. One of them reversed the machine gun and brought the butt crashing down on Xiao Ma’s head. The crack reverberated through the room. One moment the big man had been fighting with every sinew, the next he was laid out on his bed, as still and silent as the dead, blood soaking through the thin sheets around his head.
“What’s going on?” demanded a soldier.
“They fought – we were not expecting it.”
“What happened to her?”
The orderly, still staring at the tooth marks in his arm, turned to look at the fallen figure of the nurse. He pointed at the syringe sticking out of her arm.
“This fellow must have stabbed her.”
Luo didn’t bother to deny the charge. It was all over. He felt sorry for Xiao Ma, who had fought so hard. He hoped they hadn’t killed him with the blow and then realised it didn’t matter.
“Make sure this one gets treatment,” said the soldier, pointing at Xiao Ma. “He’s a healthy one from the fight he put up – we don’t want to waste such an asset.”
A beeper on the orderly’s belt went off. He looked at the message. “They are waiting upstairs for the patient,” he said.
“Which one?”
The man pointed at Luo. “He started this whole thing,” he complained.
The nurse on the ground stirred, but no one except Luo noticed. These men were nothing if not single-minded.
“You are a troublemaker, old man.”
“That is correct, soldier.”
“Well, your time for such activities is almost up.”
“Then I will take pride in knowing that I spent my adult life trying to save China from people just like you.”
“Will you come quietly or is my buddy here going to have to knock you out like the big fellow?”
Professor Luo shrugged. The time for fighting was over. The battle was lost, but he hoped someday the war would be won. He spared a thought for his children, for Dao Ming, beautiful and headstrong, and Dao Wu, thoughtful and kind. He wondered whether they would ever find out what had happened. He wished he’d left a note, anything really to explain what he had done and why he had done it. He remembered his last conversation with the police at the faculty office, how it had ended.
“You are falun gong – don’t think we do not know that.”
He’d shrugged. “Your threats do not frighten me.”
The policeman’s expression had grown thoughtful. “I believe you, Professor Luo. You are unafraid of consequences to yourself.” He paused and then continued, “Justin Tan was helping you with your work?”
“You know he was.”
> “I have heard that your oldest daughter – her name is Dao Ming? – I have heard that she also assists in this foolish crusade of yours.”
Luo grimaced and spat, the taste of blood in his mouth was disgusting. He had done the right thing, the only thing he could have done to protect his daughters – it just hurt to think that his children might never know, never understand why he had walked out the door that day and never returned. His last thought was for Justin, that likely lad beaten to death in an alley. Once again, the soundtrack of Justin’s last minutes filled his memory. Was his own fate really any worse than that? And wasn’t it so much more deserved? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. He bowed his head. It was fitting. “I’ll come quietly,” he said.
♦
Jemima held the photo up in front of him as if she was sharing a family shot of a recent holiday.
“Justin took this. Not long before he was killed.”
He took it from her, holding it by the corner to examine it more closely, and then put it down on the dining table. She noticed that his skin was wan and fine lines radiated from the corners of his eyes like a Chinese fan. She wondered for a second whether her death would have affected him the same way as Justin’s and then shook her head as if to physically dislodge the thought. Her father loved her, she was confident of that.
“What are you trying to say?”
“He was investigating a land acquisition in Beijing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous – why would he be doing such a thing? He was just a kid.”
She sighed and wondered when their father would accept that his children had grown up with opinions and principles of their own.
“You know his professor at the university, Professor Luo – he was very interested in these sorts of things. He wrote a blog that publicised land deals that he thought were unfair on the residents.”
“What does this have to do with Justin?”
“He always asked his students to help him, those who were interested.”
Jemima was sitting at the head of the dining table, talking to her father as he wandered around the room, straightening ornaments and flicking at his nails. A third of the time she was addressing remarks to his back. His restlessness was infectious and Jemima began to nibble on her fingernails, up and down, up and down, as if she was playing a harmonica.
“How do you know all this?”
“I found a file of his investigations, hidden under his mattress…and the photo.” They both turned back to the picture. A man standing in the corner. This man. Thinner now that he had been then. But back then his only son had been alive.
Anthony Tan turned abruptly and pulled out a chair so he was sitting at right angles to his daughter. “I still don’t understand what you’re trying to say?”
She wanted to look him in the eye, to be brave like her brother, but the strain was too great and she lowered her gaze to the shiny surface of the wooden table. An impractical and expensive antique rosewood piece. Her mother was always nagging them not to place hot or cold drinks directly on the surface. Such a trivial concern it seemed now.
“I think you’re involved in the land deal that Justin was investigating. The one to seize that place – ” she tapped the picture – “for a construction project. Even though the residents are against it.”
“That’s nonsense!”
The words were decisive but the limp tired tone was like a confession.
“According to his notes, there was a plan to clear people out of the hutong to make way for a shopping mall.” Again, she nodded at the picture. “I guess that must be the hutong, right here in Beijing. I thought this sort of thing only went on in rural areas.”
“The paperwork is in order,” said her father. “The people are being well compensated. The transaction is completely legitimate whatever Justin – or his professor – thought.”
Could one protest too much?
“We are just waiting for Dai Wei to issue the permit,” he continued.
“Mum says he’s a crook and can’t be trusted.”
“Your mum sees everything in black and white. There’s a lot of grey in this world. Dai Wei is a businessman who wants to see Beijing developed properly. There is no place for sentiment in these sorts of decisions.” He was growing animated, pacing the room with even strides. “People like your mother and this professor fellow would prefer to keep China in the dark ages.”
“I think this had something to do with Justin…getting killed.”
This stopped him in his tracks. He walked over and reached out a hand, took one of hers. “Jemima, how could you think something like that? How could you think I had anything to do with it? He was my son!”
“I don’t mean you had anything to do with it on purpose, Dad. But think about it. Justin is looking into this land grab and then he’s killed? These men are dangerous. Mum says Dai Wei is very ambitious and won’t let anyone stand in his way.”
“It’s a coincidence, I promise you. Justin would never even have crossed paths with Dai Wei. Besides, what threat could he have posed? It was a land acquisition – you’re right, some of the residents objected, but so what? It’s the price of progress!”
“Then what about the call?”
“What call?” He would not meet her eyes and she knew that he remembered all too well that she’d overheard the tail end of his conversation.
“The call where you warned someone to leave me alone.” She said it in the most matter-of-fact voice and gave herself a mental pat on the back. She was doing her best for Justin, not shirking the truth, not running away from confrontation. In a nutshell, she was behaving completely out of character. A lump at the back of her throat stopped her speaking for a moment. Justin would have been proud of her.
There was complete silence except for the gentle hum of the air conditioning.
“Dad, you have to be honest with me. I need to understand what’s going on.”
He was angry now. She’d seen it before when he was quarrelling with her mother. If he was in the wrong, he began by blustering, became defensive and eventually convinced himself of his ‘rightness’ and adopted a tone of weary indignation. But he was her father and she loved him.
“There is nothing going on for you to worry about,” he said, rising to his feet and walking to the door, signalling that as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. “We all miss Justin. We all want to understand what happened to him. But that is no reason to come up with these half-baked theories about his death.”
She might have agreed with him once upon a time. The old Jemima would have selected the path of least resistance without hesitation. But Justin was her brother and Jemima had loved him too.
“It sounded like they were threatening me!”
“You just misheard. You’re safe, I promise you. These Chinese businessmen like to talk tough, that’s all. It doesn’t mean anything. I’d never let anything happen to you, you know that.”
“Like you never let anything happen to Justin?” she asked, as he stepped out the door and shut it firmly behind him.
♦
“Arrested?”
“Wang Zhen just told me.”
Singh turned to the youth who was sitting possessively by Dao Ming.
“This is Wang Zhen?”
“Yes,” said Dao Ming.
The young man maintained a surly silence. There was no denying that he was a handsome fellow, but there was something about the shape of his mouth – a permanent pout? – the inspector did not like. And he was dressed in an expensive downmarket way, patched jeans and a faded checked shirt, which also contrived to annoy the inspector. If one drove a Ferrari, surely there was no need to wear intentionally ragged clothes?
“How do you know that Professor Luo has been arrested?”
“I have my sources.”
Singh eyed the petulant mouth again. He was pretty sure that Wang Zhen’s sense of self-importance was tied up with his sense of self-worth.
“A kid like you? What are your sources? Picture books?”
He’d read the boy right, he was steaming already at being so readily dismissed. The tips of Wang Zhen’s ears turned red and he leaned forwards as if debating whether to get up and punch the plump policeman in the mouth. Singh didn’t fear violence from him. Although Wang Zhen was trim and muscular, the policeman was an expert at spotting the difference between gym muscles and those that had been tested on the street. It frequently kept him out of dangerous situations. Besides, surely Li Jun would step in to rescue him? He glanced at the frail former policeman and decided his intervention might be willing and timely but inadequate to the task.
Dao Ming released the tension by saying hurriedly, “Wang Zhen’s father is senior in government, a member of the Politburo.”
“I can speak for myself,” growled Wang Zhen. Singh wondered at the relationship. Wasn’t this girl supposed to have been Justin’s girlfriend? Which stage of grief involved finding a replacement in less than a month? And this model, although more expensive, struck Singh as decidedly inferior. And what about her cut cheek and black eye? Was this aggressive young puppy responsible for that?
“So you ran to Daddy for help?” asked the policeman.
“None of your business.”
The Sikh policeman noticed that Li Jun’s herbivorous face wore an expression of extreme nervousness. It was probably time to dial back the antagonism a little bit. Superintendent Chen would be preaching caution at this point. On the other hand, that was just not Singh’s way.
He looked over at Dao Ming and noted her expression. “I’d speak up if I were you or you might end up in the market for a new girlfriend.”
Wang Zhen followed his gaze and decided on a semblance of co-operation. “I was told he’d been arrested. What’s it to you, anyway?”
“We’re looking into the death of Justin Tan.” He saw the boy’s mouth twist with dislike and added provocatively, “Dao Ming’s boyfriend.”
“I am Dao Ming’s boyfriend.” The statement was aggressive and he outlined his ownership, because that was clearly how he thought about it, by putting his arm around the girl. She shrugged him off immediately, unthinkingly, all her attention focused on Singh.
A Calamitous Chinese Killing Page 17