“You’re still here?” Wang Zhen spat the words out like orange pips.
“Admiring your car,” said Li Jun.
“I prefer them in black,” said Singh.
Wang Zhen leaned against the vehicle, the epitome of confidence, and said, “Is this is how you investigate, smoking cigarettes and gossiping like old women?”
“I’ve had a lot of success with it,” replied Singh.
“If you were Chinese, my father would arrange for you to be dismissed. There would be no iron rice bowl for one such as you.”
“Is that how you solve your problems? Run to Daddy?” The policeman leaned forwards until his face was level with Wang Zhen. “But with Dao Ming I see you prefer the direct approach.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You hit her.”
To his credit, he didn’t deny it. “I was angry – it was a mistake.”
“So let me get this straight. You usually run to your father to get you out of trouble. But once in a while you prefer to take things into your own hands. Curiously, I know of another similar situation.”
Wang Zhen was silent so Singh pressed on. “Let’s see, you disliked a young man because Dao Ming preferred him to you. Not something Daddy could help you with really…so did you take matters into your own hands? Employ a little violence?”
“Are you accusing me of murdering that fellow?”
“Hiring a bunch of thugs to do your dirty work sounds like something right up your street.”
Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Someone like me doesn’t need to kill anyone to get the girl.”
“But we know for a fact that your bodyguards tried to attack Justin once before. They would have succeeded if Li Jun here hadn’t stopped them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Wang Zhen flung open the car door and slid inside. In a moment the low rumble of the powerful engine filled the street. He leaned out of the window. “And you should be careful what you say to me – I think you do not wish to offend my father unless you want the cell next to Professor Luo!” On this parting note, he accelerated away, taking the first corner low and hard, tyres screeching in protest.
“I’d love it if he did it,” said Singh wistfully.
“Be careful what you wish for,” warned the other man. “It doesn’t matter if the Ferrari is red or black, it still belongs to trouble.”
Singh decided to ignore this latest in Chinese aphorisms. Instead, he said, “But sadly, I’m not convinced.”
“Why not?”
“You said the men cornered Justin outside a nightclub?”
“Yes, they were pushing him around when I told them that I was a policeman and the uncle of Fu Xinghua.”
“The place was crowded?” asked Singh.
“Yes, that area of Beijing, Guomao, is famous for its nightlife.”
“You see, that makes sense – Wang Zhen having Justin pushed around in a public place, a way of humiliating him as well as warning him away from Dao Ming.”
“But not the murder?”
“That was a quiet alley after midnight. No witnesses. It wasn’t a warning or a lesson about messing with Wang Zhen’s possessions. If it was planned, intentional – not a robbery gone wrong – then it was a very cold-blooded murder indeed.”
The inspector contemplated the angry young man and his generally hot-headed behaviour. He’d struck a girl he claimed to care about and lost his temper with them after what Singh would have characterised as mild provocation.
“But you think Wang Zhen’s blood is hot?” asked Li Jun.
“Exactly,” agreed Singh, nodding his great head. “As hot as Szechuan food…”
♦
The police chief flicked a speck of dust from the boot that was crossed over his knee. If he leaned forwards, he would be able to see his reflection in the leather – his servants were definitely worthy of their pay. He attracted the odd curious stare, but the few people who were about mostly minded their own business – it was not the Chinese way to get involved in the affairs of others. At most, he speculated with some satisfaction, they would wonder who he was and why he looked familiar. One or two, maybe more, might even recognise him, the sharp blade of the axe in the fight against black. Fu was, on balance, pleased with the way things were turning out. A few hiccups but they had constituted a warning, not a problem. And Fu had not made it to the pinnacle of his career, to the cusp of greatness even, without heeding the warning signs. It was the difference between him and other men who had risen fast only to fall back down again even more quickly. Chinese prisons were full of success stories awaiting execution by firing squad.
The vast grounds of the Temple of Heaven were still relatively deserted so early in the morning and still shaded from what promised to be a bright and intense day. He watched the old men and women conduct their t’ai chi exercises, like a slow-motion action movie. Curious really that this form of a workout was acceptable while falun gong practices were not. The ruling elite was prone to panic when they perceived a threat to their well-being and logic and common sense went out of the window.
Without looking around, he sensed that the man he was waiting for was close, striding towards the appointment, indifferent to the slower pace around him, like a twig caught in the current of an otherwise languid river. Fu Xinghua smiled, revealing even white teeth with a hint of yellow at the roots. He liked the metaphor. In many ways, it described him, surging ahead in the fast waters while others were left behind.
“Good morning, Jie,” he said.
The other man was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt with the characters for ‘handsome’ emblazoned in red. He was at least forty, but dressed like a much younger man and had the lean muscularity of someone who took pride in his physical condition. Jie sat down next to him and said abruptly, “It is done. Exactly as you requested.”
“I know that.”
“And my payment?”
“You are impatient today, Jie.” He raised an arm and indicated the expanse of the horizon. “Relax, take in the view. It is going to be a beautiful day, one for poets and artists to savour.”
“I am a simple man, sir, unable to appreciate the finer things.”
Fu laughed but reached into his briefcase and removed a brown envelope that he placed on the bench between them. Jie grabbed it, undid the seal with a long fingernail and ran his thumb over the thick wad of notes within. He smiled. “With enough money, the devil is your servant,” he remarked. He slipped the envelope into his backpack and asked, “Any other tasks for me?”
“We are planning an arrest this afternoon. A big fish who runs a state-owned manufacturing enterprise whose family has mysteriously amassed great wealth during his tenure at the top.”
“A worthy target,” said Jie.
A curious choice of words, thought Fu. Did this man in his ridiculous T-shirt think of himself as some sort of hero of the people? Did he feel regret when his targets were, for lack of a better word, innocent? He had never turned down a job on moral grounds which suggested that any principles were held in a loose grip to be set aside when necessary.
“But these rich men,” said Fu, shaking his head, “first sign of trouble and they call the best lawyers and cause trouble for everyone.”
“So you prefer it if the suspect dies resisting arrest?”
“You know me, I like to see justice done quickly.”
“It will cost more this time.”
“And why is that?” Fu’s nose wrinkled in distaste. Jie was sweating like a man who had worked hard to screw up the courage to ask for a raise but was not confident of the outcome.
“The last two jobs – the danger was quite great.”
“Surely not for a man of your talents!”
“I was on the roof of the building. But there was not much cover. I was not at all certain that one of your policemen would not spot me. If they had, I would have been as dead as that fat bastard you were trying to arrest.”
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Fu folded his arms and gazed at the other man through narrowed eyes. “I knew you were there and I could not see you.”
“I was lucky to get away with it.”
“How much do you want?”
“Double!”
Again Fu caught the animal scent of fear. The fox outside the hen house knows the pay-off if he gets it will be huge. But it also knows the farmer might be lying in wait somewhere with a shotgun.
“And what if I do not agree?”
“I do not think a man of your stature would make such an error of judgement.”
“Very well,” agreed Fu. “A good workman is always worth his wage. I will double your fee for this job.”
Jie’s face creased into a big smile.
“Same thing – we arrest the guy, you open fire from a hidden location.”
“And your policemen will return fire and the suspect will die in a hail of bullets.”
“That’s right. And what speaks to guilt more clearly than resisting arrest violently?” Fu chuckled out loud. He opened a notebook, tore out a page and handed it to the other man.
“Here is the address of the takedown. Make sure you’re in position beforehand.”
Jie pocketed the address without looking at it. “Of course, have I ever let you down?”
He was rewarded with a thin smile and a shake of the head. Jie rose to his feet and hurried away. Fu watched him retrieve the address and have a quick look at it as he walked. There was no hesitation in his step and Fu was confident that Jie was up to the task. He’d proved to be a conscientious worker and had not failed so far. The policeman cracked his knuckles and sighed. It was a shame Jie was getting greedy. It always happened. Human nature, he supposed. The underlings worked hard and did well and then they began to think they were indispensable. Having inflated the sense of their own importance, they eventually screwed up the courage to ask for more. And that was when they received a reality check.
He leaned back against the back of the bench and watched the sun emerge from behind the magnificent circular building that was the Temple of Heaven. The blue roof tiles glowed in the bright light. It was admirable what the ancients had achieved, thought Fu, building such an edifice without using a single nail. It was more difficult in modern times to be so pristine in one’s methods. He pondered the question of Jie again. He had to admire the fellow, for an illiterate hatchet man, his threat had been subtle – “I do not think a man of your stature would make such an error of judgement.” He was right, a man of his stature would not be so careless of his reputation as to let himself be threatened by a know-nothing gangster.
Fu extracted his mobile phone from the pocket of his coat and rang the station. He was immediately put through to his deputy, a hard-working fellow with limited imagination, the perfect sidekick.
“Yes, sir?”
“An informant has told me that there will be an assassin waiting at our planned arrest. He has been paid by our enemies to kill me. Tell the men to look out for him…and shoot on sight.”
“Would it be better if I handled this arrest so that you are not at risk, sir?”
“I trust you, my friend. I have no doubt you will get him before he has a chance to fire a shot.”
“It shall be as you say, sir.”
Fu Xinghua snapped his phone shut and grinned at no one in particular although it did earn him an answering smile from a young woman jogging past.
♦
“Good news!”
Anthony Tan did not bother to hide his relief. “You will issue the planning permission?”
“I always said I would.”
“That’s right,” agreed Anthony quickly. “And I never had any doubt. The only problem was that some of my investors were not as familiar with your power and influence here in Beijing, and the whole of China.”
Could he lay it on any thicker? For a moment, Anthony Tan despised himself almost as much as he believed his wife despised him. But there was no point thinking about that, the past needed to be left in the past. And now, maybe he was in a position to do so, having finally secured the future.
With the planning permission in hand, he would be paid his finder’s fee by the Singapore developers, pay off the gangster from who he had borrowed money and still have a decent sum left over. Enough to make a fresh start? Away from his wife? Away from the city that had taken his son from him? These were questions he would contemplate at leisure.
“You will inform your backers?” asked Dai Wei.
“The minute I leave your office.”
“I do not have to remind you that my financial involvement in the development project must remain a secret…between friends?”
“Your participation is appreciated and there is no difficulty about your preference to remain a sleeping partner,” agreed Anthony. “The other investors are grateful for your confidence in the success of the project.” Even in China elected officials, who provided the licensing necessary to evict households for commercial developments in which they had a financial interest, were best kept under wraps. Especially so when they had also demanded a bribe for the permit. A mere share of the project held through shelf companies registered to distant relatives was not enough for Dai Wei.
“Nowadays there’s always some intellectual with a blog popping up to complain about the necessary steps we have to take for the advancement of Chinese interests,” explained Dai Wei as if Anthony Tan was a reporter for the China Daily.
“But you seem to do a good job suppressing such unhelpful attitudes,” said Anthony. He remembered his daughter’s insistence that the project he was involved in was one that Professor Luo had been investigating with Justin’s help.
“The vast majority of the people agree with my vision for Beijing,” agreed Dai. “But there will always be outliers.”
“Did you have any particular difficulty with this project?” asked Anthony casually. “I know the residents were not too pleased when they first heard about it.”
“There are always those who complain.”
“We are fortunate that their story hasn’t been taken up by any of those crusading intellectuals,” said Anthony.
“Yes. They are a huge problem, using their positions to undermine our quest for economic growth. After all, which is more valuable, an old hutong or a twenty-first century shopping mall that attracts huge foreign investment to Beijing?”
“I’ve heard of one called Professor Luo from Peking University.”
“An activist?”
“Yes, who specialises in fighting what he calls ‘illegal land grabs’,” explained Anthony, crooking his fingers to indicate inverted commas and wondering why he was risking antagonising the other man. It was as if Jemima was at his shoulder, prompting him to continue. “Apparently, he’s investigating this transaction as well.” He sipped his tea from the fine china cup decorated with flying cranes, determined to keep his hands steady.
“Never heard of him,” said Dai Wei. “These intellectuals shout from the windows of their ivory towers but no one listens to them.”
Anthony hadn’t realised how much his daughter’s suspicions had weighed on him until he experienced the relief of knowing they were unfounded. Dai Wei had never even heard of Professor Luo. And if he had never heard of Luo, there was no way that he could have known that Justin had been helping him – which meant in turn that there was no way he was involved in Justin’s death. A weight of guilt was lifted off Anthony’s shoulders and he sat straighter and taller, a new man. A small voice in his head demanded to know if he was so sure he could tell whether Dai was dissembling but he ignored it. He’d always prided himself on being a good judge of character.
Dai noted the change in demeanour and smiled. “I can see you are pleased with this outcome!”
“I am indeed,” said Anthony. He decided that he would have to end the affair with Dai’s wife. This man was much more useful to him than any pleasures to be found in the arms of his wife.
“And don’t worr
y about troublemakers, whether it is this Professor Luo or anyone else.”
“I’m sure there is no problem,” said Anthony hastily.
“Even if there is, there won’t be for long. You can inform your investors that we will not allow anyone to get in the way of a successful enterprise.”
“Thank you,” said Anthony and stood up to take his leave. Dai Wei did not stand and Anthony suspected it was because he did not appreciate the height differential between the men notwithstanding the platform shoes. Anthony stooped to shake his hand and regretted that he was effectively bowing to the official. But the bottom line was always the bottom dollar, and unlike the planning licence, this bow was costing him nothing.
♦
Singh stared at the young girl as if she was an exotic species of butterfly. He wondered if he’d have a better time understanding teenagers if he had one of his own. He’d asked to see Jemima, hoping that she’d shed some light on Justins girlfriend or his relationship with Professor Luo. In his experience, a curious, lonely younger sibling was the best detective cum spy whether in real life or in fiction. Benson had driven her over with Susan Tan’s permission, but so far their conversation, or lack thereof, had been unproductive. Not even the information that Professor Luo had been arrested had provoked any disclosures, although he’d seen the shock in her wide eyes.
Jemima continued to pick at the tablecloth, showing no inclination to speak. Singh decided that a coffee might help, especially if it was hot, milky and sweet. He was prepared to be patient as long as he was well lubricated. In his experience, family often knew things, it just took them a while to realise it and a little while longer to decide to share it. He waved to a waitress and ordered a drink. He raised an enquiring eyebrow, like a caterpillar on the move, at his companion but she shook her head. He sighed, looked around, wondered whether in a parallel universe somewhere, he was a businessman trying to climb on board the Chinese gravy train. If that were the case, his doppelgänger would undoubtedly be in this ostentatiously gold lobby. His coffee arrived and he sipped it slowly, slightly horrified at the price. Superintendent Chen was quite likely to assume he’d been imbibing beer with breakfast and refuse to cover his expenses.
A Calamitous Chinese Killing Page 19