A Calamitous Chinese Killing

by Shamini Flint

  Fu gestured with the gun and Dai Wei obediently turned and headed back in the direction of the Embassy entrance. Fu followed behind. Singh bent over the dead man and hooked his arms under Anthony’s shoulders. Li Jun hurried over and grabbed his feet. With difficulty, they raised him off the ground and stumbled slowly after Fu with Susan forming an escort. They left a trail of blood and rain behind them on the pavement.

  Sixteen

  Mother and daughter were huddled together on the sofa, one tearful, the other dry-eyed. The two policemen, Singh and Li Jun, sat across from them. A deep silence reigned and had done for some time, punctuated by the occasional audible sob from Jemima. Singh stood up and went to a window, easing the curtains to one side so that he could have a quick peek. Outside, the Embassy grounds were a hive of activity. A squad of police cars were parked at random angles, their headlights reflected in the pools of water, the only evidence of the stormy weather earlier that evening. As he watched, Dai Wei, handcuffed and with his head bowed, was bundled into a squad car, presumably to take him to police headquarters. Singh’s head was spinning like an out of control merry-go-round.

  An ambulance was present although it was too late to rush Anthony Tan anywhere – his next stop would be a cold autopsy room, maybe even the same one that was used for his son. Embassy officials scurried around trying to limit the damage to reputation. The press, who had somehow got wind of events, were pressed against the main gates like a lynch mob. Singh was glad he was indoors.

  The doorbell rang and it was like a bell tolling for Anthony Tan. Li Jun looked at the First Secretary and she nodded once. The slight creature hurried away and returned a few moments later with Fu Xinghua.

  He immediately went over to the widow and took her hands in his as she rose to greet him. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You will be pleased to know that Dai Wei has been taken to police headquarters to be charged with the murders of your husband and son. And his own wife, of course.”

  “And you should know that I will not sit quietly by if there is any attempt to cover up what he has done.”

  Singh could only admire the woman, in the throes of loss, still determined to see justice done for Justin.

  “I give you my word that will not happen,” said Fu Xinghua. “My expectation is that Dai Wei will face a firing squad for the murders.”

  Singh, who had been listening quietly to this exchange as translated by Li Jun, now asked loudly, “What about his alibi for the night of Justin’s killing?”

  “The murder was committed by hired killers. He did not have to be there.”

  “But Qing saw something, and was killed before she could talk. Except that she couldn’t have seen Dai Wei, because he was here at an Embassy function.”

  “The factory girl? We are not convinced that her murder had anything to do with this case.”

  “But she called me, said she had information,” insisted Susan.

  “She was a factory girl – she probably thought that there was some easy money to be made pretending she knew something. Your reward posters around the aunt’s hutong were too tempting.”

  “But she was killed!”

  “These girls – so far from home, they often get into trouble. Relationships gone wrong, moneylenders, prostitution.”

  Singh pondered this explanation. If one took Qing out of the equation, then there was no reason that Dai Wei could not have ordered Justin’s murder. But it was completely contrary to what he’d believed to be the truth a scant three hours earlier. It was possible that he was wrong, of course. Even in Singapore, he was sometimes fallible. Why not here, far from home, operating in a strange culture and without the ability to communicate directly?

  “What was Dai’s motive?”

  “You are able to ask such a question?” Fu’s disdain for the foreign policeman was there for all to see in the curled lip. “Anthony Tan was having an affair with his wife. Everyone knew that Dai Wei was obsessed with that woman.”

  “How did he find out?”

  Fu Xinghua met his eyes and they were reptilian in their lack of emotion. “I told him. Of course, I could not have predicted the consequences.”

  “Of course,” said Singh, allowing the sarcasm he felt to infuse his tone.

  “But why would you tell him such a thing?”

  Fu altered his tone to speak to the First Secretary, derision replaced with courtesy. “I worked closely with Dai Wei in the crackdown on organised crime in Beijing. I knew he had ambitions for higher office. I feared that his wife would become a liability. It was intended as a friendly warning to get his house in order.”

  Singh looked across at Li Jun to see how he was taking the information. His sidekick’s expression was one of bovine placidity but his eyes were bright and alert.

  “His motive for killing his wife and lover are clear,” said Singh. “But what about Justin?”

  “What better way to punish a man than to kill his son?”

  Singh wasn’t buying it. The killing of Anthony and his own wife had been the classic crimes of passion. He remembered Dai Wei’s dazed expression when they had reached the crime scene – his rage exhausted, he’d been docile and cooperative, seemingly indifferent to his fate. That didn’t square with the suggestion of a complex long-term strategy of revenge beginning with the murder of Justin a few weeks earlier.

  “When did you tell him about the affair?”

  “Yesterday.” Fu added quickly, “But he might have known earlier.”

  “He didn’t,” said Singh emphatically. “You saw how he reacted – he killed two people, for God’s sake – do you think he could have kept up appearances if he’d known about the affair since before Justin’s death?”

  Fu sighed but acknowledged Singh’s point with a brief nod. “You are right,” he said. “I will tell you what I know but there must be agreement that it remains confidential.”

  Singh and Li Jun nodded in unison.

  “We are not sure of the exact details but Justin found out about the bribe that Anthony Tan paid to Dai Wei. He told the professor he worked with, Professor Luo. He was not sure what to do with the information because it implicated his father. But the professor went ahead and threatened Dai Wei that if he didn’t refuse planning permission, he would ensure the matter became public.”

  This was a whole lot more plausible, thought Singh. If Luo had gone behind Justin’s back and it had led to the boy’s death, it would explain the professor’s profound sense of guilt. He nodded to indicate that Fu should continue his hypothesis.

  “As a consequence, Dai Wei had Justin killed and the professor arrested to protect his reputation.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Professor Luo confirmed the story. After he was arrested for falun gong practices, he explained to the security personnel that he felt guilty because his work on land grabs had led to the boy’s death.”

  “But why was this information not acted upon?”

  “It was assumed that Professor Luo was lying to distract from his own deviant behaviour. It was only after recent events that his story has gained plausibility.”

  “And the professor will testify to this effect, that Dai Wei killed Justin to keep information about the bribe a secret?”

  “Professor Luo is dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Prison is a dangerous place…”

  Singh’s eyes closed, but the image of Dao Ming was not so easily shut out. He remembered what Li Jun had said just a few days earlier. Deaths in custody were common in China. It seemed that he’d been right. And Dao Ming and her sister would never see their father again.

  “I should tell you that senior figures would prefer that the motive for the murder of Justin be connected to the affair between Anthony Tan and his wife.” Fu Xinghua’s expression was wooden.

  “Why is that?”

  Li Jun’s voice was filled with bitterness. “So that they can pretend that D
ai Wei was not a corrupt official lining his own pockets at the expense of the Chinese people.”

  “The fight against black must not be compromised,” stated Fu.

  Why wasn’t he surprised? This man’s reputation and career were also tied up with Dai Wei. How much better for the government if the killings had been a crime of passion rather than a crime of Mammon? That way, the façade of law and order remained intact.

  “And if we won’t keep quiet?” asked Susan.

  “Dai Wei won’t be charged with Justin’s murder, just the other two.”

  When she didn’t respond, he became almost animated. “Isn’t it better that Dai Wei face justice for what he did? What does it matter if why he did it remains a secret?”

  Deep indentations were visible between Singh’s eyebrows.

  Jemima buried her face in her hands. Susan Tan put her arms around her daughter and glared at the policeman. “It is better if you leave,” she said. “I need to take Jemima upstairs.”

  Fu Xinghua nodded and rose to his feet. “I will keep you updated of progress,” he said.

  Singh watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face, and then hurried after Susan Tan.

  “Where are you going?” asked Li Jun.

  “Just to say my goodbyes, then I’m going back to the hotel for a well-deserved sleep. Why don’t you do the same thing?”

  “What about the new information? What we found out from Qing’s aunt?”

  “That’ll keep for another day.”

  Li Jun looked doubtful but he did not protest.

  ♦

  Forty-five minutes later, contrary to what he’d told Li Jun, Inspector Singh was not at the hotel but back at the hutong where Justin had been killed. He stood leaning against a wall and kicking his foot into the ground as if trying to dig a small hole. He was a still figure except for the rhythmic sucking on his cigarette and the puffs of smoke exhaled through his nose. The lone tree beneath which Justin’s body had been found was the only shelter along the street so Singh was grateful that the storm had done its worst and moved on to douse some other part of China in torrential rains. The night was clear and mild now, the air as fresh as it had been since he’d arrived in Beijing less than a week earlier.

  The policeman inhaled smoke deep into his lungs and admitted to himself that he was afraid. It had been a long time since he feared a meeting with a criminal; usually he anticipated it with pleasure, knowing that he was close to finding justice for a victim of violent crime. And it had seemed to him, against all the odds, perhaps because the fates were determined to annoy Mrs Singh, that he was destined for an old man’s quiet death. So why was he afraid this time? He realised suddenly that it was failure that frightened him. His fears this time were on behalf of Justin – that their best efforts would not find him justice. That Chinas elite would once again prove that they were above the law. He had sent Li Jun, scrawny and determined, away because he feared for him as well. It was never prudent to entice a tiger down from the mountains, but that was what the two of them had done with the case. And if he doubted that the consequences were real, he had only to remember Professor Luo who had not survived his guilt-induced encounter with the country’s security apparatus.

  He heard the sound of boots on cobblestones. It was a firm, even stride. Singh turned to face the newcomer, hoping his doubts were hidden from view.

  “Inspector Singh?”

  “Comrade Fu, I am glad you came here to meet me.”

  “I found the message you left under my car wiper asking me to come this way because you had important information.”

  The fat policeman had to look up to meet Fu’s eyes. The deputy chief of the Beijing security bureau was a good head taller than him. As he stood there, impassive, unruffled, his long coat slapping around his knees in the wind spirals, Singh fought the desire to walk away. He allowed himself an internal grimace – it was too late now anyway. He’d shown his hand merely by demanding a meeting.

  “What do you want? I am in a hurry, there is much work to be done to close this case.”

  “I have some important information that I thought you might like to know.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That the girl by the name of Qing left a note with her grand-aunt before she was murdered.”

  There was a brief pause and then Fu said, “So?”

  “She named her killer in it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the letter, Qing explained what she was about to do, whom she was about to blackmail…and why. Undoubtedly, the victim of the blackmail was also her killer.”

  “If it is as you say, it will be further good evidence against Dai Wei.”

  Singh almost smiled. The Chinese policeman was fishing for information, always a sign of weakness.

  “It was not Dai Wei she was attempting to blackmail.”

  Fu was watchful, cautious. “Who was it then?”

  “It was you.”

  “You bring me out to this godforsaken spot to tell me fairy tales?”

  “If you do not wish to hear my stories, you have only to walk away.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I will see if I can find a more willing audience elsewhere.”

  The moon slipped out from behind a cloud and the darkness beat a retreat into the corners. Singh did not blink or retreat as the other man took a purposeful step forwards. Instead, he tossed his cigarette on the road, ground it out with his heel and then took a step closer himself so that he was face to face, nose to nose, with Fu.

  “Show me this letter then if you think it might be of interest to me.”

  “Do you think I am a naive twenty-something from Hunan province to have my evidence with me?”

  “Then why should I believe you?”

  “Because you know it is the truth – that is why you haven’t walked away.”

  “It was Dai Wei who ordered that youth killed. He will be charged with the murder and does not deny it.”

  “I expect you put pressure on him to accept the outcome. Li Jun explained to me how the system works in China. Maybe you will threaten his family or offer to keep his corruption a secret so that his relatives do not lose their positions. Dai Wei has nothing to lose, so he will agree. After all, he will definitely face the death sentence for the other two murders.”

  “If you have this letter, why have you not taken it to the First Secretary or directly to the police? Why approach me?” asked Fu.

  “I prefer a more…financially rewarding solution.”

  “This is an odd choice for you,” said Fu. “The reputation of the Singapore police for honesty is widespread.”

  “Let’s just say I have developed an admiration for the Chinese way of doing business.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Singh was suddenly impassioned. “You think everything is fine in Singapore? Do you know how much pressure I am under to resign because my bosses don’t like my methods? Every chance they get, they send me off on dangerous missions like this one. Not long ago, I was almost killed on an investigation in Cambodia. My wife is worried because we have not saved much money for retirement. The police in Singapore are honest – when they are in Singapore. But when in China, when opportunity presents, why not do things the Chinese way?”

  “What about your friend, Li Jun?”

  “He does not need to know anything about this. He is incorruptible…and see what it has cost him. I do not want to end up like him.”

  “All right, let’s say I agree to play this game of yours. How much do you want for the letter?”

  “Five million yuan.”

  He laughed. “The girl only wanted a million.”

  “Inflation,” grunted Singh.

  “How do I know that you will keep your word, destroy the note?”

  “Again, I remind you that I am not a naive factory girl looking to make a quick fortune. I merely want to…retire in more comfortable circumstances, back in Singapore whe
re I belong.”

  “What about Li Jun?”

  “What about him?”

  “Does he know of this evidence?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Very well, I will make the necessary arrangements for payment in exchange for the letter.”

  “You show excellent judgement,” said Singh, turning away. “I am at the Hyatt. If you arrange for delivery of the money, I will fulfil my part of the bargain.”

  With the speed of a mongoose, Fu leaped forwards and wound an arm around the fat man’s throat.

  “You are a greedy fool,” hissed the other man.

  Singh struggled but Fu seemed impervious. He stood rock solid, feet apart. His grip tightened, and Singh felt his vision start to darken around the edges. He stopped his fight and let his body go limp, hoping to lull the man into easing his grip but to no avail. A small rational part of him knew that he’d underestimated the Chinese man. He’d expected trouble, but not there and then, in a crowded neighbourhood. So far, Fu had always acted through intermediaries; thugs to kill Justin, the hit man with the cold eyes for Qing. But it seemed that the security chief was not afraid to get his hands dirty.

  “Let him go,” shouted an angry, familiar voice and he felt rather than saw someone leap at Fu, knocking him sideways and causing him to loosen his grip for a moment.

  Singh sucked in oxygen and felt his legs go weak with relief. But the respite was brief, the grip tightened again.

  “You cannot kill both of us in time. Let him go or I run for help.”

  Singh was coherent enough to spot the flaw in Li Jun’s analysis. It was true that he would get to a residence before Fu could reach him, but that would leave one Sikh copper very dead indeed. Was he supposed to take comfort from the fact that his murderer would face justice?

  The situation deteriorated immediately. Fu pulled a gun from a holster in the small of his back and pointed it at Li Jun.

  “It seems you are mistaken and I can kill you both before you have time to summon help.”