by Qiu Xiaolong
After the tour, Chen felt even more disoriented. Earlier in the morning, he had been ready to quit, believing that his career coming to an end. Now he was sitting at an impressive desk, the tall window behind him overlooking the People’s Square, with the afternoon sunlight shining on his brass director’s plaque.
But he did not have the time to ponder this unexpected change. Meiling handed him a copy of the department newsletter. “The latest issue, just delivered to us.”
It was an edition focusing on traffic violation cases. Most of the offenders were quite young. Yet they might be seriously punished, for the report’s tone sounded politically serious. Some might even get ten or fifteen years.
He leaned back in his swivel chair, feeling both exhausted and exhilarated, watching Meiling arrange the papers neatly in a pile on the desk. His first secretary. It was wonderful to have one. He was intrigued by the difference produced by a female presence in the office.
He settled down to the work.
The day turned out to be much longer than he had expected. He told Meiling to go home at six. By the time he himself was able to leave his office, it was already past eight.
Little Zhou’s guess was right. Chen had a car for himself, and a driver, too, who had called his office asking when he would be needed. He declined the offer; as the director of the Shanghai Traffic Control Office, he felt obliged to learn the situation firsthand.
With my horse galloping jubilantly in the spring wind,
I see the flowers all over Luoyang in one day.
The decision to take the bus home instead of his car cost him another hour. The bus came to a stop in bumper-to-bumper traffic at Henan Road. The weather was hot, and the passengers cursed the stuffy air loudly. He, too, grew inexplicably exasperated— involved in the collective angst of the city. Still, it was an ethical necessity for him, he believed, to experience the traffic ordeal as one of the ordinary Shanghai people.
It was not until he had reached his apartment, and lit a cigarette, that he was able to look back at the day’s events. He should have been elated by the unexpected promotion, but its very unexpectedness was disturbing to him. Why should he, of all people, have been chosen to fill such an important position?
A man, once bitten by a snake, would be nervous all his life at the shadow of a straw rope.
Yet it did not appear to be a trap. He thought about the last remark by Party Secretary Li as he left Li’s office, about Ling’s long distance call from Beijing. Was his promotion just due to her family? That was what he dreaded.
Chapter 38
Chief Inspector Chen—”Director Chen”—lost no time in exercising his new authority, as he sat in the leather swivel chair against a wall plastered with street and transport maps, looking down at the people moving about in the People’s Square.
One of the first few instructions he had dictated to Meiling was to summon Old Hunter to the office. As the old man had been working as a temporary traffic patrol officer, it was not difficult for Meiling to page him. Old Hunter arrived at the office, as Meiling was ready to leave. Chen asked her to stay, saying, “Don’t go, Meiling. Please get me the regulations regarding an adviser’s position for our department. Compensation, as well as the other benefits.”
“They are all in the cabinet,” Meiling said. “I’ll find them.”
“Congratulations. Chief Inspector Chen—oh no, Director Chen,” Old Hunter said as he examined the impressive office furniture. “Everybody says you are doing a wonderful job.”
“Thank you, Comrade Old Yu. It’s my second day here. As a new hand, I need your valuable help.”
“I’ll do whatever I can, Director Chen.”
“You’ve worked as a traffic officer. So one of the problems you must have noticed, I believe, is the problem of traffic accidents. These accidents cause not only casualties, but also serious traffic jams.”
“That’s true,” Old Hunter said, casting a curious glance at Meiling, who was kneeling on the floor, busily searching in the drawer of the tall file cabinet.
“I believe it is partially because more and more people are driving around without a license.”
“You’re right. Driving has become a fashion. Everybody wants to have his hands on the wheel. Driving school is way too expensive, and takes a long time, so some people go without a license.”
“Yes, this is really dangerous.”
“Exactly. Those young people—quite a number of them— seem to believe they’re born drivers. Totally irresponsible.”
“That is why I want you to do something—a sort of experiment. Choose one particular area, station yourself there, and look out for those licenseless drivers. If you have a hunch, stop the car for a checkup. Don’t just give a violator a ticket, take him into custody—no matter who he may be.”
“Good idea,” Old Hunter said. “As that old saying goes, you have to use a strong drug for a desperate disease.”
“And report to me directly.”
“That’s fine. Like son, like father. Where are you going to put me?”
“What about Jingan District? As for a particular street, you pick one. My suggestion is to start with Henshan Road.”
“Oh, Henshan Road—yes.” Old Hunter’s eyes sparkled. “I see, Chief Inspector Chen—no, Director Chen.”
“It’s an important task,” Chen said earnestly. “Only a veteran like you would be up to it. So I’d like to appoint you as our special adviser. You will have a couple of police officers under your command.”
“No, you don’t have to create a position for me, Director Chen. I will do my best anyway.”
“Meiling,” Chen said, turning to his secretary, “when you find the compensation regulation, send Adviser Yu the money in accordance with it.”
“I’ve already got it,” Meiling said, “A check can be cut right away.”
“That’s great. Thank you.”
“No,” Old Hunter protested in embarrassment. “I’d rather be a volunteer.”
“No, you will be paid, and you will have your men, too. That’s your authority. I just want to emphasize one point: Do whatever you are supposed to—no matter whose car it may be—with a white plate or not.”
“Got you, Comrade Director Chen.”
Chen believed he had made himself clear to Old Hunter—in Meiling’s presence.
Old Hunter should be able to detain whoever drove the white Lexus—at least for one day. If anything went wrong, Old Hunter was no more than a traffic police officer carrying out his responsibilities. So there was one thing Chen was now able to do about Guan’s’ case.
The result came faster than he had expected.
On Thursday, he attended a field meeting in the morning. The mayor inspected the project connecting the banks of the Huangpu River by the Yangpu Bridge. Once it was completed, the bridge would also alleviate the traffic congestion in the area. Chen had to be there too, mixing with a group of cadres, walking back and forth along the bridge.
When he returned to the office, Meiling pointed her finger at his closed office door with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. Approaching, he could hear a high-pitched voice inside his office. “It’s no good denying it, Guo Qiang!”
“It’s Old Comrade Yu talking with somebody in there,” Meiling said in a subdued voice. “He wanted to bring the man into your office. For an important case, he said. He’s our adviser. So I had to let them in.”
“You did the right thing,” he assured her.
They overheard Old Hunter saying, “Why are you trying so hard to save someone else’s ass, you sucker? You know our Party’s policy, don’t you?”
“Comrade Adviser Yu is right.” Chen opened the door upon a sight he had foreseen: Old Hunter stood like a Suzhou opera singer talking dramatically to a man slumped in the chair.
The man was in his early forties, lanky, narrow-shouldered, with a suggestion of a hunchback. The photo of the stranger on top of Guan flashed through Chief Inspector Chen’s mind. This
was the man.
“Ah, Director Chen,” Old Hunter said, “you’re back just in time. This S.O.B. has not spilled the beans yet.”
“He is—”
“Guo Qiang. He was driving a white Lexus—without a license.”
“Guo Qiang,” Chen said. “You know why you are here today?” Chen said.
“I don’t know,” Guo said. “Driving without a license is a minor offense. Just give me a ticket. You’ve no right to keep me here.”
“You sound like a happily innocent man,” Old Hunter said. “Whose car is it?”
“Take a good look at the white plate. It’s not difficult to guess.”
“Wu Xiaoming’s car—or rather Wu Bing’s car, right?”
“Yes. So you should let me go now.”
“Well, that is the very reason why you are being held here,” Chen said. “I tell you what. We have been watching you for days.”
“Why—so you’ve purposely trapped me,” Guo said. “You will regret it.”
“Comrade Adviser Yu,” Chen said to the old man, “thank you for bringing this suspect to us. From now on, it’s no longer a traffic violation case. I’m taking it over.”
“My last piece of advice to you, young man,” Old Hunter said, grinding out his cigarette. “Use your brains. Don’t you know who Comrade Chen Cao is? The new Metropolitan Traffic Control Director, as well as chief inspector of homicide, and head of the special case group, Shanghai Police Bureau. The game is over. You’d better come clean. A cooperative witness will be punished with leniency. Director Chen—Chief Inspector Chen—I should say—may work out a deal for you.”
As Old Hunter left the office, Chen stepped out, too, walking him to the elevator. “Have the car thoroughly examined, especially the trunk,” he said in a subdued voice, “for any evidence.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m going to do, Chief Inspector Chen.”
“Do it in an official way, Comrade Adviser Yu.” He held the door for the old man. “Have some other officer work together with you. Ask him to sign for anything, too.”
When he moved back to the office, he said to Meiling, “It’s important that we not be disturbed.”
“Now,” he said to Guo, closing the door, “let’s have a talk.”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” Guo said, folding his arms across his chest and staring defiantly ahead.
“We are not talking about a license or speed limits. It is about Guan Hongying’s case.”
“I know nothing about it.”
“In your testimony,” Chen said, producing a file folder from the cabinet, “you said that on the night of May tenth, Wu Xiaoming drove to your home around nine thirty. Wu turned your study into a darkroom, and stayed there for the night, developing his films. On that same night, a white Lexus was seen at a gas station about five miles from the Baili Canal. It was in that very canal that Guan’s body was found the following day. And it was Wu Xiaoming’s car, no mistake about it. We have the receipt bearing the gas ration coupon number. So who was the driver that night?”
“Wu might have lent his car to somebody else. How can I be responsible for that?”
“According to your testimony, Wu’s car was parked right in front of your home. Wu did not step out of the darkroom for one minute throughout the night. You were very emphatic. But you did not say that you yourself did not leave during the night. You had the car keys, as you do today. So you must have been the driver— unless you are providing a false alibi for Wu.”
“You cannot bluff people like that, Comrade Chief Inspector. Whatever you may say, I did not drive the car that night. Period.”
“You may call it a bluff, but we have a witness.”
“There’s nothing your witness can say against me. It’s the nineties now, no longer a time when you can detain a person just as you please. If it’s a case concerning Wu, don’t put pressure on me.”
“Don’t give me that,” Chen said, reaching for his briefcase. “I’m not talking about Wu, but about you. About obstruction of justice, perjury, and being an accessory to a homicide. You said in your testimony that you did not know who Guan was. False. Let me show you something.”
Chen produced a picture. The picture of Guan with a man on top of her. “Take a close look,” he said. “This was taken in Wu Xiaoming’s mansion, wasn’t it? Tell me that’s not you.”
“I don’t know anything about the picture,” Guo said doggedly, but with a hint of panic in his voice.
“You lied in your testimony, Mr. Guo Qiang,” Chen said, taking a leisurely sip of his tea. “You won’t get away with it.”
“I did not kill her,” Guo said, wiping away the sweat that had begun to bead on his forehead. “Whatever you say, you have no evidence to prove it.”
“Listen, even if we cannot nail you for the murder, the picture alone is enough cause to lock you up for seven or eight years. Plus your false testimony. Fifteen years, I’d say. You will be an ancient, white-haired hunchback when you walk out again. I’ll make sure you will have a wonderful time in there. You have my word on it.”
“You’re threatening me.”
“Think about your family, too. How will your wife react when she gets hold of that picture? Will she wait for you for twenty or more years? I don’t think so. You were married just last year, weren’t you? Think about her, if not about yourself.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Of course I can. So here is your chance: Work with me. Tell us what you know about Wu and Guan, and what Wu did on May tenth. A deal may be possible.”
“So you really think you can touch Wu?”
Chen understood the doubt in Guo’s mind.
He opened his briefcase again. In it was the envelope of the Party Central. Ling might have purposely chosen it for others to see. He had been carrying it with him. Not for any sentimental reason. He did not want to leave the letter at home with Internal Security snooping around.
“This is a case,” he said, flashing the envelope at Guo, “directly under the Central Party Committee.”
“So—” Guo stammered, staring at the envelope, “it’s a decision at the highest level.”
“Yes, the highest level. Now, you’re a clever man. Wu must have tipped you off about his maneuvers against me. What’s the result? I’m still chief inspector, and metropolitan traffic control director, too. Why? Think about it.”
“They are planning something against the old cadres?”
“That is your interpretation,” Chen said. “But if you think Wu will help you, you are dead wrong. Wu would be only too happy to have a scapegoat.”
“Are you sure you can work out a deal for me?”
“I’ll do my best, but you have to tell me everything.”
“Let me think—” Guo lifted his gaze from the envelope to Chen’s face and slumped further into the chair, making his hunchback more pronounced. “Where shall I start?”
“How did you come to know about the relationship between Wu and Guan?”
“I came to know Guan first—as one of those party girls. A lot of them were at Wu’s parties. They came of their own will. Some wanted to have fun, drinks, karaoke, and whatnot, some wanted to meet Wu, some wanted to take a look at the mansion, and some wanted to have their pictures taken . . . You have seen those pictures, haven’t you?”
“Yes, every one of them. Go on.”
“Wu Xiaoming has all the advanced photography equipment. His own darkroom, too. He published quite a few. Some of those hussies were just delirious about publicity. Wu’s got quite a reputation among them. And a way with them, too. Not to mention the other offers he could make.”
“What are the other offers?”
“Good, lucrative jobs, for instance. With Wu’s connections, it was not difficult for him to arrange such things. People are willing to do things for him, you know, so someday they might ask for something in return. Also, Wu introduced several girls to modeling agencies.”
“So in return, they let him take
pictures—even those pictures?”
“Well, some of them fell for him anyway, with or without his offering anything. They let him pose them, totally nude, before his camera. You don’t need me to tell you what happened after ward, Comrade Chief Inspector. One girl was so eager, she told me, that she was willing to sleep with him just for the pictures. ‘I’ll work for them,’ that’s exactly what she said.”
“Why did Wu want to take those pictures?”
“I don’t know—Wu’s a man who keeps his own counsel— except for one thing he told me. He was a bit drunk that night, I think.”
“What was that?”
“Those pictures could prevent the girls from getting him into trouble.”
“I see. You said that you first met Guan at a party. So was she like one of those party girls?”
“Well, at first I had no idea that she was the national model worker. There were no formal introductions at these parties. There was only one thing different about her that I noticed. She appeared to be unusually stiff when I tried to dance with her.”
“Had Wu told you anything about her?”
“No, not right away. But I could tell she was different. Unlike the other girls, she took it seriously.”
“Seriously—what do you mean?”
“The relationship with Wu. Most of the girls were there just for fun. A one-night stand, you might say. Some are far more liberal than you can imagine, offering themselves without your asking.
Guan was different.”
“So Guan expected something serious out of the affair—but was she not aware that Wu was married?”
“She was well aware of it, but she believed that Wu would divorce his wife for her sake.”
“Now that’s really something—for a national model worker to go after a married man—what made her think she would succeed?”
“I don’t know.”
“But what made you think Guan wanted Wu to marry her?”
“It was so obvious. The way she clung to him in such a wifely way, and put on an air of inviolable chastity to everybody else.”
“Did Wu treat her just like one of those girls?”