Apricot's Revenge

by Song Ying

  “Simple and easy to read.”

  “Great. Come on up.”

  Xiaochuan had found an ancient pictographic version of “火” that resembled the one in Nie’s book, but with a curved bottom, which on closer examination, looked like a Chinese ingot, a lifelike pictorial illustration of flames.

  Nie Feng was visibly excited when he scrutinized the ancient pictograph for “fire.”

  “You’re a bloodhound today!” Nie praised the young officer, who blushed. Xiaochuan could not suppress his excitement as he asked Nie how he’d thought of finding clues in the oracle bone texts.

  “I got an inspiration from Officer Yao’s comment of ‘red tower mountain.’”

  “The symbol refers to fire, but I don’t believe Hu Guohao or Hong Yiming ever studied oracle bone texts,” Xiaochuan said. “So how would they have understood the killer’s meaning?”

  “Some things are actually quite simple, but we often overthink them,” Nie said. “This symbol is a good example. The killer drew a simple picture to indicate fire. If fire had a special meaning to someone, then that person would immediately have seen it as a representation of fire. For anyone else, it could have meant almost anything.”

  * * *

  Energized by their success, Nie Feng and Xiaochuan happily walked downstairs.

  “What an incredible, wonderful discovery!” Xiaochuan was beaming.

  “It’s like finding the key to solving the case.”

  “The key to the case, you think so?”

  “Yes. Now that we know what the pictograph means, it will lead us in the right direction.”

  They walked up to the counter, where Nie paid for the two books.

  “So this means that fire is connected to the deaths of the two real estate tycoons.” Xiaochuan guessed.

  “I think so, and maybe the killer as well.”

  “The killer?”

  “I’m just guessing.” Nie said cautiously. “If time allows, I’d like to conduct another experiment.”

  “Need my help?”

  “Not on this one. The police have been fully mobilized, so you’re busy enough.” He paused and thought before continuing, “Don’t share our secret with your Mr. Cui, not just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “He might not buy it.”

  “All right, I won’t tell him.”

  — 3 —

  The next afternoon.

  Zhou Zhengxing exited the Landmark compound in a black Audi. A black VW parked across the street fell in behind him. The VW was driven by Zheng Yong, with another officer in the passenger seat, both in street clothes.

  “Chief, this is Squad One,” Zheng whispered into his walkie-talkie. “The target is on the move.”

  “Don’t lose him,” Cui said on the other end.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Zheng sped up and caught up with the Audi as it headed toward Shennan Road.

  Twenty minutes later, a red BMW drove out of the Landmark compound; Zhu Mei-feng was at the wheel.

  Across the street, a white van started up to follow the BMW.

  “Chief, this is Squad Two. The phoenix has left its cage. I repeat, the phoenix has left its cage.”

  “Got it. Don’t lose her.”

  “We won’t.”

  Half an hour later, the black Audi drove into the Municipal Government compound and stopped in front of the administrative building. Zhou Zhengxing got out and entered the building, to conduct business apparently. His driver drove over to the parking lot, turned off the engine, and waited.

  “Chief, Squad One reporting. Target arrived at the Municipal Government Building.”

  Zheng Yong parked across the street to stake out the location.

  “Keep tabs on him, and don’t leave.” Team Leader Cui was at the command center in the Y District Public Security Office.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ten minutes later Squad Two called in.

  “Chief, Squad Two reporting. The phoenix has returned to her nest,” meaning Zhu Mei-feng was back in her beauty salon.

  “I see. Stay with her.” Cui sounded disappointed.

  “Chief, this is Squad Three. Target is on the move.” Xiaochuan.

  Cui picked up his walkie-talkie.

  “Good. Don’t lose him.” His voice was higher this time.

  Xiaochuan’s target was Zhong Tao, in a black Buick, leaving the compound.

  Xiaochuan and Yao Li, in a white van, fell in behind the Buick as it traveled down Shennan East Road, passed the Opera House, the News Plaza, and the Municipal Government compound, before turning south on Shangbu Road. Xiaochuan closed to within a distance of thirty meters.

  The Buick turned onto Nanyuan Road and stopped in front of an upscale coffee shop. Zhong parked his car and went inside. Xiaochuan pulled up outside a restaurant across the street and observed the coffee shop with Yao Li. The sign above the door read Sicily Café.

  “Chief, Squad Three reporting. Target entered a coffee shop on Nanyuan Road; looks like he’s meeting someone.”

  “Got it. I want to know who he’s meeting.”

  “Will do.”

  Xiaochuan fixed his eyes on the coffee shop.

  The car was like a steamer on that hot afternoon, so Xiaochuan cranked the window down a bit. About ten minutes later, a familiar figure appeared in their field of vision. The man was strolling along as if on springs, with a devil-may-care attitude. The green T-shirt, beige baseball cap, and white cloth sack with red straps were unmistakable.

  “What’s he doing here?” Yao Li muttered. He was about to enter the coffee shop.

  “Ah, I see,” Xiaochuan said as he dialed Nie’s cell.

  “Hey, Nie Feng, it’s me, Xiaochuan. I’m in a van across the street.”

  “Oh.” Nie stopped, turned to look, and said, “I see you.”

  “Did you ask Zhong Tao to meet you here? Need any help?”

  “Call me in twenty minutes,” Nie whispered into his cell. “Say you’ve got something for me.” He hung up and walked into the coffee shop.

  Dark red curtains hung in front of tall rectangular windows beneath a domed roof. There were two levels, both tastefully decorated. The bottom level was divided into eight cozy rooms with homey satin-covered sofas, circular rattan tables, and European-style desk lamps. Labels and logos, ads, and maps for coffees from around the world decorated one wall. A variety of coffeemakers adorned a wooden counter, which, set against two large orange chandeliers, gave the place a special feel.

  A waitress in a white apron came up as soon as he entered.

  “Your friend’s waiting for you upstairs, sir.”

  Nie looked up to see Zhong nodding at him.

  A wooden staircase abutted the redbrick wall facing the entrance. Photos of movie stars from around the world covered the wall. Nie held on to the metal railing as he climbed the stairs.

  The upstairs section was quiet, with an unobstructed view of the seats downstairs. Nie sat down and commented, “Nice place.”

  “My college friends sometimes meet here, but I don’t come very often,” Zhong said.

  Nie had called him earlier that morning, telling him that he was due back to Sichuan in two days and would like to see him before he left. Zhong quickly agreed and picked the place to meet. He seemed to be in a good mood.

  “What would you like, Mr. Nie?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Their Blue Mountain is the best.”

  “I don’t care for it, too sour for my taste.”

  “A bit tart, but rich and aromatic with a long finish. That’s precisely why people like it.” Zhong sounded like a connoisseur.

  Nie ordered a mocha, while for Zhong, it was Blue Mountain. The waitress quickly brought their coffee in green frosted cups trailed by enticing fragrance.

  “I see you like mocha,” Zhong observed. “It has a strong, rich flavor.”

  “I know nothing about coffee, so I pretty much close my eyes and point,” Nie said as he added milk and sugar
, stirred the coffee with the tiny spoon, and took a sip. It was indeed rich and strong. “When I’m busy, I drink Maxwell House instant.”

  “Good to the last drop.” Zhong smiled as he recited the famous line.

  Nie also smiled. Zhong seemed to be in an unusual mood. Gone was his serious, dour demeanor, and he was more talkative. Nie had no idea why, but he felt a closeness to Zhong; maybe it was because they’d attended the same college.

  Zhong picked up his cup, now with a light golden sheen, and took a sip; it was perfect.

  “You don’t add milk or sugar?” Nie asked.

  “The best way to drink the best coffee is unadulterated. Some people even insist upon brewing it when the water temperature is exactly ninety-two degrees Celsius, saying that it brings out the natural coffee flavor and releases the beans’ soul. But that’s hard to do. I’m OK as long as the water is above ninety degrees.” Zhong took another sip before continuing, “I don’t use cream or sugar, so I can get the richest flavor possible. It’s a little bitter at first, but after savoring its lingering taste, you realize what it means to say ‘after the bitter comes the sweet.’ Oftentimes, life is like a cup of coffee with no added sugar; you must taste the bitter in order to enjoy the sweet taste later.”

  Nie Feng found Zhong Tao’s ability to connect coffee to life interesting. In his view, this older fellow alum appeared to be outstanding in every respect—talent, personality, taste, and intelligence. In addition to the humor typical of most Sichuanese, he seemed shrouded in intrigue and exuded masculine charm. Could such a likeable, exceptional individual be a killer? Nie wasn’t sure, unless there had been some sort of blood feud with his boss.

  What secrets were hidden behind the splendid façade of the Landmark Building? Nie was reminded of his last visit to the place.

  “I heard harmonica music the last time I was at Landmark.”

  “Harmonica?” Zhong asked. “Do you remember the tune?”

  “I heard it in the lobby. It sounded familiar, but I can’t recall its name.” Nie began to hum. “I’m a bit off, but it sounded like this.” He was embarrassed.

  “It sounds like ‘Apricot in the Rain,’” Zhong said casually.

  “You’re right. It did sound like ‘Apricot in the Rain.’ I heard that at C University’s anniversary ceremony.”

  “Someone said you’re also a graduate from C University,” Zhong said affably.

  “Yes. I was a journalism major, class of ’88.”

  “I wrote the lyrics to the song,” Zhong said lightly. “A zhiqing musician from the Sichuan Conservatory wrote the music.”

  “No wonder it sounds so moving.”

  “So you’re easily moved.” Zhong laughed, with a friendly mocking tone.

  “You can interpret ‘Apricot in the Rain’ two ways.” Nie felt like showing off. “One comes from The Thousand Poems, which goes, ‘The apricot rain fell on my clothes, barely wetting them / the willow wind blew past my face, a mild chill.’ It depicts early spring, when apricots bloom amid a fine rain.”

  Zhong listened wordlessly.

  “But I like the other interpretation better,” Nie continued. “‘After a gust of wind, the petals flutter down from the trees—’”

  “‘And all we have left are the setting sun and the apricot rain blanketing the ground.’” Zhong picked up the line from the song.

  “It’s a beautiful line,” Nie gushed.

  “But do you understand the true essence of the scene?” Zhong asked, his casual tone tinged with a hint of sorrow. Nie held his tongue.

  Zhong looked over Nie’s head, his gaze cast into the distance, which gave Nie a feeling that the man had experienced many trials. Or maybe there was something almost wild about him. The silence in the room was stifling, despite the easy-listening saxophone music.

  “Were you admitted into C University after returning from the countryside?” Nie was hoping to learn about Zhong’s background.

  “That’s right. I was one of the lucky ones to have a shot at college after 1977, when the entrance exams were reinstated.”

  “I heard that many Chengdu youths were sent to Yunnan as part of the construction corps.”

  “That was where the students from my high school went.”

  “Oh, where in Yunnan?”

  “Lanjiang.”

  “Which part of Yunnan is that?”

  “Ever been to Yunnan?”

  “No.”

  “So you wouldn’t know even if I told you.” Zhong seemed reluctant to continue. “It’s on the border with Burma.”

  “I guess the zhiqing have lots of stories to tell.”

  “The young have no regrets, as they say, but the price was too high.” That was all Zhong said.

  The waitress came over with hot towels.

  “May I take a picture with you?” Nie Feng asked abruptly.

  “Sure.” Zhong did not hesitate. So Nie took out his Pantex and handed it to the waitress.

  “Would you take our picture?”

  They posed by the table, Zhong standing with his arms crossed and Nie smiling. The waitress clicked, a light flashed, and Nie’s cell phone rang.

  “This is Xiaochuan. I went to the Nanyuan Guesthouse, but you weren’t there.”

  “Ah, I’m at the Sicily Café, chatting with Mr. Zhong.”

  “I’ve got what you’re looking for. Want me to bring it over?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Nie closed his phone and said to Zhong, “That was Officer Wang; he’s bringing me some material.”

  “About the case, I assume,” Zhong said casually, though he seemed to be referring to something else. It piqued Nie’s interest, so he decided to go ahead with his hunch.

  “I have one more question. Maybe you can help me.”

  “I hope it’s not an IQ test,” Zhong joked.

  Throughout their conversation, Zhong had treated him like a younger brother, open, friendly, and personable, which made Nie feel guilty about what he had in mind.

  “It’s a psych quiz.” Nie scratched his head to cover up his awkwardness before fishing out a folded piece of paper from his tote. It was a copy of the one he’d found at Book City, with the two ancient pictographs. The left one was covered up.

  “Can you tell what this pictograph is?” He pointed at the uncovered one, an ingot, but his eyes were Zhong’s face.

  Zhong paused, but then he smiled. “An ingot.”

  Disappointed, Nie prodded, “Try again.”

  “Oh,” Zhong said. “A mountain, then.”

  Disappointment.

  “I’m slow. That was the wrong answer, wasn’t it?” Zhong said.

  With a goofy smile, Nie spread the paper out to show both symbols.

  “Now look again, and tell me what the right one is.”

  Zhong’s eyes swept back and forth between the two until he hit upon it. “Ah, I see. The right one is fire and the left is the mountain.”

  “This time you got it right.”

  “You can’t tell unless you can compare them.” Zhong sounded pleased with himself, as Nie, playing with the paper, was unsure how much he could believe Zhong.

  Xiaochuan entered the coffee shop in street clothes, with several magazines and a large manila envelope tucked under his arm. He looked around until he saw Nie and Zhong, and climbed the wooden staircase.

  “Have a seat, Officer Wang,” Zhong greeted him.

  “Thank you.” Xiaochuan said. “Sorry to bother you.” He sat down and handed him copies of Investigative Reference.

  “Chief Wu told me to give you these.” They had, in fact, been left in the police car in case the officers needed to refer to them.

  “Please thank Chief Wu for me,” Nie said to Xiaochuan. “I was giving Mr. Zhong a psych test. He got both symbols correctly.”

  Xiaochuan could see what Nie was getting at, so he took out several 8 x 10 police photos of Hu’s body, one of which was a close-up of his chest.

  “There’s an
intriguing symbol here, too.” Xiaochuan pointed to the scratch marks under the nipple, and turned to Zhong.

  “Mr. Zhong, what do you think this is?”

  Nie was watching Zhong.

  “I can’t say.” Zhong was cool as a cucumber.

  “They’re scratch marks on Hu Guohao’s chest,” Xiaochuan said.

  “So? What does that have to do with me?” Zhong asked, still calm and composed.

  “Nothing. I just thought maybe you could tell us what it is.”

  “Sorry, I can’t help you,” Zhong said, seeming to lose interest.

  Then, Nie, who had been watching closely, took out a book from his tote, A History of Chinese Oracle Bone Studies. “I’m pretty sure this mark is the same as the symbol for fire.” He pointed to a page in the book.

  Zhong’s expression seemed to change momentarily while an imperceptible smile creased the corners of his mouth.

  “Why would the symbol for fire appear on Hu’s chest?” Xiaochuan’s eyes bored into Zhong’s face.

  “How should I know?” Zhong said.

  “I imagine that ‘fire’ must mean something special to the person who planned the murder.” Then Nie raised his voice: “Either that or the victim had a fear of fire.”

  Zhong’s eyes suddenly bulged and his face turned an ugly dark red. At that instant, Nie almost thought he saw fires raging in Zhong’s eyes, and he could tell that Zhong was trying hard to control his anger.

  He quickly recovered and said to Nie Feng: “You have quite an imagination.”

  Xiaochuan exchanged a look with Nie and got to his feet.

  “Sorry, but I have to go now.”

  “So do I,” Nie Feng said as he stood up. “Good-bye, Mr. Zhong.”

  “I’m waiting for a couple of friends. So good-bye.” Zhong shook hands with Nie. He had a firm grip.

  Nie then walked out with the policeman and headed to the van across the street.

  “Hard work, Mr. Nie,” Yao Li said as she handed him a bottle of iced black tea.

  “Thanks.” Nie took the tea, but before taking a sip began talking about the visit to the café. Xiaochuan thought that Zhong did look a bit out of sorts, but he might not have known the significance of “fire.” Nie, on the other hand, believed that Zhong knew more than he’d let on, or he wouldn’t have looked so shaken and angry. Besides, his alibi was simply too perfect.