by Qiu Xiaolong
“I understand. What I said to you was only common sense. But accidents do happen. How could you prove that Wei’s death was the result of his investigation?”
“Technically, the theory that Wei was murdered is as implausible as the accident theory. The SUV was parked on Weihai Road, about one hundred meters from the corner. Wei was walking in one of a few possible directions—he was either walking straight along Weihai to the west, or turning onto it from the south of Weihai, or had approached it from the north. Taking into consideration the time it takes for the traffic light to change, it would have taken Wei one or two minutes at the most to reach the spot at which he was run down. How could the SUV driver have spotted Wei from that distance, started the engine, raced to the spot, and run him down? Unless, of course, Detective Wei’s plans were already known to others. The SUV could have been waiting for him to arrive, and someone else could have been following Wei all along, to give the SUV the signal.”
“That’s so complicated.”
“That’s why it was so alarming. And who could have known Wei’s schedule? I talked to his wife, and she knew nothing about his schedule that day. According to his colleagues, Wei didn’t even come into the office that morning. I asked Party Secretary Li about it, and he was vague, saying that he couldn’t remember whether or not Wei had called him that morning—”
There was a light knock on the door, and through the door came a call, “Cold dishes.”
A young waitress in a scarlet silk mandarin dress stepped into the room. She served six dainty dishes on the table and glibly started introducing them.
“Deep-fried crispy rice paddy eel, live river shrimp in salt water, homemade tofu mixed with green onion and sesame oil, sticky-rice-filled dates, sliced xiao pork, spicy transparent beef sinew. This is all genuine Shaoxing cuisine. It’s all fashionable homestyle cooking, and the ingredients are all organic and fresh. Mr. Gu insists on it. There is also champagne in the ice bucket.”
“Shaoxing cuisine?” Lianping asked, looking at Chen.
“It’s what I asked for when I called Gu to reserve the room,” Chen said.
“It’s all very Chinese,” Lianping said, “except for the champagne.”
“I could bring some Shaoxing rice wine?” the waitress offered. “We have Maiden Red. Eighteen years.”
“That would be good.”
The waitress walked out light-footedly, carrying the champagne bucket.
“Why did you ask Gu to prepare Shaoxing cuisine?”
“Remember the festival dinner?”
“Yes—once you appeared at the festival, you were surrounded by well-known and not-that-well-known writers, as well as officials of the local writers’ association. They seated you at the distinguished-guest table, and you were the most distinguished one there, toasted by everybody.”
“That’s not what I wanted. Not at all. I didn’t insist that you be seated with me, Lianping, because I had no idea how much longer I’d be ‘distinguished.’ It might not have been good for you,” he said in a somber voice. “But that afternoon, I was thinking about a black-awning boat meal of Shaoxing local dishes and wine, just you and me.”
The waitress returned, carrying a small red-covered urn and cups.
“There was only one left.” The moment she tore away the urn cover, an intoxicating fragrance permeated the room. She skillfully poured wine for each of them into dainty white porcelain cups.
“If you push the top button on the wall, a small red light will come on outside. That red light is just like a ‘Do not disturb’ sign at a hotel. Whenever you’re ready for the hot dishes, push the button below,” the waitress explained, then bowed gracefully and left, closing the door after her.
Gazing at the amber-colored wine in his cup, Chen said, “There’s an old folk tradition that whenever a daughter is born, the family buries an urn of rice wine. On the day of her wedding, many years later, they dig up the urn. It’s a very special wine.”
“It is eighteen-years wine and very rare.”
“So I drink a cup to apologize for missing the meal with you in the boat that day,” he said, draining his cup.
“Don’t say that,” she said, embarrassed. “Now I understand; I should be the one to apologize—but let’s go back to what you were talking about before the waitress arrived.”
“I was talking about Wei’s schedule that day. I didn’t know it, but somebody must have known about it. I wanted to check his phone records, but his phone wasn’t found at the scene. It took me days to recover a list and recording of the calls he’d made that morning. It turns out he actually did talk to Party Secretary Li about his plans for the day. He told Li that there was something not right in the interview with the hotel attendant and that he would follow up on that lead. So Wei told him he was going to the hotel, and then on to Wenhui Daily.”
“He was going to Wenhui? Why?”
“According to his wife, Wei asked her to examine and reexamine the picture of Zhou that ran in the Wenhui Daily. The picture was too small and low-resolution for anyone to make out the brand of cigarettes. For all I know, he could have been coming to meet with anybody at the newspaper—even you.”
“Me?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything specific about it in the phone call. There’s a possibility that he wanted to discuss something with your colleague who handles the crime beat.”
“Yes, that’s possible,” she said contemplatively, “but do you mean that Party Secretary Li…?”
“I’m more inclined to assume that Li wasn’t directly involved in the conspiracy. But he must have revealed Wei’s plans to somebody above him, even though he wasn’t aware of the consequences at the time.”
“Somebody above him? Who do you think that could be?”
“I don’t know. Possibly Jiang or someone else in the city government. That would also explain Li’s claim that Wei died in a traffic accident. If Wei’s death was investigated, it might come around and incriminate Li,” he said, breaking a deep-fried crispy rice paddy eel into two. “But anyway, Wei must have been pushing in a direction that made some people panic. They had to get him out of the way, which means that it’s also a point of no return for me.”
“How is that? You’re just a consultant on this case, aren’t you?”
“I feel responsible for his death. I’d wanted to give Wei a free hand, so I told him he was to move ahead without discussing everything with me first. Wei seems to have done just that, despite the fact that there are some untouchable figures in the background of this case. There was a gap in communication between us, and I was also sick that weekend. Then Monday, the next day, he died in the ‘traffic accident.’
“Wei’s death, following Zhou’s as it did, gave me new avenues to investigate. If Zhou was murdered in a well-guarded hotel for reasons unknown, Wei must have been close to uncovering those reasons. Because of that, he, too, was killed. Setting up Wei’s death to resemble an ‘accident’ required planning and resources, so it’s reasonable to assume powerful people were involved.
“There are only two clues to be found in the phone call Detective Wei made to Party Secretary Li that morning. One is the interview with the hotel attendant. The other is the planned visit to Wenhui. Let’s leave the latter aside for the time being because there is too wide a range of possibilities. But with regard to that interview, I got a tape of it. I listened and relistened to it, but without getting anything from it.
“As far as I can see, once shuangguied, Zhou was already a ‘dead tiger.’ What he’d done wasn’t something the government wanted people to know the details of. But the exposure of another corrupt Party official isn’t exactly news in our socialism with Chinese characteristics, and evidence of Zhou’s corruption had already been revealed on the Internet. So there had to be something else, something that the people above Zhou were desperate about, something that threw them into a murderous panic when they suspected Detective Wei was getting close to it.
“What could i
t be?
“I thought about contacting the hotel attendant, but ever since the Party Discipline Committee team from Beijing arrived at the Moller Villa, the hotel has become too sensitive of a place for me to get close to. Wei’s death was a lesson I had to keep in mind. They are out there in the dark, watching, so I had to make my move without attracting their attention.
“In the meantime, I had to pursue other avenues of investigation. This might not be the time to go into all the details. While Wei’s death made it impossible for me to back away from the case, dogged persistence alone doesn’t necessarily pay off. Sometimes breakthroughs are the result of pure luck. So I’m truly grateful to you, Lianping, for your help with this difficult investigation.”
“What are you saying, Chen?”
“You provided me with a general introduction to the sordid scenes and secrets of the housing market. Your perspective and comments about resistance and revelations in the world of cyberspace were also helpful. But it was your introduction to Melong that really helped.”
“Melong?”
“Yes. His computer expertise led to me to a crucial link that I’d overlooked, and from there, to an unexpected breakthrough in Shaoxing. The subsequent developments came as a real surprise to me.”
“I’m lost again, Chen,” she said. “You went to Shaoxing for the festival, didn’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, your suggestion that I go there reminded me of something I’d read but almost skipped over in Zhou’s file. Zhou was born in Shaoxing, and left for Shanghai when he was only seven. For many years, he didn’t go back to Shaoxing—not even once. Last year, however, he made two trips in quick succession, which seemed strange for a busy official like Zhou. So I decided to play the long shot and go to Shaoxing. Again I want to thank you, because without your suggestion that I attend the festival, and without your company in Shaoxing, I might not have made the trip.
“In Shaoxing, I was lucky enough to find someone close to him, and with help from Melong, she yielded an important clue.”
“What’s that—who’s that?” She then added, “You mentioned some little—I remember—you met her there in the morning.”
“I am afraid I have to skip some details here, but I think you’ll understand why,” Chen said, adding some wine to her cup. “With regard to the case, have you ever wondered about the fact that both the team from the city government and the Shanghai Party Discipline Committee officials—both originally at the hotel for the corruption investigation—remained at the hotel even after Zhou’s death? Particularly Jiang, who has remained there despite all the work waiting for him back at the city government office as the right-hand man to Qiangyu. What’s more, Jiang hasn’t been that anxious to close the case, even though it’s in the interest of the Party authorities to officially conclude that Zhou’s death was a suicide.
“At the same time, Jiang repeatedly inquired after the police bureau’s ongoing investigations. It occurred to me that he might be at the hotel for a reason unknown to me but crucial to him and his people. Particularly since he remained there even after the the Beijing team arrived.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t come to see the light until after that trip to Shaoxing and after I guessed the purpose of the presence of the Central Party Discipline Committee’s team in Shanghai.”
“I’ve heard something about it,” Lianping said. “Last week, Qiangyu sat down with the chief editor of Wenhui, telling him it was a difficult time and that he appreciates the support of the people loyal to him.”
“So perhaps you understand,” Chen said. He paused to take a sip of wine. “Now let’s go back to the fax page that was on Qiangyu’s nightstand at the hospital. Dr. H called me about the fax when we were at Shen Garden, talking about the romantic poems of the Song dynasty. It’s been a difficult time for Qiangyu, and the Beijing team isn’t at the hotel for no reason. He knows better. The power struggle between the ‘Youth League’ and ‘Shanghai Gang’ has been coming to a head. The Zhou case could be what the Beijing team uses to break through. Yet, after the death of Detective Wei, I was still out there, pushing the investigation forward in earnest but not in a direction they controlled. Who knew what the possible fallout would be? That’s why Qiangyu couldn’t let me remain in my position at the police bureau. Your boss might be someone he can trust, but I’m not. In fact, if I stay at the police bureau, there’s too much at stake for Qiangyu and his people.”
“You are scaring me, Chen.”
“No, I’m not. What happened to Detective Wei could happen to me, but I’ve found something they’re after—the information Zhou left behind. What I have could make the whole bunch of live, monstrous crabs inseparable, and their fate inescapable. And these are not just small crabs like Zhou.”
“In other words, you’re in a position to prove Zhou didn’t act alone, but with the help of people above him. You have evidence that they were all involved in corrupt deals involving Shanghai’s land allocation and housing development?”
“Not only that, I can prove that the death of Zhou in the hotel wasn’t suicide.”
“How?”
“You know the expression ‘a chain of crabs,’ don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Zhou must have expected the other ‘crabs’ to get him out of trouble, since they were all bound together—not by a straw rope, but by the secrets of their shared corruption. But the evidence unleashed in the human-flesh search was too strong. And it came out at a time when the Youth League faction in Beijing was gearing up to annihilate the Shanghai Gang, so the other people in the corruption scheme had to throw Zhou overboard. Shuangguied in the hotel, all alone in the dark, believing that they had left him in the lurch, he must have complained too loudly or threatened them in some way. After all, he’d secretly saved evidence of their involvement, and if he fell into hell, he could drag all of them down with him. They believed they had no choice but to finish him off, and it wasn’t unimaginable, they thought, for a shuangguied official to commit suicide. Usually, the police investigation after a shuanggui case is just for show. It was only because of Party Secretary Li’s obtuseness, however, that Detective Wei was chosen to handle the case, a cop too conscientious to perform according to their script.”
“Zhou’s entanglement with other corrupt officials above him might explain why he was murdered,” she said deliberately. “But it still leaves the question of how it was done in such a well-guarded hotel.”
“Remember the lead that Detective Wei mentioned in his phone call?”
“You said he said something about the interview with the hotel attendant. What did you learn from the attendant at the hotel? Did you talk to her?”
“No, not exactly. Detective Wei walked into that fatal ambush because of his overt move in that direction. I tried not to make the same mistake. I listened to the tape of the interview God knows how many times, and I even brought it with me all the way to Shaoxing,” he said, with a sudden sigh. “That night, after the festival dinner party, I tried to call you, but your cell phone was turned off, and you weren’t registered at the hotel.”
“I took the night train back to Shanghai before the party was even over. I thought you were just too busy to notice me,” she said, draining another cup, her face burning under the light. “I’m sorry, Chen, but I didn’t know how serious your situation was.”
“No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He, too, drained his cup. “Anyway, I couldn’t fall asleep in the hotel, so once again I thought through the sequence of events the night Zhou died, as described in the hotel attendant’s statement. Then something occurred to me. That night in Shaoxing, when I stepped into my hotel room, the bedcovers were already turned down and there was a small bag of chocolate and a ‘Sleep well’ card placed on the pillow.”
“That’s not uncommon with a luxury suite in a five-star hotel. That shouldn’t be surprising. And does that relate somehow to the interview tape?”
“To something on the tape. Accord
ing to Jiang, he left the hotel Monday afternoon for an important meeting and spent the night at home, all of which has been confirmed. But according to the statement from the hotel attendant, when she tried to turn down the covers for the other two guests on the third floor, both Liu and Jiang were in their rooms.
“Now, with turn-down service, usually an attendant knocks on the door and asks the guest inside if they want their bed turned down. If the guest isn’t in, she might let herself in and prepare the bed. Just like the attendant had done in my room earlier that night in Shaoxing. But if the guest is in, he’ll answer loudly, without opening the door, that it’s not needed, and then the attendant will leave. In other words, there had to be another man in Jiang’s room when the attendant knocked.
“If that’s true, then why and who? From the very beginning, there was something we took for granted. Jiang and Liu were the shuangguiing Party cadres, and as such, they were above suspicion. What made us further rule them out was that Jiang wasn’t at the hotel at the time and had a solid alibi, and Liu, a short and feeble old man, seemed physically unable to do such a thing. Building B is well guarded. Anyone who enters has to sign in, and then sign out when they leave. There is also a surveillance camera over the landing to the third floor.
“I managed to obtain copies of the register pages for building B for that Monday and Tuesday. To my surprise, I found a man named Pan Xinhua had signed in Monday afternoon, visiting Jiang in his room. Jiang left the hotel about an hour later, but there’s no record of Pan signing out that day. Pan could have stayed in Jiang’s room and could have been the one who spoke to the hotel attendant when she came around six fifteen. Several hours later, he could have sneaked into Zhou’s room, where Zhou was in a deep sleep after having taken sleeping pills, strangled him, and staged the room to make it look like Zhou had hanged himself from the beam.