Shanghai Redemption

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “Needless to say,” Qi said, then added belatedly, “Oh, congratulations on your new position. I’ve heard that it’s just a preparatory step for a higher position in Beijing.”

  It wasn’t the first time that Chen had heard such an interpretation. Whether Qi really meant it or not, Chen saw no need to contradict him.

  With the names and address in hand, Chen set out for the Sheshan precinct immediately. But it was a trip he made with a downloaded map in hand, taking three different subway lines and then hailing a taxi. A Shanghai native, Chen had passed though the Sheshan area only once before, and that was years ago. There was a Catholic church there, but that was about all he could recall about the area. The taxi driver hardly knew it any better, making several wrong turns along the way.

  Finally, the taxi pulled up to the police precinct. Chen got out and walked around the area for several minutes. New apartments and condos had mushroomed up in Sheshan, just as they had in other parts of the city, but around the corner there were still old, shabby houses built a century earlier. The police station was located in the run-down section.

  He walked back to the police station and pushed the door open without even a knock.

  Jiang was there alone, bending over a paper bowl of instant noodles. At the sight of Chen striding into the office, he stood impatiently. Then recognition hit home.

  “Oh…”

  “It’s a nice day, Jiang,” Chen said, lifting a finger to his lips. “Let’s get out of here and go have a cup of tea.”

  Jiang nodded. He was a youngish-looking man in his early thirties. He was wearing a black jacket and khaki pants instead of the police uniform, which wasn’t unusual for a beat cop.

  “Is there a place nearby we can talk?” Chen said.

  “Sure,” Jiang said, walking out of the precinct with him.

  About a block and a half away, Chen saw a dingy hut with a sign out front reading “Neighborhood Cultural Recreation Center.” On the peeling paint of the sign was a hand-drawn mahjong table.

  Socialism with Chinese characteristics forebade mahjong, a gambling game, but as “cultural recreation” it was quietly tolerated, even this close to the neighborhood police station.

  “It’s an open secret,” Jiang said with a hint of embarrassment. “When people are engaged over a mahjong table, they don’t make trouble. So the city government has always turned a blind eye.”

  The owner of the mahjong den seemed to know Jiang well, letting them in without a question. Inside, there were three tables, each of them surrounded with energetic, exuberant players of mahjong, which seemed to be the one and only recreation in the center.

  “My friend wants to learn how to play the game,” Jiang said.

  “That’s great.” The owner led them to a smaller room with a mahjong table set up in the middle of the room.

  “If you want to practice for a real game, I’ll send in two other players. Just let me know,” the owner said before he backed out, closing the door after him.

  With the door shut, they had a measure of privacy, even though the noise from the tables in the other room wasn’t completely shut out. Mahjong was a unique game, sometimes called the war of a square city, referring to the way that players stood their tiles on end, like walls, along the four sides of a table. Chen knew little about the game, except that there was no way to play a game with only two of them. However, he liked Jiang’s choice of location. They could talk there, a side room in a mahjong den, without raising suspicion.

  “I want to talk to you about the death of an American in a hotel here,” Chen said, shuffling the bamboo-backed mahjong pieces about, creating a convenient background noise.

  “How did you come to hear anything about it, Chief Inspector Chen?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The case was taken from us before we even started looking into it. In fact, we were instructed not to say anything about it.”

  There was something about the way Jiang spoke, Chen observed. Possibly a hint of hesitancy.

  “You’ve heard about my change of position, haven’t you?”

  “Yes…”

  “I’m no longer a chief inspector in the police bureau,” Chen said, going on to reshuffle the pieces.

  “But you’re now the head of another important office.”

  Working in a local police precinct, Jiang apparently knew little about the politics involved in the city government. His interpretation of events regarding Chen seemed to be similar to Qi’s.

  “Have you guessed why I was removed as head of the Special Case Squad?”

  “No.”

  “There’s an old English proverb: ‘When the cat’s away, the mice will play.’”

  “Now I see, Chief.”

  “Now you see, Jiang. I was told about this case by an old comrade.” Which was a true statement. Who the “old comrade” might be, however, was up to the younger cop to decide. “Suffice it to say that things are complicated and sensitive. So, please, tell me what you know, in detail, about the dead American.”

  “Fei is the one who can give you all the details, but he’s off in Wuxi now, helping the police out there. I can only tell you what I heard from him,” Jiang said, holding up a tile and then setting it down with a thud.

  “Ours is a new police station for this rapidly developing area. Only two of us work out of this station, and there’s a lot of work for each of us. The case of the dead American came to us about ten days ago. Usually, Fei and I would get to the station around eight thirty, but that morning, I had a meeting in the city, so Fei was alone in the office. About nine thirty, I got a text message from him saying, “A dead foreigner was found in the Wugong Hotel. I’m going there.” With so many foreigners living and working in Shanghai, it wasn’t surprising that one of them got sick and dropped dead. If it’s a case of death from natural causes, the local hospital is in charge, not the police. But since it was a foreigner who died, and in an area hotel, Fei went over there to take a look. It sounded like a matter of formality, and I believed Fei could take care of it by himself. Shortly after ten thirty, I got another text from Fei. ‘As soon as the meeting is finished, hurry back. Come directly to the hotel.’ There was a suggestion of urgency in the message. The meeting wasn’t important, so I left before it was over. But there was an accident on the toll road to Sheshan that morning, and I got stuck in the traffic. Around noon, I sent him a text saying I was on the way, and he wrote back, ‘Internal Security is coming too.’

  “Now, that was weird. The deceased was an American; if the higher authorities were called in, it would be the responsibility of the Foreign Liaison Office. So why was Internal Security coming to the hotel?

  “When I finally got to the hotel around two, two Internal Security officers were already there in the hotel room with Fei. Judging by the way they were talking to Fei, they hadn’t been there very long.

  “There was a body covered by a white sheet lying on the floor. According to Fei, there weren’t any obvious signs of a break-in or a struggle in the hotel room.

  “One of the Internal Security officers turned to me and said, ‘As we’ve just explained to Fei, we’re taking over from here. You two may leave now, but let me repeat what we just told Fei: Not a word to anyone else about any of this.’

  “So we left. I was in the hotel room for only ten minutes or so, without even a close look at the dead body. I’ve got nothing to say even if I wanted to. Which isn’t the case with Fei, of course.

  “On the way back, Fei didn’t say anything for a long time, except to pose a question, ‘Why Internal Security?’

  “That’s my question as well. And that’s about all I can tell you about that day.”

  At the end of Jiang’s narration, Chen started shuffling the mahjong pieces, as if that helped him think.

  “Did he say anything to Internal Security while you were there?”

  “No, not I can recall.”

  “Now, did you ask him any questions afterward?”


  “Nothing specific. Back at the station, I asked him what he’d seen in the hotel, but he was evasive. He only said that he hadn’t contacted Internal Security.”

  “Let me establish a timeline here,” Chen said. “Fei sent you the first message around nine thirty in the morning, and by the time you got to the hotel, it was two in the afternoon. You said that it sounded to you as if Internal Security got there shortly before you. That means Fei would have been alone with the dead body in the hotel room for at least four, maybe five hours. What would he have done during that period of time?”

  “Normally, he’d take pictures of the scene, and then, if it was a natural death, he’d leave everything else to either the hospital or the mortuary. But if anything was amiss, he might have waited for the forensic team, or called the city bureau. According to Fei, he called the district police bureau and the Foreign Liaison Office. He mentioned that to me the following day…”

  “Hold on. Fei must have had a reason for making these calls.”

  “I agree, but Internal Security warned us not to speak about the case, and they might have told him earlier that that meant even me. He had something on his mind, that much I could see. But it’s possible that he was just upset with Internal Security for taking over the case like that. We had dealt with cases concerning foreigners before, and there was no need for Internal Security to be dispatched to Sheshan this time.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The next day or the day after, we learned that the American’s body had already been cremated. Fei looked very confused, though he didn’t say why to me. However, I happened to overhear him talking to somebody about it on the phone.”

  “Yes. What did he say? If possible, tell me his words verbatim.”

  “I’ll try, but I wasn’t paying that much attention at first. What I heard was mostly fragments. I might not be able to give you the exact words, but the basic meaning should be close. One thing he said was something about cremation without autopsy. ‘A suspicious death like that should have had an autopsy done.’ And another sentence, ‘He didn’t drink. How could he die of alcohol poisoning?’”

  “So that’s what you were told about the American’s cause of death?”

  “No one told us anything, but Fei made inquiries on his own. By the way, the American’s name is Daniel Martin. He was a businessman. At one point, Fei might have tried to contact his wife or something like that, I’m not sure. Fei did tell me that she’s Chinese and she has two daughters.”

  “A different question. What kind of hotel was it?”

  “Wugong is not exactly a fancy hotel. It was built at the early stage of Sheshan’s development. Later, in accordance with new regulations, Sheshan was designated as an area for high-end villas with natural scenery. After that, no more construction of commercial hotels was permitted. Because of its premium location, it’s expensive, and modern facilities were installed and then reinstalled into the hotel.”

  “So it’s a hotel for tourists?”

  “Well, there are tourists who come here for the National Park and for Sheshan Notre Dame Basilica, but most people chose not to stay in the hotels here. There are lots of fancier hotels in the city, and they’re less expensive. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive away on the toll road.”

  “So why did the American choose to stay there?”

  “Why? I’ve no idea.”

  “Did Fei say anything about why he chose to stay at the hotel?”

  “Fei could have said something, but I don’t remember. Oh, the American had an apartment in the city, so why stay at the hotel at all? If he was planning a rendezvous, then why not a fancier hotel at a more convenient location? Unless the rendezvous was with someone who lived nearby, I suppose.”

  “About Fei, you said he’s not in Shanghai now, right?”

  “Right. He’s in Wuxi, helping the local police with a case.”

  “What kind of a case?” Chen said. “Fei’s just a local cop, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know the details. The criminal is apparently from this area, and Fei knows a thing or two about him. So Fei left for Wuxi four days ago.”

  “Have you talked to him since he left?”

  “I’ve called him a couple of times, but his phone was turned off.” Jiang added belatedly, “He must be really busy. I really don’t know.”

  With Internal Security lurking in the background, was there something Jiang wasn’t saying? In some delicate situations, the less said, the better. He would have done the same, but Chen decided to try and push a little.

  “Have you heard of Liang’s case?” Chen started, lighting a cigarette.

  “No, I’ve never heard anything about it.”

  “It came to our squad as a missing person case. At first, nobody could get hold of him: his phone was turned off, and he wasn’t returning messages. Then his body was found in Fengxian, buried in a construction site. Detective Yu was told not talk to anybody about it.” He added, “Not because Liang’s that important, but because the people behind him are.”

  “So you mean—”

  “Did you find anything strange or unusual about his trip to Wuxi?”

  “Now that you mention it, there is something strange about it. With only two of us in the office, we touch base with each other a lot. Nowadays it’s easy with cell phones and e-mail,” Jiang said, trying to pull himself together. “But maybe he’s lost his phone, or something like that.”

  “Tell me something about his contact in Wuxi.”

  “He did call Gong, a local cop in Wuxi. I happen to know Gong too. If I didn’t hear it wrong, Gong promised to pick him up at the station. They’ve known each other for many years.”

  “Do you have his contact information?”

  “No, but I know he’s with the Wuxi Police Bureau. And not just a local cop. That’s about all I know,” Jiang said.

  “Oh, he got a phone call the day before he left for Wuxi. It was possible that it was from someone unknown to him, because he asked for the caller’s name a couple of times. It was a long conversation. It sounded like the caller was asking him questions about events in the hotel the other day. Possibly it was about the surveillance camera there, but I can’t be certain. All I heard was some fragmented words out of context. Afterward, Fei looked shaken, but he didn’t tell me who called.”

  “With some political troubles, the less said, the better,” Chen said. “Perhaps he didn’t want to drag you into it.”

  “I’m worried.”

  That was all Jiang could say at that moment.

  Chen glanced at his watch, rose, and pushed the wall of mahjong pieces down to the table with a bang, “I have an appointment at noon back in the city. Give me your cell number, and I’ll call you if I learn anything about Fei. Of course, don’t tell anyone about our conversation in the mahjong room.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  CHEN DIDN’T HAVE AN appointment in the city at noon, as he’d told Jiang, but he did take a taxi back to the railway station. This time, he had a train to catch.

  On the train to Wuxi, he called Huang of the Wuxi Police Department. Not too long ago, Chen had helped with one of Huang’s cases in Wuxi. Huang was a young and energetic cop, a fan of Sherlock Holmes, and consequently of Chen. The “legendary chief inspector,” however, was a construct of his imagination.

  As Chen expected, Huang was more than willing to help.

  “No problem, Chief Inspector. I know Gong quite well. I’ll have him waiting for you at the restaurant in Turtle Head Park. It’ll be my treat. I’ll also reserve a hotel room for you under my name.”

  Huang took it for granted that Chen was on a secret mission. In a way, Chen was. Unlike the others, Huang thought Chen’s new position was just a cover for some highly sensitive investigation. Exuberant despite Chen’s protests, he remembered well the details of Chen’s last trip to Wuxi.

  “If there’s anything else you want me to do, I’m at your service. I’ve read that long poem of yours several times. It’s so rom
antic. I know—”

  Chen stopped him, knowing what the young cop wanted to say next. It wasn’t the time for him to think about his poetry’s being romantic.

  Around five thirty, Chen walked into the restaurant in the park. The last time he’d been in Wuxi, he’d gone to the park many times, but never to the restaurant, which was a tourist trap.

  Huang and a middle-aged man, presumably Gong, were waiting at a table. Gong was a stout man with a reddish complexion and gray-streaked hair. He made quite a contrast to the dapper, energetic Huang.

  “After your last trip, I doubt you’re interested in the lake specials, so I’ve chosen some simple dishes. It’s a great honor to have you with us, Chief Inspector.”

  As a local cop, Huang knew only too well about the polluted lake.

  “It’s getting a little better, or at least the lake looks a little better, but I won’t risk eating anything that came out of it,” Gong said.

  It wasn’t the night for a leisurely dinner, but having skipped breakfast, and then lunch, Chen hadn’t had eaten anything except an almond biscuit on the train. Chen chopsticked up a piece of Wuxi barbequed rib with a sigh of contentment.

  Before they touched the other cold dishes on the table, though, Huang stood up abruptly, saying, “Sorry, I have to make a phone call.”

  It could be true. But more likely, it was just an excuse to give Chen and Gong the opportunity to talk in private.

  “Huang has read too many mysteries,” Gong said. He took a gulp of beer, then came directly to the point. “You have some questions for me, Chief Inspector Chen?”

  “Yes, about Fei.”

  “Fei—that’s something that puzzles me, too. Fei is an old friend of mine. Many years ago, we were both educated youths in Jiangxi, and since then we’ve remained in close contact. We both thought this assignment would be an opportunity for us to catch up. I picked him up at the station, then drove him to the hotel. He didn’t say much about the job. It could have been highly sensitive, and I understood. We were eating in the hotel cafeteria when he got a phone call. He stepped out to take it, and when he came back, he obviously had something on his mind. About twenty minutes later, a jeep came and took him away. He said that it was for the job, and insisted that I not come out with him because I looked too flushed from the beer. He promised he would call me soon, but he didn’t call that night. He didn’t call the second day, possibly because he was too busy, so I called him that evening. His phone was turned off. I tried again on the third day, but still no luck. Then I called his hotel, and to my surprise, I was told he’d already checked out. The checkout was done over the phone. Of course, that’s possible. As I recall, he only had a backpack with him, when we were in the cafeteria. But if he was leaving, he should have let me know.”