by Unknown
“Did he kill her?”
“No, she died in an accident, technically, but he was responsible for it.”
“But no one at the steel mill told me anything about that.”
“Either they didn’t know, or they didn’t think it necessary. It was more than twenty years ago and Tian is paralyzed, more dead than alive.”
“No one—I mean her family members—complained to the authorities about it? Others did, like the son of the old professor with broken ribs.”
“Now take a look at the boy in the picture,” Chen said.
“Yes?”
“He is Jia Ming.”
“Jia Ming, the attorney for the housing development case?! You told me to—”
“Yes. The very Jia Ming. The furious luck dogging both Jasmine and Tian.”
“Now, supposing Jia is the boy in the picture, the son of Mei, he has a motive,” Yu said in shock, trying to grasp the full meaning of the sudden revelation. “But as an attorney, he could have taken his revenge in a different way.”
“For some reason, he didn’t do so. I think it could be the exact circumstances of her death. It was unbearable for him to relive the nightmare, so he adopted a different approach. He was behind others’ complaints, I believe, including the letters sent to the cadre in the city government.”
“Including the pictures of his ex-wife, and perhaps more,” Yu said, nodding. “The pieces are coming together. The old-fashioned, custom-tailored mandarin dress. And one other thing: ‘Red Flag in the Cultural Revolution’ was the name of the Worker Rebel organization Tian belonged to. The ad in the newspaper was put in by someone so named. And the location of the first crime too—opposite the music institute. Still, he could have killed Jasmine a long time ago, couldn’t he?”
“He could have, but for him, one quick blow might not have been as satisfying as a long series of blows.”
“That may be true, but then why kill Jasmine now, all of a sudden?”
“I don’t have an answer yet. Only a guess—”
“And why all the other girls?”
“Several possible explanations occur to me, but at the moment, I have only a tentative theory, not even a complete one.”
“Fine, your tentative theory.”
“Orphaned by his mother’s death, Jia grew up with revenge as the one and only purpose in his life. He chose to settle the score in his own way.”
“You killed my mother,” Yu commented, “I kill your daughter.”
“Also, it’s more than just his mother’s tragic death. Jia was too traumatized to live a normal life—”
“What do you mean?”
“A normal life as a man. He can’t have sex with a woman. So Tian has been a curse to Jia and his mother as much as Jia was to Tian and Jasmine. An attempt to exact revenge similar to the original suffering can be cathartic, but revenge takes its own toll.”
“Can you specify for me here, Chief?”
“It’s a long story.” Chen pulled over the briefcase but didn’t open it. “Suffice it to say that the scene of Tian having sex with his mother unmanned him. It was a hellish life for him, as you can imagine. He wanted his foes to suffer just like that too. In his original plan, things would eventually lead to the depraved destruction of Jasmine, but the prospect of her marrying someone and leaving for the United States triggered his killing. He had to complete his revenge. Of course, that’s just a scenario. A lot of things in this case may not be accounted for rationally.”
“Whatever the correct scenario is, we have to do something now,” Yu said. “If it is him, he may strike again—”
There was another knock on the door. This time it was Xia, who came in carrying a covered bamboo basket.
“You and your partner haven’t had lunch yet,” she said.
The bamboo basket contained several dainty dishes: peeled shrimps fried with green tea leaves, squid braised with pork, cherries of frog legs, and a green vegetable Yu couldn’t name. In addition, there were two small bowls of thick noodle soup.
“It’s so thoughtful of you, Xia,” Chen said.
“Oh, there’s something for you,” she said, putting a tiny envelope into his hand. “A VIP card. So you will come here again.”
Yu wondered what was really in the envelope, having noticed her fingers squeeze Chen’s.
“The transparent noodles are not bad, but too short. You have to use a spoon instead,” Yu commented after she left the room. “How did you come to know her?”
“Well, what you call transparent noodles are shark fins. A small bowl like this costs five or six hundred Yuan, but you don’t have to worry about it,” Chen said, putting a spoonful into his mouth. “How did I come to know her? She is one of the last missing links in the long chain.”
“What do you mean, Chief?”
“She used to be Jia’s girlfriend. They parted because of his impotence.”
“So it’s not just a guess or scenario, but a fact,” Yu said, putting the bowl down on the table. “Now that really fits. He stripped the girls without having sex with them. What are we waiting for? It’s Thursday afternoon.”
“The trial for the housing development case is tomorrow,” Chen said. “At this moment, any rupture could be seen as sabotage against the trial.”
“Hold on—tomorrow is the date for the housing development trial?”
“Yes, things are coming to a head. It’s a much-publicized case. If we arrest him right now, people will jump to political interpretations, whether or not we have evidence. On the other hand, that may be to our advantage. The trial is very important to him. He, too, must be anxious for it to proceed as scheduled.”
“Yes, there is too much of a coincidence in the date. People would make a martyr out of him if we failed to produce convincing evidence,” Yu said. “But let me try to detain him one way or another, at least for twenty-four hours, so he won’t be able to get away tonight. Officially, I don’t know anything about the housing development case. If I make a blunder, it might not be a big deal.”
“No. Let me trap him tonight. I have something more than simply an excuse—a trick never tried before, yet worth trying. If it doesn’t work, then you can do it your way. After all, I’m not officially responsible for either case.”
“What are you talking about, boss?” Yu cut him short. “Whatever you are going to do, you have to count me in.”
“Well, you’ll have something to do too. Remember the traffic violation trick in the national model case?”
“Yes. You want me to search his car?”
“While I keep him busy this evening, you tow away his car for a complete search. For that, you’ll have help from Old Hunter. I’ve already contacted him.”
“But what if I find nothing in the car?”
“If I am not wrong,” Chen said, tearing open the small red envelope Xia had given him, “this is the key to the side door of his office. Oh, there’s a drawing of the parking spot, too.”
“She gave the key to you!” Yu was amazed. Peiqin might be right about Chen’s problem with women, but he surely had a way with them too.
“If you don’t find anything in the car, drive it to his office building. Security will recognize the car and let you in. According to the drawing, you can park in the corner spot and get in through the side door. No one will see you.”
“No one will see me. I see. But what are you going to do with Jia?”
“I’ll take him to a restaurant on Henshan Road. Here is the address. Have some plainclothes cops outside, but tell them not to do anything until I give the order.”
“But will he agree to meet you? It’s already Thursday afternoon. He must have a plan for the night, and for the trial tomorrow.”
“Let’s find out.” Chen reached for his phone, pushing the loudspeaker button for Yu’s benefit. “Hello, I want to speak Mr. Jia Ming.”
“This is he.” It was a voice full of assurance and confidence.
“This is Chief Inspector Chen Cao, of
the Shanghai Police Bureau.”
“Oh, Chief Inspector Chen. What can I do for you today?” A trace of irony seemed to come into Jia’s voice. “About the housing development case, I guess. The trial date is tomorrow. You should have called me earlier.”
“No, that’s your case, not mine. I need your help for something totally unrelated,” Chen said. “I’m writing a story that requires a lot of legal and psychological expertise, and I think you are the ideal consultant for it. So I would like to invite you out to dinner tonight.”
There was a short spell of silence on the other end of the line. Jia must have been confounded by the invitation. Yu was no less surprised. It was such an unlikely move.
“I am flattered that you thought of me for your story,” Jia said, “but unfortunately, it’s not a good night for me. I have to prepare for the trial tomorrow. I don’t think I have the time tonight.”
“Come on, Mr. Jia. The trial is just a formality, as both you and I know. You don’t really have to prepare for it. But for my story, I have to know whether it’s a convincing one, or even publishable at all. And there’s a deadline for it.”
“How about tomorrow evening? My treat. To paraphrase a line from a Tang dynasty poem, ‘It’s worth tons of gold to meet Chief Inspector Chen.’ ”
“Let me tell you something, Mr. Jia. It has not been so easy for me to arrange a meeting tonight. Some people are patient, but some people are not so patient.”
“A lot of things are possible tonight before such a trial, with the media paying such close attention to it, both domestic and foreign. Some people must be very busy tonight.”
They had started throwing out hints at each other, Yu observed, in a context understandable only to themselves.
“Well, talking about media attention, I believe my story will get more. And I also have some wonderful pictures for the story. One of them was published in China Photography, entitled ‘Mother, Let’s Go There.’ It was taken in the year of—let me think—oh, sometime in the early sixties.”
There was a pause on both ends. The mention of the picture had popped out of nowhere, like a wild card pulled suddenly from under the table. Jia’s failure to respond immediately bespoke itself.
“Wonderful pictures,” Chen repeated, deliberately, like a card player.
“What pictures do you have? Not just the one in the magazine?”
It could be the first sign of Jia’s wavering. Whatever pictures Chen had, Jia should have questioned their relevance. Yu took out a cigarette, tapping it on the coffee table, like an engrossed onlooker at the poker table.
“A professional photographer usually uses rolls of film before choosing one particular picture for publication.” Chen didn’t give a direct answer. “At dinner, I’ll show them to you. It won’t take long, and you’ll definitely have time for your case tomorrow.”
“So you are sure that it won’t interfere with the trial tomorrow?”
“Yes, I give you my word.”
“Well, where then?”
“I’m still looking for a quiet restaurant, so we can talk undisturbed. My secretary is making calls. Let’s meet at Henshan Hotel around five. I have a meeting there this afternoon. There are a number of restaurants in the area.”
“I’ll see you at the hotel.”
Putting down the phone, Chen said to Yu with unconcealed excitement in his voice, “I knew those pictures would be irresistible to him.”
Yu knew nothing, except that Chen knew much more. “But why meet at the hotel first instead of the restaurant?”
“He might not come if I told him the name of the restaurant. I set it up this way for the sake of shock to Jia.”
Whatever shock Chen had in mind, he started dialing again, the phone still on loudspeaker.
“I have to ask a favor of you, Overseas Chinese Lu.”
“Anything you want, buddy.”
“Do you know the owner of the Old Mansion on Henshan Road?”
“Yes, Big Beard Fang. I know him.”
“Reserve a private room there for me tonight. Make sure that it is one that looks out into the back garden. I have to meet someone there. It’s important. A matter of life and death.” Chen added, “It will probably be a long talk. I’ll pay for everything, overtime and any extra services.”
“No problem. If necessary, the restaurant will stay open all night. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you so much. I know I can count on you, Overseas Chinese Lu.”
“It is a matter of life and death after all—as you said.”
“Also, as a gourmet chef, think of some cruel, slow-tormenting dishes.”
“Wow—that sounds more and more exciting. You have the best man for the job, Chief. I’ll come up with a banquet of them. Really cruel and cool. I’ll be there too.”
“I’ll see you at the restaurant, then.”
“Cruel dishes?” Yu said as Chen turned toward him, wiping his forehead with a towel.
“I was unnerved by a cruel course at a banquet recently. Tonight his nerves need to be rattled as well.”
“You were sick?” Yu said, confused again.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Chen said, as if in afterthought, “Peiqin talked to an eating girl last week.”
“Yes, I included a cassette tape of it in one of the packages I sent to you.”
“I listened to it. She was so clever, making the eating girl tell a story. That gave me the idea of telling a story to Jia.”
Yu decided to ask no more questions, looking at the clock on the wall. The chief inspector could be annoyingly mysterious. So far he hadn’t said a single word about his disappearance. But Yu had to hurry over to Jia’s office and be waiting outside. Yu couldn’t afford to let him out of sight from now on, not for one minute.
As Yu picked up his jacket and got ready to leave, he got another surprise. There was another knock on the door, and this time it was White Cloud who came in.
“What can I do for you, Chief?” she said to Chen while flashing a smile at Yu.
“Do you still have the red mandarin dress?” Chen said. “The one we chose at the Old City God’s Market.”
“Of course. You bought it for me.”
“Go to the Old Mansion Restaurant this evening and carry the dress with you. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. On Henshan Road.”
“Good. Can you stay there for the entire evening—or perhaps for all night?”
“Sure, if you want me to—as your little secretary or anything else.” She complied without asking questions, like a “little secretary.”
“No, for a quite different role. I’ll explain it to you there.”
“When do you expect me there?”
“Around five. Oh, you’ll have to go home for your dress first. Sorry, I just thought of the dress part. Overseas Chinese Lu will be there too.”
“Great. So you are like a general in ancient times, making arrangements for a crucial battle in a bathhouse,” she commented, also like a “little secretary,” before she left.
What herbal pills were in Chen’s medical gourd?
“I’ll go to a photo studio first,” Chen said. “This will be our night.”
“You must have figured all this out during the last few days, boss,” Yu said, apologetic for his earlier disappointment in Chen. “You got a lot of work done while you were keeping yourself out of sight.”
“Well, it was done mostly last night. I didn’t sleep a wink, wandering along Henshan Road like a homeless skunk.”
Perhaps Yu would never really figure out his boss. But here was the bottom line: for all his eccentricities, Chen was a conscientious cop.
So it was something to be the partner of Chief Inspector Chen, Yu thought, heading out.
TWENTY-NINE
CHEN HADN’T DECIDED EXACTLY what he was going to do that evening.
Coming out of the photo studio, he walked to the restaurant, thinking in the dusk that was enveloping him.
But there was no choice left for him. He tried to reconvince himself. The best course of action would be to leave Jia untouched until after the trial. It wasn’t wise to arrest him before it for people would take it as dirty political retaliation by the government. But in the meantime, he had to trap Jia for the night, and the way to do that was so unorthodox that he didn’t know how to explain it to Yu. Perhaps it was just like the metaphor made by Comrade Deng Xiaoping about the reform in China: “to waddle across the river by stepping on one stone after another.”
There was no delaying the showdown, however, with or without help from the bureau.
Inspector Liao would distance himself from it—not just out of self-protection, but out of long distrust for the chief inspector too. They had had several head-on collisions. After the death of Hong, Liao hadn’t so much as made a single phone call to Chen.
As for Party Secretary Li, Chen didn’t want to think about him for the moment. That would be a headache for later.
And then there was Director Zhong in the background too, with all the plots and counterplots being worked out in the Forbidden City.
It was more than likely that Jia wouldn’t succumb to his story. An intelligent and experienced attorney, he knew no one could convincingly prove anything against him so long as he didn’t budge.
As Chen turned into West Jinling Road, he saw an old woman burning afterworld money in an aluminum basin out on the sidewalk. Shivering in her black cotton-padded clothes, she kept throwing the silver paper ingots into the fire, one by one, murmuring, in a desperate effort to communicate with the dead. It was the night of Dongzhi, he realized.
In the Chinese lunar calendar, Dongzhi comes on the longest night of the year, important in the dialectical movement of the yin and yang system. As yin moves to an extreme position, it turns into the opposite, to yang. So it was conventionally a night for the reunion of the living and the dead.
In Chen’s childhood, Dongzhi meant a wonderful meal, except that the dishes on the ancestral offering table had to remain untouched until the candles burned out, a sign that the dead had already enjoyed the meal. He thought again of his mother, who must be burning afterworld money, alone, in her attic room.