by Chris West
Everything about the case so far.
What is known and what is presumed.
What are the ‘pressure points’ and what action should be applied there.
His ‘method’.
A double page for each suspect.
Lian Gang. What had been in that letter? Information about the Snake Pass traitor? To the effect that the traitor was definitely Wu Changyan? Was Lian a revenge-hungry ghost, who had gone to confront the traitor, executed his rough justice, then fled? It would explain all the secrecy and deception.
But if so, why had Wu been looking forward to meeting his evening visitor? Maybe Lian had lied about why he was in the village. Bao allowed himself unworthy pleasure in the thought of the Secretary, puffed up with self-importance after having banished the unwelcome outsiders, waiting to greet Lian, who had told him some flattering lie, then being confronted with his own treachery.
But of course, there was no proof. Come on, Wheels, find me Sergeant Han Haotong!
Wu Weidong. He was clearly hanging around here for a reason, against his wife’s wishes. Why? His father had no money. Except, Bao thought, the paintings. Maybe they were worth more than people seemed to think. Or maybe Weidong erroneously thought they were … He shook his head. Even in Jinan, they would be difficult to sell on the quiet and realize anything like their true value – if they had any value.
Ah, but what would pay off Weidong’s debt at a stroke was the kickback from the construction companies. Back in 1988, the Secretary had no doubt earned such a kickback from the company that made the road into the village – and had given it to his son, who had no doubt come up with some story about setting himself up in business but had blown it on a car. Now there was more money in the offing. But that made Wu Changyan more use to his son alive than dead. Unless ...
Bao pondered, giving the pencil a long, powerful twirl. Maybe …
Next, Francine. Perhaps Rosina was right. Francine might have thought that the old man was rich, and that on his death Weidong would become rich too. Maybe she’d been trying her charm on the old man of late. Maybe she was the one that he was looking forward to entertaining. She clearly liked playing the frail female, but was no doubt physically capable of picking up a bust of Marx and crashing it down onto someone’s head. Emotionally capable? Yes, if enough yuan were at stake, the Inspector reckoned.
There were other locals. Who else wanted Wu’s job? Deputy Yao, ambitious for his son? The local police chief? There was clearly little affection between the industrialist Wei Shaojia and the Secretary. Bao told himself that he should arrange an interview with this man.
Was there more to the acrimony between Wu and his ex-wife?
What about Teacher Hu, who had actually been seen in the area around the time of the murder and who seemed, beneath a calm exterior, to feel passionately about the farm in particular and reformism, of which Wu was a practitioner, in general.
Then there was the hate-mail. Such threats are normally empty, but not always.
And of course, there was the official theory, of a raid gone wrong. Could Station Chief Huang be right, after all?
Finally, as there always is, there was the empty page, the information that you do not yet have, the suspect you don’t even yet know of.
He stared at the pages a little longer, then moved his gaze to the landscape. How well did he know this place, really? How wise had he been to let Rosina go to that carefully observed ‘protest’ meeting?
Chinese history. The Hundred Flowers Movement of the mid-fifties. All set up so that critics of Mao would reveal themselves.
Pfah! That was national politics. This was a bunch of… dare he say it? … shit-shovellers.
*
Rosina and Huiqing found a place at the back, where they watched as the room filled up, mainly with peasant farmers, the older ones in Mao suits, the younger ones in padded jackets, nylon shirts and denims. Then a man in a smart suit entered.
‘That’s Manager Wei from the big factory,’ whispered Huiqing.
Rosina nearly said that she knew, then realized that would mean telling Huiqing who she was. One day, she’d have to do that, but not now.
Wei walked out in front of the audience and called the meeting to order.
‘Since we last met, Secretary Wu Changyan has, er, passed on – ’
‘Good thing too!’ shouted a man.
Wei ignored him. ‘This clearly has implications for our cause. Until a new Secretary is appointed, it is unlikely any progress will be made with the fish-farm – ’
‘What about Yao?’ someone asked.
‘That old shrivelled-dick,’ muttered someone else.
‘When the appointment is made, we must be in a position to put our case clearly and forcefully to them – ’
‘You’d never force anyone,’ said the first heckler.
‘You’ve got plenty of money. This doesn’t matter a fart to you,’ another shouted.
‘You can see how angry people are,’ Huiqing whispered.
Manager Wei was soon defending himself against a rising tide of criticism from the floor, most of it crude and selfish. Rosina couldn’t help feeling distaste at the angry peasant faces. Then a tall, thin man jumped up onto a chair. Rosina started with horror.
It was Bao Ming. ‘Wei Shaojia!’ he shouted. ‘What have you done for us?’ His voice was a little slurred. He wasn’t drunk, but certainly had been drinking. ‘It’s just luck that Wu Changyan died. We’ll get a new boss and you’ll be patting his arse in no time, too. We need a new chairman! And some action!’
This comment was greeted with loud cheers.
‘I propose Bao Ming take the job!’ shouted a man in a green Mao jacket. ‘Let’s take a vote on it. Our new chairman, Bao Ming! All in favour raise their hand.’
A few hands began to go up.
He’s a grown man, she told herself. If he wants to make trouble here, then that’s up to him.
They authorities will break him, she thought at once.
‘Stop him!’ Rosina whispered to Huiqing.
‘Me?’
‘You. Please. I beg you!’
‘I’ll explain later. Oh, this is awful.’
Huiqing looked into Rosina’s face, then stood up. ‘This is not… the way to run things!’ she called out. The crowd fell silent and turned to look at her. Rosina hid her face in her hands, pretending to be suddenly unwell.
‘Manager Wei has … influence,’ she went on. ‘He can argue our cause. What kind of action do you have in mind, Bao Ming? Violence? Do you want to play straight into the hands of our opponents?’
‘I want my land!’ said the man in the green jacket.
‘Don’t we all?’
Green-jacket fixed Huiqing with a glance of real hatred, looked about to let fly at her, then turned back to his audience. ‘We need a new leader. Manager Wei has let us down. We’ve wasted too much time. I happen to know that contracts have been submitted. Maybe they’ve even been awarded. Meanwhile we’ve achieved nothing! I say – ’
Ming walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘The lady is right,’ he said slowly.
Green-jacket rounded on him. ‘You’d be no leader, anyway. You’re a Party spy! We all know your background.’
Ming began to mumble. People began to jeer.
‘I … got carried away,’ said Ming. ‘I offer my apologies to the chair.’
‘Drunk again,’ muttered someone.
Ming walked across to Manager Wei and shook his hand.
‘Your apology is accepted, Bao Ming,’ said Wei. ‘Now let’s get down to business.’
‘I should never have come here,’ Rosina muttered to herself.
*
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ said Rosina, as the two women walked towards the tea-house.
‘That’s OK,’ Huiqing replied. ‘But … what’s it all about?’
‘Bao Ming is my brother-in-law.’
Huiqing stared at her. ‘So … your husband… His fa
ther was … Party Secretary … Oh, no. This is all a set-up isn’t it? A new form of entrapment?’
‘No!’
‘Have you all been laughing about me?’
‘No!’
‘You and your husband and all the Party bigshots?’
‘Huiqing, that’s ridiculous!’
‘Well, it was cleverer than that stupid man who tried to seduce me, I’ll give you that. I never believed that idiot for a moment. But you … ’
‘Huiqing, for heaven’s sake! Nobody’s entrapping anybody. I like you, that’s all.’
‘Party bigshots like you don’t like people like me. Rich peasant class, we are.’
‘This is crazy!’
‘No it’s not. It’s how things are.’ Huiqing stared at Rosina. ‘I liked you. Or I thought I did. I didn’t realize … ’ She turned away, and walked briskly off into the darkness of the unlit backstreet.
*
‘I want to leave tomorrow morning,’ said Rosina when she got back to the guesthouse.
‘Leave? Why?’
Rosina told her husband the story.
‘The idiot!’ he said at the end, then put his arms round her. She began to cry.
*
A while later, Mrs Li knocked at their door.
‘You have a visitor,’ she said.
Rosina’s face fell.
‘What’s their name?’ Bao asked.
‘Fei Huiqing. She works in the medical centre – but she has a poor class background. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.’
‘No. Show her in.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
Mrs Li did so. Huiqing looked very scared, but there was a kind of resolve about her.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she began.
‘Thank you so much for coming!’ said Rosina, advancing towards her with open arms.
Huiqing held up a hand. ‘I simply want to ask a favour. I shan’t waste any more of your time, but I must beg you not to mention our association to anyone. High or low.’
‘OK. But why … ’
‘If my father found out I had befriended someone … like yourself … he’d … ’
‘He’d be angry,’ Bao cut in. ‘I can understand that. He’d be wrong, of course. But I know how old wounds fail to heal and – ’
‘They don’t even begin to heal,’ Huiqing snapped. ‘They are still wide open sores.’
Bao nodded.
‘We meant no harm,’ said Rosina after a silence.
Huiqing stared at her. ‘I believe you,’ she said finally.
‘Thank you,’ Rosina replied. ‘That means a lot to me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’
‘We won’t say a word,’ Bao put in. ‘Will you not stay with us and – ’
‘No, I must be getting home. Rosina, I’m sorry if I was abrupt after your disclosure. I … think maybe you are both good people. You, Rosina, from the way you have been with me, and you,’ she turned to Bao, ‘from the way your wife has spoken about you. But I’m afraid a drop of goodness in an ocean of hate and cruelty doesn’t go very far. Goodbye.’
And she was gone.
‘Ghosts,’ Bao muttered to himself.
13
Next morning, Bao went to see Manager Wei. He had persuaded Rosina that they should stay on in the village. It was only a few more days. He needed to spend some time with Ming, to see if there was anything he could do. He was worried about the local police framing a local hooligan. If he could prevent that, maybe in some way that would make up for what had happened to Shen Zirong. And, yes, he was curious about the case. He felt involved.
‘A visit from the police!’ said Wei.
‘Yes. There is a police aspect to my being here. But also a personal one. I’ve heard rumours that my brother was … rude to you last night.’
‘Rumours?’
‘I’ve been in Beijing a long time, but I haven’t forgotten how quickly word spreads around a village.’
Wei nodded. ‘It was not serious.’
‘He works in your factory.’
‘He’s a conscientious worker. When he’s … healthy.’
It was Bao’s turn to nod. ‘If you need contacts in Beijing … I’m not the “bigshot” that some people round here seem to think I am, but I would be happy to put any contacts I have at your disposal.’
Wei smiled. ‘That might be helpful some time. I appreciate your offer. Fancy a beer?’ The manager crossed to one of the cabinets that opened to reveal a fridge. ‘Chinese or import?’
Chinese, Bao thought patriotically to himself. ‘Import,’ he said.
The cans opened with a satisfying whoosh.
‘I also need to know more about this fish farm,’ said Bao. ‘How it will work – from a businessman’s point of view.’
‘It won’t,’ said Wei. ‘It will be a disaster. If it happens, of course. I’m afraid Secretary Wu’s death has done this village a huge favour. Not a nice thing to say, but true. But let’s take the worst-case scenario and assume it goes ahead. And let’s say there are no environmental problems, cost overruns or anything like that – which won’t be the case, of course – it will never recoup the initial investment. It is far too grandiose a scheme.’
‘So why was Secretary Wu so keen to build it?’
‘I’ve really no idea.’
‘None at all?’
‘No. My guess is that he became overconfident. That happens a lot in business. People pull off a few good deals and start thinking they can do anything. Then they move out of their depth and lose everything. The Secretary was a very stubborn man – just the sort to do that. He would have ended up bankrupting this village. D’you know how much it was going to cost to build those dams?’
‘Yes,’ said Bao. He didn’t feel Wei was someone you could bluff. ‘Where would all that money have come from?’ he asked.
‘Banks. No problem in getting the stuff. But keeping up the repayments is different. I think Secretary Wu thought that the state government would bail him out if things went wrong. But they don’t do that any longer.’
‘Would your company have gone bankrupt too?’
Manager Wei laughed. ‘No. We’re independently funded. Wu was planning to set up a cooperative to run the fish-farm. If it had gone bust, all it would have meant is a lot of ruined people in Nanping. That might have suited me commercially, as we could have paid our workers less. But I’m also a resident of this village and I know how hard people have worked to get where they are.’
Bao looked carefully at the businessman. Wei seemed genuinely to mean what he was saying.
‘Tell me more about the contracts.’
Wei did so. Everything he said fitted with what Bao knew.
‘Wu was hopelessly indecisive about them,’ Wei said. ‘That wasn’t like him. To me that showed he’d got out of his depth. There was only one serious contender.’
‘Who?’
‘Sheng He. Yap Seeow are a bunch of crooks. Sheng He do a lot of business with foreigners. That means they charge too much, but at least the job gets done properly. Yap Seeow work for local government. Their record is appalling – except at opening “back doors” and bribing quality-control inspectors. I wouldn’t employ them to clean the toilets.’
‘So why the hesitation?’
Manager Wei sighed. ‘Clash of loyalties. Do the right thing, or take the money that Yap Seeow were no doubt offering in return for the contract. His son has a very nice car, doesn’t he? And a fine looking girlfriend.’
*
‘Drink, anybody?’ Bao Ming pointed to the large jug of orange juice on top of the bookshelf. ‘No alcohol in the house,’ he added. ‘New rule.’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Rosina.
Their invitation to dinner had arrived that day. Apparently, a distant cousin was in town, and it would be the ‘perfect’ opportunity to meet up.
‘Good. Good.’ Ming poured
out the drinks with a near-steady hand, then they all raised their beakers of juice in a toast. Ganbei! Down in one.
‘Get comfortable.’
The guests did so. Bao had to admit that his brother had done his best to make the hovel look appealing. The table was covered with a cloth. Father’s old chopstick-rests had been taken out and polished. An arrangement of paper flowers stood next to the rather wobbly carousel on which food would soon be circulating. And the smells from the tiny kitchen were excellent. Ming could cook well if he put his mind to it. In Bao’s eyes the scene was perfected by Rosina, in a bright-red dress, her hair bundled up at the back in the fashionable Japanese style.
‘Bao Ming tells me you’ve been busy solving the local murder,’ said Cousin Peng.
‘Helping the local police where possible.’
‘I believe they’re not exactly making great strides.’
‘They’re short of manpower. I’m doing what I can to help.’
Peng scowled. Bao had taken an instant dislike to this individual, some of whose family looked down on the Baos. They still hadn’t forgiven Bao’s grandmother for marrying a peasant, even though the marriage had later saved them from humiliation in the new, People’s China.
‘You have a theory on who’s responsible, I assume,’ Peng went on.
‘The local police believe the murder to have been the work of robbers.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m ready to assist them if they ask.’
Peng scowled again. ‘The Secretary made enemies with this fish-farm scheme of his. I believe there was even some kind of protest group set up. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them didn’t do it. There doesn’t seem to be much respect for law and order nowadays.’ He helped himself to a handful of cashews, virtually emptying the bowl. ‘Mind you, the project did seem out of scale for a small village. I think Wu wanted to leave some kind of memorial to himself.’