by Qiu Xiaolong
“You kept a lot of questions to yourself, Chief Inspector Chen,” Catherine said.
“I was not sure whether they were worth exploring, Inspector Rohn. After our visit to Wen, you asked me why I insisted on talking to Wen and Liu instead of bringing in the local police. For one thing, Wen’s cup is full. I did not want to put too much pressure on her. But there’s another reason. I tried to find some answers from my conversation with them.”
“Did you find any?”
“Not from Liu, except that Wen had not told him anything. Then we both talked to Wen. What she said about her life in Fujian was true, but she did not say a single word about the gang’s contact with her. Nor did she really answer my question about the delay in making her passport application. But what made me most suspicious was her insistence on going back to Fujian.”
“Was that so suspicious?” Li asked. “A mother wanted to see her son’s grave for the last time.”
“Did she go to visit his grave when we were there? No. She did not even mention it. Back home, the first thing she did was to take a small package of chemicals from under the table. To keep as a souvenir, she explained to me. That might make sense, but the fact that she explained her action to me did not. It was her home. She could have taken anything she wanted without comment. On the way, she had said little, and now she was volunteering explanations.”
“That’s true,” she said, “Wen hardly said anything during the trip.”
“After the battle in the village, she could have paid a visit to the grave, but she still didn’t. It no longer seemed important to her. Then I happened to hear one of the local policeman silence a wounded gangster speaking Mandarin. That was strange. Before I had time to inquire, however, Superintendent Hong’s request for elucidation of a proverb diverted my attention.”
“The Chinese proverb about justice eventually overcoming evil,” she said.
“Exactly. So it was not until we reached the airport, and heard the flight announcement in both Mandarin and Fujian dialects, that I realized what I had overlooked. The Flying Axes is a local gang. How come the wounded gangster spoke Mandarin? I decided not to stop to investigate because my top priority was to get Wen and you safely back to Shanghai.”
“That was the right decision, Chief Inspector Chen.” Li nodded.
“The moment I got back to Shanghai, I talked to Old Hunter, who had gathered information on Gu. I also had a discussion with Meiling. The parking lot could legally be granted to the club, according to her research. Then I went to meet Gu. At first Gu did not put much on the table, so I laid out my cards and Gu turned cooperative.”
Catherine stole a glance at Li, wondering whether Chen had discussed everything with his boss.
“Yes, you had to open the door to the mountain,” Li said.
“According to Gu, the victim in Bund Park was a liaison head of the Flying Axes, surnamed Ai. Ai came to Shanghai to look for Wen. He paid a formal visit to the Eldest Brother of the Blue, who was against a chicken-flying-and-dog-barking search in the city. As long as Wen was not in police hands, the Eldest Brother saw no danger for Jia Xinzhi. So Ai had no choice but to disclose the real plan of the Flying Axes—the plan to have Wen poison her husband once she had joined him. With a stinking rat like Feng, the Fujian gang considered it in their best interests to get rid of him once for all. The Green Bamboo learned of the plan. They need Feng alive; they want Jia eliminated. And they murdered Ai.”
“How did Gu get all this information?” Yu asked.
“The Eldest Brother of the Blue was upset that without his permission, Ai had brought Fujian problems to Shanghai. But then what the Green Bamboo did—planting Ai’s body in Bund Park—was even worse. So Gu learned from the Eldest Brother not only about the Green Bamboo, but about the Flying Axes as well. The moment I had all this from Gu, I decided to go to Suzhou. Wen was determined that if she had to go to the United States, she would kill Feng. I did not think I could change her mind. If there was anyone capable of doing that, it would be Liu. Liu agreed to accompany me here. That was early this morning.”
“You made the right decision, Chief Inspector Chen,” Li said, loud with official approval. “As one of our old sayings goes, When a general fights on the borders, he does not have to listen to the emperor all the time.’ “
It was then that a phone started ringing in the meeting room. Qian produced his cell phone in embarrassment. With his hand cupped over the receiver he hurriedly said, “I’ll call you later.”
“A light green cell phone. Almost bamboo-colored. It’s a rarity,” Chen said deliberately. “The only other one of the same color I have ever seen was in the Huating Market.”
“It’s a coincidence.” Qian seemed to be flustered.
“That could explain all suspicious incidents,” Chen said.
There had been many coincidences during the course of the investigation, Catherine reflected, but she did not know what Chen was hinting at.
“There’s no telling what people are capable of—” Chen paused emphatically, looking directly at Qian.
“Indeed, there’s no telling what people are capable of doing.” Li quickly joined in and shook his head sadly. “Imagine Wen getting involved in such a murderous scheme!”
“I want to say something on behalf of Wen—in the light of the revelation made by Chief Inspector Chen.” Catherine spoke with a passion surprising to herself. “The Flying Axes had left her no choice. So she started applying for her passport, but I don’t think she was necessarily going to carry out their plan. When she arrived in the United States, she might have tried to seek help from the American police.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Yu said, nodding.
“But when Feng telephoned to warn her to run for her life, she was panic-stricken. Who were the ‘people’ referred to in the message? The Flying Axes? If so, had Feng discovered the plot? She fled, but after ten days in Liu’s company, she was resurrected—as a woman.”
“Resurrected! That’s the very word Liu used,” Chen said.
Catherine said, “After all those wasted years, she suddenly had hopes. She looked so changed from the woman in that passport picture. Alive, I mean. I could hardly recognize her in Suzhou. When she realized that she had to leave Liu, she could not bear the thought of living with Feng anymore. The realization of how Feng had ruined her life filled her with hatred. And a desire for vengeance, too. That was why she insisted on going back to Changle Village. She wanted to get the poison she had left there. This time she was determined.”
“I agree,” Yu said. “This also proves that she did not want to carry out the gang’s plan at first. She did not take the poison with her when she left the village on April fifth. Thank you, Inspector Rohn.”
“Inspector Rohn has summed up that part well. And the rest of it,” Chen said, taking a drink of his water, “you learned when Wen was in the room.”
“A wonderful job, Chief Inspector Chen!” Li clapped his hands. “The American Consul has called the city government, expressing thanks, but he did not know what a great job you have done.”
“I could have done nothing without your firm support throughout the investigation, Party Secretary Li.”
She could see Chen was more than willing to let Li share the laurels. After conducting such an unorthodox investigation, the chief inspector had to be diplomatic.
“If we were not already at the airport, we would have a grand banquet to celebrate this successful conclusion,” Li said with warmth. “Indeed, all’s well that ends well.”
“I’ll make a report to our government, Party Secretary Li, about the outstanding work of the Shanghai Police Bureau,” she said before turning to Chen. “In the meantime, I would like to ask you a few more questions, Chief Inspector Chen, over a cup of coffee. Last night, I worked quite late writing up my case summary. You must also be worn out after spending the night traveling.”
“Now that you mention it,” Chen said.
“Yes, you two go
to the airport cafe. It’s the bureau’s farewell treat.” Li was all smiles. “We will keep an eye on Wen.”
* * * *
Chapter 38
I
t was not exactly a caf é , but a corner partitioned off from the waiting area by metal posts and plastic cords. There were several tables and chairs, and a counter sporting an array of imported coffees. A waitress stood near the tall window framing the airplanes on the runway.
“Black coffee?” Catherine asked.
“Tea for me today,” Chen said.
“Can we have tea?” she said in Chinese to the waitress.
“Lipton?” The waitress said in English.
“No. Chinese green tea. With the tea leaves in the cup.”
“Sure.” The waitress gave them a stainless thermos bottle with two cups and a small bag of tea leaves.
As they moved toward a table, Chen cast a glance in the direction of the meeting room. His colleagues sat behind the glass door, watching over Wen and Liu. There were a number of plainclothes men stationed around the area. He was not concerned with the airport’s security.
He experienced a deflation of mood as he seated himself at the table. In the meeting room, he had had to persuade Wen, and then to explain his decisions to others. He’d had to worry about the reaction of Party Secretary Li—with Internal Security prowling in the background. To his relief, Li had reacted positively, though Chen knew that this reaction in the presence of Inspector Rohn was not something to be relied upon.
Now, sitting with her, he did not feel the satisfaction of a detective in a mystery story at the successful conclusion of a case. He might have done his job—a “wonderful job”—according to Party Secretary Li. Yet was it wonderful for Wen? Her life in China was coming to an end, a chapter closing with a tragic climax. And her life in the United States was nothing to look forward to.
What role had he played in bringing about this result? Chief Inspector Chen could make all the convenient excuses for himself, of course, that ‘Eight or nine out of ten times, things go wrong in this world,’ or that ‘It’s nothing but the ironic causality of misplaced yin and yang.’ There was no denying the fact, however, that he had done his part in sending a helpless woman to live with the rogue who had ruined her life.
And what could he do about the gangs? Any major move against an international organization like the Green Bamboo had to be decided upon, in Party Secretary Li’s words, after careful review of political considerations. The body in the park had been identified, but what then? The information from Gu about the power of the triads and their operation would be easily dismissed. Li had said that they should celebrate the successful conclusion of the matter. ‘All’s well that ends well.’ The message was clear: there would be no further investigation of the gangs. Chen was in no position to do anything about it.
Nor was Chen in a position to be elated about his remaining work.
There was something never to be done, like a probe into corruption in the Fujian police or an inquiry into the source of Qian’s cell phone. There was something to be done, but never mentioned, like the parking lot deal for the karaoke club. And there was something perhaps never to be thought of, like the higher authorities’ possible involvement.
And he wondered whether Internal Security would choose to disappear at the conclusion of the case.
Inspector Rohn was carefully putting green tea leaves into the white cups, pinchful by pinchful, like a Chinese, as if concentrating on something far more important than the questions she was going to ask.
As on the day when she first arrived, sitting in the car, so on the day she was going to leave, sitting in the cafe, he did not know what she was thinking.
She picked up the thermos bottle, poured an arc of water into a cup for him, and then prepared another cup for herself.
“I like the Chinese way of drinking tea, watching the leaves leisurely unfolding, so green, so tender in the white cup.”
He gazed at her as she sipped her tea. For a second, she was merging into another woman, one who had accompanied him in another teahouse, in Beijing. She, too, had looked pale, with black circles under her eyes revealed in a flood of sunlight, with a green tea leaf in her white teeth.
The tenderness of the tea leaf between her lips, / Everything’s possible, but not pardonable . . .
“Li is not behaving like a Party Secretary today,” she said, meeting his gaze. “To encourage his hand-picked successor to have a t ê te- à -t ê te with an American officer!”
“I don’t know how you get your information, but that is just like Party Secretary Li—politically correct, but not to a fault.”
“So you will be like him one of those days?”
“No one can tell, you know that.”
“I know. What will happen to you, Chief Inspector Chen?” She gazed into her cup. “I mean, when will your next promotion be?”
“That depends on a lot of unforseeable factors, factors beyond my control.”
“You’re a political rising star, you cannot help yourself.”
“Do we have to talk about politics until you take off?”
“No, we don’t, but we live in politics, like it or not. That’s one of the modernist theories you have lectured me on, Chief Inspector Chen. I’m learning the Chinese way fast.”
“You are being sarcastic, Catherine,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Ten days here will be enough. I hope, to keep up your interest in Chinese studies.”
“Yes, I’ll go on with my Chinese studies. Perhaps I’ll take some evening courses this year.”
He had expected she would ask more questions about the investigation. She was entitled to, but she did not.
Actually, there were some things he had chosen not to disclose in the meeting room. For one, he had learned from Gu that the gangsters had been instructed not to carry guns while following the chief inspector and his American partner. According to Gu, because of Chen’s connections at the highest level, the gangsters did not want to make an enemy of him. Then, too, the Beijing government would never let the matter drop if an American marshal was killed in China. This might also explain a common aspect of the earlier accidents, which, though serious, had not been intended to be fatal. Not even the shot fired at Yu.
Putting down her cup, she took a picture out of her purse. “I have something for you.”
It showed a young girl sitting at a table in a sidewalk caf é , playing a guitar, her shoulder-length hair shining in the sunlight, her sandals dangling over a brass plaque on the sidewalk.
He recognized her. “It’s you, Catherine.”
“Yes, five or six years ago, at a cafe on Delmar. Do you see the brass plaque? There are more than a dozen there, like in Hollywood, except that these honor celebrities associated with St. Louis. Including T. S. Eliot, of course.”
“Is that one of the celebrity plaques?”
“Eliot’s,” she said. “Sorry, I did not mean any disrespect to your favorite poet.”
“No, he would have liked it—a beautiful girl weaving the sunlight in her hair, singing, dangling her sandals over his memorial.”
“I asked my mother to dig out the picture and send it to me. It’s the only one connecting me to him.”
“What a lovely picture!”
“Someday you may be sitting there, talking about Eliot, stirring memories with a coffee spoon, when the evening is spread out against the sky.”
“I would like that.”
“That’s a promise, Chief Inspector Chen. You are on the invitation list of the U. S. News Agency, aren’t you?” she said. “Keep the picture. When you think of T. S. Eliot, you may think of me, too—occasionally.”
“I will not think of Eliot as often as—” he stopped short. He would be crossing the line. It was forbidden. Abruptly he envisioned himself, as Eliot put it, hearing the mermaids singing, each to each, but not to him, as he walked in Bund Park.
“And I look forward to reading more of your poems, in
English or in Chinese.”
“I tried to work out some lines last night, but sitting beside Liu in the car, I realized what a lousy poet I am—And a lousy cop too.”
“Why are you so hard on yourself?” She took his hand across the table. “You are doing your best in a difficult situation. I understand.”
But there was a lot she might not understand. He did not make an immediate response.
She continued, “Did you tell Party Secretary Li about the parking lot deal with Gu?”
“No, I didn’t.” He had anticipated this question. Li had shown no surprise at his dealing with Gu. It appeared as if Li had known about it.
How deeply was Li connected with the Blue? As the number-one police official responsible for the security of the city, Party Secretary Li might have had to maintain some sort of working relationship with the local triad. In the Party’s newspapers, the slogan, “political stability,” was still emphasized as the highest priority after the eventful summer of 1989. But he seemed to be more deeply involved.