Don't Cry Tai Lake

by Qiu Xiaolong

  “As far as I know, if Liu was there for some business reason, she would be the one to make the plans and preparations. If it wasn’t for business, she would be the one to make the bed.”

  This was quite different from Sergeant Huang’s version, according to which Mi didn’t know anything about Liu’s plans that evening and instead had worked late at the office, a fact that had been corroborated by a colleague.

  “That’s right,” he said, aware that it wasn’t easy not to talk like a cop. “But that evening, it could have been something he didn’t want her to know about.”

  “That’s possible. Who can really tell what’s happening between a man and a woman?”

  “He must have paid her a lot.”

  “At the company, her pay was appropriate to her position as a secretary. To give the devil his due, Liu at least tried to keep up appearances.”

  “Well, whatever he was worth, it could have eventually been all hers. For her, it would have been only a matter of time.”

  “She might not have been so sure about that. If a little secretary doesn’t turn into a Mrs. in a year or two, then a little secretary she’ll remain. The boss may have all kinds of reasons to do or not to do something. How much Liu gave her in private was, of course, another story.”

  “That’s a very good point,” he said. “But what about Mrs. Liu? She knew about Liu’s evening plans, right?”

  “I don’t know, but she knew about the little secretary Liu kept there—”

  The sampan swayed and she lurched forward, her hand touching his shoulder for support.

  “Now tell me about your argument with Liu. It was about a week before his death, I heard.”

  “You’ve heard a lot, Chen. We argued several times. For Liu, profit was more important than everything else. That’s what had made him—and not just as a general manager but as a much-propagandized representative of China’s economic reform. It probably would have to be a top priority to keep up production at whatever cost for anyone in his position. But I had to do my job as an environmental engineer.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “But that day, about a week ago, he snapped and started shouting at me in his office. People must have heard our argument.” She added softly, after a pause, “I don’t want to speak ill of him now that he’s dead.”

  A short silence ensued. Another fish jumped out and fell back in, splashing. The boat was probably in the middle of the lake.

  “That’s the Wuxi Number One Chemical Company,” she said abruptly, pointing to their left. “Over there, I can show you something in the water.”

  “Move over there,” Chen called, rising to give the order to the sampan man.

  “There?” The sampan man looked puzzled. It was far from any scenic sights, and no tourist would be interested going there. But the sampan went there as instructed.

  “Let’s stop here for a while,” Shanshan said to the sampan man. Turning to Chen, she said, “Take a close look at the water here.”

  Already Chen could see a difference in the color of the water close to the chemical company. But it was more than that. An immense expanse of the water was covered in something like a heavy blackish-green shroud. It was substantial, almost solid, and stretched far into the distance. He hadn’t seen anything like that in the Huangpu River in Shanghai or, for that matter, in any other river.

  “Do you see something over there that looks like a dam, Chen?”

  “Yes, what’s that for?”

  “This horrible green mess might be permissible here since no visitors come around, but it wouldn’t be allowable near the park, and definitely not near the center. So the dam is designed to keep tourists like you from seeing this.”

  She spoke less reservedly today than she had before, about the problems and about the people responsible for them. After the detention she had suffered, Chen reflected, that was understandable.

  He knew that her history with the company might make her not such a reliable source for the investigation, though he chose not to believe that.

  “What you see here is not the worst of it,” she went on. “A couple of miles up, it is even worse.”

  “I just read an article in the newspaper which claimed that green algae might be a longstanding problem for the lake.”

  “How can you believe what’s written in those Party newspapers? They would never trace back the ecological disaster to industrial pollution. In the past, you might see a small green patch here or there in the lake, and occasionally the water would be too rich with nutrients because of the weather, but it didn’t affect the quality of the water for the whole lake. Nothing like this.”

  She was speaking fervently, as if to justify her work. There was no need for it, certainly not for him. He knew she was doing the right thing. So he tried to say something to lighten the moment.

  “I’m no expert,” he said, “but the water reminds me of a Tang dynasty poem about the south: the spring water ripples bluer than the skies, reclining / against a painted barge, / I fall asleep, listening to the rain. The lake water turns green, more or less naturally, with the arrival of spring. In a way, you might call that poetic.”

  “You really think so?”

  Then she did something totally unexpected. She shifted to the side of the boat and put her feet into the water.

  He didn’t know why she suddenly chose to dangle her feet here, her white ankles flashing above the darksome, smelly water. He leaned over, her long black hair straying across his cheek. Watching, he wondered whether he should do the same, and he bent over to undo his shoelaces. But she was already pulling her feet out of the water. They were covered with a layer of green grime, as if painted: wet, slimy, and sticky.

  “Would you call that poetic?”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Shanshan.”

  He grabbed one of her feet and tried to find a handkerchief. He ended up wiping the algae off with a small packet of paper napkins, which turned out not to be an easy job. His hands quickly got smeared too.

  He couldn’t claim it was poetic for him, but even so, it was almost surreal, yet touching. Her bare soles yielding in his hands, her soft toes flexing against his clumsy fingers, she seemed inexplicably vulnerable. He had known her for only a couple of days, with his identity as a chief inspector unrevealed to her.

  But she had proved her point. And she had done so in a way he had never read about in classical poetry.

  “Let’s go back,” he said to the sampan man.

  “Where?”

  “To the Wuxi Cadre Recreation Center.”

  “Wow!” the sampan man said, with a puzzled expression on his face when he noticed the grime on her feet and on Chen’s hands.

  “You want to go back?” She, too, looked up at him in surprise.

  “I am no expert like you, Shanshan. But I don’t think exposure to the chemicals will do you any good. You have to wash off your feet with clean water.”

  “I appreciate your offer, but you don’t have to worry,” she said, shaking her head.

  He also shook his head, resolutely.

  They remained sitting like that for a long while, not speaking, her feet still in his hands.

  The sampan man began to exert himself, looking over his shoulder from time to time.

  The center’s fence at the foot of the hill came into view.

  “Pull over,” Chen said, “we want to get off here.”

  “Here?” the sampan man repeated, not seeing a dock or an entrance.

  Chen had him row the sampan over to something like a landing near the concealed door in the fence.

  “I know a shortcut. We can get in through there,” he said and paid the sampan man generously. “It’s for the full day, as we agreed, plus fifty for the boat meal and a tip for the boat songs. Is that enough?”

  “More than enough, sir. Thank you so much. But you’re from the center, so it’s little wonder. Sorry that I was so blind as not to recognize Mount Tai.”

  I
t was an old proverb, often used to describe one’s failure to recognize people of high status or importance.

  Chen helped Shanshan to the shore and carried her shoes, which she didn’t immediately put back on. The ground was gritty against her bare soles, and she leaned slightly against his shoulder for a minute. He pointed at the villa glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

  “That’s where I am staying.”

  “Oh, that looks like a villa.”

  “Yes, let’s go there. You can wash your feet and we can have a drink.”

  “No, not today,” she said, looking down at her feet. “What a sight I would be for your high-cadre center.”

  “In classical Chinese literature, there is an expression about ‘walking lotus flowers,’ which refers to a beauty walking barefoot. So what’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re being sarcastic again,” she said. “No, definitely not. I don’t want to make a mess of your room.”

  “As it is, it’s already a mess.”

  “Well, some other day. I’ll keep your invitation in mind and take a rain check.”

  “Yes, do keep it in mind. When you come, if you come through the main entrance, make a right turn at the first crossing, and you’ll see the white villa. It’s a freestanding one. Number 3A. You can’t miss it. At night, you can see its green-shaded windows against the shimmering expanse of the lake.”

  “I wish I could say something similar about my room, my dorm room. It’s number 3B, but that’s the only resemblance. It’s as small as a piece of tofu and no one in the center would care to see it.”

  “Why not?” he said. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  They arrived at the fence door and she took the shoes from his hands, yet still didn’t put them on.

  “Thanks for everything, Chen.”

  “Thank you, Shanshan.”

  Standing at the door, he watched her walk barefoot along the road, turn as she took out her cell phone and shut it off, and then hasten away.

  SEVEN

  THERE’S NOTHING TOO SURPRISING about Chief Inspector Chen, Sergeant Huang recalled Detective Yu saying. Waiting under a tall tree near the back exit of the park, Huang contemplated that statement.

  He couldn’t help taking another look at the entrance to the center, which still seemed mysterious, almost forbidden, to a local like Huang.

  He had been surprised by Chen’s request for help for Shanshan. Was it all because of something mentioned by Comrade Secretary Zhao? It was said that the romantic chief inspector had a way with women, and he had only been in Wuxi for two or three days. There was no telling what Chen was really up to, what with his connections in Beijing. He could have been dispatched here for something highly secretive. In that case, Shanshan might be involved in a way far beyond what a low-level cop like Huang could fathom.

  She had been released, but Internal Security, while shifting their focus to Jiang, made a point of keeping her on their radar. And new information about the situation between her and Liu only rendered the situation even more murky. Was Chen aware of her connection to Jiang? Huang decided not to say anything about it until he learned more.

  Chen had called about an hour ago, saying that he had some time and that he wanted to meet with Huang. It was already two in the afternoon, and Huang wished Chen would have called earlier. Huang had to come up with a last-minute excuse to get away from the special team.

  He saw Chen striding out of the center. It was a rare opportunity, Huang hastened to reassure himself, to work with this legendary chief inspector.

  “You’re on time, Chief,” Huang said, stepping out to meet him. “What are we going to do today?”

  “I’d like to interview Mrs. Liu. For that, I need your help. I don’t have any official authority here, and I don’t think she would talk to me unless you are with me.”

  By doing this, Chen was stepping out of the background. It wasn’t exactly a surprise move, that of targeting Mrs. Liu. The local police had also looked into it, but several factors had made it difficult for them to press. She had no motive, she had a solid abili, and Liu had had his little secretary for years. Then the scenario pushed by Internal Security regarding Jiang blocked any further efforts in that direction by Huang and his colleagues.

  It was a step that Huang welcomed for another reason. No one would notice such a move by the two of them. Both Internal Security and his team were no longer paying any attention to Mrs. Liu.

  “Let’s go then,” Huang said. “Shall we take a taxi? It would be about half an hour’s walk.”

  “If you don’t mind, let’s walk. We can talk along the way.”

  “Good idea.”

  At Huang’s suggestion, they took a shortcut through the park, moving along the bank outlined in weeping willow shoots and blooming peach blossoms, with a variety of boats sailing on the lake in the background.

  It began drizzling. Several birds twittered in the shining wet foliage.

  “It’s a beautiful lake,” Huang said.

  “Yes, it is, but alas, so terribly polluted. The rain falling in the river, / weeds overspreading everywhere, / six dynasties gone like a dream—/ the birds keep twittering for nothing. / Uncaring, the willows lined / along the City of Tai cover / the ten-mile-long bank, as / before, in the green mist. I would only have to change a couple of words in the last line—against the green algae.”

  It was just like the idiosyncratic chief inspector that Huang had heard about to quote poetry in the middle of an investigation, but great detectives could afford to be eccentric—Sherlock Holmes, for example.

  “Anything new, Huang? I mean, in your investigation.”

  “Nothing new for our team, but inspired by our conversation last time, I made some inquiries on my own.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your discussion about the timing of the murder really made me think. So I started researching things in the company of late. One of them being, of course, the coming IPO. Once Wuxi Number One Chemical Company establishes itself as a publicly traded company, it’ll enjoy huge amounts of capital pouring in from the stock market, which will further consolidate its domineering position in the industry. This could be a serious threat to its rivals.”

  “So you think it could have been an attempt to derail Liu’s IPO plan?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?”

  “It’s possible, but there’re other ways to do that, easier and perhaps more effective ways too,” Chen said. “It’s a direction worth exploring, but let me say up front, that one problem with your theory is that it’s difficult to pinpoint a particular rival. With fierce competition in the marketplace, a successful company could have a lot of competitors, and not necessarily just in Wuxi. Besides, a rival may or may not benefit from Liu’s death. It’s still a state-run company, and there will be a smooth transition after someone is appointed to succeed Liu. It will still go public, eventually. The murder may have put it off for a time, but won’t kill it. ”

  “That’s true,” Huang said, nodding.

  “Keep digging,” Chen said encouragingly as they walked out of the park. “But tell me about Mrs. Liu. How has your team covered her?”

  “Zhou Liang, a senior member of our team, interviewed her. According to her, she was in Shanghai, playing mahjong with three others that night. Zhou checked it out and her alibi is solid.”

  “She went all the way to Shanghai for a mahjong game?”

  “For mahjong, you have to have longtime partners. And it’s quite common for people to play all night long. She was originally from Shanghai. It takes only an hour to go back and forth by train and she goes almost every weekend.”

  “Every weekend. Interesting,” Chen said. “So she knew Liu wouldn’t be coming back home that night, and she left for Shanghai for a mahjong game. What a couple!”

  “Well, about two or three years ago, there were some stories about family problems. But their relationship turned out to be okay. They purchased a mansion in both their names. And she apparen
tly has a large bank account for her personal expenses.”

  “What about the home office and Mi, the little secretary?”

  “About the home office, the apartment was assigned to him through the state housing plan because of his position. No one would decline such an apartment that they didn’t have to pay a penny for. Since they have already had the large house, it was called a home office more or less as a means of justification. As for the little secretary, I’ve heard rumors about her. But a young, pretty girl can easily be the target of gossip, and it’s difficult to tell how much of it is real. Mrs. Liu must have known about her for a long time. There’s a popular saying about the newly rich and successful: ‘The red flags stream all around outside the wall, but the red flag also stands tall, erect inside the wall.’”

  “What does it mean, Huang?”

  “A Big Buck may have mistresses, secretaries, concubines, and whatnot, but he doesn’t necessarily divorce his wife, nor does it mean he has trouble at home. Home is a safe harbor for him. Besides, the Lius were said to really dote on their son. He’s graduating from college soon. Last summer, he was an intern here at the company, and, an indulgent mother, Mrs. Liu came over frequently, bringing home-cooked dishes.”

  Chen listened attentively without comment. They turned in to a noisy, shopper-thronged thoroughfare, which led to a small quiet street. There, a young recycler in rags rode a junk-laden tricycle with a disproportionately huge sign describing all the recycled items. He rode down the street, his tricycle crammed with indescribable stuff, moving at leisure, as if strolling through his own courtyard. Passing, he looked back at them and grinned.

  “The other factor we have to take into consideration,” Huang resumed, “is how the coming IPO would affect her. The way things were going, it would probably be only a matter of months before it was complete. Liu stood to rake in tons of money and, as his wife, she did too. She had no compelling reason to do anything at this particular moment.”

  “That’s a good point,” Chen said.

  The street changed again, this time into a promenade paved in colored stones, where they saw a road sign pointing to another park.