by Qiu Xiaolong
‘So they no longer take it as a possible part of the serial murder case?’
‘They see no connection among the victims, the first three being ordinary people, and then Xiang in relation to Geng being anything but ordinary. They are bent on pushing forward in the political direction. It’s being investigated as a deliberate attack against the Party image by making an example of a senior Party cadre like Geng.’
‘Then it’s not a case for our bureau.’
‘No, they do not say so. They cannot afford to rule out the possibility of its being a serial murder case yet, but they do not share the information with us. Not even the video. The way they talked, they may have had some leads. At least that’s the impression I’ve got. Anyway, Party Secretary Li is like an ant crawling on a hot wok, saying it’s not just an ordinary serial murder case involving ordinary people.’
‘Come on. No murder is an ordinary murder,’ Yu said crossly. ‘Any clue about the identity of the man who first posted the video online?’
‘Believe it or not, it was put on a computer in an Internet bar with a fake ID. The owner of the Internet bar could only remember that it was a middle-aged customer wearing a large mask and amber-colored glasses, which seemed not to be something so suspicious in these smoggy days, and he left just about ten minutes later. The surveillance camera there only got a blurred picture of his back.’
‘So it’s been well planned. But here’s a different question, Detective Qin. Xiang and Geng got married in spite of their age difference. The video about their intimacy in their prenuptial days – however graphic or pornographic – could only have been a huge embarrassment, but not an irrecoverable political disaster for him.’
‘I’ve thought about the same question too. And the Internal Security officer named Lao refused to give me any relevant details in that aspect. “Too politically confidential!” That’s about all Lao said to me. So how could it have led anywhere?’
‘For a political case, the release of the video at this moment does not make much sense.’
‘Could all the other killings have been something like the preparation for this final one? With all the public attention drawn to the killings, the old man would have been landed in a really tight spot.’
Yu did not think he could rule out the possibility, but it was too far-fetched.
‘Xiang was a pretty girl. It’s possible that she had someone so enamored of her that when she threw herself into Geng’s arms, he got hold of the video tape and released it online.’
‘No, that does not add up. If that secret lover had been really such a romantic soul, how could he have chosen to post online that pornographic video about her writhing in another man’s arms?’
‘You have your point, Detective Qin. But let’s not talk about Internal Security and the video for the moment. What are you going to do?’
‘Well, let me ask you a question first, Detective Yu. Has Chief Inspector Chen discussed with you about the case?’
‘Yes, he called me yesterday. He has been simply overwhelmed in Zhao’s assignment. Don’t ask me what it is. He did not tell me a single word about it. But he did promise he would help in whatever ways possible. With his permission, I took out that casebook of his on the red mandarin dress serial murder and studied it.’
‘Yes, I remember that particular case.’
‘According to his notes, for a serial murder case, it could be committed for some reason understandable to the criminal alone. Regarding the fourth victim, Xiang, we do not know enough at this stage, but for the first three, I’ve done some thinking by myself.’
‘Please go on, Detective Yu.’
‘In accordance with the file from you, there were no enemies known for Peng, the first victim – such a poor and pitiable woman – quite understandably with no one around harboring enough hatred to kill her. As for the ever-increasing medical disputes in today’s society, people may be angry with doctors or nurses, but it does not make sense to target a night caregiver.
‘And then for the second victim, Linghu, there’s a similar problem. He had no known enemy or adversary. People may have a grudge against some anchormen, for fake news, shameless propaganda, or whatever, but not against a weather anchorman. Supposing he made incorrect forecasts which caused some inconvenience for the viewers, it would have been far from enough for them to kill. Besides, there’re other people working overnight in the city government building, not just those from the weather bureau. Could that have been a matter of mistaken identity?
‘The same could be said about Yan, the third victim. People are complaining about the soaring real estate prices. But she’s just a salesperson at an agency, having no control about the price. Besides, Lujiazui is where she lived, quite far from the agency office in Zabei District. She could have been running there just before going to the office.’
‘So what’s your point, Detective Yu?’
‘For the possible reasons against the victims, there’s no common denominator, but there’s got to be something there, some reasoning understandable only to his twisted mind.’
‘From your inspector’s notes again, but we have no idea whatsoever about the identity of the murderer.’
‘According to Chen, the criminal may have left some “signature”, which speaks about what’s making sense only to him, and from which we may begin to have a profile of the murderer.’
‘But where are the so-called signatures?’ Qin said incredulously. ‘For a possible profile, we may say he’s not someone old, he’s capable of moving around quickly, and of striking out forcibly.’
‘And of observing the background minutely. In spite of all the surveillance cameras in those central locations, there’s no picture of a suspect near the crime scene.’
‘That’s true.’
‘As for the possible signature, I think I would begin by studying all the pictures of the four victims at the crime scenes.’
‘Of course you may have all of them. In addition to the pictures we have taken, I’ve already requested pictures and tapes from the surveillance cameras in those areas. Some of them may be stored in the evidence room.’ Qin then added, ‘In the meantime, I’m going to have another discussion with Internal Security.’
The high-speed train was incredible, even more so in the first-class car.
With the train tickets sold out at Wuxi Station except for the first-class seats, Inspector Chen had not hesitated to purchase a first-class one back to Shanghai. The car was clean and comfortable, sporting leather-cushioned seats, free Wi-Fi, TV in front of each seat, and ample space for him to stretch out to sleep, though that was something perhaps furthest from his mind.
Sipping from a bottle of water, he found himself to be the only passenger in the car, which was helpful. He could do some quiet thinking by himself without having to talk to any other passengers.
The trip to Wuxi had actually yielded more questions than answers.
Still, one of the answers meant a lot to him – the reason why Shanshan had decided to leave Jiang.
As for her subsequent choice of Yao, Chen did not want to speculate. Yao was a successful businessman, capable of providing for her things like a vacation at a picturesque seaside resort in the United States. And for that matter, a high-end office for her in Shanghai too.
So why not? For years, things had been hard enough on her, and she deserved a change for the better.
And those pictures also posed questions for him to ponder over. They’re not irrelevant, not like the way Huang brushed them off: ‘They have nothing to do with us.’
Who took the pictures?
For what purpose?
What’s more, how did they come into net cop Bei’s computer?
Zhao might not have been the only one who had been paying more than serious attention to Shanshan.
And then the offhand comment about the pictures made by net cop Bei – ‘Who could tell they may pop up online one of these smoggy days?’
It was out of the question for
her to have put them online. If so, who else?
These questions proved to be overwhelming. He was hardly aware of the scenes receding and changing so fast out of the train window.
He became increasingly positive about one thing. Zhao’s assignment would turn out to be far less ‘simple’ than he had said to the inspector in the Hyatt Hotel.
A call came in through his public cellphone, ringing abruptly into his thoughts. It was from Party Secretary Li of the Shanghai Police Bureau.
‘You know what, Chief Inspector Chen? Comrade Secretary Zhao of the Party Central Discipline Committee has just called me, making his request of your help. It is the top priority for our bureau, of course, to cooperate with Comrade Secretary Zhao. So I have told others that you are engaged in a very special, very important investigation. No one will say anything about it if you don’t come to the bureau this week or next.’
Chen listened without making an immediate response.
‘But the city government has called us several times about the serial murder case. Both the Homicide squad and Detective Yu have been going all out for the investigation. You understand the timing of it.’
‘Yes, it is just like the People’s Congress Blue,’ Chen blurted out.
It was a standing joke about the politics of the air quality. Bad for months or years, the smoggy sky would suddenly turn blue with white clouds sailing over the Tiananmen Square on the occasion of important political events, such as the opening session of National People’s Congress. The Beijing government would go all out, sparing no cost, shutting down the traffic and chimneys to present a perfectly blue-sky background in all propaganda. Once the occasion was over, everything would go back to the smoggy norm.
‘Oh, you mean that. That’s the business of the environmental office. For us, it’s far more direct and immediate. If it’s truly a serial murder case, we may soon have another victim on our hands – in less than a week. And then another, if the case remains unsolved and the killing continues. Too much responsibility for us at this critical juncture.’
That was sounding, ironically, like a sweet revenge for Chen. Li had been trying hard to keep the case away from him. Now the table was turned, with the politics behind getting more serious. If the murderer went on killing, right into the session of the People’s Congress, the news would spread all over social media. Then Li’s career would be pretty much finished.
Li knew nothing about Chen’s own crisis, of course.
‘I could not say no to Comrade Secretary Zhao, you know that, Party Secretary Li. No way to excuse myself from his assignment.’
‘His assignment is highly important, but perhaps not that urgent. You don’t have to come back to the bureau full time. Talk to Qin whenever you happen to not be that busy.’ Li went on with no response from Chen, ‘We have already sent out our reserve force patrolling those politically sensitive areas. Quite a number of neighborhood committees there have been notified too. But you can never have too much prevention for a case like this.’
‘That’s true.’
‘In the meantime, what else did Comrade Secretary Zhao discuss with you?’ Li said, suddenly changing the topic. ‘He trusts you so much, we all know that.’
‘I know,’ he said, realizing that might be another reason for this phone call, and that he was in no position to reveal anything about it. ‘Comrade Secretary Zhao’s been bothered with the terrible air quality in Beijing. So it’s just like a fresh air vacation for him.’
‘Yes, a senior Party leader like Zhao deserves a much-needed break from the smog in the capital. By the way,’ Li switched the topic again, ‘where are you now? A lot of noise in the background.’
‘I’m … Hold on for one minute …’
A train attendant in a light blue uniform with a white embroidered apron was coming over, pushing a screeching cart full of well-known Wuxi local products across the aisle, hawking in a sweet voice. He covered the phone with his hand. No need for him to buy anything on the train. In about half an hour he would be back in Shanghai.
‘Anything you would like to have, sir?’ she said at a closer distance, smiling with engaging dimples – like the cardamom buds in early spring in a Tang poem – and offering him a package of dried noodlefish. ‘Special product of Tai Lake, Wuxi. Excellent for making silver and gold omelet.’
With him being the only passenger in the first-class car, he found it hard not to buy something from her, but he pushed back the package of dried noodlefish. That once again reminded him of what Shanshan had said to him at their first meeting: even though the water quality of Tai Lake was said to have improved, the fish still wasn’t worth eating. He failed to recall, however, whether he had tasted the noodlefish together with her by the lake.
‘For yourself or for your people in Shanghai,’ the young attendant said, smiling. ‘Anything you like.’
He picked up a dainty bamboo basket of fried gluten balls, two boxes of steaks braised in Wuxi style, and a small box of dried tofu cubes in special soy sauce. Back in Shanghai, he would have the Wuxi specials delivered to his mother. In his childhood, his parents had used to bring back home these Wuxi products. He felt guilty about not having visited her for more than a week.
He paid the attendant for the purchases and she put them in a large white plastic gift bag for him.
‘Chief Inspector Chen?’ Li’s voice came over the phone again.
‘Sorry, Party Secretary Li. A train attendant was pushing the food cart over to me. I have just bought some Wuxi snacks for my mother.’
‘What a filial son!’ Li exclaimed. ‘So you’re making the trip to Wuxi?’
‘It’s just part of the assignment for Zhao. But I’m anything but a filial son, leaving her all alone in Shanghai, and I’m going to have the Wuxi dried tofu cubes for myself.’
‘Enjoy the trip, and enjoy the Wuxi snack too. If your mother needs help, let us know. And whenever you are not that busy by the lake, give some help to your colleagues in Shanghai.’
‘I will.’
‘Then see you back in Shanghai soon. People are getting really worried.’
To Chen’s perplexity, after having inquired about his whereabouts, Li did not push hard for the purpose of his Wuxi trip. As for the last sentence, Chen thought he could detect a note of genuine worry in Li’s voice.
The inspector still held the phone in his hand. With complimentary Wi-Fi in the first-class car, he did a little research online and copied the link to an article about things for a tourist to do, to eat and to see in Shanghai.
He sent it to Zhao with a short message.
‘Having just talked with Party Secretary Li of the police bureau, I assured him about my doing the tourist guide job for you. And it’s true, as you can see from the article attached. Here are some ideas for your vacation in Shanghai. Of course, any time you need me, or anything else you want me to do, just let me know.
‘Given the air quality, however, it may not be a good idea to stay outside for too long. There are a number of excellent restaurants in Lujiazui, which are listed in the article. They are also very close to the hotel. You may try one of them.
‘In the meantime, I’m going to try to locate some environmental activists associated with her.’
It took Chen less than an hour to get to the office of Shanghai Literature from the Shanghai railway station via the subway.
The office was housed in the magnificent mansion of the Shanghai Writers’ Association on Julu Road. In the early 1950s, the Party government had taken the high-walled mansion from a ‘black family’ and turned it over to the association with offices of literature magazines and other institutions there related to the association.
Ouyang was not in the magazine office. Nanhua, the office assistant, gave him five copies of the issue in a large envelope.
But to his disappointment, she could hardly give him anything new or useful in addition to what Ouyang had already told him. Except that the address of the other requester of the magazine was an
office suite on the twenty-fifth floor in the China Petroleum Building in Beijing. She failed to recall the name of the office, so she turned to the page in the logbook bearing the name and address of the receiver.
‘Mrs Zhu Yi, Room 22–24, Floor 25th, China Petroleum Building, Beijing.’
China Petroleum Building housed China Petroleum Ministry, no question about it. As far as Nanhua knew, those skyscraping buildings usually rented out rooms or even floors to other offices or companies not necessarily related to the industry. It could take quite a while to check out what office Mrs Zhu Yi was working in. Nanhua had no idea as to how to begin such a search.
So it was no more than ten minutes later that Chen walked out of the magazine office carrying a large envelope containing five copies of Shanghai Literature.
Since he was in the building of the Shanghai Writers’ Association, he thought he might as well drop into Qiang’s office to say hi to the old man, and to express thanks to him for his work all these years in the association, from which Qiang was now going to retire.
Qiang was something of an enigma. As the head of its foreign liaison office, he was supposed to be the one capable of speaking English or some other foreign languages, knowledgeable about Western cultures and conventions. But that was far from the case. A man of few words in public, Qiang looked more like an old farmer who had recently moved into the city of Shanghai. And he was also dressed as such.
It was whispered, however, that Qiang was either closely related to someone in Internal Security, or a secret member. It was the sort of question few wanted to ask. Anyway, he had worked there for over thirty years as one trusted by the Party authorities, with his position untouchable at the sensitive office. For the last two or three years, he also had an assistant who interpreted or translated for him as more and more writers came to Shanghai from other countries. But he handled his job well, got along with the visiting writers as well as the local writers, and with Chen too.
The moment Chen stepped into the office, Qiang rose with a broad smile breaking out on his deep-lined face.
