The Runner tct-5

by Peter May

  Li was lost in thought. ‘Obviously something to do with the numbers,’ he said.

  ‘Think about it,’ Mei Yuan told him, ‘and you can tell me tomorrow when I make you another jian bing.’

  Li nodded. ‘Did you see Margaret this morning?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I am doing my best, Li Yan, to educate her in the niceties of the traditional Chinese wedding. But she seems a little…distracted.’ She paused. ‘She said to say hi, I’m not sure why, because she’ll see you at the autopsy.’

  Li knew immediately from her tone that she disapproved. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mei Yuan,’ he said pointedly, clearly drawing a line that he did not want her to cross. He dropped a ten yuan note in her tin.

  ‘And your young friend?’

  ‘Try keeping me away,’ Sun grinned. ‘You don’t mind if I bring my wife sometime? She always complains I keep her tied to the kitchen and never take her out for a meal.’

  Li cuffed him playfully around the head. ‘Cheapskate,’ he said.

  * * *

  When they got on to the ring road heading north, Sun said, ‘So you’re going ahead with it then?’

  Li looked at him, but Sun kept his eyes on the road. ‘With what?’

  ‘The wedding.’

  Li guessed that everyone in the section must know by now. Tao, too. He would no doubt be waiting in the wings to fill his shoes. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

  Sun refrained from comment. Instead, he asked, ‘When do your parents arrive for it?’

  ‘My father gets here from Sichuan tomorrow,’ Li said. ‘Margaret’s mother flies in from America the day after.’ He grimaced and blew air through clenched teeth. ‘I’m not looking forward to it. Two people from opposite ends of the world, and from either end of the social spectrum. I can’t see how they’re going to get on.’

  Sun said, ‘Didn’t they meet at the betrothal meeting?’

  Li glanced at him self-consciously. ‘We haven’t had the betrothal meeting yet.’ The betrothal meeting would normally have taken place six months before the wedding. In this case it would be only a matter of days. ‘Thank heaven we have Mei Yuan to bridge the gap.’

  ‘She’s an unusual woman,’ Sun said. ‘How does someone with a degree from Beida end up selling pancakes on a street corner?’

  ‘The Cultural Revolution,’ Li said. ‘She was an intellectual, and suffered particularly badly. They took away her baby boy and sent her to work in the countryside. She never saw him again, and never recovered.’ He knew that in many ways he had filled the hole in her life left by the son she had lost and never had the chance to raise. He turned to Sun, a sudden recollection returning. ‘Who do you know in Beijing who has English books?’

  Sun shrugged. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe I could buy her some books at the English Language Bookstore. She wouldn’t ever have to know, would she?’

  Li looked at him, moved by his thoughtfulness. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t.’

  Chapter Three

  I

  The national team swimming coach was a small man in his middle fifties, wiry and nervous, with close-cropped greying hair and black darting eyes. He didn’t look as if he would have the strength to swim a length of the Olympic-sized pool below them, never mind train a gold medal winner. Even beneath his thick sweatshirt and track suit bottoms, Li could see that he did not have the build of a swimmer. He was slight, almost puny. Perhaps he had reached his current position because of his motivational qualities.

  They sat up amongst the tiered rows of blue seats with a grandstand view of the swimming pool. The air was warm and damp. Both Li and Sun had unbuttoned their coats, and Li loosened the scarf at his neck. Away to their right, forensics officers had taped off the diving area and were painstakingly searching every square inch of tile. The diving pool itself was being drained through large filters that would catch any evidence traces that might be suspended in the water. The diving platform and the steps leading up to it had been tape-lifted. But so far all their efforts had been unrewarded.

  Coach Zhang could not sit still. ‘It’s outrageous,’ he said. ‘My team are in competition this afternoon and they have nowhere to train, nowhere to warm up.’

  Sun said, ‘Aren’t there two pools up at Olympic Green?’

  ‘They are both in use,’ Zhang said irritably. ‘One for swimming, one for diving. We don’t have access to either.’

  Li said, ‘You seem more concerned about training facilities than the death of your star swimmer.’

  Zhang flicked him a wounded look. ‘Of course, I am shocked by Sui’s death,’ he said. ‘But the competition is going ahead. I can’t bring him back, and we still have to compete.’

  Li smiled cynically. ‘The show must go on. How very American.’

  ‘Oh, I’d be happy to cancel,’ Zhang said quickly. ‘But we’re not even allowed to say why Sui’s name has been withdrawn. It’s your people who have forced that upon us.’

  Li had no reply to that. Instead, he asked about Sui. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘At training, the night before last.’

  ‘And how did he seem then?’

  ‘Morose. But he always was. Not one of the more gregarious members of our team.’

  ‘Did he ever discuss with you the idea of shaving his head?’

  Zhang frowned. ‘No. No, he didn’t. And I would not have approved. The naked head is such an ugly thing, and I don’t believe it makes a centimeter of a difference.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘But it doesn’t surprise me. Sui was a very single-minded young man. He had a bout of flu about ten days ago. Knocked the stuffing out of him. We thought he wasn’t going to be able to compete this week. But he worked so hard in training…’ Zhang lost himself for a moment in some distant, private thought, and then he looked at Li and Sun. ‘He was determined he was going to make it. Absolutely determined. I just can’t believe he committed suicide.’

  Nor could his team-mates. Li and Sun found them gathered in one of the changing rooms downstairs, sitting around the slatted benches with sports bags at their feet waiting for the mini-bus to collect them and take them across town to Olympic Green. In contrast to the high spirits of the previous evening, their mood was sombre and silent. Not exactly conducive to successful competition.

  Although they had been questioned last night by Sun and Qian, they were still eager to help in any way they could. But none of them had had contact with Sui on the day of his death, so nobody had seen his shaven head until they found him dangling above the diving pool.

  ‘What was he like, I mean as a person?’ Li asked.

  Several of them ventured views not dissimilar to his coach. ‘He used to be a lot more fun.’ This from a tall, broad-shouldered boy called Guo Li upon whom high hopes were invested for the two hundred meters butterfly.

  ‘You’d known him a long time?’ Li asked.

  ‘We were at school together in Guilin. He used to be a good laugh. You know, serious about his swimming, but fun to be with. Lately he started taking it all a lot more seriously.’

  ‘How lately?’

  ‘About six months ago,’ one of the others said. ‘He started getting…I don’t know, too serious.’

  ‘And started winning big time,’ another of them pointed out.

  ‘He was a pain in the ass,’ someone else said. And when the others glared at him said defensively, ‘Well, he was. He’d bite the head off you if you looked at him the wrong way.’

  Li remembered Wang’s observation at Jia Jing’s autopsy. There can often be behavioural changes with steroid abuse. Users can become moody, aggressive. He said, ‘Is there any chance he was taking drugs?’

  ‘No way!’ Guo Li left no room for doubt. And there was a murmur of agreement from around the changing room, even from the one who thought Sui was a pain in the ass. ‘He treated his body like a temple,’ Guo said. ‘His diet, his training. There was no way he would do anything to damage himself.’
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br />   ‘And yet,’ Li said, ‘if appearances are to be believed, he drank a half bottle of brandy and then hanged himself. Hardly the actions of someone who treated his body like a temple.’

  None of them had anything to say to that.

  * * *

  Outside, the sun remained winter low in the sky, and snow still lay across the concourse on the shaded side of the building. The road below remained white, too, and as they scrambled down the embankment, students rode gingerly past on bikes that were liable to slither from under them without warning. Sun had parked their Jeep opposite the student accommodation block. ‘Where to now, Chief?’

  ‘Let’s go and see where an Olympic gold medal prospect lives.’

  II

  Sui Mingshan, Chinese swimming’s best prospect of Olympic gold, rented an apartment in one of the city’s most up-market new housing complexes, above Beijing New World Taihua Plaza on Chongwenmenwai Street. Three shining new inter-linked towers formed a triangle around the plaza below. Eighteen storeys of luxury apartments for the wealthy of the new China. Out front, a huge Christmas tree bedecked with lights and foil-wrapped parcels dwarfed a gaggle of plastic Father Christmases looking absurdly like over-sized garden gnomes. An ethereal Oh Come All Ye Faithful in Chinese drifted across the concourse. External elevators ascended in polished glass tubes.

  Sun parked in a side street and they entered the apartment block at number 5 on the north-west corner. Marble stairs led them to a chrome and glass entrance from behind which a security man in light grey uniform watched them advancing.

  ‘Can I help?’ he asked, and looked them up and down as if he thought they might be terrorists. Sun showed him his Public Security ID and his attitude changed immediately. ‘You’ll have come to see Sui Mingshan’s place. Some of your people are already here. I’ll show you up if you like.’

  He rode up with them in the elevator to the fifteenth floor. ‘How long was Sui living here?’ Li asked.

  The security man sucked air in through his teeth. ‘You’d need to check with the sales office around the corner. But I’d reckon about five months.’ He grinned at them in an inexplicably comradely sort of way. ‘Been thinking about joining the police myself,’ he said, as if that might endear him to them. ‘Five years in security. I figure that’s almost like a foot in the door.’

  But neither of them returned his smile. ‘Better get your application in fast,’ Li said, ‘I hear there might be a vacancy coming up soon.’ And the doors slid open on the fifteenth floor.

  As they stepped on to the landing, Sun asked, ‘Did he have many visitors?’

  ‘In all the time I’ve been on duty, not one,’ said the security man. ‘Which makes him just about unique in this place.’

  The door of Sui’s apartment was lying open, yellow and black crime scene tape criss-crossed between the jambs. Li said, ‘We’ll call you if we need you.’ And he and Sun stood and watched as the disappointed security man walked back down the hallway to the elevator. They ducked under the tape into the apartment, and stepped into another world, feet sinking into a deep-piled fawn patterned carpet laid throughout the flat. The walls were painted in pastel peach and cream white. Expensive black lacquered furniture was arranged in a seating area around a window giving on to a panoramic view across the city. A black glass-topped dining table had six seats placed around it, reflecting in a large cut-glass wall mirror divided into diamonds. A huge still-life of flowers in a window adorned one wall, real flowers arranged in crystal or pottery vases carefully placed on various surfaces around the vast open living area. There were the sounds of voices coming from a door leading to the kitchen. Li called out, and after a moment Fu Qiwei pushed his head around the door. He was the senior forensics officer from Pao Jü Hutong, a small wizened man with tiny coal black eyes and an acerbic sense of humour. He wore a white Tivek suit, plastic shoe covers and white gloves.

  ‘Oh, hi, Chief,’ he said. ‘Welcome to paradise.’

  ‘Do we need to get suited up, Fu?’ Li asked.

  Fu shook his head. ‘Naw. We’re just about finished here. Not that we found anything worth a damn. Barely even a hair. It’s like he was a ghost, completely without personality. Left no traces of himself anywhere.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Li was curious.

  ‘Just look at the place.’ Fu led them into the bedroom. ‘It’s like a hotel room. When we got here the bed was made up like it had never been slept in. Not a trace of dust on any surface you might run your finger over.’ He slid open the mirrored doors of a built-in wardrobe. Rows of clothes, immaculately laundered and ironed, hung neatly on the rail. ‘I mean, you figure anyone’s ever worn this stuff?’ Polished shoes and unmarked white trainers were arranged carefully in the shoe rack below. ‘And I’m thinking, this guy’s what — nineteen? You ever been in a teenager’s bedroom that looked like this? And have a look in here…’ He took them through to the kitchen.

  Every surface was polished to a shine. The hob looked as if it had never been used. Crockery was piled neatly in cupboards, cutlery gleamed silently in drawers. There was a bowl of fruit on an island in the centre of the kitchen. It was fresh, but looked as if it had been arranged. The refrigerator was virtually empty. There was an open carton of orange juice, some tubs of yoghurt. The larder was also sparsely stocked. Rice in a packet, some tinned vegetables, dried noodles. Fu said, ‘If I didn’t know the kid lived here, I’d have said it was a showhouse, you know, to show potential customers how their very own apartment could be. Totally fucking soulless.’ He chuckled. ‘Turns out, of course, they got housekeeping in this place. Maids come in every day to clean the apartment, change the sheets, do the laundry, replace the flowers. They even got a service that’ll do your shopping for you. Can you believe it? And hey, look at this…’ They followed him through into a small study, where a polished mahogany desk filled most of the available space. A lamp sat on one corner beside a handful of books pressed between bookends that looked as if they had been placed there by a designer. But it was here that they saw for the first time the only evidence that Sui had lived here at all. The walls were covered with framed winner’s medals, certificates of excellence, newspaper articles extolling Sui’s victories, photographs of Sui on the winner’s podium. Almost like a shrine. And Guo Li’s words came back to Li. He treated his body like a temple.

  Fu opened one of the drawers and took out a glossy brochure on the Beijing New World Taihua Plaza apartments. A Perfect Metropolitan Residence it claimed on the front cover. Fu opened it up and read from inside. ‘Listen to this: Atop each apartment tower are the exclusive duplex penthouses for celebrities, featuring the extravagant vertical space of the floor lobby and parlours, generous natural light and open sunshine terraces to capture the magnificent views of the city — a lifestyle only the very rich and successful deserve.’ Fu looked at them, shaking his head in wonder. ‘I mean, have you ever heard any-fucking-thing like it? A lifestyle only the very rich and successful deserve! Did I fall asleep for twenty years or something? I mean is this still China? The Communist Party still runs things, yeh?’ He continued shaking his head. ‘How’s it possible? Only the rich and successful deserve shit like this? Is that how it is now?’ He tossed the brochure on the desk. ‘And I thought I’d seen it all.’

  He turned to the two detectives. ‘You know, there’s a private gymnasium down the stairs, and a private pool. Every apartment has fibre optic broadband internet connection as well as international satellite and cable TV. Tell me, Li. This kid was a swimmer, right? Just a boy. How could he afford stuff like this?’

  ‘There’s a lot of money in international sport these days,’ Sun said. ‘Big prize money at the top events around the world, millions in sponsorship from commercial companies.’

  ‘Do we know if Sui had a sponsorship deal?’ Li asked.

  Sun shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Then we’d better find out.’ Li pulled his gloves on and went through the top drawer of Sui’s desk. There were a few bills
and receipts, neatly clipped, an HSBC chequebook, half a dozen bank statements. Li ran his eyes quickly over the figures and shook his head. ‘Well, his bank balance is healthy enough, but not enough to finance a lifestyle like this.’ He bagged the chequebook and handed it to Sun. ‘Better check out his bank. Maybe he had other accounts.’

  They took some time, then, to wander around the apartment looking at everything in detail. Fu had been right. It was, indeed, as if a ghost lived here. There were virtually no personal belongings of any kind. No books — other than those placed for effect — no magazines, no family photographs. No loose change, no combs with hair stuck in the teeth, no subway tickets or taxi receipts.

  The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was unnervingly immaculate. The bathroom cabinet revealed a spare box of toothpaste, two packs of soap, an unopened box of aspirin, a jar of cotton pads. Sun said, ‘Well, if he was taking steroids, or any other kind of performance enhancers, he didn’t keep them here.’

  On the shelf above the sink there was a Gillette Mach3 razor and a box of four heads. There were also two bottles of Chanel aerosol aftershave. Li frowned, an unexpected character clue in an otherwise sterile environment. A young man who liked his scents. Li picked up one of the bottles. He sprayed it into the air and sniffed, his nose wrinkling at the bitter orange scent of it. ‘Wouldn’t catch me wearing that,’ he said.

  Sun said, ‘I’d be amazed if he did. Doesn’t look like he shaved.’ He lifted the box of razor heads. ‘None of them have been used.’ The Chinese were not a hairy race. Some men never had to shave. He picked up a small gold-coloured aerosol smaller than a lipstick. ‘What’s this?’

  Li took it from him and frowned. ‘It’s a breath freshener.’ It was exactly the same as the one found among Jia Jing’s belongings. He sprayed a tiny puff of it into the air, as he had done a couple of hours earlier in the autopsy room. The same sharp menthol smell.