by Peter May
Lyang smiled, dark eyes sparkling. ‘Well, since I became a wife, I’ve had to retire from the police. But I still like to indulge in a bit of hostility now and then.’
‘And, boy, can she be hostile,’ Hart said.
‘We should get on just fine, then,’ Margaret said.
Lyang cupped her hand under a sleepy Li Jon’s chin and he squinted at her in the bright sunlight. ‘He’s beautiful,’ she said.
‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing him. I couldn’t find anyone to look after him at short notice.’
‘If I’d known I’d have brought Ling with me. She’s fifteen months.’
‘It’s Li Jon’s first birthday next month.’
‘Well, you’ll have no shortage of things to talk about,’ Hart said. He rattled off some Chinese at a waitress and she disappeared, returning quickly with a highchair for Li Jon.
They settled themselves around the table, and the redjacketed serving girls brought in a large tray with plates bearing a variety of raw sliced mushrooms and placed it on a side table. Hart ordered beer, and another waitress brought a large, cooked black chicken in stock and tipped it carefully into the bubbling liquid in the centre of the table.
‘You ever had black chicken before?’ Hart asked Margaret. She shook her head. ‘Just tastes like chicken, except it’s black,’ he said.
Lyang said, ‘In traditional Chinese medicine, black chicken is used to treat female diseases.’
‘And since I don’t have any female diseases, obviously it works,’ Hart said.
Margaret smiled. ‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘Sounds appetising.’
Li said to Lyang, ‘You speak exceptionally good English.’
She inclined her head a little in acknowledgement. ‘I was a translator at the Ministry of State Security. Russian and English. That was before I moved over to Public Security.’
‘And if she hadn’t become a cop, I’d never have met her,’ Hart said.
‘And if we’d never met, I’d still have been a cop,’ she replied. There was no hint of rancour in her tone, but Margaret sensed some underlying tension. She knew only too well that the authorities would not allow a serving police officer to marry a foreign national. If you wanted to marry, you had to quit the force. She glanced at Li, but he was avoiding her eye.
‘We met at a conference in Boston,’ Hart said. ‘Lyang was trained in polygraphy at the University of Public Security here in Beijing. She was on an exchange trip to see how the Americans do it.’
‘And no doubt we Americans do it better,’ Margaret said. ‘We always do everything better, don’t we?’
Hart smiled indulgently at her sarcasm. ‘We do it differently. And we’ve had a lot more experience. The Chinese began using the polygraph just ten years ago, and it has only been employed in around eight thousand cases since then. Compare that to the States where we’ve been using lie detection for more than seventy years, and almost every government employee has to submit to a polygraph test to get his job. I think we know a little more about it.’
Margaret shrugged. ‘What’s to know? It’s just a bunch of wires and sensors that read heart-rate, breathing, perspiration. The operator is the lie detector, not the machine. It’s all psychology. Smoke and mirrors.’
Hart laughed infectiously. ‘You’re right, of course, Margaret. Which is why experience counts for so much.’
‘Then how come you manage to get it wrong so often?’
‘Margaret…’ Li said, a hint of warning in his voice.
But Hart was unruffled. ‘Relax, Li Yan, I’m enjoying this. It’s good to do battle with someone who can make a good argument.’ He turned back to Margaret. ‘Actually, we have a pretty high success rate. Ninety per cent or higher.’
But Margaret was unimpressed. ‘Not according to the OTA. You know what that is?’
‘Sure. The Office of Technology Assessment. It’s an arm of the US federal government that analyses and evaluates current technology.’
‘Whose evaluation of the success rate of the polygraph is as low as fifty per cent. Hell, I can guess and be right half the time.’
Lyang was grinning. ‘Still enjoying the argument, Bill?’
But Margaret wasn’t finished. ‘I read somewhere that between one and four million private citizens in the US submit to a polygraph every year. Even assuming you did have a ninety per cent success rate, that’s a heck of a lot of people to be wrong about. People who might lose or fail to gain employment, people stigmatised as liars because of inaccurate polygraph tests. It’s not science, Bill, it’s voodoo.’
Hart’s grin never faltered as he eyed Margaret with something approaching admiration. ‘Jesus, Margaret, they were right about you. I’d love to get you in the chair and wire you up. Pin you down on my territory.’
‘Okay,’ Margaret said, to everyone’s surprise.
‘What, you mean you’d let me give you a polygraph test?’
‘If you let me give you an autopsy.’ The others roared with laughter. And Margaret broke into a smile for the first time. ‘I reckon I’d find out a lot more about you in an hour and a half than you’d ever find out about me.’
Hart nodded, still smiling, acknowledging defeat. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I give in. Let’s eat.’
And the waitresses brought the mushrooms to the table and started cooking them in the stock with the chicken. Lyang showed Margaret how to mix up her own dip from three dishes of sesame paste, chilli and garlic, and dip the cooked pieces of mushroom in the mix before eating. Margaret was surprised at just how delicious the mushrooms were, each with its own distinctive flavour and texture. A waitress broke up the chicken in the pot and served portions of it into each of their individual bowls. It melted in the mouth.
‘Actually,’ Hart said, washing down mushroom with beer, ‘I’m not in favour of using the polygraph on employees or job applicants. I regard it only as a useful tool in criminal interrogation. It is at its most effective when the suspect believes the machine will catch him in a lie. You’d be amazed at how often they just confess.’ He spooned some of the stock into his bowl and drank it like soup. ‘You know, the Chinese invented a pretty good method of lie detection about three thousand years ago.’
Li looked up surprised. ‘We did?’
‘Sure we did,’ Lyang said. ‘Works on the principle that if you are telling a lie you produce less saliva. So the ancient Chinese gave the suspect a mouthful of rice to chew, then told him to spit it out. If he was afraid of the test, because he was lying, he would suffer from dry mouth and the rice would stick to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. An innocent person, on the other hand, would be able to spit it out clean.’
Hart said, ‘But the Indians had an even better one. They would put lampblack on the tail of a donkey and lead it into a dark room. Suspects were ordered to go into the room and pull the donkey’s tail. They were told that it was a magic donkey and would be able to tell if the suspect was being truthful or not. When the suspects came out of the room their hands were examined. If they didn’t have any lampblack on them they hadn’t pulled the donkey’s tail. Why? Obviously because they were scared of being found out. Guilty as charged.’
‘Almost as scientific as the polygraph,’ Margaret said.
‘Well, if it’s science that impresses you,’ Lyang said, ‘it’s a pity you won’t be at the MERMER demonstration this afternoon.’
Margaret looked at Li. ‘And why am I not invited?’
Li said, ‘Because it’s a demonstration for top Ministry of Public Security people, Margaret. The deputy minister himself is going to be there.’
‘We’re trying to secure funding for further research,’ Hart explained.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not invited either,’ Lyang said. ‘Husbands don’t like their wives seeing them caught in a lie.’
Hart held his hands up. ‘I am taking no part in this demonstration. I just set it up for Lynn.’
‘Who’s Lynn?’ Li asked.
‘Professor Lynn Pa
n. She’s an American Chinese. She was a pupil of the system’s inventor, Doctor Lawrence Farwell, back in the States. She came to live and work in China last year, sponsored by the Chinese Academy to develop a Chinese version of MERMER.’
‘What exactly is Mermer?’ Margaret asked, intrigued.
‘It’s an acronym,’ Lyang said. ‘It stands for Memory and Encoding Related Multifaceted Electroencephalographic Responses.’
‘Sorry I asked,’ Margaret said. ‘What does it mean?’
Hart said, ‘Electroencephalography is a non-invasive means of measuring electrical brain activity.’
Lyang waved her hand dismissively. She turned to Margaret. ‘He’s a scientist, he doesn’t know anything about language. In layman’s terms, they put sensors on your scalp and use a computer to measure your brain’s electrical responses to certain stimuli. Might be something as simple as a photograph of your child. You recognise it, so your brain makes an entirely involuntary electrical response. Proof that you know this child. They show you a picture of someone else’s child, you have no response. You don’t know the kid.’
Hart said, ‘It can be used to discover guilty knowledge in the brain of a criminal. They’ve done extensive testing in the States, using FBI and CIA personnel.’ He smiled. ‘Since you’re so interested in percentages, Margaret, you’ll be pleased to know it has proved one hundred per cent successful in all tests to date.’
‘Sounds like it could put you guys out of business.’
‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Hart said. ‘MERMER has very specific and narrow applications. It requires a lot of expensive equipment and meticulous preparation.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Speaking of which, we don’t want to be late.’ He signalled the waitress for the check and a gaggle of girls rushed to get their jackets from the stand.
As they rose from the table, Lyang said, ‘Are you busy this afternoon, Margaret?’
Margaret laughed. ‘Lyang, these days I’m never busy.’
Lyang said, ‘I’m going for a foot massage later. Why don’t you join me?’
‘A foot massage?’ Margaret was incredulous. She had seen the signs for foot massage springing up all over the city. It was the latest fashion. But it seemed a little decadent.
‘It’s the most wonderful way of relaxing I know,’ Lyang said.
‘It’s not so easy to relax with an eleven-month-old baby demanding your attention twenty-four hours a day.’
‘That’s what’s so good about the place I use,’ Lyang said. ‘They have a crèche. You can forget baby for an hour and a half.’ She smiled. ‘Go on, treat yourself.’
‘On you go,’ Li said. ‘And when you learn how it’s done you can practise on me.’
Margaret gave him a look.
As a waitress handed Li his coat, Qian’s book slipped from the pocket and fell to the floor.
Lyang stooped to pick it up and raised an eyebrow as she read the title. ‘The Murders of Jack the Ripper.’
Hart laughed. ‘What’s this? Becoming a student of unsolved murders, Li?’
Li smiled reluctantly. ‘I hope not,’ he said.
But Margaret was looking at him curiously. ‘Jack the Ripper?’
Li sighed. There was no avoiding an explanation. ‘I take it you know who he is?’
‘Of course. The Ripper murders were probably the first documented case of serial killings anywhere in the world.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m no expert on the subject, but there can’t be many people who haven’t heard the name Jack the Ripper. He’s kind of like the bogey man.’
Li nodded solemnly and turned to Hart. ‘There’s been a spate of particularly gruesome murders in the city during the last few weeks.’ He glanced at Margaret. ‘We think the killer’s copycatting the Ripper murders.’
Margaret found her interest engaged. ‘Who in Beijing would know enough of that kind of detail to be able to replicate them?’
Li held up the book. ‘Someone who’s read this.’
Margaret took the book and looked at the Chinese characters with frustration. She said, ‘I wish I’d taken the trouble to learn to read Chinese.’
‘It’s only a translation,’ Li said. ‘You could probably get the English original on the internet.’
‘Professional interest aroused?’ Hart asked.
‘Of course,’ Margaret said. ‘Wouldn’t you have liked to wire up some of the suspects and bamboozle them with your parlour tricks?’
He grinned. ‘Well, if you’d done the autopsies, Margaret, I’m sure you’d have provided me with ample ammunition to extract a confession.’ He turned to Li. ‘Maybe you should get Margaret working on this one, Li Yan.’
‘I’ve retired,’ Margaret said simply, and she lifted Li Jon from his chair and turned out of their private room into the gloom of the inner restaurant.
Chapter Three
I
The Chinese Academy of Sciences was in a six-storey grey-tile building off Sanlihi Lu, facing west towards Yuyuantan Park, and flanked by the Ministry of Finance and the Chinese Institute of Seismology. Hart drew his car up on to the sidewalk and parked facing steps leading up to glass doors. A hanging white banner announced in bold characters that this was the Presidium of Chinese Scholars. A Chinese flag whipped and snapped in the wind and cast its shadow on the green-tile roof above the main entrance.
On the fifth floor, five of the most senior officers in the Ministry of Public Security sat around a large reception room, drinking green tea and smoking. Vertical blinds shielded the room from the sun as it swung westwards. One wall was taken up by a mural depicting a tranquil scene from an ancient Chinese garden. Everyone, with the exception of Li, was in uniform and he realised immediately that he was in breach of etiquette.
‘I’ll leave you to it. Good luck,’ Hart said, and he ducked out the door. What had been an animated conversation fell away into silence as the occupants of the room regarded the newcomer. Procurator General Meng Yongli sat stiffly, with his hat on the chair beside him. ‘Punctual as always, Li,’ he said, his tone rigid with disapproval.
‘You might have taken the time to change into your uniform, Section Chief.’ This from the Deputy Minister of Public Security, Wei Peng. He was a small, squat man with the demeanour of a frog, and he enjoyed exercising his power. ‘We are here representing the Ministry today.’
‘Give the man a break.’ Beijing’s Deputy Commissioner of Police, Cao Xu, was so relaxed he was almost liquid. His hat had been tossed on the low table in front of him, and he was slouched in his seat, with one leg up over the arm of it. He was a man who, at one time, had been destined for the top. A predecessor of Li’s in the hotseat at Section One, he had looked set for the Commissioner’s job when a past indiscretion had caught up with him and he was promoted sideways to deputy. His progress on the career ladder was at an end and so he had no need to toady to his superiors. It made him something of a loose cannon. He took a long pull at his cigarette. ‘After all, the Section Chief is up to his eyes in murder, isn’t that right, Chief?’
‘And has our hero cracked the case yet?’ Beijing Police Commissioner Zhu Gan’s use of the word hero was laden with sarcasm. He was a tall, lean man with rimless glasses who viewed Li through them with patent dislike. He was not one of Li’s champions, and had made clear to him on numerous occasions his distaste for the award ceremony scheduled for the Great Hall of the People that evening. In his view it was, he had told Li, a dangerous return to the cult of personality. Li might have agreed with him, had he been allowed. But in almost the same breath Commissioner Zhu had told him that since the edict had come from the Minister himself neither of them was in a position to raise objections.
‘What developments, Li?’ The slight build of the older man who sat sandwiched between the Procurator General and the Deputy Minister in no way reflected his status. As Director General of the Political Department, Yan Bo pulled plenty of clout. Li recognised him, but had not had any previous dealings with him.
Li looked at the faces expectantly a
waiting his response. He did not feel that this was the occasion to share with them the news that their killer was modelling himself on Jack the Ripper. Nor did he feel like explaining that the reason for his failure to change into uniform was that he had been unavoidably detained by lunch. ‘I’ve just come from an interview with the dead girl’s mother,’ he said. Which was not entirely untrue. But he wondered if it would have passed Hart’s polygraph test.
‘She’s the fourth, isn’t she?’ said Deputy Cao taking another pull on his cigarette.
‘That’s right,’ Li said. ‘And probably the worst case of mutilation I’ve seen. Not only did he hack her face to pieces, but he cut her open and made off with her uterus and her left kidney.’ His words conjured images for them that they would, perhaps, have preferred not to envisage so soon after lunch, and they were greeted with silence. Li added, ‘I could have done without being here at all this afternoon.’
Commissioner Zhu said dismissively, ‘I’m sure your team can manage without you for a few hours, Section Chief.’
The door from an inner office opened, and an attractive young woman in her early thirties emerged into the meeting room cradling an armful of folders. Her hair was cut short, spiky on top, and she wore a man’s suit — Armani, Li thought — black pinstriped, over a white open-necked blouse. She had a radiant smile which she turned on the room. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, ‘I am so glad you could make it this afternoon. My name’s Lynn Pan, and have I got a show for you.’
She looked Chinese, but everything else about her was American. Even her heavily accented Chinese. Li immediately sensed a rise in the testosterone level in the room. She had spoken only a couple of dozen words, but already she had these middle-aged senior officers from the Ministry eating out of her hand. They were on their feet in an instant.
She laid down her folders and went round each of them individually, shaking their hands, presenting them with her business card and her winning smile, receiving theirs in return. She arrived at Li last, and he wondered if he imagined that she held his hand just a little longer, that her gaze fixed his just a little more warmly. Her eyes were a rich, dark brown with a deep inner light, and they turned Li’s stomach to mush.
