by Peter May
Of course, the trauma of Li Jon’s Caesarian birth, and everything else surrounding it, had taken it out of her. She had never regained the strength and vigour she had possessed before it, and slothful hours spent trapped in an apartment, reading and feeding and changing diapers had contributed to a decline of which she had hardly been aware. Until now. It worried her that these might be the first signs of old age. And then she looked around and found herself smiling. Most of the old women working through their slow-motion tai chi routines were more than twice her age. Some of them in their seventies or even eighties. She had allowed life, and events, to steal away her initiative. It was time to take control again.
‘You’re very quiet this morning.’
Margaret turned to catch Mei Yuan watching her closely. As she always did. Like an old mother hen. ‘Stuff on my mind,’ she said.
‘Li Yan?’
‘No. I’m afraid I’m obsessing about myself,’ Margaret said. And she felt a sudden pang of guilt. Li had left her to sleep on and gone off to fight dragons on his own. They had both understood the full implications of the files they had uncovered the night before in Lynn Pan’s private webspace, but had not discussed it. Li had folded in on himself, as he sometimes did, reluctant to share his deepest worries. She hated it when he was like that with her. She felt shut out, rejected. Once or twice she had surfaced briefly during the night from the deepest of sleeps, to become aware of the shallow, irregular breathing which told her he was still awake. But sleep had always dragged her back down into its warm, comforting oblivion. And when, finally, she had woken, he was gone. The sheets on his side of the bed long since turned cold.
Li Jon, in his buggy, waggled his arms and grinned at her, his tiny nose red with the cold. She saw his father in his eyes and his smile, and wondered where the closeness they had once shared had gone. She felt a tiny stab of fear, like pain, and wondered what kind of future they really had.
‘Let me try you with a riddle, then,’ Mei Yuan said. ‘It may relieve you of the burden of self examination.’
Margaret glanced at her, wondering for a brief moment if the older woman had somehow been able to read her thoughts. ‘Okay,’ she said. Something else to occupy her mind might be healthier. It was too easy, always, to focus on the negative.
Mei Yuan said, ‘It took Li Yan a whole twenty-four hours to work this one out.’
‘Shouldn’t take me long, then,’ Margaret said, and Mei Yuan grinned.
‘But like you, he was a little preoccupied,’ she said.
The frost was melting now on the trees as the sun rose through gnarled branches and withered leaves. Beyond the big pavilion with the red-painted pillars, a group of men and women were dancing across ancient paving stones to the rhythm of a Latin American band. And on the other side of a bamboo thicket, Margaret saw sunlight catching the shafts of swords as the daily practitioners of the centuries-old art of wu shu sliced through frozen air with ceremonial blades.
‘Two deaf mutes are planting rice in a paddy …’ Mei Yuan began, and she took Margaret through the complexities of the riddle just as she had done with Li two days earlier. Margaret listened as they continued with their exercises, carried along by the slow, measured rhythm of the group. When she had finished, Mei Yuan turned to look expectantly at Margaret.
Margaret was silent for a moment, then shrugged. ‘They didn’t finish planting till ten at night, maybe later. So it had to be dark. Which is why they couldn’t see one another.’
Mei Yuan smiled. ‘Too easy.’
Margaret laughed. ‘Did it really take Li Yan twenty-four hours to work it out?’
‘To be fair, I don’t think he’d given it a thought until I asked him again the following morning. But, then, I think Li Yan is better at practical mind games than theoretical ones.’
Like solving murders, Margaret thought, to save lives. It was, essentially, what separated them. She only dealt with the dead. Her achievement was in determining how they had died. Li had an obligation to the living – to catch a killer before he killed again. And now the murder of Lynn Pan, with all its political ramifications, had distracted him from the Ripper murders, making it more likely that the killer would remain free to do his worst. She shook her head to snap herself out of it. There was nothing she could do – until, perhaps, he did kill again. ‘I have to go to the visa office today,’ she said, ‘to collect my passport. But I want to go to the flower market first to see if I can’t get some fresh flowers to brighten up the apartment. It seems so dull and stale these days.’
‘You need more plants in the apartment,’ Mei Yuan said. ‘More living, growing things. It is good feng shui.’
‘Well maybe I’ll get some pot plants, then. Will you come with me?’
‘As long as I can be back at my corner in time for lunch.’
‘We’ll be back in plenty of time,’ Margaret said, pleased to have the company. ‘We’ll take a taxi.’
* * *
The flower supermarket was close to the You Yi Shopping Centre on the banks of the slow-moving Liangma River on the north-east corner of the city. It stood in the shadow of the Sunflower Tower, and cheek-by-jowl with an Irish pub called Durty Nellie’s, which boasted a crude painting of a large-bosomed Irish wench clutching a pint of Guinness. Rows of baby pines in green pots were lined up outside the market, Christmas trees for ex-pats. The Christmas season was starting early in Beijing. Next door was a pot plant centre under an arched blue roof.
Margaret asked Mei Yuan to wait for her outside the centre with Li Jon while she ran into the market to get some cut flowers. They would look at the pot plants afterwards. Up half a dozen steps and through glass doors, the market stretched off in a blaze of colour, hundreds of exotic flowers arranged in thousands of pots, the air heady with myriad scents, and the sharp smell of cut green stems. Although it was warm in here, and humid, the girls were all muffled in winter jackets and scarves, smiling when they saw the curling fair hair and blue eyes, urging Margaret to buy from them. ‘Looka, looka,’ they urged, waving hands at big yellow daisies and purple-spotted orchids. There were red, white and pink roses, tulips from God knows where, flowers Margaret had never seen before, bizarre-looking blue and grey conical things like something you might find growing on a tropical reef. Fat-petalled extravaganzas, and fine, feathery ones. A bewildering choice. Margaret took her time, wandering the aisles, letting her eyes fall to left and right until something took their fancy. Finally she settled for a large bunch of yellow and white chrysanthemums. They stood out for their plainness amidst all the exotica, and it was that which appealed most to Margaret in the end.
They were, of course, ridiculously cheap, and Margaret was pleased with her purchase, enjoying the fresh smell of summer in this deepest cold of November.
She was pushing the door open to go out, sunlight flooding in the through the glass, when she heard the scream. It was a deep scream, almost a wail, and carried something primeval in the fear it conveyed. It went through Margaret like a frozen arrow. She hurried out and stopped on the top step. Mei Yuan was standing out amongst the Christmas trees, arms pressed to her sides, tears streaming down her face. Margaret ran to her, dropping the flowers on the steps. She grabbed Mei Yuan by the shoulders, eyes wide with fear. ‘Where’s Li Jon?’ she shouted. ‘Mei Yuan, where’s Li Jon?’
Mei Yuan’s face was wet with tears and mucus. Her eyes were like saucers. ‘He’s gone,’ she managed to say through deep sobs that wrenched themselves from her chest.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ Margaret was almost hysterical. She looked all around, searching frantically for his buggy.
‘I turned away only for a moment,’ Mei Yuan wailed. ‘To look at the Christmas trees. When I turned back he was gone.’
IV
Li stared gloomily from his window at the evergreens shading the brown marble facade of the All China Federation for Returning Overseas Chinese on the far side of the hutong. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, as if he thought he m
ight find something there that would show him a way out of his predicament. But they were as empty as he was devoid of ideas. That a senior law enforcement officer, possibly even a Deputy Minister of Public Security, had murdered Lynn Pan, he had no doubt. But it had been made clear to him by two of those officers that this was a line of investigation he was not to pursue under any circumstances. He had no idea if either of them was the guilty party, but it was perfectly possible. Nothing, it seemed, was impossible any longer – except for Li to continue his investigation. For he could hardly do so without it being apparent to the very people who had instructed him not to. The best he could hope for was that Bill Hart would manage to identify ‘D’. And that if he could do that, perhaps they would be able to tell what the lie had been which had so panicked Professor Pan into her unlikely meeting with Li at the Millennium Monument. And her subsequent death at the hands of her Liar.
He turned back into his office. But there was still the problem of the Beijing Ripper, the tall man in the long coat and baseball cap captured on the EMS video. He was still out there somewhere, plotting his next killing. Planning to replicate the horrific murder of Mary Jane Kelly in precise and gory detail. He might even have chosen his victim by now. It was possible that he had already seen her personal ad in one of the nightlife magazines, or watched her in the lobby of one of the tourist hotels, or stalked her through silent streets late at night. The thought galvanised him into action.
He picked up the phone from his desk and dialled a three-digit number. ‘Qian. I need you in here. And bring Wu.’ They were his most senior detectives, men he had worked with over many years. Wu had even saved his life. If he couldn’t trust them, then all hope was gone from his world for ever.
It was a couple of minutes before there was a knock at the door and Qian came in, followed by Wu. Both looked apprehensive. Everyone in the section was aware that something was going on, but no one knew what. Li waved them to a chair and said, ‘Anyone got a cigarette?’
They looked at him, surprised. It was more than a year since Li had given up smoking. An example to them all, even if none of them had chosen to follow it. Wu tossed a pack across the desk. ‘They say it gives you cancer, Chief. And heart disease. And fucks with your circulation. But, hell, why let a few little things like that stop you?’
Li ignored him and took out a cigarette. ‘Light?’
Qian struck a match and held it across the desk. Li leaned over and sucked a mouthful of smoke into his lungs and nearly choked. When he stopped coughing, he found Wu grinning at him. ‘Never mind, Chief, stick at it. Death’s worth persevering with.’ Li went to stub it out in his empty ashtray, but Wu held up a hand to stop him. ‘Uh-uh,’ he said, and took the cigarette from between his fingers. ‘No point in wasting it. Some of us are beyond saving anyway.’
Qian said quietly, ‘What’s going on, Chief?’
Li seemed to consider what he was going to say for a long time before finally he said, ‘I’m going to tell you guys stuff that I don’t want to leave this office. Is that understood?’ They both nodded, and he added, ‘By the same token, this is information that could endanger your careers, maybe even your lives. So if you don’t want to hear it, you are free to leave, and this conversation never took place.’ He waited, and when neither of them moved, he said, ‘When I went to the MERMER demonstration at the Chinese Academy of Sciences on Monday afternoon, there were five other people there from Public Security. There was a Deputy Minister, the Beijing police Commissioner and his deputy, the head of the political department and the Procurator General.’ He paused. ‘One of them murdered Lynn Pan.’
Whatever they might have expected to hear, Li doubted if it was that. Neither of them reacted immediately. Then Qian said, ‘And you know this … how?’
So Li told them, just as he had related it to Commissioner Zhu, from the DNA mismatch to Lynn Pan’s Liar, Liar, Liar files. Then he sat back and let them think about it. If he was going to be shot down in flames by anyone, he’d rather it was by officers in his own section telling him his theory was full of holes. ‘Well?’ he said eventually, when neither of them had spoken.
The two detectives exchanged glances. ‘Shit, Chief,’ Wu said. ‘I wish I’d known what you were going to tell us before you told us. I might have taken you up on your offer to bale out.’ He grinned. ‘Only kidding.’ But his smile quickly faded. ‘We’re in a shitload of trouble, aren’t we?’
Li nodded. Qian said, ‘And you’ve been told to back off?’
‘All the way.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Li rubbed tired eyes and said, ‘Whoever killed her can’t afford to have me hanging around running the section for much longer. They’ve got to figure that sooner or later I’m going to work out who they are. So the way I see it is this: I’ve got to get him before he gets me.’
A knock at the door made them all jump. ‘Later,’ Li called out sharply. But the door opened anyway.
It was Sang, looking flushed and apologetic. ‘Chief, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to interrupt. I knew you’d want to hear this.’
‘What?’
‘Switchboard just got a call from the local cops over at Liangma. Kid in a buggy got snatched from outside the flower market.’
‘What the hell’s that got to do with us?’
Sang looked as if he’d rather eat glass. ‘Chief, it’s your kid.’
V
The two security guards who looked after the carpark on the west side of the flower market blew smoke into the freezing air and shook their heads. Neither of them had seen anything, they said. They’d noticed the yangguizi arriving in a taxi with the older woman, because you didn’t often see people with gold hair and blue eyes. But it had been busy, cars coming and going. One of them had gone into the carpark to settle an argument between two drivers fighting over the same space. The other had been warming himself over a small paraffin heater they kept in the hut at the gate.
Li felt something like despair. The police activity had prompted the gathering of a large crowd of curious onlookers. And the local police had not arrived quickly enough to stop potential witnesses from slipping through the net. It was a busy time of the day at the flower market. There had been hundreds of people coming and going. A small fruit and vegetable market outside Durty Nellie’s had also been attracting custom. Mei Yuan had left the buggy at the foot of the steps and wandered off through the Christmas trees, wondering if she should buy one as a present for Margaret. When she looked around the buggy was gone.
Li had found it difficult to get a coherent story out of her. Through her tears she had managed to tell him that she had run through the crowds looking for the buggy, and then fearing she’d missed it somehow, turned back to where she’d left it. It was then that fear had taken over, and she had screamed, a part of her hoping that it might be enough to stop people in their tracks, and that the whereabouts of the buggy would become magically apparent. Instead, she had drawn only looks of amazement. People had thought she was a mad woman, and then been startled when a yangguizi came running from the market and started shaking her by the shoulders.
When Li arrived at the market, Margaret was in shock, sitting in the back seat of a black and white, eyes red and blurred, clutching a soft toy she kept in her purse for Li Jon. A small, grey mouse that he loved to swing by the tail and let fly in whatever direction it would go. He had controlled an initial urge to be angry at her for losing his son, but her pain was too apparent in her face, and he knew that it was not her fault.
He slipped into the car beside her now and held her for a long time, pressing her head into his chest, feeling the silent sobs that punctuated her breathing, and let his own tears run free. The world outside seemed a distant place, like a film projected on a screen, the sound turned down, muffled so that you could barely hear it. You could touch it, but it wasn’t real. You could watch it, but didn’t feel part of it. As if they were insulated from it all in a bubble of their own pain.
&n
bsp; Li had let Wu take charge of the local cops, organising the corralling and questioning of witnesses, broadcasting a citywide alert on police frequencies, shouting and pointing nicotine-stained fingers, chewing manically on a huge wad of gum. A sharp rapping on the glass made him turn. And from that distant outside world, he saw Wu’s grinning face looming at the window. It seemed like something surreal. The door opened.
‘Chief, we found him.’
Words Li had not expected to hear. He jumped quickly out of the car, Margaret sliding out behind him, clutching his hand. The crowds parted as a tearful, but smiling, Mei Yuan wheeled Li Jon in his buggy towards the car. Margaret ran and grabbed him up into her arms and held him there as if she intended never to let him out of them again. Her tears now were tears of joy.
Li heard Wu’s voice. ‘The buggy was parked by a bench down on the river walkway, under those willow trees.’ He pointed and Li followed his finger. ‘No more than a couple of hundred metres away.’ There was a huge, four-sided advertising hoarding rising on a tubular steel construction from among scrubby trees and bushes on a piece of waste ground beside the walkway. Beyond it, just visible through the hanging fronds of the willows, there was a bench at the river’s edge where old folk would sit in the summer to escape the city heat.
Someone had pushed the buggy away through the crowds when Mei Yuan’s back was turned, past the vegetable market and down on to the river walkway, abandoning it by the bench, obscured by the trees. Li began to have an uneasy feeling.
Wu followed him to the buggy and watched as he crouched down to examine it in detail, going through the pouch that hung from the push bar, and pulling everything out from the tray beneath it. A blanket, a waterproof bag with a bottle of milk, several soft toys.
