by Qiu Xiaolong
“Yes, I know that.” He was surprised at his assistant’s unaccustomed eloquence. Yu usually spoke without book-quoting or history-citing.
“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”
“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”
“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”
“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”
When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes—Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.
“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”
Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.
He replied, “Thanks, Detective Yu. I know I can depend on you.”
As they left the park, they saw a group of people gathering in front of the gate, on which a notice had just been put, saying the park would be closed for the day due to redecoration.
When the truth was not to be told, one excuse was as good as another.
In the distance, a white gull glided over the slightly yellow water, silhouetted against the horizon, as if carrying the sun on its wings.
* * * *
Chapter 2
Y
ou have come a long way, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.” Party Secretary Li Guohua of the Shanghai Police Bureau smiled, leaning back in his maroon leather swivel chair by the window. Party Secretary Li’s spacious office overlooked the central area of Shanghai.
Chief Inspector Chen sat across the mahogany desk from him, breathing into a cup of the new Dragon Well green tea, a special treat few would have been offered in the powerful Party Secretary’s office.
As an emerging cadre with further promotion awaiting him, Chen owed a lot to Li, his mentor in bureau politics. Li had introduced Chen to the Party, spared no pains showing him the ropes, and advanced him to his present position. An entry level cop in the early fifties, Li had moved up steadily to the top of the bureau, picking his way through the debris of political movements, betting on the winners in inner-Party struggles. So people saw Li’s hand-picking of Chen as his potential successor as another clever investment decision, especially after Chen’s relationship to Ling, a politburo member’s daughter from Beijing, became known to the small inner circle. To be fair to Li, however, he had not been aware of this relationship until after Chen’s promotion.
“Thank you, Party Secretary Li. As our sage has said, ‘A man is willing to lay down his life for the one who appreciates him, and a woman makes herself beautiful for the one who appreciates her.’”
It was still not considered in good political taste to quote Confucius, but Chen guessed that Li would not be displeased.
“The Party has always thought highly of you,” Li said in an official tone of voice. His Mao jacket was buttoned high to his chin in spite of the warm weather. “So this is a job for you, Chief Inspector Chen, for you alone.”
“You have heard about it already.” Chen was not surprised that somebody else had made a report to Li about the body discovered in Bund Park that morning.
“Look at this picture.” Li produced a photo from a manila folder on the desk. “Inspector Catherine Rohn, a representative of the U.S. Marshals Service.”
It was a photo of a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, handsome, spirited, her large blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
“She is quite young.” Chen studied the picture, thoroughly puzzled.
“Inspector Rohn has studied Chinese in college. She is sort of a sinologist in the Marshals Service. And you’re the scholar on our force.”
“Hold on—what job are you talking about, Party Secretary Li?”
Outside the office window, an occasional siren was heard in the distance.
“Inspector Rohn is going to escort Wen Liping to the United States. Your job is to help her accomplish this mission.” Li cleared his throat before going on, “An important job. We know we can count on you, Chief Inspector Chen.”
Chen realized that Li was talking about a totally different matter. “Who is Wen Liping? I do not have the slightest idea about this job, Party Secretary Li.”
“Wen Liping is Feng Dexiang’s wife.”
“Who is Feng Dexiang?”
“A Fujian farmer, now a crucial witness in an illegal immigration case in Washington.”
“What makes Feng so special?”
Li poured hot water into Chen’s cup. “Have you heard of someone named Jia Xinzhi?”
“Jia Xinzhi—yes, I’ve heard of him, a notorious triad tycoon based in Taiwan.”
“Jia has been involved in a number of international criminal activities. Jia is a heavyweight snake head. He’s been arrested in New York in connection with these activities. To convict him, the American authorities need a witness who will testify to his involvement with an immigrant smuggling ship—The Golden Hope.”
“Oh, I remember reading about that disastrous operation a couple months ago. The ship, carrying more than three hundred Chinese, was stranded off the U.S. coast. When the Coast Guard arrived on the scene, there was only a sick pregnant woman remaining on board. She had been too weak to jump into one of the fishing boats that were supposed to transport them to shore. Later, several bodies were discovered in the sea—those who had failed to land in the boats.”
“That’s the ship,” Li said. “So you are familiar with the background. Jia is the owner of The Golden Hope.”
“We have to do something about human smuggling,” Chen said, putting down his cup, in which the tea leaves no longer appeared so green. “The situation has deteriorated in the last few years. Especially in the coastal areas. That’s not the way we want China to open up to the world.”
“Feng Dexiang was one of those on The Golden Hope. He managed to board a fishing boat. And he started in as a ‘black man’ in New York, working day and night to pay for his passage.”
“I’ve heard that those people work like dogs. Most of them do not know what really awaits them there. We have to deal a crushing blow to the snake heads.”
“Jia is as slippery as a rice paddy eel. The Americans have been after him for years. Now they finally have a good chance to nail him for the deaths of those from the ship who drowned,” Li said. “Feng was caught in a gang fight in New York and arrested. Faced with criminal charges and deportation, he cut a deal in return for serving as a witness against Jia.”
“Was Feng the only one from the ship who was found?”
“No, they caught several others.”
“Why do they have to deal with Feng exclusively?”
“Well, once caught, illegal immi
grants from China apply for political asylum on the basis of human rights issues, like the one-child-per-family policy and the threat of forced abortion. Political asylum is easily granted, and they do not have to make deals with the American government. Feng did not have a basis for such a claim. His only son died several years ago. So he chose to cooperate.”
“What a shrewd bargainer!” Chen said. “But Jia is not only involved in illegal immigration, not just a snake head, but also a dragon head, an international triad leader. Once Feng’s identity comes to light, ruthless retaliation may be expected.”
“Since his testimony is indispensable at Jia’s trial, the Americans have admitted Feng to their Witness Protection Program in cooperation with the U.S. Marshals. They have also granted his request for family reunification with Wen Liping, his wife, who is pregnant. They have asked for our help in this matter.”
“If the trial helps to halt the flood of illegal emigration from China, it will be a good thing for both countries.” Chen searched for a pack of cigarettes in his pants pocket. “I hate to read Western propaganda depicting our government as the evil power behind it.”
“It was not easy for our government to decide to grant this request.”
“Why not?”
“Well, some of our old comrades do not like the way the Americans boss everyone else around.” Li offered him a filtertipped cigarette from a silver case—Panda, a brand available only to those of a Party cadre ranking much higher than Chen’s. “Nor will it help our effort to stop the boat people by detaining their families. This has been one of our most effective measures against this smuggling of people out of China. It takes years for them to acquire legal status abroad. Then, when they arrange for their families to join them, we make things difficult. It takes several years more, at least.”
“So they have to think about the consequences of such a long separation before setting out.”
“Exactly. It may send a wrong message if Wen rejoins her husband so quickly. Nevertheless, the agreement to cooperate was reached after much discussion at high levels of our two governments.”
“It is in the mutual interests of the two countries.” Chen chose his words carefully. “If we do not cooperate, the Americans may think we are in favor of the continuance of illegal human smuggling.”
“That’s what I said in the ministry’s teleconference this morning.”
“Since the agreement has been reached, it’s a matter of course to let Wen go to join her husband.” Chen picked up the photo again. “Why should the U.S. Marshals send an officer all the way to Shanghai?”
“It has already taken some time for our local police to run through their procedures, to obtain all the documents and approvals needed. Feng swears he will not testify if Wen does not arrive before the trial date. The Americans have become worried. Inspector Rohn’s trip has been proposed to help Wen get her visa, but it’s really to put pressure on us.”
“When will the trial begin?”
“April twenty-fourth. Today is April eighth.”
“Then let’s hurry up. In a special case, surely a passport and everything needed can be made ready in twenty-four hours. Why is this an assignment for me?”
“Feng’s wife has disappeared. The Beijing ministry learned this last night, and Inspector Rohn is already on the way.”
“How could she disappear?”
“We don’t know. Whatever has happened, her disappearance has put us in an embarrassing situation. The Americans will suspect that we are trying to back out of our arrangement.”
Chief Inspector Chen frowned. In normal circumstances, waiting for a passport application to be processed might take months for an ordinary Chinese citizen, but if the central government had given them the green light, the local police should have proceeded rapidly. Now, after an inexplicable delay, how could Wen have vanished? It did not make sense. Perhaps the whole thing constituted a cover-up? When national interests were involved, anything was possible. However, such a scenario did not seem too likely. Beijing could have refused to cooperate with the U.S. from the outset. To back out at this stage would mean a loss of face.
Instead of sharing these thoughts with Li, Chen asked, “So what are we supposed to do, Party Secretary Li?”
“We’ll find Wen. The local police are already searching for her. You will take charge.”
“Shall I accompany Inspector Rohn to Fujian?”
“No. This will be a joint investigation by the Shanghai and Fujian police. At present, your responsibility is for Inspector Rohn in Shanghai.”
“How can I be in charge there if I am accompanying an American woman here?”
“She is our special guest—for the first Chinese-American joint action against illegal immigration,” Li said. “What can she possibly do in Fujian? Things may be dangerous there. Her safety is a priority for us. To make her stay a safe and satisfactory one, you will keep her company in Shanghai. You will keep her informed and entertained.”
“Is that a job for a Chinese chief inspector of police?” Chen stared at the pictures of Li on the office wall—the long, colorful career of a politician shaking hands with other politicians, delivering speeches at Party conferences, making presentations at the bureau, at different times, in different places. Li was the number-one Party officer in the bureau, and there was not a single picture showing Li engaged in policework.
“Of course it is. And a very important job too. The Chinese government is determined to keep the smuggling of humans under control. The Americans must not have any doubts about it. We must convince Inspector Rohn that we are doing our best. She may raise all kind of questions, and we’ll let her know as much as we can. It takes an experienced officer like you to handle the situation. There is a line, needless to say, between the inside and the outside.”
“What can that be—the line?” Chen interrupted, grinding out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray shaped like a swan.
“Inspector Rohn may be skeptical, for instance, about the passport process. A certain amount of bureaucracy may exist in our work, but it’s like anywhere else in the world. No point making a big deal out of it. We must keep in mind the unsulliable image of the Chinese government. You will know what to say, Chief Inspector Chen.”
He did not know what to say. It would not be an easy job to convince an American partner when he shared the same doubts. He would have to move as carefully as if he were treading on thin ice. Politics. Chief Inspector Chen had had enough. He put down his cup.
“I’m afraid I cannot take the case, Party Secretary Li. In fact, I came to discuss another investigation with you. A body was discovered in Bund Park this morning. The wounds on the body suggest it may be a triad killing.”
“A triad killing in Bund Park?”
“Yes, both Detective Yu and I have reached the same conclusion, but we have no clue yet as to which gang is responsible. So I’ll be focused on investigating this homicide case. It could damage the image of our new Shanghai—”
“That’s true,” Li cut him short. “It may well be a matter for your special squad, but Wen’s case is far more urgent. The Bund Park case can wait until after Inspector Rohn leaves. That won’t delay matters too long.”
“I don’t think I am a good candidate to take charge of Wen’s case. Someone from Internal Security or the Foreign Liaison Ministry would be more suitable.”
“Let me tell you something, Chief Inspector Chen. This is the decision of the ministry in Beijing. Minister Huang himself recommended you for the job during the teleconference.”
“Why, Party Secretary Li?”
“Inspector Rohn can speak Chinese. So Minister Huang insisted that her Chinese counterpart must not only be politically reliable, but speak English as well. You are an English-speaking young cadre with experience in escorting Westerners.”
“Since she speaks Chinese, I don’t see why her partner here has to be an English speaker. As for my experience, I have worked only as a representative of the Chinese Writ
ers’ Association. That was totally different—we discussed literature. For this job, an intelligence officer would be more qualified.”
“Her command of Chinese is limited. Some of our people met her in Washington. She did a good job escorting them, but for the formal meetings, they had to hire a professional interpreter. We believe you will have to speak English most of the time.”
“I’m honored that Minister Huang has thought of me,” Chen said slowly, trying to come up with some other official-sounding excuses. “I’m just too young and inexperienced for such an assignment.”
“Do you think it is a job for an old-timer like me?” Li sighed, his baggy eyes sagging in the morning light. “Don’t let your years slip away without accomplishing something. Forty years ago, I liked poetry, too. Remember these lines by General Yue Fei? Do not waste your youthful time doing nothing / until you’re white-haired, / regretting in vain.”
