The Firemaker (The China Thrillers 1)

by Peter May

  ‘Ma Yongli’s just playing the fool,’ Li said.

  ‘No I’m not.’ He squeezed the cork out of one of the bottles and started filling the glasses, champagne foaming over brims and spilling on the table. ‘I’m just proposing a toast.’ He pulled his chair in beside Lotus and raised his dripping glass. ‘To the two most beautiful women in the Xanadu. Probably in Beijing. Maybe even the whole of China.’

  Margaret looked around. ‘What table’s the other one at?’

  Lotus laughed and put a hand on her arm and said, as if to an idiot, ‘He mean me and you.’

  Margaret supposed it was unfair to make judgments on someone’s intelligence based on the few words of your language that they knew. She took in Lotus’s almost childish delight at having to set her straight. It was quite possible, she supposed, that Lotus was wondering how someone so stupid could possibly be a doctor. ‘Oh,’ she said, and smiled, raising her glass. ‘Well, I’ll drink to that.’

  And when they had finished the first bottle, Yongli opened the second, and Margaret began to lose track of their conversation. The champagne on top of the vodkas, on top of her lack of sleep, had resulted in the club starting to make slow revolutions around her. They all seemed to be laughing a lot, even Li, who in her experience was not given to laughing easily. She had no real idea of what she was saying. Answering, it seemed, endless silly questions about America, about money, about … she wasn’t sure what. Every time she lifted her glass it seemed to have miraculously refilled itself. Was there a third bottle on the table?

  It seemed like a long time later, and Lotus had her by the arm, and she thought they must be going to the little girls’ room. There was a very large step up, and she almost fell. Somewhere in the distance she heard Li’s voice. He seemed to be calling her name. He didn’t think she should be doing this, whatever it was she was doing. Perversely, it made her more determined to do it. And suddenly there were a lot of bright lights in her eyes and faces turned up towards her, and a sound like running water. Only it wasn’t running water. It just sounded like it. And then she realised it was people clapping. Lotus put something in her hand. It was heavy and tubular with a mesh ball on the end. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, and heard her voice booming around the club. More running water.

  Lotus turned her to her left and she saw a blue screen, words frozen on it in white. Yesterday … The sound of an acoustic guitar. Lotus’s voice. ‘You sing.’ But she couldn’t, and missed the first line, and Lotus leaned close and sang instead. Now it look a though they hee to stay … All she could see now was Michael’s face. All she could hear was his voice. I didn’t do it, Mags. And she felt the tears running hot down her face as Lotus’s grotesque parody of The Beatles’ original forced its way into her consciousness, each word stinging like a slap in the face. She had thought the pain would be all gone now. But Michael seemed to want to go on hurting her for the rest of her life. He took her in his arms now, saying something softly in her ear, but she couldn’t make out what it was. He led her back down the high step, past the running water. She felt fresh cool air in her face. She turned to look at him, with the weary anticipation of more earnest protestations of innocence. But it wasn’t Michael after all. Of course, she remembered, she was in China. And Michael was dead. And these people were speaking another language.

  ‘Where are you going to take her, Li?’ Yongli wasn’t exactly sober himself.

  ‘Back to the apartment.’

  ‘Do you need help with her?’ Lotus said.

  Li nodded. ‘Yes. Please.’

  *

  The smell of smoke and coffee was the first thing she was aware of. Very slowly the room began to take shape around her, a room similar in shape and size to Chao Heng’s living room. Through the glass panes that boxed in the balcony on the far side of the room, she could see the tops of trees swaying slightly in the wind, leaves reflecting light from the streetlamps. There was very little light in the room itself. A small lamp somewhere in a distant corner. She tried to focus on where she was. On a settee, she realised, half sitting, half lying, her head pitched to one side. She turned it to the other side as she felt a movement beside her, and saw Lotus kneeling there with a steaming mug of black coffee, trying to get her to sip it. But the smell of it was doing unpleasant things to her stomach. ‘Bathroom,’ she said, and wondered distantly if the urgency she felt was conveyed by her voice. Apparently so, for hands were quickly helping her to her feet. And it wasn’t far to stagger, it seemed, to a room filled with bright hard light reflecting from white tiles. The unpleasantness in her stomach rose rapidly into her consciousness, and she pitched forward on to her knees, clutching at the rim of something hard and white, mouth and throat filled with a horrible burning sensation. Then she was on her feet again and someone was splashing cold water on her face, and the lights went out on the world.

  Li stood unsteadily by the front door. Yongli winked at him. ‘See you, pal. Tell her it was all my fault. I should never have bought that champagne.’

  ‘It made her very sad,’ Lotus said. ‘I think maybe she has some great tragedy in her life.’

  Li nodded. ‘Maybe.’ Lotus leaned across and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, and he felt guilty for all the things he had thought and said about her. He didn’t know how he would have coped tonight if she hadn’t been there. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  She squeezed his hand. She wanted him so much to like her. ‘See you.’

  Li closed the door behind them and wandered back up the hallway to his uncle’s bedroom. In the reflected half-light from the street, he saw that she had already managed to kick the covers off. Lotus had undressed her and come through to the living room saying, ‘She has beautiful breasts. I wish I had beautiful breasts like hers.’ They were beautiful breasts, full and white, with small dark red aureolae. One arm was thrown carelessly across her chest. The bed cover had twisted around one leg, fully exposing the other and the triangle of tight blonde curls between them. He remembered seeing her reflected in the mirror in the hotel bedroom. She had wanted him to see her. He felt the same ache of desire now. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her face, pale and untroubled, at least for now, by her unhappy past and uncertain future. He ran his fingers softly over its contours. She had changed so much in him, in such a short time. The way he saw himself, his job, his uncle. It was as if he had been sleeping and she had touched him awake. He had not wanted a life, and now he did. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, and untwisted the sheet so that she was decently covered. As he left the room, he pulled the door gently closed and stood for some minutes in the hall with his eyes shut, breathing steadily. He heard the blood as it coursed through his veins. He heard the crackle of cigarette phlegm in his lungs. He heard the tick, tick of the clock in the living room. He heard his life slipping through his fingers like sand. And he made a fist to stop it. It was too precious to just let go.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I

  Thursday Morning

  She was aware of something warm lying across her, like an electric blanket, only it seemed to have no weight. The air was hot and she could hardly breathe. She tried to open her eyes, and light and pain seared through her brain like a white-hot poker. She screwed them shut with a gasp. And then slowly, very slowly, eased them open again, bit by painful bit, until the world came to her in a blur. Her pupils were still dilated and the images were burned out and lacking definition. She struggled against the pain in her head to bring them into focus, and as her pupils shrank belatedly from the light she saw that her ‘electric blanket’ was a slab of sunlight slanting through the window and falling across the bed, burning her white, naked skin. Her mind was working as slowly as her eyes, and it was several moments before the realisation that she was wearing no clothes had its full impact. She sat up, heart pounding, and pain shot through her temple like a slamming blow from an iron. She pressed fingertips to her head and closed her eyes, pushing hard against the pain. Slowly she opened them again and looked arou
nd. She had no idea where she was, or who had undressed her, or where her clothes were.

  There were framed photographs on the wall above the dresser. A young man and woman in Mao pyjamas and blue peaked caps grinning at the camera. A family group, including a young boy of about twelve and a girl a little younger. There was something elusively familiar about the boy. Another couple. No, the same couple as in the other photograph, only older. The woman was looking at the man and smiling at him with great fondness. He was grinning at the camera. He wore a green police uniform, and Margaret knew at once it was Old Yifu. Immediately above it was an old-fashioned portrait photograph of the woman. His wife, Margaret assumed. There was the gentlest of smiles on her lips, and her eyes were dark and serene, and there was something beautiful in her plainness that came from somewhere within. Old Yifu’s words came back to her. We had so little time together afterwards. A depression came over Margaret like a cloud. Why did people have to die?

  So she was in Uncle Yifu’s room. What had happened last night? She remembered being at the Xanadu. Champagne and laughter. But not much else. Oh God, she thought. It was like being a student again. Only she was ten years older, and ten years less able to handle it. She saw her clothes neatly folded on a chair and got unsteadily to her feet to cross the room and ease herself slowly back into them. From somewhere in the apartment, she heard the sounds of someone moving around. The clatter of a kettle on a stove, the rattle of crockery. She moved out into the hall and saw an open door to a small bathroom. She went in and saw herself in the mirror and wished she hadn’t. She had a complexion like putty. Lukewarm water chugged and spluttered from the cold tap as she splashed it on her face to try to bring the blood to the surface and some colour to her cheeks. She swilled some around her mouth to take away the bad taste and stop her tongue sticking to the roof of it.

  She wandered blearily into the kitchen and found Li making tea. She was shocked by his appearance. If anything, he looked worse than she did. Dry blood scabbed the splits on his lip and cheek and brow. The witch-hazel had brought the swelling down, and the bruising was turning yellow already. It would be gone in a day or two, but right now it was the wrong shade for a face with all other colour washed out of it. He looked at her sheepishly. ‘Tea?’

  She nodded, and wished she hadn’t as the pain pounded her temples. ‘What …’ She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘We all had too much to drink.’

  ‘I think I’ve figured that one out already. What else?’

  He shrugged. ‘You thought it would be a good idea to sing some karaoke.’

  She was horrified. ‘You’re kidding me! I didn’t … I mean, I didn’t actually get up and sing?’

  ‘No. Lotus sang and you got a bit emotional.’ She closed her eyes in shame and disbelief. He said, ‘So we came back here.’

  ‘We? Who’s we?’

  ‘The four of us. Ma Yongli thought some black coffee might make you feel better. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect.’

  ‘Oh my God. I wasn’t sick?’ He nodded, and she wanted to curl up and die of embarrassment. ‘I am so sorry.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s all right. Lotus looked after you.’

  ‘Is she still here?’

  ‘No. They left after about an hour.’ He handed her a cup of green tea. She sipped the hot, aromatic brew and felt a little better.

  She was frightened to meet his eye as she asked, ‘Did we … ? Did I … ?’ And she gave up trying to be delicate. ‘Who undressed me?’

  ‘Lotus put you to bed before she left.’

  Margaret felt an enormous sense of relief. Not because nothing had happened between them. But because it would have been wasted on her if it had. Through her embarrassment and her hangover she still felt the same about him as she had last night. She wanted him to hold her in his arms now, for comfort, for reassurance. But in the cold light of day they were both awkward and uncertain how to express themselves. They had, as yet, none of the easy familiarity of people who have shared a great intimacy, who have admitted not just to themselves but to each other exactly how they feel. She took another sip of her tea and looked around the kitchen, searching for something. He held up her purse. ‘Looking for this?’

  ‘Yes.’ She opened it and found a pack of Advil and washed two down with her tea. In fifteen or twenty minutes she might begin to feel a little more human again. She looked at her watch. ‘Jesus Christ! Is that the time?’ It was nine thirty. ‘I’ve got class at nine!’

  ‘You had class at nine,’ Li corrected her. ‘D’you want me to get you a taxi?’

  *

  He watched the taxi pull out into the street below and still felt the burning on his cheek where she had quickly kissed him goodbye. He wondered when he would see her again, if he would see her again. He would be in trouble, he knew, for bringing her back here. The duty policeman would have made his report first thing this morning. But he couldn’t have left her at the hotel in that state, and he still had a niggling worry about her safety. If the man who attacked him last night had been following them, he would know where she was staying. There was a great deal he probably knew, about both of them. Li looked up and down the street. There were a number of cars parked at an angle on the sidewalk immediately below, under the shade of the trees. Several dozen uniformed officers were emerging from the academy across the road, traffic cops stopping vehicles to let them cross. Women pushing prams strolled along the strip of parkland that divided the street down its centre. Old men sat on benches gazing into space and puffing on cigarettes. He wondered if there were hidden eyes watching him from somewhere out there right now. It was a disconcerting thought.

  The rain of the previous night had washed some of the dust and humidity out of the atmosphere, and the air was fresher as he followed his habitual route to work, cycling north along Chaoyangmen Nanxiaojie Street. Overhead the sky was blue, instead of a burned-out grey, and the sun was hot on his skin. He was still preoccupied with thoughts of Margaret. Had she been disappointed that nothing had happened between them last night? He had thought she seemed relieved. It was strange, he reflected, how she seemed always on the verge of intimacy, as though they had once known each other well, like old lovers. She seemed often about to touch him, or kiss him, but held back at the last as if realising that she didn’t, after all, know him. Or perhaps it was simply that the habit of casual intimacy, born of years living with the man she had married, was hard to break, and that, really, it had nothing to do with Li at all.

  At the corner of Dongzhimennei he waved at Mei Yuan as he passed, and called out, ‘Sorry, I have no time this morning.’ She stood up to wave him over, a sense of urgency in her signalling. But he was already out into the stream of traffic crossing the main road. ‘Later,’ he shouted back at her.

  The corridors of Section One were still crowded with citizens awaiting interrogation about the itinerant from Shanghai, or about what they had seen or not seen in Ritan Park two mornings previously. The detectives’ room was empty except for Detective Qian, who was still writing up his report on events in the park the night before. He seemed agitated and tipped his head towards Li’s office. ‘Chief’s waiting for you in there.’

  Li braced himself and strode confidently through the door. ‘Morning, Chief. Big breakthrough last night.’

  Chen was sitting at Li’s desk flicking idly through a number of reports awaiting Li’s attention. He looked up and said, grimly, ‘Is that in your personal or your professional life?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Li!’ Chen slammed the flat of his hand down on the desk. ‘We both know that Dr Campbell stayed at your apartment last night. What in God’s name did you think you were playing at?’

  ‘She’d had too much to drink, Chief. She wasn’t feeling well, so I let her stay over. There wasn’t any more to it than that. She slept in Old Yifu’s room.’

  ‘Damn you, Li. She’s a foreigner. You are an
official of the state!’

  ‘My relationship with Dr Campbell is strictly work, Chief,’ Li protested.

  ‘Then it’s time you stopped taking your work home.’ Chen stood up in a temper. ‘Have you any idea the repercussions this could have? I’ve already had a call from the university and they are considering sending Dr Campbell home forthwith. I feel entirely responsible. After all, it was me who asked for her help in the first place. And it’s you I blame, not her. You’re the one who should have known better.’

  Li’s head dropped, his resistance wilting. ‘I’m sorry, Chief. I thought I was doing the right thing. Especially after the attack on me last night. I thought there was a possibility she could be in danger.’

  But Chen’s anger did not abate. ‘We’ll come to last night in a moment,’ he snapped. ‘The fact is, Li, I’m going to have to consider taking disciplinary action against you. Particularly since this comes right on the heels of an official complaint against you yesterday.’

  ‘If you’re talking about The Needle …’

  ‘Don’t insult me by denying it,’ Chen warned. ‘And as for last night, had you followed proper procedure you would never have been attacked in the first place, and you would not have exposed Dr Campbell to the danger that you did.’ He turned towards the window, waving his hands in exasperation. ‘For God’s sake, Li, you’ve not even been in this job three days. I thought you understood. We work as a team here. Your job is to lead that team. It is not a licence for you to go off on some individual crusade, firing off like a loose cannon, like some … American cop. And if you can’t understand that, I’ll personally see to it that you spend the rest of your career directing traffic on Tiananmen Square.’ He glared at Li. ‘Well?’

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Chief.’

  Chen took a deep breath and let a little of the tension seep out of him. He sat down again in Li’s chair. ‘Notwithstanding anything I’ve said, that was a damn smart piece of work yesterday. The glove and the key, and the thumbprint.’