by Andy Oakes
Her face from the Senior Investigator’s chest.
“I do not wish her death to be avenged. ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord’.”
Soothing strokes, Piao’s hand across her hair. As her husband would have done, if he had been present, and not in medication’s soporific halfway house.
“But what about justice? Surely even your religion recognises justice?”
Bitter tears flowing as if they would never stop.
“Madam, I make a solemn promise to bring to justice those who perpetrated this wanton crime upon your daughter and your family.”
So many questions written across her lips. Piao’s cuff wiping away her tears.
“The questions in your eyes, Madam. Do not ask them now. Do not ask me to cause you pain in the answers that I might give to you. Only ask me when I have found your daughter’s murderers. When there is that balm to heal the wounds. For now, Madam, it is I who need your help. Your husband, he was involved in a special project of some kind. There are no notes, no folders that we have access to. Unusual, very unusual. We do not know what this project was. But we need to know. It is perhaps the nature of this project that brought this sorrow to you. The pressures upon your husband, the threats to your daughter’s life.”
“But there is nothing that I know. Nothing at all. Such a quiet man, my poor husband. Such a conscientious man. He would not speak of such matters. Never did he talk of his work. Never.”
“We would like to see him, Madam. Talk to him. Perhaps he will …”
“No. No. My husband is too ill. He talks of nothing now, nothing. The silence, it came slowly. The doctors say that he has lost his words and with them his sanity. Our daughter, she was his heaven. With her gone there is only hell.”
“He was a biologist?”
A nod of her head.
“Did you meet his colleagues? The others who were involved in his work?”
“A quiet man, a conscientious man. He kept his work and colleagues separate from his life at home.”
The Big Man taking up the questioning.
“Is there anything else that you can tell us, mama?”
A shake of her head.
“Madam, it is important. Please try, even in your deep grief, to think of something that the Comrade Scientist said.”
“But I have already told you there is nothing. There is, is …”
A stumble. Words collapsing to silence. Piao’s hand across her hair. Once black, now grey.
“He would be away for days. Sometimes weeks. I worried about him. I gave him food to take. A fussy eater, my husband. So fussy. But always he would refuse. Always. ‘Why take sand to a desert’, he would say. ‘That’s all they do there, grow food. The best soil in the People’s Republic …’ ”
“Where, Madam? Where was he talking about?”
“Shuihuzhuan.”
“ ‘The Water Margin’, yes, Madam?”
“It was his favourite book. And now …”
Piao to the Big Man.
“The 108 heroes of the ‘Water Margin’ lived in the marshy areas around the great lakes, Dongting and Poyang …”
“The ‘two rice bowls’, Boss. They call it that because the plains around the lakes are so fertile.”
The mother’s tears easing with the giving of something of value.
“Your husband was correct, Madam. There would be no need to take food to such a place as that. Thirty percent of the Republic’s rice comes from there. But the question is, why would such a place as that, take a Comrade Scientist to its bosom for weeks at a time?”
Piao pushing open the ante-room doors. The woman, the mother, escorted to her seat either side by servants of a Party ‘more powerful than God’. Eyes of the small congregation turning from the priest to the gold buttoned tunic to the red starred epaulettes.
“Sit, Madam, gain comfort. There is much comfort in a son of God’s blood. Much in a son of God’s body.”
“You are a Christian, Investigator?”
Piao and the Big Man, already turning back to the half-open door. Sounds of the world beyond at full thrash already in their ears.
“No, Madam, I am a Communist. Whatever that might be.”
*
The People’s Square, an hour just watching the first rehearsals for the Festival of the People’s Army of Liberation. Comrades from the collective farms bussed in. Pigs, tractors set aside for a day. Women in leotards which were too small or too big. Knickers, white, pink, blue, poking from weathered elastic. Marching, turning left to calls of right – right to orders of left. On the podium an artistic crisis; the choreographer’s frustrated shout.
“Listen. Listen to my words. Or are you only used to the snort of your pigs?”
The Big Man turning, flicking cigarette ash from his tie.
“Perhaps this is what being a fucking Communist is all about, eh Boss?”
Piao lighting a new cigarette from the butt of the one he had just finished. Life, death, its cycle in everything. Pulling deeply on the China Brand. As if his first. His last. But sure that the Great Helmsman had not spoken of leotards which were too small or too big in his thoughts on the ‘fragrant flower’ that was Marxist ideology.
*
The note taped to the Vice Squad telephone in the basement of the fen-chu was brief. Two names in uncompromising black-barbed type. The last two scientists, biologists, whose lives had fallen from heaven to hell with their daughters passing beyond life.
The Big Man pulling the note from the handset. In a single scan knowing, and with it, the sound of doors slamming shut. Two doors. The father of the body now known as 3577434, life no longer possessing him. Taken by his own hand as the ink was still drying on the file that would open an investigation into his child’s death. And the father of the body now known as 35774352 missing. Lost to the eyes of his family, friends, colleagues. Lost to their love. Why fear the black night when the light of your world has been extinguished?
Crumpling the note into a tight ball, the Big Man, and launching it toward the nearest bin. Missing it. Two lives lost in paper rolling across the floor to join so many other balls of crumpled paper.
Chapter 24
The waitress was perhaps nineteen years old. Pink panties that blushed into view every time that she served a table. Every time that her micro-mini moved slightly off the horizontal plane. Ten tables to serve, and as many languages pouring from her crimson-glossed lips. French, English, German, Japanese, Italian, Russian; not a language in which she couldn’t say, with the correct accent and with feeling.
‘Service is not included.’
Not a table that she didn’t serve before theirs. The one in the far corner, the dahu, two mobile phones, one mouth. The eau de Cologned brace of cadre nearest the bar, organisers in palms, comparing megabytes. The Party officials’ wives, doctrines on tongues, Dolce and Gabbana on their bodies.
“Three Tsingtao.”
The waitress eyes heavy with mascara, raising them to the spotlit ceiling.
“We don’t serve Tsingtao.”
“Three Suntory.”
“We don’t serve Suntory.”
“Reeb?”
A shake of her head, lacquer-spiked hair unmoving. Yaobang’s eyes seeking the aid of his Senior Investigator. Or if all else failed, Rentang, the ‘Wizard’. Piao in a whisper,
“Try Heineken.”
The Big Man, timidly.
“Heineken?”
The waitress thrusting a black and gold drinks’ list into his hot pepper sauce stained fingers.
“We are a tequila bar. We only serve tequila.”
Yaobang’s face as blank as the page on her drinks’ order receipt pad. Panda shoulders shrugged.
“What’s tequila?”
The Wizard taking control and pulling the drinks’ menu from his hand.
“Tequila is a drink that they have in Mexico.”
“They also have dysentery in Mexico. Doesn’t mean that I want that either.”
“It is the Mexican national drink.”
“So what’s our national drink then, Boss?”
“Tea.”
“Tea? That’s an exciting image of the People’s Republic. Mao himself must be spinning in his revered grave.”
Shaking his head.
“There we are sending Long March rockets into space, the most powerful and prolific nation on earth, and our national drink is tea.”
On his face a mix of outrage and thirst.
“It should at least be Maotai or Dukang. I’m going to write to my shiqu Chairman. No, to my Party representative on the Central fucking Committee.”
Piao’s calming hand on his shoulder, even more calming words into his ear.
“Think of America, Comrade Deputy. Think of their national drink.”
“What’s that, Boss?”
“CocaCola.”
Laughing. Tea, CocaCola … no competition. Instantly feeling better. The waitress starting to put her pencil away. Rentang’s finger hovering over gold.
“I will have a Tequila Cuervo Especial with salt and lemon. A double.”
Piao’s eyes meeting the waitress’s mascara strokes.
“Do you have Perrier or Evian.”
“Yes.”
“I will have whatever is the cheapest.”
The waitress looking at Piao as if he had been wiped from the sole of someone’s designer leather shoe.
“Evian is the cheapest.”
“Then I will have Evian.”
“And I will have one as well,” said the Big Man, confidence bouncing back.
“In fact, you can make mine a fucking double.”
She walked away with haste, the dahu drawing her attention. Lips with the dryness of a double Nokia conversation. The Big Man watching for a blush of underwear that never came.
“Nice bar. We’re moving up market, eh Boss?”
“What he means, is why bring us here, unless it is bad news. And knowing you, Sun Piao, dangerous news,” cut in the Wizard.
The drinks arriving. Rentang, grey tongue licking white salt from the pallid top of his hand. Slinging back the tequila. Biting into the lemon. His voice several notes higher.
“So, shock us, Senior Investigator. We only have six who life no longer possesses. Surely you can do better than that?”
“Seven.”
Choking the Wizard. Tequila, lemon, salt, across the tabletop.
“What?”
“Seven. In the bathroom, the parcel that you accepted from the courier. It was the head of the old father, the vagrant. Our only witness.”
“Dao-mei. Dao-mei.”
Pouring the Evian onto ice, the Senior Investigator. Onto lemon. Slowly sipping. Yaobang following his every move. Violently spitting the Evian onto the table top.
“Shit, it’s fucking water. I haven’t drunk water since I was twelve years old.”
Piao holding the glass to his forehead. Its chill bringing some clarity, some sanity from the madness racing in his head.
“Yes, expensive water with a label. The label being the most important part, apparently.”
Yaobang pushing the glass away.
“So, Boss, what the fuck’s going on?”
“We are in a vice, one with powerful jaws.”
Sipping the water, Piao.
“We have a serial murderer, Colonel Zhong Qi, the tai zi son of the Commanding Officer of the Shanghai Kan Shou Jingbei Si Ling Bu. The probable murderer of two PSB Comrade Officers. A mutilator of one and the possible murderer of at least three other young women. Who also probably arranged the murder of the vagrant who was our prime witness to the killing and torture of Di and his Deputy.”
Piao’s finger making tracings through the condensation on his glass.
“His father, the Senior Colonel, would not be proud of such a son.”
“Or perhaps he would, Boss? This tai zi’s son, a drink from the same bottle from what I’ve heard.”
“This is the evidence we have on this tai zi. The old vagrant’s statement, Lan Li’s statement, video evidence from the construction site of the National Stadium. Also, during my brief interview with him, this tai zi admitted to the murders of the young women, and of our Comrade Officers. He called them, ‘casualties of war’.”
“Then you have him, Sun Piao. You have this arrogant tai zi bastard. What more evidence could you need?”
Raising his glass in a toast.
“Good work, Senior Investigator. Now we can all go home.”
Piao gently lowering the Wizard’s arm.
“It is not as simple as that. It is never as simple as that. At least not in the People’s Republic.”
“Ta ma de. Not as simple! It couldn’t be more simple!”
The Big Man throwing an arm around the Wizard’s scrawny neck.
“My friend, the Boss is right, it’s not as fucking simple as that. Evidence is not enough, you have also to be a student of politics.”
Rentang shrugging the attentions of the Big Man aside.
“The only thing that you study, fat man, is your stomach.”
Shaking his head. With each shake, a whispered incantation of bad luck.
“Dao-mei. Dao-mei.”
Finishing his drink.
“What is it that’s going on? Evidence is not enough. Shit! Evidence was enough for you to ensnare me. For you to blackmail me into helping you.”
“It appears, reluctantly, that this tai zi is right. Our evidence is not enough to bind him to these murders. This serial killer has friends in high places, many friends in very high places.”
Rentang once more beckoning over the waitress. Yaobang placing the spent glasses at the far end of the table. A blush of baby pink as she retrieved them. Ignoring the Big Man’s smile, wink. Ordering more tequila.
“I meant to ask you, Boss, all that Muslim stuff, what the fuck is it?”
Nodding, the Senior Investigator.
“It’s from the Koran. A sura, a prayer, a supplication. Sura 4:56.”
The Wizard’s palm to the Senior Investigator’s face. Words fended off.
“I told you, I don’t want to hear another word. Six dead …”
“Seven,” the Big Man correcting.
“Seven dead. I will not be the fucking eighth.”
Ignoring him, Piao.
“We also know that the three girls and Lan Li, all of their fathers are, or were, scientist. All biologists.”
“It’s got to be drugs, Boss. Easy yuan. Especially for these fucking tai zi. They travel where they want. They don’t need travel permits from the danwei. Makes distribution a dream.”
Draining his glass, the Wizard.
“PLA tai zis, mass murder, muslim prayers, cadre in high places. Now drugs. We are dead men walking. I will listen to no more. Dao-mei. No more.”
“Got to be drugs, Boss. These tai zis, more dollars than brain cells. They are known for it. Probably cocaine.”
A nod from the Senior Investigator.
“Perhaps.”
Words to himself, Piao. Barely a whisper. Words, the skeleton on which to hang a thought process.
“ ‘Casualties of war’. But casualties of what war?”
“Maybe a drugs’ war, Boss. Perhaps these Comrade Scientists were already involved in the drugs’ trade? Maybe providing expert help to a triad?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps. Zoul wants all that we have. He wants us to hand it all in. Photographs, video, any forensic evidence, files, the location of the girl, Lan Li.”
The Wizard’s words dulled by tequila’s bite.
“Well do it, Sun Piao. Either hand the case over or destroy the evidence. Just get rid of it.”
Shaking his head, the Wizard.
“But you’re not going to give up this case, are you? You’re going to get us fucking killed and for what? For what?”
Yaobang not needing to think before replying.
“For Di and his Deputy. For all those young women who were fucking carve
d up. For the old comrade whose head was sent by courier. That’s what for. They were all somebody’s babies. Somebody’s fucking children.”
The Senior Investigator’s arm coming down across Yaobang’s shoulders.
“You are correct. I will not give up this case. These comrades, they murder as freely as we breathe. They rip humanity as if it were toilet paper. They see themselves as beyond our laws, because they are tai zis.”
Slapping the Big Man on his back.
“I represent the law. Whether they are cadre or peasant, I draw no distinction. I will demonstrate to them that they are not out of the reach of our long arm. But I will not force either of you to come down this road with me. If you do not wish to be a part of what I am doing, go now.”
From his inside pocket a rolled manila envelope. Slapping it down on the table.
“The photographs and the negatives that I have on you are in this envelope. All of them. You can walk away, now. Take them with you. There will be no recriminations.”
Rentang standing, pushing his chair hard against table.
“It’s all right, I’m just going to the toilet. What has our People’s Republic come to when an honest comrade can’t even take a piss?”
Watching the Wizard disappear from view.
Fifteen minutes, watching the waitress’s pink panties occasionally wink into view. Yaobang, the first to speak.
“He’s taking his time, Boss. He won’t come back. Probably squirming out of a back window. What do you think, Boss? Think he’ll come back?”
“This is the People’s Republic. We allow our citizen’s a choice, or at least a choice of sorts, unlike some countries.”
“True, Boss. But perhaps in some situations it would be fucking best if we didn’t.”
Smiling as the waitress bent over a table to retrieve a glass.
“So, what do we do now, Boss?”
Ignoring the question, the Senior Investigator.
“We are being followed.”
“I know, Boss, saw them on our tail on the way here. A black Beijing, a BJ 750.”
A nod.
“Who the fuck are they, Boss?”
“Could be anyone, except someone wanting to wish us a long life. On which subject I will need some help with the PLA Officer, Tsung. I watched him. He is an egg with flies around it.”
Yaobang grinning.
