The Man From Beijing

by Unknown

  Ya Ru had not been surprised when the gigantic house of cards collapsed and Lai had to flee the country. After he’d left, several of those involved with his businesses were executed. Others – hundreds of them – had been imprisoned. But at the same time, he was revered as a generous man in his poor home district. He would give fortunes to taxi drivers in the form of tips or give generous gifts to impoverished families whose names he didn’t even know, for no obvious reason. Ya Ru also knew that Lai was now writing his memoir – which worried many high-ranking officials and politicians in China. Lai was in possession of many truths, and as he now lived in Canada, nobody could censure him.

  But Ya Ru had no intention of fleeing his country.

  There was another thought beginning to gnaw away at his mind. Ma Li, Hong Qiu’s friend, had also been on the visit to Africa. Ya Ru knew that the two women had had long conversations. Moreover, Hong Qiu had always been a letter writer.

  Perhaps Ma Li was in possession of an incriminating letter from Hong Qiu? Something she had passed on to people who had in turn informed the security services?

  Three days later, when one of the winter’s severe sandstorms was raging over Beijing, Ya Ru visited Ma Li’s office not far from Ritan Gongyuan, the Sun God’s Park. Ma Li worked in a government department devoted to financial analyses and wasn’t sufficiently senior to cause him any serious problems. Mrs Shen and her assistants had investigated Ma Li and found no links with the inner circles of government and the party. Ma Li had two children. Her current husband was an insignificant bureaucrat. As her first husband had died in the war with the Vietnamese in the 1970s, nobody had objected to her remarrying and having another child. Both of the children now led lives of their own: the eldest, a daughter, was an educational adviser in a teacher training college, and the son worked as a surgeon at a hospital in Shanghai. Neither of them had contacts that caused Ya Ru any worries. But he had been careful to note that Ma Li had two grandchildren to whom she devoted a large amount of her time.

  Mrs Shen fixed an appointment with Ma Li. She hadn’t mentioned what the meeting was about, only that it was urgent and probably connected with the trip to Africa. That ought to worry her a bit, Ya Ru thought as he sat in the back seat of his car observing the city they were driving through. As he had plenty of time, he had asked the driver to make a diversion past some of the construction sites he had business interests in. His main priority was the Olympic Games. One of Ya Ru’s big contracts was for the demolition of a residential area that had to be cleared in order to make way for roads to the new sports stadia. Ya Ru expected to earn billions, even after he had subtracted the massive payments made to civil servants and politicians.

  The car pulled up outside an unremarkable building where Ma Li worked. She was standing on the steps, waiting for him.

  ‘Ma Li,’ said Ya Ru. ‘Seeing you now makes me think that our trip to Africa, which ended in such tragedy, was a very long time ago.’

  ‘I think about my dear friend Hong Qiu every day,’ said Ma Li. ‘But I allow Africa to drift away into the past. I shall never go back there.’

  ‘As you know, we sign new contracts with many countries on the African continent every day. We are building bridges that will last for a long time to come.’

  As they talked they walked along a deserted corridor to Ma Li’s office, whose windows looked out onto a little garden surrounded by a high wall. In the middle of the garden was a fountain that had been turned off for the winter.

  Ma Li switched off her telephone and served tea. Ya Ru could hear somebody laughing in the distance.

  ‘Searching for truth is like watching a snail chasing a snail,’Ya Ru said pensively. ‘It moves slowly, but it is persistent.’

  Ya Ru looked her straight in the eye, but Ma Li did not avert her gaze.

  ‘There are rumours circulating,’ Ya Ru continued, ‘that I don’t like at all. Rumours about my companies, about my character. I wonder where they are coming from. I have to ask who would want to do me damage. Not the usual crowd that is jealous of me, but somebody else, with motives I don’t understand.’

  ‘Why should I want to damage your reputation?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. My question is quite different. Who knows, who has got hold of this information, who is spreading the rumours?’

  ‘Our lives are totally different. I’m a civil servant; you do big business deals that we read about in the newspapers. Compared with my life as an insignificant nobody, you lead a life that I can barely imagine.’

  ‘But you knew Hong Qiu,’ said Ya Ru, ‘my sister, who was very close to me. After not having seen each other for ages, you and she meet in Africa. You have long talks, she makes a hurried visit to you early one morning. When I get back to China, rumours start spreading.’

  Ma Li turned pale. ‘Are you accusing me of slandering you in public?’

  ‘You must understand, and I’m sure you do, that in my situation I wouldn’t say anything like that without first having done some thorough research. I have ruled out one possibility after another. In the end I have only one explanation. One person.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘You mean Hong Qiu? Your own sister?’

  ‘It’s no secret that we disagreed about fundamental questions regarding the future of China: political developments, the economy, our views on history.’

  ‘But were you enemies?’

  ‘Enmity can develop over a very long time, almost invisibly, the way land slowly rises out of the sea. All of a sudden you find you have an enemy you knew nothing about.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe that Hong Qiu would use anonymous complaints as a weapon. She wasn’t that kind of person.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I’m asking you the question. What did you actually talk about?’

  Ma Li didn’t answer. Ya Ru continued without giving her any time to think.

  ‘Perhaps there’s a letter,’ he said slowly. ‘Perhaps she gave you a letter that morning. Am I right? A letter? Or some kind of document? I have to know what she said to you and what she gave you.’

  ‘It was as if she sensed that she was going to die,’ said Ma Li. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about it, but I can’t understand the strength of the worry she must have felt. She just asked me to make sure that her body was cremated after she died. She wanted her ashes spread over Longtanhu Gongyuan, the little lake in the park. She also asked me to look after her belongings, her books, to give away her clothes and empty her house.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was this something she said, or did she write it down?’

  ‘It was a letter. I memorised it. Then I burned it.’

  ‘So it was only a short letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why did you burn it? You could almost call it a will.’

  ‘She said nobody would question what I said.’

  Ya Ru continued to observe her face while he thought over her words. ‘She didn’t give you another letter as well?’

  ‘What could that have been?’

  ‘Maybe a letter you didn’t burn. But that you passed on to somebody else?’

  ‘I received one letter. It was addressed to me. I burned it. That’s all.’

  ‘It would not be good if you haven’t told me the truth.’

  ‘Why on earth should I lie?’

  Ya Ru flung out his arms. ‘Why do people lie? Why do we have that ability? Because in certain circumstances it can be advantageous for us. Lies and truth are weapons, Ma Li, that skilful operators can make good use of, just as other people are very handy with a sword.’

  He was still looking her in the eye, but she didn’t look away. ‘Nothing else? There’s nothing else you want to tell me?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘You realise, of course, that sooner or later I’ll find out all I need to know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ya Ru nodded thoughtfully. ‘
You are a good person, Ma Li. So am I. But I can be bitter and twisted if anybody is dishonest with me.’

  ‘There’s nothing I haven’t told you.’

  ‘Good. You have two grandchildren, Ma Li. You love them more than anything else in the world.’

  He saw that she gave a start.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m merely giving you an opportunity to tell me the truth.’

  ‘I’ve told you everything. Hong Qiu told me about the fears she had regarding developments in China. But no threats, no rumours.’

  ‘Then I believe you.’

  ‘You scare me, Ya Ru. Do I really deserve that?’

  ‘I haven’t scared you. Hong Qiu did that, with her secret letter. Talk to her soul about that. Ask her to set you free from the worries you have.’

  Ya Ru stood up. Ma Li accompanied him out into the street. He shook her hand, then stepped into his car. Ma Li went back to her office and threw up in the washbasin.

  Then she sat down at her desk and memorised word for word the letter she had received from Hong Qiu, which was lying hidden in one of her desk drawers.

  She was angry when she died, Ma Li thought. No matter how it happened. Nobody has yet been able to give me a satisfactory explanation of how the car accident took place.

  Before leaving her office that evening she tore the letter into tiny pieces and flushed it down the lavatory.

  Ya Ru spent the evening in one of his nightclubs in the entertainment district of Beijing, Sanlitun. In a back room he relaxed on a bed and allowed Li Wu, one of the hostesses at the club, to massage the back of his head and neck. They were the same age and had once been lovers. She still belonged to the small group of people that Ya Ru trusted. He was very careful about what he did and didn’t say to her. But he knew that she was loyal.

  She was always naked when she massaged him. The distant sound of music from the nightclub filtered in through the walls. The lights inside the room were dim, the wallpaper red.

  Ya Ru again ran through the conversation he’d had with Ma Li. It all started with Hong Qiu, he thought. It was a grave error on my part, trusting her family loyalty for so long.

  Li Wu continued massaging his back. Suddenly he took hold of her hand and sat up.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’

  ‘I need to be alone, Li Wu. I’ll shout when I need you again.’

  She left the room as Ya Ru wrapped himself up in a sheet. He wondered if he’d been thinking along the wrong lines. Perhaps the key question wasn’t what was in the letter that Hong Qiu had handed over to Ma Li.

  What if Hong Qiu had been talking to somebody? he wondered. Somebody she assumed I would never worry about?

  He recalled what Chan Bing had said about the Swedish judge Hong Qiu had displayed an interest in. What was there to prevent Hong Qiu from talking to her? Passing on confidential information?

  Ya Ru lay down on the bed again. The back of his neck felt less painful now, after being stroked by Li Wu’s sensitive fingers.

  The next morning he called Chan Bing. He came straight to the point.

  ‘You mentioned something about a Swedish judge my sister had been in contact with. What was that about?’

  ‘Her name was Birgitta Roslin. She’d been mugged, a routine incident. We brought her in to identify her attacker. She didn’t recognise anybody, but she had evidently been talking to Hong Qiu about a number of murders in Sweden that she suspected had been carried out by a man from China.’

  This was worse than he’d thought, and potentially more damaging than any accusations of corruption. He politely brought the conversation to a close.

  He was already steeling himself for a task he would have to carry out himself, now that Liu Xan was no longer around.

  One more thing to finish off. Hong Qiu was not yet defeated, once and for all.

  Chinatown, London

  32

  It was raining in the morning at the beginning of May when Birgitta Roslin accompanied her family to Copenhagen, where they were due to catch a flight for Madeira. After a lot of soul-searching and many discussions with Staffan, she had decided not to go with them on their holiday. The long sick leave she had taken earlier in the year had made it impossible for her to ask for more time off. She simply couldn’t make the trip.

  The rain was bucketing down when they arrived in Copenhagen. Staffan, who travelled free on Swedish railways, had wanted to take the train to Kastrup where their children were waiting, but she was just as insistent on taking him to the airport by car. She waved goodbye to all of them in the departure terminal, then settled down in a cafe and watched the crowds of people lugging their baggage and dreaming of journeys to distant lands.

  A few days earlier she had called Karin Wiman and said she would be going to Copenhagen. Although it was several months since they had returned from Beijing, they still hadn’t had an opportunity to meet. Birgitta had been snowed under with work after being declared fit again. Hans Mattsson had welcomed her return with open arms, placed a vase of flowers on her desk and immediately followed it with a large number of cases. At that precise moment, at the end of March, a debate had been raging in the local newspapers in southern Sweden about the scandalously long waiting times in district courts. According to Birgitta Roslin’s colleagues, Hans Mattsson, who could hardly be called bellicose by nature, had not been sufficiently outspoken in making clear the hopeless situation the courts had been placed in by the National Judiciary Administration and more especially the government, which were intent on saving money. While her colleagues had groaned and fumed about their workload, Birgitta had felt extremely pleased to be back in the thick of it. She had often stayed behind in her office so late that Hans Mattsson, in his gentle way, had warned her not to overstretch herself and fall ill again.

  And so she and Karin Wiman had only spoken on the telephone. They had arranged to meet twice, but on both occasions something had come up to prevent it. Now, however, on this rainy day in Copenhagen, Birgitta was free. She didn’t need to appear in court that day and would spend the night at Karin’s place. She had the pictures from China in her bag and was looking forward with childlike eagerness to seeing the photographs Karin had taken.

  They had agreed to meet for lunch at a restaurant in one of the streets off Strøget. Birgitta had intended to wander around the shops looking for a dress she could wear in court, but the heavy rain made that an unattractive activity. She stayed at Kastrup until it was time to meet, then took a taxi into town, as she was unsure of the way. Karin waved cheerfully to her as she entered the packed restaurant.

  ‘They got away all right, I hope?’

  ‘It’s only after they’ve left that it hits you. The horrific possibilities when your whole family is on the same plane.’

  Karin shook her head.

  ‘Nothing will happen,’ she said. ‘If you really want to travel safely, a plane is your best bet.’

  They had lunch, looked at the photographs and recalled memories from their trip. While Karin was talking, Birgitta found herself thinking for the first time in ages about the mugging. Hong Qiu suddenly appearing at her breakfast table. The stolen bag that had been found. The whole strange and frightening business she had become involved in.

  ‘Are you listening?’ Karin asked.

  ‘Of course I’m listening. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You don’t seem to be.’

  ‘I keep thinking of my family up there in the sky.’

  They ordered coffee to round off the meal. Karin suggested they should each drink a brandy in protest against the cold spring weather.

  ‘Of course, we’ll have a brandy.’

  They took a taxi to Karin’s house. When they got there, it stopped raining, and the clouds were beginning to break.

  ‘I need to stretch my legs,’ said Birgitta. ‘I spend far too much time sitting in my office or in court.’

  They strolled along the beach, which was deserted apart from a few elderly peo
ple walking their dogs.

  They paused and watched a yacht scudding northward through the sound.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s high time you told me now?’ Karin asked.

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘What really happened in Beijing. I know what you said wasn’t true. Or at least, not the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as they say in court.’

  ‘I was attacked. And my bag was stolen.’

  ‘I know that. But the circumstances, Birgitta. I don’t believe what you said. There was something missing. Even if we haven’t met very often in recent years, I know you. I would never try to tell you an untruth. Or to fool you, as my father used to say. I know you would see through me.’

  This came as a relief to Birgitta.

  ‘I don’t understand it myself,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand why I concealed half the story. Perhaps because you were too busy with your First Dynasty. Perhaps because I didn’t even really understand what had happened.’

  They kept walking and took off their jackets when the sun started to warm up. Birgitta told her about the photograph taken by the surveillance camera in the little hotel in Hudiksvall and her attempt to track down the man on the film. She explained it in precise detail, as if she were in the witness box under the watchful eye of a judge.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about that,’ said Karin when Birgitta came to the crucial point. They had turned and started to walk back.