Flower Net

by Lisa See

  “If it is someone at the ministry, how do we know he didn’t send the car?” Hulan asked. If she was right, then going into the ministry at all would be dangerous, too.

  At ten, after telling the two low-level investigators in the sedan that they’d be walking, Hulan and David set out down a thoroughfare to the back entrance of the Forbidden City. From there, they caught a series of buses, which took them to the Sheraton, where David was finally able to clean up. Then they took a taxi to the Ministry of Public Security.

  They couldn’t sneak David past the guards or “hide” him from the people inside the building, so they walked as nonchalantly as possible up to Hulan’s floor, pretended to proceed to her office, then ducked instead into Section Chief Zai’s. When they saw he wasn’t there, they shut the door behind them. They assumed that the room was bugged, so they moved as quietly as they could and kept their voices low. Hulan again repeated that Uncle Zai couldn’t be involved.

  “Okay, but since he’s not here,” David whispered, “let’s look around.”

  Hulan mouthed the word no, but David walked to the desk and began looking through the papers. “This stuff is in Chinese, Hulan. I need your help.”

  Hulan reluctantly came to his side. “You won’t find anything,” she said.

  David ignored her, held up a piece of paper, and asked, “What’s this?” Hulan said it was a requisition form. She was surprised at the relief she heard in her voice. David held up another, then another. All were innocuous. One of the desk drawers was locked, but David used a letter opener to jimmy it open. He held up another piece of paper with a red seal stamped on it. Hulan’s unconscious gasp told him he’d hit pay dirt. “What is it?”

  “It’s Spencer Lee’s death sentence. The red mark is Section Chief Zai’s chop.”

  “You phoned him from the jail after Lee was sentenced. You asked him to file the official petition. Do you see any papers here that show he did that?”

  Hulan scanned the desk, then shook her head.

  “Let’s just look at this,” David said. “Maybe Zai is making a play. Maybe he wants back what he lost. What was it you said earlier? Things always change to the opposite.”

  “Uncle Zai is an honest man.”

  “But suppose he isn’t. You told him exactly what we were doing. If he is who I think he is, then he had to get rid of Lee. If for some reason that didn’t work, he had to stop us.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “If Peter reported to Zai,” David whispered urgently, “then he would have known we were going to the Capital Mansion to see Cao Hua.” He struggled to piece together what else had happened that day. “And remember what Nixon Chen said at the Black Earth Inn? You asked him if he’d ever seen Henglai at the restaurant. He said Deng’s daughter went there, the ambassador, your boss. He must have meant Zai.”

  “But that doesn’t mean anything. Everyone goes there sometime. Nixon told us that, too.”

  “What about when we came back to his office?” David pushed on. “He told us to back off. Then, remember what he said when I brought up the idea of going to L.A.?”

  Hulan nodded. “He said we would be out of the way.”

  “Out of the way, Hulan! Out of the way!”

  “But, David, it can’t be. I’ve known him forever.”

  How could he convince her? “On the first day I was here in China, I said something about the Rising Phoenix in your father’s office. Everyone acted strange after that. You told me why later.”

  “Those cases had been an embarrassment to us. They were a loss of face.”

  “Why?” he pressed.

  “Zai had investigated the gang and…”

  “Nothing happened,” David finished for her. “He must have been working with them all along! And then there’s the bomb. He’s the right age, Hulan. Was he in the army?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, “but it’s all circumstantial.”

  He held up Spencer Lee’s death sentence. “This isn’t circumstantial. It’s hard evidence.”

  Seeing the look of torment on Hulan’s face, he asked, “What aren’t you telling me?” When she looked away, he took her hand, brought it to his lips for a kiss, and said, “No more secrets, Hulan. None ever again.”

  “The night before we left, Uncle Zai came to my house. He warned me to be careful.”

  “Did he warn you or threaten you?”

  She pulled her hand away and groaned. “I don’t know anymore. I’m confused.”

  “Don’t you see, Hulan? We cast that flower net of yours and when you look at all the pieces we’ve caught, they point to one person.”

  “Zai.”

  “I think we’d better see your father.”

  Vice Minister Liu gestured for them to sit and asked a tea girl to fill their cups. With his elbows perched on the desk and his chin rested on his interlocked fingers, he listened to their conclusions. When they came to the end, he took a sip of tea, then lit a Marlboro. “As I recall, one of the bodies was found aboard a ship that left Tianjin on January third. Am I remembering this correctly?”

  “Yes.”

  Liu leafed through his desk calendar, found the date, and looked up. “Obviously you haven’t checked Section Chief Zai’s travel records.” He could barely conceal his disappointment in them.

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “Well, Inspector, if you had, you would have known that Section Chief Zai was in Tianjin that week.” He paused, then added with a self-deprecating smile, “I was there that week as well.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “We were conducting a routine survey of the local bureau. Nothing terribly important, just time-consuming. But now, as I recall, Section Chief Zai was not with me every day, nor did we have dinner together every evening.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Inspector Liu,” her father said in Chinese, glancing significantly at David, “it is not my business what my employees do in their off time.”

  “I beg your pardon,” David said.

  “I was telling the inspector that I didn’t know what Section Chief Zai was doing. But I must say that I have suspected that he was corrupt for some time.” He turned his attention back to his daughter. “I’m sure this comes as a shock to you, Inspector. I know you have always had a lot of…respect for this man. But I think if you look back over his life and career, you will see that his past is not glorious.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “In his office, I presume.”

  “We were just there. He’s gone.”

  Vice Minister Liu stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “Then I propose that we waste no time. I’ll make the proper notifications. He will be found and arrested.” He walked them to the door, where he shook David’s hand. “It seems I am forever thanking you for your help. We are, as a country, grateful for your insights and persistence in this matter.” With that, the vice minister closed the door behind them.

  “Now what?” David asked as they headed toward Hulan’s office.

  “We wait. The MPS prides itself on being able to find a criminal anywhere in China within twenty-four hours. By tomorrow, this will all be over.” Even as Hulan said this she doubted it. Section Chief Zai was well liked by the people who worked beneath him. She suspected that they wouldn’t look too hard for their old colleague. But Hulan could also see that something niggled at David’s brain as well. “What’s bothering you now?”

  “Okay, I see Zai, but how does the American embassy fit in? We know that someone there was stamping the passports for the couriers. So who was that?”

  “Not some pencil pusher.”

  David agreed. “It has to be someone in a high enough position to have met him socially or professionally. Zai would have needed to see this man in action, trusted his discretion, and”—David thought for a moment—“yes, and believed his innocent aw-shucks demeanor.”

  “Phil Firestone.”

  Still nervous about who else could be involved
at the MPS and not wanting to spend the time filling out a car requisition form, Hulan flagged down a taxi outside the ministry. Quickly they sped across town to the diplomatic area along Jianguomenwai. The driver honked through the masses crowded outside the embassy and dropped them off at the gate. They were shown up to the ambassador’s office, where they were told that he was “out of town” and that his adjutant was at the official residence planning a Valentine’s Day tea with Mrs. Watson.

  A few minutes later they knocked at the door of the austere building the Watsons called home. A Chinese woman greeted them and led the way to a parlor for receiving guests. The room was decorated in what could be described as American Diplomatic, a style that allowed for few concessions to the country of residence. Chairs and settees were covered in a variety of royal-blue damask and silk moiré fabrics. Small pillows of blue brocade and heavy gold fringe served as accessories. Low, early-American tables were set with bouquets in Chinese blue-and-white ceramic bowls, silver dishes filled with ribbon and peppermint candies, and a few photography books that extolled the natural beauties of states like Vermont, Colorado, Alaska, and, of course, Montana.

  It had been two months since Hulan had met Elizabeth Watson sitting on an iron bench in the dead of winter waiting to see if the dead body frozen under the icy expanse of Bei Hai Lake was her son. Now, as introductions were made, Hulan was once again struck by Elizabeth Watson’s reserve. Her sorrow still showed in the sadness of her eyes, in the circles that hung beneath them, and in her slightly sallow complexion. Nevertheless, her hair was done in one of those politicians’ wives dos, each strand held in place by hair spray. The severity of her hair was offset by the casual elegance of her gabardine slacks, silk blouse, camel’s hair jacket, and string of pearls. She had the air of someone who had been busy all day, planning meals and seating charts, catching up on her correspondence, perhaps even chatting on the phone with a girlfriend or two back in Montana. What she did not look like was a woman who, as her husband had explained, was so deep in mourning that she couldn’t receive visitors or answer questions about her son.

  “Actually you just missed Phil,” Elizabeth said, “but I expect him back shortly. If you run back to the embassy, you’ll probably miss him again. So let’s have some tea and visit for a while.”

  She poured tea from a heavy silver pot and handed the delicate cups and saucers to her guests. The whole while she carried on a mostly one-sided conversation about the weather, about plans for the upcoming party, about her visits to factory nursery schools in Sichuan Province where business was booming for Chinese and American entrepreneurs. David and Hulan let her talk, knowing that, as with most parents who mourn the loss of a child, she would bring the conversation around to Billy.

  “He was such a bright boy and we had such hopes for him,” she said. “He had just one more year to go at USC, and I remember the last time I saw him we talked about what he might do next.”

  David and Hulan glanced at each other, realizing that Ambassador Watson hadn’t told his wife that Billy had dropped out. Silently they decided to see where this conversation would go.

  “I kept stressing the importance of an education,” Elizabeth Watson continued. “‘Go to graduate school,’ I said. Political science, history, maybe even law school. But Billy had other ideas. ‘Ah, Mom, I’m sick of school. I want to get out, start a business, make my own way.’ You see, I think it was always hard for Billy growing up in a small community where his father was so important, such a force, if you know what I mean. Like a lot of kids, Billy rejected everything his father stood for. But I always saw that as a phase.”

  “It sounds like you and your son were close,” David said.

  “Close?” Elizabeth Watson laughed. “I’ll say we were close. Being a politician’s wife is a lonely business. Being a politician’s child is even worse. Billy and I were left alone in Montana a lot of the time. Someone had to stay behind and deal with the ranch. That someone was me. And I wasn’t about to let Billy go off to Washington with his father. But I’ll tell you, you think winter is bad here? You haven’t seen anything until you’ve lived through a Montana winter.” Elizabeth caught herself. “Excuse me for rambling on,” she said. “It’s just, you know, Billy and I had a bond.”

  “Are you saying he didn’t get along with his father?”

  Elizabeth regarded them, calculating. “You’re here to talk about Billy, aren’t you? I thought all that was settled.”

  “It is settled,” Hulan lied. “But we do have a few loose ends.”

  “If there’s any way I can help you…”

  “Tell us about Billy and his father.”

  “I guess you know by now that Billy got into trouble sometimes.” When David and Hulan nodded, Elizabeth went on. “There are a lot of ways a parent can look at things like that. In my opinion, Billy never did anything that harmed anyone. I always thought he did that stuff just to get his father’s attention. From that standpoint it worked. Big Bill would just freak. Whippings when Billy was little. Hour-long tirades when he got older. Big Bill threatened to disown Billy, cut him out of his will, turn his back on him forever if he didn’t shape up. The irony is that my husband was always putting pressure on Billy to take over the ranch. ‘In ten years it’ll all be yours.’ That sort of thing.”

  “That must have reassured you,” David said.

  “Hardly! The last thing I wanted was for my only child to end up on that damn ranch. Why on earth would I have wanted him to spend his life compiling breeding statistics, supervising the annual culling of the herd, agonizing over the fluctuations in the beef market? No, Billy was too smart for that life. He had his whole future ahead of him and he could have done anything he wanted.”

  “How did Billy feel about all that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He was in college, but I don’t think he cared about it much. During vacations, he’d pop in here for a few days, then fly back to the ranch with that friend of his.”

  “What friend is that?”

  “You know, the other boy who died, Guang Henglai.” When Elizabeth Watson saw the look that passed between David and Hulan, she asked, “What?”

  “Your husband told us Billy didn’t know Henglai.”

  “I don’t know why he’d say something like that. Big Bill was helping those two with their little business.”

  “What business, Mrs. Watson?” Hulan asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Something about hunting. I think it was some kind of guide service—take some city folk up to the ranch, give them a good time, take them out hunting.”

  “For bear?” Hulan asked.

  “Deer would be my guess,” Elizabeth corrected. “But you’re right, what Billy really loved to do was track bear. He got that from his father, you know. Give Big Bill and Billy a pair of rifles, a couple of orange hunting jackets so they didn’t shoot each other, and a few thousand acres of back country and they were as happy as could be.” Her eyes clouded as she said, “After all the years of trouble, that hunting business had finally brought those two together.”

  “Where is your husband now, Mrs. Watson?”

  Elizabeth’s head snapped up at the tone in David’s voice. “He went to Chengdu. I thought you knew that. We have so many American citizens there now that we opened a consulate a few years ago. It’s a good thing, too, if you ask me. Everyone’s jumpy over those nuclear triggers and nervous about what’s going to happen to their business ventures if the political situation doesn’t improve.”

  David and Hulan stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Watson, but we really need to go.”

  “But I thought you needed to see Phil.”

  “That’s all right. We’ll catch up with him later. Thanks again.”

  “Was it something I said?” she asked as she followed them to the door. “Is there something about Billy or the ambassador I should know?”

  Hulan turned and took Elizabeth Watson’s hand, feeling sorry for this woman who thought she had experie
nced misery but was about to find out it was only just beginning. “If you need anything, later, I mean, please call me.”

  Elizabeth Watson looked from Hulan to David and back again. “Tell me. I can take it.”

  “We’re sorry, Mrs. Watson,” David said.

  The tears that had been threatening to arrive since the beginning of their meeting overflowed now. Elizabeth Watson covered her face with her hands, turned, and ran up the stairs.

  With brisk steps, David and Hulan began crossing the courtyard. They talked excitedly.

  “No wonder Ambassador Watson didn’t want you to investigate his son’s death,” David said. “He knew exactly what had happened. And once the boys were dead, all he thought about was saving his own skin.”

  “Remember when we last saw him?” Hulan asked.

  “Yeah, that bastard wasn’t shocked that Billy wasn’t in school. He was shocked because we were so close to the truth.”

  “And after we showed him the list of couriers…He must have panicked. He wanted Spencer Lee dead.”

  “When we said Spencer was going to be executed, Watson said something along the lines of ‘Then this will all be over.’ We just didn’t understand what he meant.”

  “Is stamping those passports really so bad?” she asked. “Was it enough to let things go so far?”

  “He’s a former senator and an ambassador. He committed a federal crime. He might be sent to one of our country-club prisons, but his reputation would be ruined.”

  They turned their attention to the others involved in the scheme. “Henglai must have financed the enterprise,” Hulan said. “Billy—and his father—had the Montana connections. Imagine them up there shooting bears and selling their gallbladders.”

  “But I also think the boys did the meat-and-potatoes work of setting up the couriers. That’s why they went to the Black Earth Inn.” David considered, then said, “They all met there—the Watsons, Cao Hua, the couriers, the people from the Rising Phoenix. It was the perfect meeting place.”