Inspector Chen and the Private Kitchen Murder

by Xiaolong Qiu

  ‘Oh, that Republican Lady. She won’t have an impact on our business. Few could have afforded hers,’ Lu said with a chuckle. ‘But you only call me, I’m afraid, when you start doing some investigation. What do you want to know?’

  ‘I’m not doing any investigation, but she’s an interesting character, and it’s an intriguing new trend. Tell me what you know about her. And about the people who attend her private kitchen dinners as well.’

  ‘Well, I think I’ve heard something—’

  But a call was coming into Chen’s phone. It showed Old Hunter’s number.

  ‘I’ve got an urgent call,’ he spoke to Lu. ‘Can I talk to you later, Lu?’

  ‘No problem.’

  He picked up the call from Old Hunter. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Sima has just contacted us again. He was so excited that we had tea today. He’s offered to cover all the expenses – for cafés or teahouses or restaurants or whatever you like. Special allowance of up to ten thousand yuan per day.’

  ‘Wow, your agency has hit the jackpot. Tea or coffee aside, I’ve been reading the folder about the possibilities of the matching corner.’

  ‘Not too much in it, I know,’ Old Hunter said, ‘so another report is on the way to your place. Special delivery by Little Cha, a part-time assistant at our agency. A very reliable young man, but of course you don’t have to say anything to him.’

  In less than fifteen minutes, Chen had a large envelope delivered to his home by Little Cha, a tallish young man of very few words, who left almost immediately.

  Inside the envelope was a briefing on the latest development of the investigation. Again, it could have been gathered with the help of Detective Yu, who was on friendly terms with Detective Xiong of the homicide squad in the bureau.

  After the initial visit to the crime scene at the shikumen house, Detective Xiong had followed it by re-interviewing Feng at her home in Yangpu District. Among other things, Feng was positive that she saw Min sleeping naked – alone – in the bedroom that morning. She did not know much about how upset Min had been about Qing quitting the job, but Qing had only mentioned her plan the day before the dinner party. So it could have come at annoyingly short notice to Min.

  The same evening, Xiong interviewed Min again and questioned her about what he had just learned from Feng. Min failed to explain why she was sleeping naked that morning – with nothing but silk panties pulled down to her ankles. There was a lot she had not remembered about that night, being too drunk, but there had been no one with her that night, she was adamant. It was possible that after she had vomited and fallen asleep, Qing had helped to remove her clothing, she reasoned with Detective Xiong.

  But it did not appear that likely to Xiong. Removing her shoes made sense, but it was not an easy job to peel off a curve-hugging mandarin dress from an unresponsive body. Besides, what was the point in pulling down her panties?

  As for Qing’s quitting, Min said she had not been pleased with the short notice, but that was no big deal. She could have easily secured another kitchen helper.

  Detective Xiong then interviewed over the phone some of the dinner party guests. According to them, the private dinner was not the usual weekly arrangement, but one made for a special reason, though they seemed not to be too clear about it.

  There was nothing strange or suspicious about the arrangement – except for one small thing which occurred during the dinner.

  Halfway through it, Min called out Qing from the kitchen in order to make a toast to her, with the announcement of Qing’s plan to quit for a more promising future in another household. It seemed to be a toast made on the spur of the moment. Kong Jie, the chief editor of Wenhui Daily, one of the regular guests at the dining table, happened to have mentioned Qing’s progress in culinary skills under the guidance of Min, when Min stood up and dragged Qing out of the kitchen.

  ‘A phoenix chooses a higher tree branch to perch, it’s totally understandable,’ Min said, with a cup raised high, ‘so as to soar up for thousands and thousands of miles against the skies of unlimited possibilities.’

  Min’s sarcastic toast made no secret of her frustration, to which neither Qing nor the guests knew how to properly respond.

  With Qing hurrying back into the kitchen, Min drained two or three cups in a row. That was quite unlike her usual self, a polished and sophisticated Republican Lady.

  Soon she was drunk, hardly capable of sitting still at the table. And she had to be helped by Qing and Zheng, one of the guests, into her bedroom.

  The guests were all nonplussed. They were aware that Qing had been doing more and more in the kitchen, but none of them believed Qing’s leaving could have turned out to be such a big deal. After all, with most of the cooking done under Min’s specific instruction and supervision, she could easily find another assistant for the private kitchen dinner.

  Perhaps it was like an old Chinese fable: once the tiger student has learned from the cat master about how to jump, the former will try to be independent. Min must have taken it hard, an act of unforgivable betrayal on Qing’s part. And Kong’s compliment about Qing’s cooking skills sent Min over the edge.

  Whatever the interpretations, the guests had to leave with the dinner unfinished. It was just about eleven.

  Kong, Peng and Shang all stated that they left together. Qing saw them out on behalf of her mistress. As Kong was waiting out on the curb for his car, he saw Zheng come out too, after having helped Min into the bedroom. Zheng waved at him, heading to the garage of the Pacific Shopping Mall across the next street, and then Kong’s Wenhui car came.

  In other words, those guests practically provided an alibi for one another. They were all out of the shikumen house around eleven to eleven fifteen that night, several minutes earlier or later.

  With no sign of forced entry, and with only Min and Qing there afterward, the murder could have been committed only by someone inside, or with the key to the shikumen house. According to Min, only three people – Qing, Feng and she herself – had the key, no one else.

  But Feng had played Mahjong at home that night until around one, with three Mahjong mates confirming her alibi. There was no way for her to have come to the shikumen house around twelve.

  So Min alone appeared as a possible suspect, and not one without a motive. She could have been so upset with Qing that unimaginable things had happened in an uncontrollable rage.

  In the bureau, Detective Xiong made a rudimentary report to Party Secretary Li, who reiterated that people above were concerned by the case. Given Min’s celebrity status, it would only be a matter of time before the news spread around, which would not be helpful to the ‘positive energy’ of the society. Detective Xiong and his team had to go all out for a speedy conclusion.

  Detective Xiong then went to interview Feng for the third time. This time, Feng revealed something else not mentioned before. About the possible relationship between Min and Mr Rong, a once regular guest at her dining table. A successful businessman, and a ‘diamond bachelor’ to boot, Rong had spared no money to gain her attention, but Feng had overheard Min calling him a ‘country bumpkin’, which must have hurt him badly. Anyway, one early morning three or four weeks ago, as Feng came into the lane, she happened to see Rong sneaking out of Qing’s tingzhijian room. She suspected a possible rendezvous between the two, especially after she learned that Qing was going to work for Rong.

  But why should Rong have chosen the maid rather than the master? It was understandable for him to give up the hopeless effort of going after Min, but what was the point of bringing Qing into the picture?

  For a sense of revenge, possibly.

  Qing was not exactly a beauty, but young, with a slim, youthful figure, eager to serve Rong at the table, and in bed too. To Rong, she could have appeared more than a clever and cute girl in the kitchen.

  To Min, Rong had initially been a country bumpkin who paid to sit at her dinner table, but it would have been a totally different story once he chose Qing over
her. That would have thrown Min into a murderous fury. The double betrayal on Qing’s part provided Min with a motive to kill.

  If so, her getting drunk in front of the other guests at the dinner table that night could have been a smokescreen.

  So Detective Xiong wanted to put her into custody lest she turned to her high-up connections to attempt obstruction of the investigation. He had another talk with Party Secretary Li, who agreed that they ought to move quickly, and that he himself would talk to some people in the city government first.

  And then an unexpected turn occurred. After the phone call made by Li to the city government, Detective Xiong was told that Internal Security was taking over the investigation, and putting Min into an undisclosed place, pretty much like in a shuanggui case for a Party official.

  According to Party Secretary Li, the intervention of Internal Security came for the very reason they had discussed. They had to cut Min off from her connections.

  ‘Besides, an open investigation will not be in the Party’s interests. We have to take into consideration things she may spill out to journalists and netizens. In desperation, she’s capable of babbling irresponsibly and dragging others down with her. And Internal Security is more experienced in dealing with such a sensitive situation. If Min proves to be innocent, the secret investigation of her would have caused her less harm.’

  It was just like Party Secretary Li, capable of justifying any political maneuvering. Shuanggui was done for damage control, Detective Xiong knew. It made sense for Internal Security to take over.

  But the news of her being put in secret custody started leaking out online, along with a lot of wild speculations and theories, particularly about Min being punished as a Republican Lady who challenged the value system of the socialism with China’s characteristics.

  Chen put down the latest report from Old Hunter, underlining the part about the shuanggui, and about the noise on the Internet. It was natural for netizens to see it as a setup to suppress the Republican era values as represented by Min. And as if to add fuel to fire, one of the Party newspapers had come out with an editorial the day before, declaring that the values embodied by Min were nothing but a myth with an ulterior motive, and that people should keep themselves alert about the insidious ideological erosion.

  Heaving a sigh, he started re-reading the section about the dinner that night. Min’s toast to Qing was conceivably an attempt to embarrass her. Min had an evident grudge against the maid. But was that enough for her to commit murder? Feng’s scenario about Qing’s possible relationship with Rong failed to add up.

  Chen pulled out one cigarette from another pack, yet without lighting it. He had to cut down his nicotine intake, though he felt his energy ebbing helplessly. He had skipped breakfast, having nothing but the tea with Old Hunter in the park.

  With no mood to make a meal for himself, he decided to order food for delivery, which had become so fashionable in the city. Young people practically ordered everything by tapping on their cellphones.

  Checking in his ‘ordinary’ phone, he found the number of a ramshackle yet popular eatery just around the corner. The place was known for its two inexpensive yet savory specials: fried cabbage rice and fried mini soup buns. He remembered the nickname of the owner and chef as Big Zhou. There was usually a long line of customers waiting outside.

  For that day, Chen did not want to wait outside for an hour for the fried soup buns.

  ‘Big Zhou, this is Chen Cao, your old customer. Remember me?’

  ‘Of course I do, Chief Inspector Chen.’

  ‘Can you do me a favor and have two portions of fried soup buns delivered to me?’

  ‘No problem. It’s an honor for us to have you as our old customer,’ Big Zhou said with a sizzling sound from the large flat pan in the back. ‘I’ll have it specially delivered to you. Guaranteed with the buns fresh and hot from the pan, and the soup inside ready to burst out.’

  ‘Fantastic! Thank you so much.’

  ‘Yours is in that high-ranking Party cadre building, I remember, but which apartment number?’

  ‘It’s 3C.’

  ‘Great. But with so many customers inside our place right now, you may have to wait for about an hour.’

  ‘That’s fine. The fried soup buns are so popular, I know. Of course the customers waiting at the restaurant have to be served first. It’s no problem for me.’

  Putting down the phone, he found a text message in his special phone: ‘Check your email.’ It was Old Hunter again, who was moving so fast.

  He opened the mail. It was a list of the people who’d attended the dinner party that Friday night. Old Hunter had lost no time doing his homework, though he had not approached any of them yet. After all, those at Min’s dinner table were not that easily approachable. The list included the names of the attendees with basic biographical info about each of them.

  Huang Zhongluo, a semi-retired Big Buck, ‘Shanghai number-one antique collector’ with several galleries under his name, also known for his impossible epicurean passion.

  Kong Jie, the editor-in-chief of Wenhui Daily, as well as the Party Secretary of the Wenxin Group, influential but going to retire soon. A regular at Min’s because of his book titled Old Tastes of Shanghai, which includes pictures of recipes from her private kitchen.

  Peng Jianjun, a successful venture capitalist with millions of followers for his financial Weibo blogging posts, in extraordinary relationship with top Party officials in spite of his ‘capitalist practice’.

  Shang Guanhua, one of the largest real estate developers in the city, also nicknamed ‘Shanghai number-one developer’, with his personal wealth estimated to be as high as five or six billion yuan.

  Zheng Keqiang, with just a small print shop under his name, also serving as a special assistant to Huang, apparently the lightweight of the five.

  The preliminary check into the background of the five people yielded nothing suspicious. Nothing to give any of them a motive for the murder. In fact, they would not have seen Qing that night had Min not unexpectedly called her out of the kitchen for a toast.

  There was a footnote added by Old Hunter under the name of Zheng Keqiang: ‘Huang’s the one on the original invitation list, but he failed to make it there for some undisclosed reason. He sent his “nephew” Zheng over for the dinner party that night.’

  That meant there were only four people with Min. Chen printed the email out, studied it more closely, and drew a line under Huang’s name. It would not have been strange for Zheng to jump at the unexpected opening at the dinner table, but for a well-known gourmet like Huang, how could he have chosen not to be there?

  Chen made a question mark on the list before taking a look at his watch.

  It was more than half an hour after his phone call to the eatery. With a long line there for the fried soup buns, he was still only halfway through his wait to receive them. He turned back to the report again and noted down a couple more points.

  Who was the mysterious client named Sima?

  For one thing, Sima must have been aware of all the possible complications in the background, but he was committed, ready to spend an incredible amount of money to clear Min’s name.

  Was it because Sima, rich and well connected as he was, had fallen helplessly for a courtesan like her?

  ‘What is love in this world? / People live or die because of it.’

  It was a couplet from a Yuan dynasty poet, but Chen pulled himself from the waves of sentimentality.

  On a moment of impulse, he picked up the Judge Dee novel again, recalling something that had elusively flashed across his mind earlier in the morning.

  This time, it took only a couple of minutes for him to find it as he skipped through the pages to the postscript penned by Gulik:

  The adventures related in the present novel are entirely imaginary, with the exception of the poetess Yoolan. For her I took as model the famous poetess Yu Hsuanchi [Yu Xuanji in the present-day pinyin phonetics system], who lived fro
m ca. 844 to ca. 871. She was indeed a courtesan, who after a checkered career ended her life on the scaffold, accused of having beaten a maidservant to death, but the question of whether she was guilty or not has never been resolved. For more details about her career and her work, the reader is referred to my book Sexual Life in Ancient China (E. J. Brill, Leyden, 1961), pp. 170–175. The poem quoted on p. 155 of the present novel was actually written by her.

  That was why he had had a feeling of déjà vu. He had translated a poem of Xuanji’s for a Tang dynasty poetry collection, along with some research done about her for a short biographical note.

  With his interest roused, Chen put down the novel and turned on the computer for a search about Xuanji’s life. Surfing the web, he bookmarked some of the sources so he could come back to them later. After checking through several websites, and experimenting by cutting and pasting, he managed to gather enough for a biographical file of Xuanji no less than seven pages long. He printed it out.

  The street outside was covered in the gathering dusk as he picked up the printout. Highlighting sentences and paragraphs, he began to note a lot of differences from what he had read in Gulik’s novel.

  But he found his mind wandering away, as if being pulled by an invisible hand back to the Min case.

  What intrigued him, he realized, were a number of similarities between the two ‘suspects’ – Xuanji and Min – and the two murder cases.

  Both were well-known courtesans or social flowers, and both became involved in murder, with similar implausible motives.

  Whatever the scenario, he had a hard time bringing himself to see Xuanji as a cold-blooded murderer, having read those wonderful poems of hers.

  And what about Min?

  He produced a piece of paper and started listing the similarities between the two.

  Perhaps all these years of working as a cop had shaped him into one, irrecoverably, even at a moment when he was no longer a cop and trying hard to change.

  Still, he hesitated about committing himself fully to the Min case. And not just because he felt too tired.