Inspector Chen and the Private Kitchen Murder

by Xiaolong Qiu

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know any details yet, but his body was found early this morning in a side street.’

  ‘In a side street where?’

  ‘Quite a distance from his home.’

  ‘You don’t think that it’s a coincidence, do you?’

  ‘No, there’s so much more behind the scenes. Yesterday, Sima called us a couple of times, sounding desperately anxious, and threatening too, though he chose not to tell us any specific reason. Zhangzhang is worried, but it’s too late for him to back out. Hold on, Chief,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a text message from Yu. Possibly more details about Huang’s death.’

  ‘Forward it to me.’ He then added, ‘I think I really need a cup of coffee. I slept so badly last night, I’m still groggy because of the sleeping pills. There is a café not far from my apartment. Just on the street corner. Join me there in twenty minutes.’

  Less than twenty minutes later, Chen had just read a couple of lines of Detective Yu’s text message when Old Hunter came striding into the café and joined Chen at a table in the corner. He started off without so much as taking a sip of the coffee.

  ‘I was talking with Yu on the phone all the way here, Chief. For once, Detective Xiong shared some info with him this morning.’

  ‘Xiong’s under too much pressure, considering the possible connection to the Min case.’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon, Detective Xiong had contacted Huang as one of the guests on the original dinner invitation list. Huang failed to make it to the dinner party that night, and he did not offer a credible explanation about his absence to Xiong. Still, Huang had his solid alibi – at home with some client – and Xiong did not push.

  ‘And early this morning, Xiong got a report that Huang’s body was found on a side street in a slum section of Yangpu District. The death time was estimated between five thirty and six a.m. In appearance, it points to a chance robbery that went wrong, but the wallet remained in his jacket pocket, with a small amount of money untouched.

  ‘And here’s the question. For a man walking there at such an early hour, he would most likely turn out to be one of the not-well-to-do locals in the neighborhood, not carrying much money with him. The amount in his wallet confirmed that. If so, how could the criminal have chosen such an unlikely target?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the question.’

  ‘Various interpretations came up among Detective Xiong’s team. For instance, a local good-for-nothing loser, having lost all his money in an overnight Mahjong game, got too distraught and preyed on Huang on the spur of the moment. But the circumstances of the crime scene hardly contribute to the scenario. Apart from the fatal blow to the back of his head, Huang’s body showed no other wound or bruise. It can be assumed that an old man like Huang would not have put up much resistance when confronted with a ferocious thug, so why did the latter have to kill him? More importantly, the little money Huang carried was untouched.

  ‘And then the discovery of Huang’s identity raises another question. For such a wealthy man, why should he have appeared there at that time? It was a forgotten slum in the midst of all the new skyscrapers. The pebbled street was too narrow even for a car to get through. And at quite a distance from Huang’s home, too. At least half an hour by car. People cannot but wonder why a rich old man like Huang should have been there at all. To take a morning jog or to make an antique business deal?’

  ‘No, not at that time, not at that place.’

  ‘According to the residents in the neighborhood, they had not noticed anything unusual that morning. It must have happened very fast. One blow to his head, and the murderer fled out of sight. Coincidentally, like Qing, Huang’s head was also hit by a heavy object.’

  ‘What do you mean by “coincidentally”, Old Hunter?’

  ‘Could it have been a sign that Huang was the murderer at the shikumen house? At least one man under Detective Xiong saw it that way. What happened to the maid in the shikumen house, now to Huang too. Karma.’

  ‘That’s way too far-fetched.’

  ‘And some netizens have even whispered about a possible relationship between Huang and Min.’

  ‘What about the possible relationship between the two?’

  ‘For more than a year, he came to her shikumen house almost weekly. An impossible gourmet he might have been, but his wealth alone could not have secured such a regular seat at her table. You know about the popularity of the private kitchen dinner; people could have waited forever for an opening at her table. And he had been with her, going out of his way to help her get back the whole set of old mahogany furniture taken away by Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution, at a time even before she became known as a Republican Lady. Also, Huang usually arrived earlier than other guests – on the grounds that he enjoyed not only the delicacies on the table, but also the smells from the kitchen beforehand. They were really close. So he might have the key to the shikumen house—’

  ‘But what’s the motive for him?’ Chen said, cutting him short.

  ‘They might have broken up for some reason not known to others. After all, he was in his mid-seventies, and for a young courtesan it was more than possible for her to have some young lovers on the side. So he flew into a murderous rage.’

  ‘In that scenario, Huang should have targeted Min instead of Qing.’

  ‘But he could have tried to frame Min, according to some Holmes-like netizens,’ Old Hunter said, shaking his head. ‘And then the young lover retaliated.’

  Old Hunter as well as those netizens seemed to know nothing about the recent squabble in the secret business relationship between Min and Huang, which, confirmed by Kong, could have served as a slightly more plausible motive. But even in that scenario, Qing would have been the unlikely target.

  ‘For an alternative scenario, with Min’s connections to people high up, and with all the political complications in the background, Min could have told Huang something she should not have, and Huang had to be silenced like Min – though with the appearance of a botched mugging.’

  ‘That’s an original theory, Chief, but if that’s the case, it means the killings could possibly go on beyond Qing and Huang. Min might have told it to some others.’

  ‘Whether or not there’s an intimate relationship between Min and Huang, it’s inconceivable for a man in his seventies to break into the shikumen and kill a young maid at night. I don’t think he even had the strength for the job. But back to the time and place of Huang’s murder case – whatever the possible scenario, the murderer could have been a man familiar with Huang’s morning routine.’

  ‘But it’s difficult to investigate along that direction. For that forgotten corner in Yangpu District, there’s no surveillance camera installed—’

  Old Hunter’s cellphone started ringing, interrupting their talk, and he cut himself short to take the call.

  ‘I see,’ Old Hunter said succinctly. ‘I’ll be back immediately.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Sima is at the office again. Possibly with some new info. Zhangzhang is at his wits’ end.’ Old Hunter rose. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’

  ‘Take your time. I think I’ll give Yu a call.’

  Around one in the afternoon, Chen made his way back to the Old Half Place.

  He had skipped breakfast, but he was not hungry. A bowl of Xiao pork noodles would not appear tantalizing to him at that moment, he knew. Nevertheless, he wanted to come.

  Old Hunter had called back, but with nothing new, except that Sima too had learned about the death of Huang, and that he had demanded a meeting with Chen, which Old Hunter and Zhangzhang could not promise – not on Chen’s behalf.

  Detective Yu had not called back yet. Detective Xiong must have been too busy with the investigation of the new murder case in Yangpu District, and it would take some time for him to give the information to Yu – if he was willing to do so.

  Chen felt Huang’s death as a personal blow. Though the two had met only the day before, the ex
-inspector felt as if he had known the old antique collector for a long time.

  And he did not want to rule out the possibility that Huang’s death was related to the Min case, though he failed to figure how the two could have been related. None of the scenarios Old Hunter had discussed with him appeared to be credible.

  What’s worse, he failed to shake off the feeling that he was in some way responsible for the old man’s death. It could have been because of his meeting with the antique collector in the noodle restaurant. The onset of a splitting headache gripped him.

  The Old Half Place was still open for business, but at that time of the day, there were only three or four customers eating downstairs.

  Absentmindedly, he moved upstairs. The waiter of the previous day recognized him.

  ‘Afternoon, sir. You’re the one with Master Huang in the private room yesterday morning.’

  ‘Yes, that’s me. I would like to have the same room this afternoon.’

  ‘Is Master Huang also coming today?’

  ‘No, not today.’

  The waiter apparently knew nothing about the old man’s death. There was no point breaking it to him.

  ‘As you’re Master Huang’s friend, and nobody will come to the private room at this hour, you can order whatever you like there, without having to worry about the minimum expense for the private room.’

  ‘Thanks. I will order something, but first a pot of Pu’er tea, Master Huang’s favorite, just like yesterday.’

  ‘That’s really nice.’

  After the waiter put the tea set on the table and closed the door after him, Chen poured out two cups, just like the day before.

  He was not a superstitious man, but he wanted to pay his last respects to the old man. He also wished that the spirit of Huang could come here, drink the tea like before, and reveal something to him.

  Detective Xiong too had probed in the direction of Min’s connections, which included Huang, in relation to the case.

  But Chen remained more inclined toward Huang’s account of their recent unpleasantness over the unsuccessful deal. He failed to see how that could have led to the murder.

  In a chief inspector’s position, he could have tried to use some of his connections to delve deeper into the murky background. As it was, however, most of his connections appeared to be avoiding him.

  So he was making an effort to go over what Huang had said to him here, the day before, in this very room. The background scene might be able to stir up memories, he contemplated, raising the tiny tea cup as if to someone sitting opposite.

  It was then his cellphone buzzed. Again, a WeChat message from Jin.

  ‘Like yesterday, there’s something I would like to report to you. Perhaps we could meet somewhere and talk over a cup of coffee. My treat today.’

  The tea spilled out of the cup. The phrase ‘like yesterday’ sounded surrealistically ironic. He was here because he wanted to be alone, recollecting over the cup of tea as if still in the company of Huang like yesterday.

  Without something special to report, she would not have asked him out just for a cup of coffee. Besides, talking could help his thinking. He had talked to her about his meeting with Huang. Why not something more today?

  So he typed his response: ‘At Old Half Place on the corner of Zhejiang and Fuzhou Roads. Private room on the second floor.’

  ‘Old Half Place. I know where it is. Not far. See you in about half an hour.’

  Her message came together with an emoji of a hungry girl burying her face in noodles. He wondered how she could have so many emojis at her disposal in the phone.

  Opening the menu, he thought that he could have a bowl of noodles for himself, and some specials dishes for her. The minimum expense for the private room, if need be, should cover all of them.

  The arrival of Jin had immediately made a difference to the ambiance of the traditional noodle restaurant. For Old Half Place, most of its customers were elderly, dressed plainly in black or blue.

  This afternoon, Jin was wearing a striped satin twill shirt, beige skinny-fit pants and ankle-strap sandals. She would have appeared more in her element in the garden café of Moller Villa Hotel than an old-fashioned Chinese restaurant.

  Stepping in light-footedly, she closed the private room door after her, casually, as if at home.

  ‘I’ve done some more research for our office. I talked to Rong today.’

  ‘The man who hired Qing—’

  ‘Yes, he would have hired her, but she died before she was able to report herself to work in his household.’

  ‘So you have the recording of the talk – like yesterday?’

  ‘Like yesterday’ came like the haunting refrain of a somber poem that early afternoon.

  ‘Yes, I’ve brought it over for you. Perhaps nothing really new or surprising in it. You may listen to it in your leisure time. Also, I’ve made a phone call to Kong Jie, of Wenhui Daily, but he said you had already contacted him. No point my meeting with him, but I just want to keep you posted.’

  ‘You’ve done so much for the office, Jin. It’s simply amazing. I’ll listen to the recording of your interview with Rong. As for Kong, I contacted him for the Judge Dee story. He liked the idea so much he suggested a serialization of the story – possibly a novella – in the newspaper.’

  ‘That’s great news. Congratulations, Director Chen! So this is a cup of tea for me?’ she said, pointing at the other tea cup on the table.

  ‘No, it’s for—’

  He stopped mid-sentence at the sight of the waiter entering the room with a long-billed bronze tea kettle.

  ‘Whatever specials you recommend for her, within the range of the minimum expense for the private room, and for me, still a bowl of Xiao pork noodles.’

  ‘We have a large sample platter with all the specials in small portions, so your girlfriend may choose whatever she likes, and for you, the same Xiao pork noodles like yesterday,’ the waiter said with a grin and withdrew.

  ‘So you were here yesterday, Director Chen?’

  ‘Yes, I was here yesterday morning, in this very room, with Huang.’

  ‘And you discussed with him here the possible auction of the books left behind by your father?’

  ‘Huang was an impossible gourmet, also a regular guest at Min’s dinner party, as you may have learned in the background research of the case. He invited me here yesterday, but he was killed earlier this morning.’

  ‘What!’

  He then started telling her about what had happened since their meeting. It was not just that he wanted to talk to her about his sadness at Huang’s death. After the interviews done in the name of the office research, she must have guessed what he was really up to, but she was clever enough to help without saying it in so many words.

  But the waiter was coming back with their order on a cart. Like the day before yesterday, she started working on the impressive array of specials with the appetite of a young, energetic girl: a tiny bowl of the knife anchovy noodles, half a steamer full of soup buns, crab-shell cake …

  He put his chopsticks into his Xiao pork noodles with no appetite, but he knew it was going to be another busy day for him. He’d better eat something.

  ‘You have a piece too,’ she said, putting a tiny soup bun into a saucer of vinegar in front of him.

  If he wanted to investigate further – and he really wanted to – he had to enlist her help. And he could not keep some things from her.

  He resumed his narration about Huang’s death this morning, and she listened without making any interruption.

  ‘So I’m here to pay my last respects to him,’ he said, after recapping the murder case as well as some of the theories surrounding it, ‘in memory of our meeting yesterday.’

  ‘The meeting of two impossible epicureans.’

  ‘A real gourmet, he liked what he liked, regardless of the price. It’s true he might have paid a lot for the private kitchen dinner at Min’s shikumen house, but he also had a real passion f
or the inexpensive yet typical Shanghai street food. Years ago, when he worked for seventy cents a day at a neighborhood production group in Yangpu District, he turned into a loyal customer of a cheap rice ball stall, and he still went there nowadays with galleries and billions of yuan under his name – to the same rice ball stall in the early morning. Oh, I’ll be damned!’

  ‘What, Director Chen?’

  ‘From what he told me, he had not shared the secret of the rice ball stall with anybody. He lived alone, with an hourly maid for some cleaning work. So who could have known about his morning routine on Wednesday?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The murderer could have been someone familiar with his Wednesday morning route.’

  ‘That sounds logical to me. Judging from what you told me about the crime scene, he could have followed Huang all the way there, or waited for him and jumped out to attack as Huang came into sight.’

  ‘I should have thought of it earlier. Much earlier, Jin. Now, I need to ask you a favor. Can you find out for me where Huang used to live – about thirty years ago – when he worked for the neighborhood production group? And where the rice ball stall there is – possibly not far from his old home or the neighborhood production group? My hands are tied for the moment, you know.’

  ‘I know. And I’ll find it out for you as soon as I get back to my office. No problem at all.’

  ‘On second thoughts, there’s another favor I need to ask of you. You went to Min’s neighborhood committee yesterday, right?’

  ‘Right. But it was lunch time, so I did not meet with any member of the committee.’

  ‘Each and every neighborhood in the city is installed with a surveillance system. Particularly for a lane like Min’s, there’re a considerable number of cameras, I believe. Talk to the neighborhood committee about it, mention my name to the neighborhood cop if needs be, and check the contents of the video in the surveillance system for Friday the week before last. No need to go through the whole day, just two short periods, one from ten forty-five to eleven fifteen, the other, eleven forty-five to twelve thirty that particular night.’