by Xiaolong Qiu
But he was cautious enough to walk around the lane a couple of times first. Huang had told him, he recollected, that the maid usually left shortly after the dinner. So he waited about half an hour before he re-entered the lane through its back entrance.
He got into the shikumen house without having met any problem. A night light was flickering in the shadowy courtyard, but he saw and heard nobody moving inside the house. He headed directly to her bedroom. She was lying in bed like before, sleeping half naked in a drunken stupor. Assuming that only two of them were there in the entire shikumen house, he started to remove her remaining clothing before he pounced on her, like in a dream.
But he must have made some noise. Out of nowhere, Qing appeared at the bedroom door like an apparition, staring aghast at the scene of his body pressing against Min’s. Instantly, Qing turned to run away, too horrified even to shout out for help.
He jumped down, chased her across the dining room and into the kitchen with only a night light on, where he caught up with her. Panic-stricken, she grabbed a heavy food processor from the kitchen counter, making a desperate attempt to fend him off. He wrenched it out of her hand and struck it hard at her head with all his might, lightning-quick in the semi-darkness.
Swaying, she fell to the floor as he let the processor drop, still panting and unbelieving. It was not until one or two minutes later that he realized what had happened. He looked around in a daze. The house was wrapped in a shroud of silence.
But he decided not to call for help. She would have spoken out if brought round. He leaned over her unconscious body and checked for her breath. Unable to feel any, he turned on the light in the kitchen. Her lips now looked bluer, colder. It was probably too late, anyway.
Checking around, he collected himself enough to clean any possible fingerprints from the objects he had touched.
Then he moved back into the bedroom, where he found Min still sleeping heavily, undisturbed. And there he also cleaned up thoroughly before he put back the keys on the nightstand.
Remembering there might be some people still moving in the lane, he waited for another half hour, sitting beside Min’s bed, gazing at her sleeping naked there, trying to keep the image etched in his memory, without doing anything else. Then, as he finally sneaked out of the shikumen house, he made sure to leave the front door properly locked.
Walking toward the garage in the surrounding darkness, he saw some neon lights along Huaihai Road still changing their lonely projections, which struck him like will-o’-the-wisps in a deserted graveyard.
It was a fairly long account narrated by Jin, and Chen listened in absorption, hardly making any interruption, except to warm another bowl of rice porridge and a plate of fried rock frogs in the microwave for her. Most of the mountain specials remained barely touched on the table.
‘I must have been too carried away by the shikumen murder case,’ she said, a grain of rice stuck in the corner of her mouth, and she touched it with a pink napkin.
What Zheng had said was probably true, at least for quite a large part, Chen reflected, nodding.
Zheng had had no idea that Min could have been so drunk that night, and that he would have the opportunity to carry her into the bedroom, where he obtained the keys without being detected. He left with the other guests, but the keys in his pocket made him come back to the shikumen house with the devilish plan. As for Qing’s stumbling upon the scene of his attacking the unconscious Republican Lady, it was too much of a shock for both of them.
‘Perhaps not that unpremeditated, according to Internal Security,’ Jin added reflectively. ‘Their search at his home yielded an incredible number of pictures and clippings of Min.’
‘What about Huang’s murder then?’ he said, changing the subject abruptly.
‘Just as you reconstructed yesterday. Zheng learned from Huang that you two had talked about things concerning that night, and that you were going to see Huang again for some antique business. Zheng became paranoid about it.’
‘But I had no plan to see Huang again anytime soon. Antique consultation was nothing but a pretext on my part, as you may have guessed.’
‘Well, that’s what Huang had said to him after his meeting with you in the Old Half Place. Zheng could not stand the uncertainty. Since he knew about Huang’s passion for the rice balls, he followed Huang out the next morning – all the way to the street corner stall. With no one else there in the area at that early hour, he crept up from behind and struck at the old man’s head with a hammer he carried with him. Huang fell with just one violent stroke.’
‘He carried a hammer with him?’
‘Yes, Internal Security has recovered the hammer at his home. He did not even have the time to get rid of it. The blood stain on the hammer proved to be Huang’s.’
‘But why so paranoid about my visit to Huang? It’s true that Huang told me about Zheng being impressed with Min, after having heard stories from the old man and seeing pictures of her online. That’s one of the reasons why Huang let him go to the dinner party that night. But so many people would have jumped at the opportunity. Zheng’s going there did not appear suspicious to me. Definitely not when Huang told me about it.’
‘There’s something else about things between Huang and Zheng,’ she said, picking up a piece of the celebrated stinking fish meat, smelling it, and putting it back on her small plate with an apologetic smile. ‘At first, Zheng’s job for Huang was that of an errand boy. Huang had him go to several Anhui villages for antique-hunting, with the minimum pay plus the expenses and a smart phone. Zheng would send pictures of those he saw as potentially valuable to Huang, who would decide whether to purchase them or not. The arrangement worked well. Huang was too old, and too rich, to make trips to those poor, backward villages. A farmer in Anhui before coming to Shanghai, Zheng was able to approach those uneducated farmers for incredible bargains. A bronze three-foot urn of the Zhou dynasty purchased for fifty yuan from a poor villager, for instance, was later auctioned for two million yuan. After several domestic trips, Zheng was sent abroad as well. In Italy, he obtained several precious pieces from a retired woman, whose great-grandfather came to China as a soldier during the Boxer Uprising in the late Qing dynasty. These brought in even more incredible profits back in Shanghai. And it did not take long for Zheng, now an indispensable right-hand man to Huang, to become aware of how much the antique collector had made from these deals. A shrewd and experienced businessman, Huang raised Zheng’s pay, but not in proportion to the profits made, and he never shared with Zheng any secrets of the trade. Zheng could not help feeling resentful toward him.
‘Huang had no children. Though not a real nephew, Zheng still hoped that Huang would leave him some of the valuable antiques obtained through his efforts. Huang kept saying, however, that he would donate all his collections to a museum in his name. So Zheng managed to get hold of Huang’s desk drawer key, which he reproduced in secret, and an examination of Huang’s will confirmed that the old man meant what he said. That was another reason for Zheng to plan something. After all, nobody else knew more about the value of Huang’s collection than Zheng, and about where the old man kept his most treasured pieces. The murder in the shikumen house triggered the killing.’
‘No, all these I did not know. Greed plus fear – the two of them combined to make the murderous motive for him,’ he said, nodding.
‘From their own perspective, people always see themselves as justified to want more, and always worry too much about what they may lose.’
‘Well said, Jin. With the murderer caught, I pray Huang may rest in peace. Perhaps I may be able to do something for the museum Huang had planned to create in his name. But what has Detective Xiong said about the murder in the hotel?’
‘I’ve read about the murder in the Moller Villa Hotel online, but those bits and pieces are not that reliable, a lot of guesswork, you know, and you have never told me anything about it, Director Chen.’
‘Things happened too fast over the last tw
o or three days, Jin. I did not know whether it was really related to the Min case. And I did not know what to tell or not tell you, honestly, with Internal Security prowling in the background.’
‘I understand,’ she said, without pushing further. ‘According to Detective Xiong, Zheng told Internal Security that he became less and less sure about Min’s total unawareness that night. She was drunk, but she could have recalled something, and that would spell the end for him. So he sneaked into the hotel to put her out of the way.’
‘No, that does not add up. And hardly a credible motive either. Besides, how could Zheng have found out about Min’s staying in that hotel without inside information? He’s not a man with government connections like …’
He did not finish up saying the name of Sima, the mysterious client who had informed Old Hunter of the hotel where Min was being kept in secret.
‘That’s a good point, Director Chen. It beats me too, but I know little about the murder case in the hotel.’
‘And the hotel is so well guarded. Impossible for a novice like Zheng to sneak in without being detected, let alone to commit such an elaborate crime all by himself.’
‘Well, that’s the confession Zheng made to Internal Security, at least so Detective Xiong said. And that’s about all I’ve learned from him.’
It was a longer briefing than he had anticipated. And possibly even longer if he had raised the questions he wanted to – especially those about the murder in the hotel.
But Jin had hardly known any details about the hotel murder case, or the background of it. To discuss it with her in detail, he also had to answer a lot of questions, and he did not know how to. And too much knowledge might not be to her benefit. The ex-inspector decided not to push further.
He produced a cigarette, shook his head apologetically, and put it back.
‘Go ahead if you want,’ she said.
‘No, but thank you – for everything.’
A short spell of silence ensued in the room.
When she looked up again, the dusk was falling over the mountains.
‘Oh it’s late, Director Chen. I have to go back. There’s still a bus leaving for Shanghai, before six thirty, I think.’
‘But the cable car broke down this afternoon – you have just told me about it, haven’t you? I don’t think you can make it to the bus terminal in time. And it may not be safe for you to walk down the mountain trail alone in the failing light.’
‘It won’t be a problem—’
‘Let me make the call,’ he said, cutting her off like the real boss he was, as he produced his cellphone, starting to search for a number.
‘What are you looking for?’ she said in confusion.
‘The number of the general manager of the hotel here. It is fully booked, but he may somehow have a room for me. It gets dark quickly in the mountains. The steps and trails can be quite slippery.’
‘But no need to bother,’ she said on a moment of impulse, much to her own surprise. ‘It’s such a large suite, I mean the guest room is probably better than a standard room.’
But he was already speaking on the phone.
‘General Manager Gang, this is Chen Cao staying at the grand suite of your hotel.’
‘Oh, Director Chen. Anything can I do for you today?’
‘I ran across a friend in the mountains this afternoon. Can you arrange a room for her? Just for one night. It’s too late for her to go down by herself.’
‘The hotel is fully booked, but for that friend of yours, let me try my best. I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes, Director Chen.’
In less than two minutes, Gang called back, saying the hotel was fully occupied, with only one room left for the hotel staff to stay overnight in some unexpected circumstances. A room not good enough for a hotel guest, not adequately furnished, but clean, convenient, on the same floor.
Chen accepted the arrangement and thanked the hotel manager profusely.
‘It may not be a fancy room,’ he said, turning toward her with a smile, ‘but I think I can stay there for the night. This is the only suite directly connected to the celebrated mountain spring through a special pipe. Ordinary tourists have to stand in long lines waiting three or four hours for their turn to enjoy the spring water bath in a large pool. A really special treatment, supposedly beneficial to your health, though you don’t have to believe that it’s as miraculous as described in the hotel brochure.’
‘But how can you make such a suggestion, my director?’ she said, pulling on her shoes. ‘Of course I’ll go to the staff room. Period. The general manager will not be able to fall asleep, I bet, if a high-ranking Party official like you actually stays overnight in a hotel staff member room.’
Left alone in the suite, Chen tore open the large envelope Jin had carried over from Shanghai. Inside was a letter from Comrade Zhao, his ‘political patron’, the ex-Party Secretary of the Central Party Discipline Committee of CPC, who still had influence within the Forbidden City.
Chen:
Glad to learn about your excellent work at the new office. Come to Beijing for a three-week seminar at the Central Party School after your vacation in the mountains. We are talking about a judicial system reform office at the central government level in Beijing. You’re one of those on the shortlist for the position. I have recommended you as a man capable of taking things into consideration in the larger picture for China.
Zhao
For a personal letter written in such an official language, a number of interpretations were possible. It could have been read as a positive sign, indicating some room still available for him in the Party system. The proposed new office position, if really meant for him, meant an advance – at least in terms of the Party cadre rank. At the same time, it was possibly a bad sign too, which would put him further out of the city of Shanghai. And out of police work, too.
Besides, how could Comrade Zhao – staying far away in Beijing – have learned so fast about his ‘excellent work’ in Shanghai and his vacation in the mountains?
He popped open a can of Starbucks coffee. Taking a small sip, he started pacing about in the room, and going over in his mind what Jin had just told him about the case.
In a nutshell, the Min case was concluded – concluded in a way acceptable to the people high above – like Comrade Zhao, and possibly to the rival factions at the top, too.
As a result, the ex-inspector now had to shut up regarding all the misgivings he had about the conclusion of the case.
Detective Xiong might have shared some of his misgivings. Particularly those about the murder at the Moller Villa Hotel, which could have prompted him to visit Jin in person. After all, Wanxia had worked under him in the homicide squad, and Detective Xiong felt responsible for her.
Chen too could not bring himself to take Zheng as the murderer at the hotel, but the ex-inspector was in no position to prove otherwise.
For the moment, he was ‘exiled’ in the mountains, and then to a seminar in Beijing, possibly under closer surveillance, and further away from the city of Shanghai.
Perhaps he could try to spread his misgivings about the conclusion of the Min case – with the help of Jin – through WeChat and other social media platforms. But his theory about the murder in the hotel was just another possible scenario, not necessarily any more convincing than the official one, which was at least backed up by the ‘confession’ made by Zheng. For the real murderer in the hotel, there must have been a specific reason, which the ex-inspector thought he could only guess without saying out loud.
Furthermore, what was the point dragging Jin further into trouble? She had done so much for him, and that possibly at her expense. Director Ma of the city government would no longer see her as one of the people the Party authorities could trust. A young, vivacious girl, she should have a promising future.
But what about Wanxia in the Moller Villa Hotel? A young, vivacious girl, who should also have had a promising future.
With his glance sweeping o
ver the mountains silhouetted against the growing dusk, he seemed to hear the murmuring of a cascade, somewhere not too far away, in a rustle of the pines from the depth of the valley. And he glimpsed a faint flickering light in the distance.
What could that possibly be?
Against the woods and hills, the tiny light gleamed for a second and was gone.
Thousands of years before, someone else – possibly Judge Dee – had stood here, looking at the night-enveloped mountains under the deep glitter of the stars.
The same mountains, the same moonlight, and the same wind.
The same question, perhaps.
But what question?
Taking a deep breath, Chen tried to dispel the confusion of these ideas. He was not a high-ranking official like Judge Dee, who was able to make a real difference in the cruel, complicated Tang politics.
From the very beginning, different factions within the Forbidden City had tried to weigh in on the Min case from their respective angles, and he was in no position to do something about it even now, with a fairly clear picture in his mind.
Min had been connected with someone at the top. With Qing murdered in the shikumen house, his rival must have taken it as an opportunity to launch the attack. That accounted for the appearance of the mysterious client Sima, who tried to clear Min’s name by enlisting the help of Old Hunter’s agency with an incredible offer. But the power struggle in the Forbidden City must have escalated rapidly. The possibility that Min could have talked under the increasing pressure of shuanggui had thrown someone into a panic. In order to forestall it, she was to be silenced once and for all in the hotel, but the murderer had no idea that instead of Min, it was Wanxia who took the night meal.
As for Zheng, it made no difference for him to make such a ‘confession’ to Internal Security, saying whatever they wanted him to say. He had killed both Qing and Huang; it mattered not for him to add one more to the confession.
It did not take long for Chen to find his mind worn out with all those plausible and not-that-plausible speculations. He decided to take a mountain spring bath in the suite, a privilege for a distinguished guest. Hopefully its ‘miraculous effect’, as promised in the hotel brochure, could wash away the worries and revive him a bit.
