Jericho glowered at her. ‘I thought that was your job.’
He knew his retort was unfair, but she had provoked him. It was a shabby, mean little comment with sharp teeth and threadbare fur, which had scurried up in a surprise attack, sank its teeth in and then died with a cackle.
‘Jerk.’
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Don’t be.’ She stood up and ruffled his hair. Strangely, Jericho felt both comforted and humiliated by her gesture. A display lit up on Tu’s computer console. The guard reported that the police had arrived and wished to question Tu as well as the others present on the incidents in Quyu and Hongkou.
* * *
The questioning went as questioning tended to go with citizens of a higher social standing. An investigating civil servant with assistants in tow showed great courtesy, assuring all of those present of her sympathy and describing the incidents in quick succession as ‘horrifying’ and ‘abhorrent’, Mr Tu as an ‘outstanding member of society’, Chen and Yoyo as ‘heroic’ and Jericho as a ‘valued friend of the authorities’. In between all that, she flung questions around like circus knives. It was clear she didn’t believe the story in the very parts where it wasn’t true, for example when it came to Kenny’s motive. Her gaze resembled that of a butcher, talking encouragingly to a pig as he carved it in his mind’s eye.
Chen looked even more hollow-cheeked than normal. Tu’s face had a purple tinge to it, while Yoyo’s was filled with bitter pride. Clearly the arrival of the police had torn them from a heated discussion. Jericho realised that the inspector had gauged the emotional climate down to the exact degree, but she wasn’t commenting on it for the time being. It was only in the course of the individual interrogations that she became more explicit. She was a middle-aged woman with smoothly brushed hair and intelligent eyes, behind what looked like old-fashioned glasses with small lenses and thick frames. But Jericho knew better. It was actually a MindReader, a portable computer which filmed the person opposite, ran their expression through an amplifier and projected the result in real time onto the lenses of the glasses. In this way, the merest hint of a smug smile could become perfectly clear to the wearer. A nervous blink would mimic an earthquake. Tell-tale signals in facial expressions that wouldn’t normally be noticed became readable. Jericho guessed that she had also linked an Interpreter to it, which dramatised the tone, accentuation and flow of his voice. The effect was uncanny. If you combined the forces of MindReader and Interpreter, the people being questioned suddenly sounded like bad actors, turning into grimacing, crude robots, despite fully believing they had their reactions under control.
Jericho himself had already worked with both programs. Only very experienced investigators used them. It took years of practice to correctly read the discrepancies between the expression, intonation and content of a statement. He showed no sign of having recognised the device, told his version of the incident stoically and fended off question after question.
‘And you’re really just a friend of the family?’
‘And there was no particular reason why you happened to be in the steel factory today of all days?’
‘Those guys arrived at the factory at exactly the same time as you, and you expect me to believe that that’s pure coincidence?’
‘Did you perhaps have a commission in Quyu?’
‘Don’t you find it strange that Grand Cherokee Wang was murdered one day after you went looking for him?’
‘Did you know that Chen Yuyun was once imprisoned for political agitation and passing on State secrets?’
‘Did you also know that Tu Tian has not always behaved in the best interests of the Chinese State and our justified concerns for its internal stability?’
‘What do you know about Chen Hongbing’s past?’
‘Am I really supposed to believe that not one of you – although the actions indicate an act which was planned long in advance! – had the faintest clue who this Kenny is and what he wants?’
‘I’ll ask you once more: What commission did you have that led you to Quyu?’
And so on and so forth.
Eventually she gave up, leaned back and took the glasses off. She smiled, but her gaze continued to saw away at him, hacking off tiny pieces.
‘You’ve been in Shanghai for four and a half years,’ she stated. ‘According to what I hear, you have an excellent reputation as an investigator.’
‘Thank you, it’s an honour to hear that.’
‘So how is business going?’
‘I can’t complain.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ She put the tips of her fingers together. ‘Rest assured that you are highly valued in my field. You have successfully collaborated with us a number of times and each time you have displayed a high level of willingness to cooperate. This is one of the reasons why we would like to extend your work permit’ – here, her right hand made a waving motion, illustrating some vague future – ‘and then to extend it again and again. Precisely because our relationship is based on reciprocity. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘You’ve expressed it very clearly.’
‘Good. Now that’s clear, I’d like to ask you an informal question.’
‘If I’m able to answer it, I will.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ She leaned over and sank her voice conspiratorially. ‘I would like to know what you would make of all this if you were in my seat. You have experience, intuition, you have a good nose. What would you be thinking?’
Jericho resolved not to get taken in by her.
‘I would exert more pressure.’
‘Oh?’ She looked surprised, as if he had just invited her to torture him with burning cigarettes.
‘Pressure on my team,’ he added. ‘To make sure they put all their energy into getting their hands on the man who is responsible for the attacks, and into investigating his background, instead of getting taken in by the crude idea of making victims into perpetrators and threatening them with deportation. Does my answer suffice?’
‘I’ll make a note of it.’
As far as Jericho could tell, she didn’t seem in the slightest bit taken aback. It was clear that she doubted the substance of his statement, but she knew equally well that she had nothing on him. He was more worried about the others. Practically everyone besides him seemed to have come into conflict with the law in one way or another, which put them at the mercy of the police.
‘I would like to express my sympathy once again,’ she said, in a different tone now. ‘You went through a great deal. We will do everything we can to bring those responsible to justice.’
Jericho nodded. ‘Let me know if I can be of any assistance.’
She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Rest assured I will.’
* * *
‘So?’
Tu had come into the room. It was late afternoon by now; the skies were overcast and light drizzle was falling on Pudong. The investigators had retreated.
‘Nothing new.’ Jericho stretched. ‘Diane is keeping herself busy with the Swiss films. We’re also trying to trace the six websites back to a common source. So far there’s nothing to indicate that there is one, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ Tu pulled a chair over and sank down into it, panting. Jericho noticed that his shirt sleeves were pushed up to different heights. ‘How did the questioning go?’
‘How do you think it went? She didn’t believe a word I said.’
‘She didn’t believe me either.’ For some unknown reason this seemed to fill Tu with satisfaction. ‘Nor Yoyo. Hongbing was the only one she seemed to handle with kid gloves.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Jericho.
From the very moment Chen had first come into his office in Xintiandi, he had noticed something about him that was hard to define, something in his eyes, in his tautly stretched face, something which gave the impression that his soul had been peeled away. Now he realised what he had seen, and the
investigator must have seen it too. The idea that this man could lie was inconceivable. Nothing in Chen’s features was capable of even hosting a lie. This left him completely at the mercy of his surroundings. He couldn’t bear dishonesty, neither from himself nor from others.
‘Tian …’ Jericho said hesitantly.
‘Mm-hm?’
‘There may be a problem with regard to how we proceed from here. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not—’ He searched for the words.
‘What is it? Out with it.’
‘I know too little about you.’
Tu was silent.
‘Too little about you and Chen Hongbing. I know it has nothing to do with me. It’s just – in order to judge what danger you’re in regarding the authorities, I would need to – well – I would need an idea, but—’
Tu pursed his lips. ‘I understand.’
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ said Jericho. ‘You think I’m being nosy. You’re wrong. I couldn’t care less. Well, no, that’s not it. I mean that I respect your silence. Whatever has happened in your or Chen’s past has nothing to do with me. But in that case you have to be the one to say where we go from here. You’re better placed to judge—’
‘It’s fine,’ mumbled Tu.
‘It’s your business. I respect—’
‘No, you’re right.’
‘Under no circumstances do I want to be inconsiderate of—’
‘Enough, xiongdi.’ Tu clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Consideration is the very foundation of your being; you don’t need to explain yourself. In any case, I’ve often thought about strengthening our friendship by confessing a little of my past to you.’ His gaze wandered over to the door. Somewhere in the great expanse of the house, Yoyo and her father were wrestling with the past and future. ‘It’s just that I fear I have to get back in the ring.’
‘To mediate?’
‘To take some of the heat. Yoyo and I have decided to clear the air. By the end of the day Hongbing will know the whole truth.’
‘And how is he taking it so far?’
‘I’m sure he’s not exactly over the moon.’ Tu belched. ‘But I’m not seriously concerned. The more pressing question is how long he proposes to brood in his anger. Sooner or later he has to see that you can’t earn trust by denying your child long-overdue answers. He’ll have to tell Yoyo his truth too.’ Tu sighed. ‘What happens then, I really don’t know. It’s not that Hongbing seriously believes a part of his life didn’t happen. He just can’t bring himself to tell someone he loves about it. Because he’s ashamed. He’s just an old crab really. And try telling a crab it should cast off its shell.’
‘Well, if he did he would be the first crab to be able to do without it.’
‘Oh, they shed them a lot when they’re young in order to grow. It’s a dangerous undertaking though, because the new shell is very soft for the first few hours. They’re very vulnerable for that time, easy targets, without any protection. But if they didn’t shed them, there wouldn’t be enough space for them to live.’ Tu stood up. ‘And as I said, Hongbing is a pretty old crab, but his shell has definitely got too small for him. I think he needs to shed it again so he doesn’t end up shattering into a thousand pieces from the pressure.’
Tu laid his right hand on Jericho’s shoulder for a moment. Then he left the room.
* * *
Dusk stole in, stuffy and damp.
Diane was still processing.
Jericho wandered through the house and went to see Joanna in her studio, a glass pagoda temple backing onto the artificial lake which formed the centre of the property. He wasn’t surprised to find her working on one of her large-format portraits. Joanna wasn’t the type to wander through the house wringing her hands if they could be put to better use. She had turned on bright lamps and was giving depth and contour to two beautiful socialites who were pictured arm in arm in front of a mirror, looking as if they had danced through three days and nights straight.
After Chen had emerged, flushed with anger, and disappeared into the guest rooms on the first floor, Tu had intensified the security around his villa and fled to his office. Yoyo had crossed Jericho’s path as he walked through the entrance hall. She looked as though she had been crying, and had waved her hands around as if trying to signal that he shouldn’t ask any questions. Just when she was about to climb the stairs, her father had appeared on the landing, heading stormily for the bathroom, which was enough for Yoyo to hastily change direction and wander off into the garden, where Jericho had just been coming in from.
All at once, he had felt terribly out of place.
Tu’s butler saw him standing around and rushed to attend to his needs. Jericho turned down hot lavender baths and Thai massages, ordered some tea and unexpectedly felt a craving for the kind of biscuits Joanna had brought him just hours before, only to scoff them all under his nose. The butler offered to make up the salon for him. For want of a better idea, Jericho nodded, paced around in a circle twice and noticed that the feeling of being out of place was accompanied by the quicksand-like sensation of helplessness.
Something had to happen.
And it did.
‘Owen? This is Diane.’
He felt a frisson of excitement, pulled out his phone and spoke into it breathlessly. ‘Yes, Diane? What is it?’
‘I’ve found something in the films that will interest you. A watermark. There’s a film within a film.’
Oh, Diane! thought Jericho. I could kiss you. If you looked only half as good as you sound I would even marry you, but you’re just a damn computer. But never mind. Make me happy!
‘Wait there,’ he called, as if there were some risk she might decide otherwise and leave the house. ‘I’m coming.’
* * *
Yoyo would have liked to convince herself she was past the worst, but she felt the worst still lay before her, and three times as intense. Hongbing had screamed and shouted. They had argued for over an hour. As a result, her eyes were sore and filled with salty tears, as if she had seen nothing but misery and hardship her whole life. She felt guilty about everything. About the massacre in the steelworks, the destruction of the apartment, her father’s despair, and finally about the fact that Hongbing didn’t love her. Almost as soon as it had appeared, this last thought entered into sinister alliances with all possible forms of self-loathing and gave birth to a new guilt, namely, having done Hongbing an injustice. Of course he had loved her, how could he not have? How low did you have to sink to assume anything else but love from your own father? But now just that thought alone made her undeserving of love, and Hongbing had taken the only logical step and stopped loving her. So what was she complaining about? She was to blame for the fact that his mask of a face had not melted, but shattered.
She had disappointed everyone.
For a while she hung around silently in Joanna’s studio, watching as Tian’s beautiful wife conjured up a feverish sparkle in the eyes of the exhausted teenagers, that last glimmer of energy moments before all systems shut down. On the monstrous two and a half by four metre canvas, she portrayed carefree natures through pigments: two ornamental fish in the shallow waters of their sensitivities, whose only worry in life was how not to die from boredom before the next party kicked off. Realising that the worst massacres in the lives of the two beauties were probably the ones they had caused in the hearts of pubescent boys, Yoyo cried a little more.
She was probably doing these girls an injustice too. Was she really any better? She had certainly been no stranger to excess in the last few years. She was more than familiar with the moment when one faded out like a dwindling, bright red dot in the blackness of a charred wick. She had sung incessantly against Hongbing’s sadness, danced against it, smoked and fucked against it, without once flagging with a soothing emptiness in her gaze like the princesses of the night on Joanna’s canvas. Each time, her last thought had been that the excesses weren’t worth dying for, that she would have much rather been sitting at home listening to w
hat her father had to tell her about the time before she was born. But Hongbing hadn’t told her one single thing.
Joanna created eyelashes with a flourish, pressed in smatterings of mascara and distributed make-up in the corner of the eyes and onto cheekbones. Yoyo watched, overcome with melancholy. She liked Joanna’s flirtation with society, the way she wore its colourful plumage. There was no canvas big enough to depict the way China entertained itself, Joanna always said. After all, China was a big country, and so she explained to her feathered friends, whenever they came to sharpen their beaks and sip at champagne, that lack of content couldn’t be portrayed on a small scale. It was a witty and catchy comment, but really incomprehensible in an artistic sense. She pompously celebrated the beauty of emptiness and the emptiness of beauty, sold her fans something they could look at, and neglected to tell them it was actually a mirror.
‘Don’t forget,’ she always said with her most charming Joanna smile, ‘I’m in the picture too. In every single one. Including yours.’
Yoyo envied Joanna. She envied the egoism with which she sailed through life, and without picking up any bruises along the way. She envied her ability to be uninterested, and her lack of concern in showing it. Yoyo, on the other hand, was interested in everything, and compulsively so. Could that ever end well? Sure, the Guardians had accomplished quite a lot of things. Under their pressure, imprisoned journalists had been released, corrupt civil servants stripped of office and environmental scandals solved. While Joanna’s hands were being manicured, Yoyo had been busy dirtying hers by delving them into painful subjects, never tiring in demanding China’s right to its own culture of fun. This had given her the reputation of being a nationalist from time to time. Just as well. She was a hedonistic preacher, a liberal nationalist who got fired up by the injustice in the world. Wonderful! And yet there were so many other things she could do. She was sure she could find something, as long as it meant not having to be Chen Yuyun.
Joanna painted, and was simply Joanna. Self-involved, care-free and rich. Everything that repulsed Yoyo from the bottom of her heart, and yet she yearned for it too. Someone who offered security. Someone who wouldn’t step aside, because it was something they never did.
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