SEVEN

THE NEXT DAY AT lunch, Chen sought out Wei in the bureau canteen.

“How about a cup of coffee after lunch?” Chen said, holding a bowl of barbecue pork and rice.

“I’m not a coffee—” Wei broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished. After a brief pause, Wei said, “That would be great, Chief.”

Fifteen minutes later, they walked out of the police bureau together.

“We could go to Starbucks or any other place you like, Wei.”

“I know nothing about coffee,” Wei said, “but my son talks a lot about a place called Häagen-Dazs.”

“Yes, let’s go there. There is one on Nanjing Road, near the corner of Fujian Road, next to the Sofitel.”

It might not be such a good choice, Chen thought. Häagen-Dazs was a brand of ice cream, but in Shanghai, it was something fancy. It was a status symbol, and a number of the Häagen-Dazs specialty stores were marketed as luxurious spots for young people. There was even a popular TV commercial where a pretty girl declared: “If you love me, take me to Häagen-Dazs.”

But the Häagen-Dazs store on Nanjing Road also served coffee, which turned out to be quite decent, though Chen would still have preferred a regular café. They chose two seats on a sofa, facing the window looking out on an ever-bustling pedestrian street.

“Tell me how you’ve been progressing,” Chen said, taking a sip of the coffee.

“We have to conduct a thorough investigation before we are able to conclude it was suicide, right?”

“That’s right. You remember what Party Secretary Li said the first day we were assigned to the case: ‘Investigate and conclude it was suicide.’ But don’t worry about him. Let’s go over what you’ve done.”

Detective Wei gave him a quick look of surprise, having caught the sarcastic tone about Party Secretary Li, then addressed his question.

“It’s difficult because we know so little about the background. Zhou was shuangguied a week before his sudden death. Jiang is not sharing any information he got prior to our arrival at the scene. Why?”

That wasn’t a difficult question for Chen. From Jiang’s perspective, the details of Zhou’s shuanggui case had to be covered up to protect the image of a harmonious society, even at the expense of the police investigation.

“Now, for the sake of argument,” Wei continued, without waiting for Chen’s response. “Let’s suppose that it’s a murder case. Hypothetically. What could be the motive?”

“Have you found one?”

“Perhaps more than one. In our investigations, it’s common to focus on people who would directly benefit from the death, isn’t it?”

“That’s true. In this case, I don’t think such a list will be too long. It’s definitely worth checking out.”

“Also, I have a hunch that the list may be connected to the picture that started everything.”

“Explain that to me, Wei.”

“When the picture first appeared in the newspapers, no one paid any attention to it. Then it showed up in a Web forum where the original crowd-sourced search started. According to Jiang, the manager of the Web forum was sent an electronic file of the picture along with a note about the pack of cigarettes.”

“Who sent the photo?”

“We don’t know yet. The sender used a one-time, fake e-mail address and logged in from an Internet café.”

“So the sender applied for the e-mail address while he was at the café, and then never used it again.”

“Jiang checked into it with the Internet café, but he drew a blank. He concluded that the troublemaker must have calculated all the possible consequences of initiating the crowd-sourced search. That’s why Jiang has been focusing on that angle—”

“Hold on a moment, Wei. Does Jiang think the sender could be the murderer?”

“No. For Jiang, it’s suicide. A foregone conclusion. So the reason for his focus is beyond me.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not saying that the sender is necessarily the murderer—we don’t know if the person benefited from the death of Zhou. But it’s not that difficult to see that some people did benefit from it, Deputy Party Secretary Chen.”

The Party title sounded extremely awkward coming from Detective Wei. In fact, it was the first time Wei had chosen to address Chen as such, and Chen didn’t miss the implication. What Wei was implying was that the people after Zhou’s position would be on the top of the list of suspects.

“Have you been to Zhou’s office?” Chen asked, ignoring Wei’s statement.

“Yes. The day Zhou was marched away from his office, a team headed by Jiang did a thorough search. There was nothing of value left behind. I talked to the deputy head, Dang Hao, for more than an hour, but didn’t learn much that was useful. You know how a Party cadre can talk on and on in politically correct language. Dang simply kept on denouncing Zhou, just like an editorial in Wenhui Daily.”

“When a wall is shaky, people will all push. Especially the one next in the line for the position,” Chen started, then cut himself short, realizing that he too was a Deputy Party Secretary. “What else did he say?”

“While Dang was critical of Zhou, he defended the work of the office. He admitted that Zhou’s job was a complicated, difficult one, considering how much the Shanghai economy relies on the booming housing market.”

“In other words, Zhou wouldn’t have delivered that speech without the approval of the city government?”

“On that, your guess is as good as mine” Wei said. “Dang did confirm that the photo was approved by Zhou himself, then given to his secretary, Fang, to send out to the media.”

“Interesting. Usually providing photos would be the job of a newspaper photographer.”

“Zhou cared about his public image and made a point of personally selecting which picture would be given to the media.”

“But someone had to take the pictures. For instance, a journalist.”

“That’s what confused me. According to Jiang, he checked through Zhou’s e-mail files but didn’t find one that indicated from whom Zhou had received that picture.”

“He might have deleted the e-mail and the file. But Jiang’s people are pros. If it was on his computer, they would have found out one way or another.”

“I think so too,” Wei said. “Of course, looking at possible motives could point us in a different direction. In that speech, Zhou mentioned a particular company that was trying to bring down real estate prices in an irresponsible way. Zhou didn’t name any names, but people knew which company he was referring to. It was Green Earth. Before the 95 Supreme Majesty scandal broke, Teng Jialiang, the general manager of Green Earth, was under a lot of pressure.”

“That might be something, Detective Wei. Did you check him out?”

“I did. Teng was cooperative, and he gave me quite a few details on the background of Zhou’s speech. Since last year, the Beijing authorities have been talking about needing to curb the housing prices for the sake of harmony in our socialist society. Teng thought reducing prices a little would be seen as a well-meant gesture and, at the same time, increase his company’s market share. But out of the blue, Zhou targeted Green Earth as a troublemaker who was damaging market stability. Teng was in a tight spot. While other developers saw him as a greedy suck-up looking to curry favor with the Beijing authorities, the city government actually pressured him to back off.”

“Well, I remember reading in the People’s Daily just last week that it’s a top priority to ensure that ordinary people are able to buy property.”

“Teng put it well. The People’s Daily is in Beijing, but Zhou represented the interests of the Shanghai government. What’s more, there’s also a personal reason Zhou had for targeting him.”

“A personal reason?”

“Teng’s project is located not far from one being developed by Zhou’s cousin, or under his cousin’s name. So Teng’s proposal to reduce prices posed a threat to the profitability of Zhou’s or his family’s project.”

“Does Teng have an alibi?”

“He wasn’t in Shanghai that night, but he’s well connected, both in the white way and the black way.”

“I see,” Chen said. The white way referred to the aboveground—or legal—connections, and the black way to the criminal, such as triads or gangsters. Chen understood why Wei brought up the two ways here. “But Zhou was already shuangguied. Do you think Teng would take such a risk as to kill him at the hotel?”

“You have a point,” Wei said, then took a gulp of his coffee, “Oh, it’s damned bitter.”

Apparently Wei wasn’t used to coffee. Chen waited, saying nothing, and taking a deliberate sip of his own coffee.

“Now, regarding the circumstances of Zhou’s death at the hotel: there are puzzling aspects about it. Oh, I almost forgot—I managed to talk to the hotel attendant without letting Jiang know. Here’s the record of that interview. The attendant’s name is Jun.”

Wei pulled a mini recorder out of his pocket, set it down, and pushed a button. He raised his coffee cup without taking another sip.

WEI: Please try to remember in detail what you did, saw, and heard that night, Jun. It could be very important to our work.

JUN: I’m a just a hotel attendant. I’ve already told everything I know to your people.

WEI: Well, let’s go over it one more time.

JUN: I was on the night shift, from six p.m. to six a.m. Usually, it’s not busy after midnight, so I can take a nap, and occasionally I can nap up until morning. All last week, there were only three guests staying on the third floor, so there wasn’t much for me to do.

WEI: In other words, of the six rooms, only three were occupied.

JUN: Yes. That was due to a special arrangement with the hotel. We didn’t ask questions. Among other things, we were told that the guest in room 302 was to have every meal delivered. The other two were just like other guests. They might eat in the dining hall in building A, but they could also order room service.

WEI: Now tell me what happened Monday night.

JUN: Well, around six fifteen I delivered dinner to room 302. It was fried Yangzhou rice and the soup of the day.

WEI: Did you go into the room?

JUN: No, not exactly. I knocked on the door; he opened it and took the tray from me.

WEI: Did you notice anything unusual about him?

JUN: No, I wasn’t aware of anything. After that, I went to the other two rooms to turn down the beds. Both of them were in, and both of them told me not to bother. So I returned to my room.

WEI: Then?

JUN: Around ten twenty that evening, I was told to bring a bowl of cross-bridge noodles and a bottle of Budweiser to the guest in room 302.

WEI: Hold on, did you know that it was Zhou who was in room 302?

JUN: No, at the time I had no idea who he was. But guests at the hotel aren’t ordinary people, and we know better than to ask around.

WEI: At the time, had you heard anything about Zhou?

JUN: No. Nothing before that night.

WEI: When you delivered the noodles, did you notice anything unusual about him?

JUN: He looked all right to me. He was smiling, and he didn’t forget to give me a five-yuan tip. According to the hotel regulations, we’re not allowed to accept tips, but if a customer insists, we don’t refuse.

WEI: Did you take the noodles into the room or just to the door?

JUN: I went into the room because it was a bowl of special cross-bridge noodles. We usually spread out all the tiny dishes and sauces on the table and then tell the guest how to add the toppings, though it may not be necessary if the guest has had cross-bridge noodles before.

WEI: So was he alone in the room?

JUN: Yes, I’m positive.

WEI: Did you say anything to him?

JUN: I asked whether he wanted me to open the beer for him, and he nodded.

WEI: Nothing else?

JUN: Nothing—oh, he did pick up a slice of Jinhua ham as soon as I placed the dishes on the table. He said that it was his favorite, and that he would like some more in the next day or two. It’s genuine Jinhua ham that the hotel gets through a special supply channel. A lot of our guests really like it.

WEI: A different question, Jun. You went from picking up the noodles from the kitchen directly to his room?

JUN: Yes, directly to his room. The soup had to be served hot.

WEI: Anything else? Anything that struck you as unusual?

JUN: Nothing I can recall. Once he started to put the toppings into the soup, I left the room. Sorry, but that’s about all I can tell you.

“Not much,” Wei said and pressed the stop button. “Jiang must have talked to the hotel people earlier, but he doesn’t want me to approach any of them without his prior approval. As a result, I had to talk to Jun in a small teahouse on a side street not far from the hotel. At the same time, Jiang keeps asking me to update him on our progress.”

“It’s a game two can play, Wei.” Chen said, “From now on, you don’t have to tell Jiang anything unless he is cooperative. Jiang and Liu were in charge of shuanggui, and we are in charge of the investigation into Zhou’s death. So it’s up to them to tell us what they know about Zhou.”

“Liu has hardly been to the hotel in the last two days. But Jiang is the representative of the city government.”

“If Jiang makes things difficult for you, you may say I told you to report only to me. Tell him it was my special instruction.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Wei said, looking him in the eye. “When you were first promoted, some of us believed that it was because of your educational background, that it was simply a lucky break coinciding with the Party’s new cadre promotion policy. Some also said it was because of that article in Wenhui Daily written by your journalist friend—”

Chen gestured to stop Wei from going on. It was true that he had been promoted for a number of reasons not relevant to police work, such as his education and the image he presented to the public, both of which happened to serve the propaganda needs of the Party.

“Lots of things could have been said about me, and some of them were true. For instance, my degree in English had nothing to do with my job with the police bureau. Even today, I still can’t help wondering if I should have pursued a different career. I know it might not be fair for others in the bureau.”

“All I want to say is that I’m glad to work under you, Chief. I’ll consult you about every move I make.”

“Remember,” Chen said, “you’re in charge of the investigation, not I. Whatever move you decide to make, you don’t have to consult me first. You know that proverb; ‘A general fighting at the borders doesn’t have to listen to the emperor sitting far, far away in the capital.’”

“So you mean—”

“You have a free hand. If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility—”

Chen was interrupted by his ringing cell phone.

“Hi, Chief Inspector Chen. It’s Lianping, the journalist from Wenhui Daily. Do you remember me? I’ve just read something about you.”

“Of course I remember you. What’s the news, Lianping?”

“Let me read it to you. ‘According to Chief Inspector Chen, so far there’s no evidence whatsoever to suggest that Zhou’s death could be anything other than suicide.’”

“That’s absurd,” he said. “Who gave that irresponsible statement to Wenhui Daily?”

“Jiang, of the city government.”

“The investigation hasn’t been concluded. That’s all I can say to you today.”

“Jiang’s statement is vague about that, but it reads as if you have already concluded your investigation.”

“That’s wrong, but thank you so much for calling me, Lianping. We’re still following possible leads. I’ll let you know as soon as we do conclude our investigation.”

“Thank you so much, Chief Inspector Chen. Please don’t forget the poems you promised me for our newspaper. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The statement released by Jiang wasn’t exactly a surprise to Chen. On the contrary, it was more or less what he had anticipated.

Next to him, Detective Wei was standing up, a grin on his face. “I have to go back to work, Chief Inspector Chen,” Wei said.

Chen was known among his colleagues as a romantic poet and for having had an affair with a Wenhui journalist. Wei might have overheard that the caller was from Wenhui and guessed it was that female journalist calling.

But Chen had said what he wanted to say to the journalist. He began thinking about their conversation at the Writers’ Association, and what lines she reminded him of that day, as she came tripping over from the garden path, a blue jay’s wing flashing in the light.