“That’s possible,” Chen said, thinking of Wei’s attire that day. Wei could have planned another visit to the hotel, this time in disguise. “I think you might be right, Liao. And I’ll discuss it again with you soon.”
As the car turned onto Shanxi Road, Wang started in again. “I heard something about the hotel. Yesterday, when I was driving Party Secretary Li, he got a phone call from someone above him.”
“How do you know?”
“Li has two phones. One white, one black. The first one he seldom uses, except for important or inside calls. Few know the number, I bet.”
“That’s probably true. I know of only one number.”
“I can tell from the immediate change in his tone when he picks up the white phone. To someone with a higher Party position, Li can be so obsequious. I’m afraid that’s why you are still only the deputy Party secretary, Chief Inspector Chen.
“In that conversation, Li mentioned the hotel several times and also something about a Beijing team coming there, which I pieced together from his repetition of the other man’s words. Also, Zhou’s name came up in the middle of it. Li spoke cautiously and most of his responses were simply ‘yes.’ It was difficult for me to follow without knowing the context. Toward the end of the conversation Li said, ‘I understand. I’ll report to you and to you alone.’”
Earlier that morning, after he had been given the news about Wei, Chen had been told about a team from the Central Party Discipline Committee in Beijing. Nobody had contacted Chen about it in advance, and he wasn’t even in a position to inquire into it. Was the arrival of the team connected to the Zhou case?
“Drop me off at the corner near the Writers’ Association,” Chen said, having an abrupt change of mind. “You may go back to the bureau. I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
“No problem. I can wait. You can just call me whenever you need me.”
“I think I’ll take a taxi from here. Don’t worry about me. But if you hear anything new, let me know.”
“Of course, Chief Inspector Chen.”
Chen got out and walked to the association.
Young Bao, the doorman in the cubicle near the entrance, poked his head out and greeted Chen cordially.
“I have some fresh Maojian tea today, Master Chen. Would you like to have a cup?”
Chen had no particular business at the association that morning, and he liked a cup of good, refreshing tea. Chen’s visit was merely a pretext, a way to keep Wang from knowing what he was really planning to do. The bureau driver could be very talkative.
“Thanks.” Chen said, stepping into the cubicle. “But don’t call me Master Chen. I’ve told you that before.”
“My father told me you’re a master. He’s never wrong.”
Young Bao handed him a cup. Chen savored the unique fragrance rising from the green tea.
“It’s not too busy here?”
“No, not busy at all. In less than a month I knew all the people working here. Of course, they don’t have to sign the register when they arrive. Most of the members who come here from time to time know the rules, and they sign the register without my having to ask them.”
Chen nodded, taking another sip of tea.
“In Old Bao’s days, he said it was quite busy. There were a lot of visitors, especially young visitors—the so-called literature youths. Nowadays it would be idiotic for people to call themselves literature youths.”
“That’s true, unfortunately.”
“So I sit here all day, with not much to do. You can see that from the register. Less than ten pages have been used this month.”
At the Writers’ Association, Chen reflected, there wasn’t much for security to do, but for a time-honored government institution, the presence of Young Bao and the register was still indispensable.
“The other day I was at the Moller Hotel,” Chen said, “and the doorman was busy all the time.”
“That’s a special hotel. Weiming, the doorman there, is a friend of mine. His register is at least three or four times thicker than mine,” Young Bao said, chewing a tea leaf reflectively. “But I have nothing to complain about, Master Chen. Among all the doormen in the city, I’m probably the only one who can read during work without worrying about the consequences. In fact, both An and you have encouraged me to read as much as possible. After all, it is the Writers’ Association, and it has a library of its own.”
“I’m glad to learn that you enjoy reading so much.”
“Weiming, the Moller doorman I just told you about, is another bookworm. He comes to me for books—it’s much more convenient than going to the public library—and in return, he sells me canteen coupons for the hotel. The food there is excellent but still inexpensive due to the government subsidy and the high-ranking cadres who stay there.”