“If there’s anything urgent, just call me, and I can be back in an hour or two.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just go. After all, you’re a celebrated poet.”
After hanging up, Chen checked the Shanghai-Shaoxing train schedule online. There were several fast trains going there the next morning. He’d take one, even though this trip was nothing more than a long shot.
He stood up and left the Internet café.
Outside, there was a lone black bat flittering about in the evening that was spread out against the somber sky.
EIGHTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, CHEN took the new fast train to Shaoxing station.
Once on the train, Chen called Detective Tang, one of his connections in the local police bureau. A few years ago he’d helped Tang break a tough case, one which, if Chen hadn’t intervened, would have taken months longer before it got any official attention from the city of Shanghai.
“What good wind brings you to Shaoxing today, Chief Inspector Chen?”
“Well, somebody told me there was a literature festival here, and I just happened to have something else to do in town.”
“What can I do for the Shanghai Police Bureau?” Tang said, coming directly to the point.
“No, I’m not here in an official capacity, so I didn’t make contact through official channels. However, I do need to ask a favor.”
“I’m glad you thought of me. Of course I’ll do whatever I can to help. I could never forget your assistance back in Shanghai when that pig-headed Party Secretary Li—”
“Let’s not talk about him right now. You might have heard of the Zhou case—the pack of 95 Supreme Majesty and all that. It’s not exactly my case, but it’s a case that’s special to the bureau, and one of my colleagues died in an incident possibly connected to the investigation.”
“One of your colleagues died. I’m sorry to hear that. So now the investigation is on your radar.”
“Yes. I’ve learned that Zhou was born in Shaoxing, but he left for Shanghai when he was six or seven years old. He hadn’t returned to Shaoxing until about a year ago. And he came back more than once. It would be a great help if you could assemble any information about Zhou’s two visits to Shaoxing and about any relatives he might have contacted here—perhaps you could bring the information to the train station? Let me give you my cell phone number,” Chen said, rattling off the number of a cell phone he’d just purchased. “Of course, please, not a single word about my visit to your colleagues.”
Two hours later, as he walked out of the Shaoxing railway station, Chen was surprised to find himself facing a large modern square thronged with people and beyond it, an impressive six-lane thoroughfare filled with noisy traffic. There was also a line of taxis waiting along the curb.
Chen’s assumptions about Shaoxing had come mainly from the writings of Lu Xun, a “revolutionary writer” endorsed by Mao and the Party authorities during the Cultural Revolution. Lu Xun’s books were the only literature he could read during those years without having to disguise them by wrapping them in the red plastic covers of Quotations from Chairman Mao. In his stories, Shaoxing was more a rustic town than a city, with villagers, boats, a market fair, farmers like Ah Q, and country kids like Runtu. But Shaoxing, like anywhere else in China, had changed dramatically.
He caught sight of Tang pushing his way through the crowd, carrying a map in one hand, looking like one of the tourists. A stoutly built man in his late forties, Tang had deeply set eyes and a square jawline, an interesting mixture of supposedly southern and northern characteristics. He was wearing a light gray jacket, a blue shirt, and jeans.
Instead of asking any questions, Tang simply shook hands with Chen and handed over the map of Shaoxing. “Sorry, I can’t park here. It’s just across the street. I’ll be back to pick you up in one minute.”
Chen watched him as he pulled up in a shiny black Buick. It wasn’t a bureau car, as Tang had promised not to tell his colleagues.
After Chen got into the car, Tang handed him a large manila envelope.
“Zhou’s visits here weren’t about official business. He contacted only some of his relatives and friends. I put together a list of them—names, addresses, and numbers. That’s about all I could come up with on such short notice.”
“You’ve done an extraordinary job. So where are we going?”
“His cousin’s place. They saw each other last year.”
The car was already turning into a quiet residential area, with narrower streets and shabbier lanes, where some of the old houses were in disrepair.