Enigma of China(64)

“Oh, I’ve heard of you, Chief Inspector Chen, but—”

“Let’s open the door to the view of the mountains. I told others that I’m here for the literary festival, but that’s only a smokescreen.”

“A smokescreen? For somebody like you?” She gave him an incredulous look and said nothing else.

“I’m here because of the Zhou case.”

“That’s what I guessed.”

“Do you believe Zhou committed suicide?”

“Does it matter what I believe?”

“It matters to me. You might remember Detective Wei, a close colleague of mine.”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear that he died? The day before he died, he interviewed you.”

“Died? How?” she said, her face blanching.

“Killed by a car. I don’t believe he died in a simple traffic accident—not while he was in the middle of investigating Zhou’s death. I’m here because of that investigation but also because of Detective Wei’s death.”

She made no response.

“Detective Wei wasn’t in charge of the shuanggui investigation—the Party investigation into Zhou’s corruption—but I believe that his investigation into the cause of Zhou’s death led to his fatal accident. I want justice for Wei. And I believe you want justice for Zhou, if Zhou was murdered.”

She nodded, her fingers touching the wine cup without lifting it.

“Thank you for telling me all this,” she said, making a visible effort to pull herself together. “Yes, I want justice done if he was murdered, but I’m only the office secretary. People have put a lot of pressure on me, trying to force me to say things I don’t know. I couldn’t do that, so I wanted to get away from it all for a few days. That’s all I can tell you.”

“If you were really just enjoying a vacation here, I don’t think people would be frantically looking for you everywhere. You’ve only worked in that office for two years. How did you come to have a luxurious villa bought for you? I’ve already talked to your parents. They’ve told me what happened after you returned from overseas. We may go over all this, and, if need be, the transaction records for the property will prove everything.”

She kept her head hanging low, her lips sealed tight.

“Let me assure you that you’re not a suspect in my investigation, and I will do nothing to harm you. But I can’t say the same about the others who are looking for you.” Taking another sip of the deceptively sweet wine, Chen went on, adopting a different tone, “I’m not just a cop; I’m also a poet. As the proverb says, even my heart goes out to beauty—like you. If anything, I’m trying to get you out of trouble.”

“But how?” she said. “How can you help me?”

“Tell me what you know about Zhou—and then, only then, will I be able to find a way.”

“He’s dead because of a pack of cigarettes. How can anything I tell you about him help?”

“What you tell me may help us get the real criminal. The one who was behind all of this. Only by pushing this investigation through to the end will I be able to get everyone else off your back. We have to help each other,” he said, then added gently, “If it would make it a little easier for you, tell me something about yourself, how you started to work for him.”

“My parents have already told you everything, I suppose,” she said. Still, she started telling Chen her version.

About seven years ago, after she graduated from a college in Shanghai, she had gone to England to further her studies. She studied hard and got an MA degree in communications. People believed that she would have a great future, but she couldn’t find a job in England. In the meantime, she used up all the money saved by her not-that-well-off parents. She couldn’t stay in England any longer, so she had no choice but to go back to Shanghai. Once back, she found herself a “haigui”—a derogative term for a returnee from overseas, which was pronounced the same as the word for “sea turtle”—and soon turned into a “haidai,” a derogative term for the jobless from overseas, pronounced the same as the word for “seaweed.”

Then she happened to read about Zhou in the newspapers. He had once lived in the same neighborhood as she, had moved away when she was still very young, and was now an important Party official. In desperation, she contacted him, wondering whether he would remember a little girl from the old neighborhood. He did, and to her surprise, he went out of his way to help her get the job as the secretary in the housing development office. At first, she thought he’d simply taken pity on her, but nothing was simple and pure in the world of red dust. It didn’t take long for her to grasp the true meaning of being a little secretary. She was unwilling, then reluctant, but ultimately resigned. Spring is gone, no one knows where. She was no longer young, and she thought she should feel flattered that a powerful man like Zhou wanted her as a little secretary. Zhou was considerate enough to keep their relations a secret in the office, though possibly more because of his own position, since he had to think about the political consequences. Still, he seemed to care for her in his way, even though he chose not to divorce his wife. He arranged for them to go to England on vacation, where they were able to spend a week like a real couple, staying in the sort of five-star hotels that she had never dreamed of being able to stay at when she was there as a student. It was all at the government’s expense, of course. Then he took her to Shaoxing to buy her a villa. When she asked him why, he told her that there was no telling what might happen to him in the future and that now at least she would have something to fall back on—and wasn’t she glad to own her own home?