He wondered whether or not Zhou’s death might be such an enigma. The chief inspector hadn’t yet done much about the case. For one thing, Chen had practically nothing with which to work. The “folder of information” he had mentioned at the hotel was only an excuse to get away. There was no lack of pre-scandal information about Zhou. A pile of newspaper clippings sat on the corner of his desk, but all of them were from official media and were about his exemplary work as director of the Housing Development Committee.
Zhou had enjoyed a spectacular rise concurrent with the amazing transformation of the city. He went from being an ordinary worker in a small neighborhood production group in the late seventies to the director of the Housing Development Committee. Zhou launched an incredible number of new housing projects that, in fairness, dramatically changed the city’s landscape. Even as a Shanghai native, Chen found himself frequently lost among the new skyscrapers, which had appeared like bamboo shoots after a spring rain. So it was surprising that a crowd-sourced investigation about a pack of cigarettes could have toppled a Goliath like Zhou.
According to Party Secretary Li, what was discovered on the Internet led to the disclosure of Zhou’s other problems, which resulted in his detention. But all these details were totally missing from the pile of newspaper clippings on his desk. Chen tapped the pile and heaved a long sigh.
The Party authorities chose to punish its officials selectively and secretively, with few details made available to the public.
Chen tried to research Zhou on the Internet. To his surprise, access to several Web sites was blocked. Even on sites he could go to, no entry involving Zhou’s case would load, showing up as an “error” instead. The only available information on Zhou consisted of two or three lines reposted from the Party media. State control of the Internet wasn’t news to Chen, but the extent as well as the effectiveness of it was alarming.
He settled back into plowing through the boring paperwork, which eventually began to wear him out. He rubbed his temple with a finger, and then with two, his glance wandering over to a time-yellowed copy of the Vajracchedika Sutra, a Buddhist scripture his mother had given him. It was about how everything in this world was illusion, and it emphasized the practice of nonabiding and nonattachment. He wondered whether he could make some time to visit his mother in the hospital that afternoon.
He stood up to go over and pick up the scripture when Detective Yu barged into his office, not bothering to knock.
Yu was a longtime partner and friend. Nominally, Chen was the head the Special Case Squad, but since he was frequently away, Yu was in practical charge.
It wasn’t the first time Yu had been in the new office. Still, he glanced around and took in the impressive furniture one more time before he commented on the twenty-five-inch LCD screen on Chen’s steel desk.
“It’s the same size as the one on the Party Secretary’s desk, Chief.”
“You didn’t come here to talk about that, did you?”
“No. Peiqin just called, asking whether you could come over for dinner this weekend.”
Yu’s wife Peiqin was a wonderful hostess and cook. Chen was no stranger to her culinary skill.
“What’s the occasion, Yu?”
“We’re celebrating Qinqin’s acceptance to Fudan University. We should have done it months ago.”
“That’s worth celebrating. A top university like Fudan will make a huge difference in his future prospects. But I’m not sure about this weekend. I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”
“That would be great. Oh, she also wants me to say that you’re most welcome to bring anyone with you.”
“Here she goes again.” Chen knew what she meant—she wanted him to bring a girlfriend—but he chose not to dwell on it. “She’s as anxious about it as my old mother.”
“By the way, I ran into Wei this morning. He was just assigned a case, and he was saying that it should have been assigned to you.”
“What case was he talking about?”
“A Party official who committed suicide during shuanggui.”
“Oh, that one. We’re actually both assigned to it, but I’m serving merely as a special consultant to the team.”
“Is foul play suspected?”
“Not really; it seems to be only a matter of formality,” Chen said. “Since we’re on the topic, do you know anything about 95 Supreme Majesty cigarettes?”
“Have you never smoked them?”
“I have heard of the brand.”
“But you’ve smoked Panda, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“In the eighties, Panda was the brand exclusively manufactured for Deng Xiaoping. It was the best in the world.”