“I understand. What I said to you was only common sense. But accidents do happen. How could you prove that Wei’s death was the result of his investigation?”
“Technically, the theory that Wei was murdered is as implausible as the accident theory. The SUV was parked on Weihai Road, about one hundred meters from the corner. Wei was walking in one of a few possible directions—he was either walking straight along Weihai to the west, or turning onto it from the south of Weihai, or had approached it from the north. Taking into consideration the time it takes for the traffic light to change, it would have taken Wei one or two minutes at the most to reach the spot at which he was run down. How could the SUV driver have spotted Wei from that distance, started the engine, raced to the spot, and run him down? Unless, of course, Detective Wei’s plans were already known to others. The SUV could have been waiting for him to arrive, and someone else could have been following Wei all along, to give the SUV the signal.”
“That’s so complicated.”
“That’s why it was so alarming. And who could have known Wei’s schedule? I talked to his wife, and she knew nothing about his schedule that day. According to his colleagues, Wei didn’t even come into the office that morning. I asked Party Secretary Li about it, and he was vague, saying that he couldn’t remember whether or not Wei had called him that morning—”
There was a light knock on the door, and through the door came a call, “Cold dishes.”
A young waitress in a scarlet silk mandarin dress stepped into the room. She served six dainty dishes on the table and glibly started introducing them.
“Deep-fried crispy rice paddy eel, live river shrimp in salt water, homemade tofu mixed with green onion and sesame oil, sticky-rice-filled dates, sliced xiao pork, spicy transparent beef sinew. This is all genuine Shaoxing cuisine. It’s all fashionable homestyle cooking, and the ingredients are all organic and fresh. Mr. Gu insists on it. There is also champagne in the ice bucket.”
“Shaoxing cuisine?” Lianping asked, looking at Chen.
“It’s what I asked for when I called Gu to reserve the room,” Chen said.
“It’s all very Chinese,” Lianping said, “except for the champagne.”
“I could bring some Shaoxing rice wine?” the waitress offered. “We have Maiden Red. Eighteen years.”
“That would be good.”
The waitress walked out light-footedly, carrying the champagne bucket.
“Why did you ask Gu to prepare Shaoxing cuisine?”
“Remember the festival dinner?”
“Yes—once you appeared at the festival, you were surrounded by well-known and not-that-well-known writers, as well as officials of the local writers’ association. They seated you at the distinguished-guest table, and you were the most distinguished one there, toasted by everybody.”
“That’s not what I wanted. Not at all. I didn’t insist that you be seated with me, Lianping, because I had no idea how much longer I’d be ‘distinguished.’ It might not have been good for you,” he said in a somber voice. “But that afternoon, I was thinking about a black-awning boat meal of Shaoxing local dishes and wine, just you and me.”
The waitress returned, carrying a small red-covered urn and cups.
“There was only one left.” The moment she tore away the urn cover, an intoxicating fragrance permeated the room. She skillfully poured wine for each of them into dainty white porcelain cups.
“If you push the top button on the wall, a small red light will come on outside. That red light is just like a ‘Do not disturb’ sign at a hotel. Whenever you’re ready for the hot dishes, push the button below,” the waitress explained, then bowed gracefully and left, closing the door after her.
Gazing at the amber-colored wine in his cup, Chen said, “There’s an old folk tradition that whenever a daughter is born, the family buries an urn of rice wine. On the day of her wedding, many years later, they dig up the urn. It’s a very special wine.”
“It is eighteen-years wine and very rare.”
“So I drink a cup to apologize for missing the meal with you in the boat that day,” he said, draining his cup.
“Don’t say that,” she said, embarrassed. “Now I understand; I should be the one to apologize—but let’s go back to what you were talking about before the waitress arrived.”
“I was talking about Wei’s schedule that day. I didn’t know it, but somebody must have known about it. I wanted to check his phone records, but his phone wasn’t found at the scene. It took me days to recover a list and recording of the calls he’d made that morning. It turns out he actually did talk to Party Secretary Li about his plans for the day. He told Li that there was something not right in the interview with the hotel attendant and that he would follow up on that lead. So Wei told him he was going to the hotel, and then on to Wenhui Daily.”