The Mao Case (14 page)

It was only a matter of a minute or less before the gangsters started to bang on the front door, but it was enough time for him to escape the lane without the two barking at his heels. Turning onto Shaoxing Road, he thought he heard terrible shouts and crashes somewhere in the lane.

A taxi sped along. Waving his hand frantically, Chen rushed toward it and hurried in, gasping for breath.

“Drive.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Drive.”

It wasn’t until after the taxi swung into Fuxing Road that Chen was capable of reconstructing the encounter in clear sequence.

Ambush. No question about it. The gangsters could have been following him for days. A couple of times, he had walked along Shao-xing Road and turned down the side street as a shortcut to the subway station. The attackers had stationed themselves at the intersection, waiting for him whichever way Chen might have turned.

Judging by their clothing, the iron bars, the tattoo on one’s arm, and their jargon, the two were undoubtedly Triad members. They didn’t try to disguise it.

But he couldn’t remember having ruffled the feathers of any particular organization. Of late, there had been a special squad formed at the bureau for the purpose of coping with organized crime in the city. His Special Case Squad’s main responsibility was dealing with politically special or sensitive cases. Thanks to his connection to Triad-related people like Gu, Chen had been able to keep himself out of troubled water.

There was no ruling out the possibility of mistaken identity, but he couldn’t count on it.

And as for an ambush, what would be the purpose? In the Triad tradition, as far as he was able to figure out, an ambush was either a warning or a punishment. The iron bars, characteristic of the Triad culture, could have been intended for a nonfatal beating, as in a Triad movie he had seen, in which the victim writhed on the ground, beaten and crushed, while the gangsters hissed out the message: “If you don’t mend your ways, it will be worse next time.”

What the thugs said to him, however, pointed to different possibilities.

“Busybody” probably referred to his getting involved in something the Triad thought he shouldn’t have. Chen had no idea what it was. After all, a lot of things the chief inspector had done could have been interpreted that way.

As for the “toad and swan” metaphor, it had originally been about a man going after an unapproachable woman — usually an ugly man or one in inferior position going after a beautiful woman or one in a superior position. So it could have come as a warning to him about an impossible relationship.

There was no woman in Chen’s life, not at the moment. Ironically, Ling could have qualified as a “swan” with her HCC family background, but she had just married somebody else.

As for White Cloud, a young pretty college student who had once worked as his “little secretary,” there had never been anything serious between them — at least not on the part of Chen. It made some sense, however, if a jealous lover saw Chen as an insurmountable obstacle. It was a remote possibility, but Chen thought he should talk to Gu about it.

Alternatively, the warning could have come from his mixing with the girls at Xie’s place. Most of them had wealthy and powerful men behind them, and one of those men could have become insanely jealous. But he was a newcomer to the circle, a bookish if not clownish would-be writer who hadn’t made advances on any of them, not even Jiao. In the mansion, most people could be a little flirtatious with one another, dancing and drinking under the somber light, in the lambent music. No one took it seriously —

“So where are you going, sir?” the driver asked again. “Oh, Fuxing Road,” Chen said, his shoulder hurting terribly. He’d better see a doctor. Dr. Xia, having retired from the bureau, was working at a private clinic on Fuxing Road.

“Then we have to make a detour.”

“Why?” he asked absentmindedly. “New construction. An expensive apartment complex is going up along Tiantong Road.”

Another possibility flashed across his mind. The real estate company with connections in the black and white ways. He might have been seen as a busybody by them. Those companies had long ears and arms, could have learned of him from their contacts in the city government. But what about the “toad and swan” metaphor? That seemed totally unrelated.

At last, the taxi pulled up in front of the clinic. It was a new white building. Through the door, Chen saw a velvet tapestry bearing Mao’s quotation in bold characters:
To serve the people
.

He was taking out his money to pay the taxi driver when another idea struck him. Could it have been an attempt to stop him from looking further into the case? In that scenario, possibly on the order from another section. Or from Internal Security, who had their own reasons to be furious at him. Or even from the Forbidden City. He was actually conducting the investigation as a Mao case, at least partially, a move that could affect the legitimacy of the Party. But it was a move known only to Old Hunter and Detective Yu, known only partially —

“Oh, your receipt,” the taxi driver said with evident concern in his voice. “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m fine,” he said, taking the receipt, which showed a large amount. The taxi driver must have been driving him around for quite a while before asking him for his destination.

He moved out of the car groggily, his head aching like the Monkey in
Journey to the West
, wearing a cursed hoop around his forehead.

FIFTEEN

TWO HOURS LATER, DR. XIA
was writing out a prescription in his office, his silver brows knitted in a frown, after having taken both a CT scan and X-rays of Chen.

Dr. Xia had been on the forensic staff of the police bureau. After retirement, he started working part-time as an “expert” at a clinic close to his home. He and Chen had known each other well in the bureau.

“Really touch and go,” Dr. Xia said seriously, examining the X-rays one more time. “Your shoulder injury isn’t too bad. No bone was broken. But I’m worried about the impact on your head. You have to rest for a week. Keep away from work and take good care of yourself. Don’t forget your breakdown not too long ago.”

“You know the work at the bureau —”

His cell phone rang before he could finish the sentence. It was Gang. Chen had to speak under the glare of Dr. Xia.

“I have already contacted Feng, my assistant during the Cultural Revolution. A Big Buck now, he still calls me Commander in Chief.”

“That’s good,” Chen said. “Did he recall anything about the special team from Beijing?”

“They came to get something Shang might have had, but were unsuccessful. She committed suicide.”

“Did Feng know what they were looking for?”

“No, he didn’t. The special team probably didn’t either, but they wanted to prevent any local Red Guards from coming near her, so that was why they contacted Feng for cooperation. It could have been top secret. Also, it seemed to be a different group from those sent by Madam Mao from Beijing. Feng had met with some of those other teams.”

“What was the difference?”

“Those other teams knew what they were looking for. Newspaper clippings and pictures concerning Madam Mao in the thirties. They were not that secretive or stealthy, either. In fact, Feng went in with them, helping to turn everything upside down in the houses of those target families. But the special team for Shang didn’t request any help like that, nor were they interested in those things from the thirties.”

“That is surely different. Did Feng recall any team member’s name or keep in touch?”

“One of them was surnamed Sima. A rare surname, that’s why Feng remembered it. Probably from a cadre family, that Sima, and he spoke with an authentic Beijing accent.” Gang added, “Among other things, Sima mentioned Shang’s dresses and shoes, two closets full of them, and the cameras and film-developing equipment at her home, which were rare in those years. So he was impressed. That’s about all Feng could remember.”

After so many years, that was probably about all anyone could have remembered. Still, it was a sort of random harvest to Chen, particularly the part about the special team looking for something at the request of someone other than Madam Mao. That explained the urgency after so many years. Madam Mao had long turned into “dog shit,” and some additional “shit” on her head wouldn’t have mattered to the Beijing authorities. So it had to be, as they had said, something directly concerning Mao.

“Thank you so much, Gang. That’s very important to my book. And I’ll come back to the eatery soon.”

But how could he get in touch with Sima, or any other member of the special team? It would be futile to contact the minister or anybody in Beijing for help. On the contrary, the moment his investigation into “the Mao Case” was revealed, the chief inspector would be suspended.

Dr. Xia had been shaking his head the whole time.

“Sorry about the interruption, Dr. Xia. Police work, you know —”

“Tell your ‘police work’ to others, Chief Inspector, not to me. Now, listen to me carefully. If you suffer continuing giddiness or sickness, you have to come back to me. You must stay completely off work for one week.”

“For a week,” Chen echoed, wondering if he would be lucky enough to take off one day. Still, given the outcome of his skirmish with the gangsters, he should consider himself lucky — only his luck might not hold the next time. “Not a single word about my visit here to the bureau people, Dr. Xia,” he said, rising to leave, when his cell phone shrilled out again.

The number indicated it was a long distance call from Beijing. It was Wang, the head of the Writers’ Association there, whom Chen had touched for information about Diao, the author of
Cloud and Rain in Shanghai
.

“Diao has just come to Beijing, staying with his daughter.”

“Is he coming back to Shanghai soon?”

“I don’t know. He’s taking care of his grandson at her place, I’ve heard.”

“Well,” Chen said, realizing that could be a job taking weeks or months. “Thank you so much, Chairman Wang. That’s what I need to know. I appreciate it.”

“Can’t you forget about your work for one minute, Chief Inspector Chen?” Dr. Xia said in mounting exasperation. “Take a vacation somewhere where no one can find you. I insist. Get rid of your cell phone too.”

“A vacation — where no one knows me. And no cell phone. Thank you for your suggestion. I’ll think about it, Dr. Xia. I give you my word.”

Indeed, he could use a vacation. In Beijing. To do something about the Mao Case while there under the disguise of a vacation. He left the clinic.

At this stage, Diao could be crucial to the investigation, capable of providing information not only about Shang’s death but also about the special team from Beijing. More importantly, about what they had been looking for at the time. Diao must have done a lot of research for his book, not all of which might have been included in
Cloud and Rain in Shanghai
.

But the “vacation” meant the chief inspector had to leave the situation here unattended for days. In the face of the new developments, however, Chen considered the trip a worthy gamble.

He had a feeling that Mao was at the center of all the confusion and complications. Instead of focusing on his encounter with the gangsters, or on Yang’s murder case, he would cope, as in a proverb, by taking the firewood out from under the cauldron.

If his attackers took his vacation as being the result of their warning, so be it. They would come to know Chief Inspector Chen better, sooner or later.

Last but not least, there was something else for him in Beijing, he contemplated with a twinge of conscience.

So he turned onto Chengdu Road, from which he might be able to hail a taxi.

On the street corner, an elderly man was dozing in his wheelchair parked on the sidewalk, wearing a pair of sunglasses, with his feet placed high on the handle bar. Not a comfortable position. Chen couldn’t make out why he wanted to take a break like that in his wheel-chair. But then a lot of things made sense to one person, but not at all to others — like his vacation plan.

Chen pulled out his cell phone.

The first call went to Gu. Chen told him about his clash with the gangsters.

“What?” Gu exclaimed in a voice of combined shock and indignation. “Some bastards beat you up in broad daylight? Where are you? I’m coming over this minute.”

“Don’t worry. No broken bones. I’ve seen a doctor. He wants me to take a couple of days off. So I’m thinking of a short vacation,” Chen said. “I’m not sure if the attack is Triad-related, but their weapons and jargon were suspicious.”

“That’s outrageous. I will find out for you. You have my word for it.”

“Have you seen White Cloud lately?”

“Yes. Why, Chief Inspector Chen?”

“One of the gangsters said something about an ugly toad watering its mouth at the sight of a beautiful swan, so it could involve a romantic relationship. But there’s nothing going on between us, you know.”

“Absolutely nothing, I know, though she adores you like anything. You haven’t given her any chance. No, I don’t think she has anything to do with it, but I’ll talk to her about it. At my request, she has made a point of not mentioning you to other people.”

Chen wasn’t so sure about that. She was a young, fashionable girl. And Gu could be so proud of his connections.

“Of late, I’ve helped someone preserve his old house as a historical site. A real estate company concerned may not be pleased with it. The company is called East Wind, supposedly connected to both the black and white ways.”

“East Wind, I think I’ve heard of it. I know some people in the circle. I’ll tell you what. I’ll dig three feet into the ground.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way, Gu.”

“How can you say that, Chief Inspector Chen? Anyone who attacks you attacks me. It’s a slap in my face too,” Gu went on seriously. “In today’s society, there are not too many honest and capable cops like you left. If I do anything, it’s not just for you.”

“But don’t do anything rash. Don’t reveal my identity, either, when you make your inquiries.”

“Don’t worry. Enjoy your vacation. Call me if there is anything else.” Gu added, “Oh, I’ll visit your mother over the weekend. White Cloud will do so too.”

In Confucian classics, the concept of “expediency” is much discussed, his father had once taught him. For the moment, the Mao Case was the overriding priority, justifying whatever means. Gu had helped before, as he would again this time, full of
yiqi
, like in a martial arts novel. The chief inspector might have to pay him back, eventually, but he didn’t want to worry about it now.

His next call was to Old Hunter. “I’ve just seen Dr. Xia. He said I have suffered a concussion.”

“Did you have an accident?”

“No, I don’t think it was an accident. A couple of gangsters attacked me on the street,” Chen said simply. “To ensure a quiet recovery period, Dr. Xia insists on my taking a vacation — away from the work and worry. Somewhere that no one knows about. No phone calls. I have to take his advice, I’m afraid.”

“But the situation here may develop unexpectedly —”

“I’ll contact you from time to time.”

“Fine — oh, I got hold of someone, someone very reliable, to serve as Jiao’s temporary maid. She may be able to find out something for us.”

“Great. That will really help. Tell her to go to Jiao’s place at her earliest convenience. I’ll let Jiao know about it before I leave. In any emergency situation, you may contact a friend of mine. This is her number. She should know my whereabouts for the next few days.”

It was Ling’s number. For the moment, there was nobody else he could think of. According to Yong, Ling had moved back to her parents’ home.

“Will it be safe to call her?”

“It’s a special ‘red line’ for her high cadre family. You don’t have to worry about its being tapped. But don’t give it to anybody.”

“I understand.”

Old Hunter might have guessed. What would he be thinking about Chen’s sudden vacation? That the romantic chief inspector was impossible, rushing to his ex-girlfriend …

Chen decided not to worry about that, either.

He had to make another phone call, recommending “someone reliable” to Jiao, who had left a message on her cell number while on his way to the Shanghai Railway Station.