A Loyal Character Dancer - [Chief Inspector Chen Cao 02] (2 page)

There was only one pocket in the pajama top. Chen reached into it. Nothing there. Nor could he see any clothes label. Carefully, he touched the parts of the corpse’s lower jaw and neck not covered in blood. Rigidity was noticeable, but the rest of the body was still relatively soft. There was some lividity in the legs. At the pressure of his finger, the discolored purplish spots blanched. So death had probably occurred four or five hours earlier.

He pulled up the dead man’s eyelid—a bloodshot eye stared at the sky, which was dappled with clouds. The corneas were not yet opaque, reinforcing his estimate that death was recent.

How did such a body come to be found in Bund Park?

There was one thing Chief Inspector Chen knew about the park’s security management. The security officers as well as the retired volunteer workers made their evening rounds diligently, looking in all directions, shouting over loudspeakers, “Hurry up! It’s time!” and flashing their flashlights at lovers in shadowy corners before the gate was closed. They had once made a special report to the bureau about it, trying to justify extra funding for their night work. With the severe housing shortage in Shanghai, the park lent itself to the romantic yearning of young people who had no privacy at home and could easily forget the passage of time and the public nature of the space. Security did a thorough job here. Zhang had been adamant in ruling out the possibility of anybody hiding in the park before it closed, and Chen believed him.

Alternatively, people could have sneaked in after closing time; it would not have taken much effort to climb over the walls. One could have killed the other, then fled. However, traffic and pedestrians passed the area all night. Surely such an incident would have been seen and reported. The scene around the bushes did not support this hypothesis, either. There was no sign of a struggle. Two or three broken twigs were about all Chief Inspector Chen could discover. The fact that the body was dressed in pajamas further suggested that the murder had occurred earlier, in a room, from which the dead body had been moved into the park. Perhaps the body had been thrown from the river. The embankment was not high. At night’s high tide, a body hurled from a boat could have landed on the embankment and rolled down into the bushes, which would also explain the line of the dark spots left on the bank.

But there was something puzzling Chen. No one would have tried to dispose of a body here without foreseeing its immediate discovery. The park was at the center of Shanghai, visited daily by thousands of people. Why transport the corpse here?

It was then that he saw the familiar figure of Detective Yu striding through the haze with a camera slung over his shoulder. A tall man of medium build, with a rugged face and deep-set eyes, Yu was his well-seasoned assistant, though Chen’s senior by a couple of years. Yu was also his only colleague who did not grumble behind his back about the chief inspector’s rapid rise, attributable to Deng Xiaoping’s new cadre policy favoring those with a formal education. Yu had been a friend to him since they had solved the National Model Worker case.

“Here?” Yu said, without formally greeting his boss.

“Yes, here.”

Yu started shooting pictures from different angles. He knelt by the body, zoomed in for close-ups, and examined the wounds carefully. Producing a ruler from his pants pockets, he measured the cuts on the front of the body before turning it over to check the wounds on the back. Yu then looked up at Chen over his shoulder.

“Any clue to his identity?” he asked.

“No.”

“Triad killing, I am afraid,” Yu said.

“Why do you think so?”

“Look at the wounds. Ax wounds. Seventeen or eighteen of them. There’s no need for so many. The number may have a specific meaning. A common practice with gangsters. The blow to his skull would have been more than enough for the job.” Yu stood up, putting the ruler back in his pocket. “An average wound length of two and a half to three inches. That bespeaks a steady hand with a lot of strength. Not amateur work.”

“Good observations.” Chen nodded. “Where do you think the killing took place?”

“Anywhere but here. The guy’s still in his pajamas. The killer must have brought the body here. As a special warning. It’s another sign of a triad killing. To send a message.”

“To whom?”

“Perhaps to somebody in the park,” Yu said. “Or somebody who will learn about it in no time. To spread the news fast and wide, there is no better place than the park.”

“So you think the body has been left here to be found?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then how shall we start?”

Yu asked a question instead. “Do we have to take the case, Chief? I’m not saying that the bureau should not take it, but as far as I remember, our special case squad takes only political cases.”

Chen could understand his assistant’s reservations. Normally their squad did not have to take a case until it was declared “special” by the bureau, for stated or unstated political reasons. “Special,” in other words, was the label applied when the bureau had to adjust its focus to meet political needs.

“Well, there’s been talk about setting up a new squad—a triad squad, but this might be classified as a special case. And we are not yet sure that it’s a triad killing.”

“But if it is, it will be a hot potato. A hand-burning one.”

“You have a point,” Chen said, aware of what Yu was driving at. Not too many cops would be interested in a case related to those gangs.

“My left eyelid kept twitching this morning. Not a good omen, Chief.”

“Come on, Detective Yu.” Chief Inspector Chen was not a superstitious man, not like some of his colleagues who would consult the
I Ching
before taking a case. If superstition did come into play, however, there was actually a reason he should take the case. It was in this park that his luck had taken a turn for the better.

“In grade school I learned that Chiang Kai-shek came to power with the help of the gangs in Shanghai. Several ministers in his government were members of the Blue triad.” Yu paused, then went on, “After 1949, the gangsters were suppressed, but they staged a comeback in the eighties, you know.”

“Yes, I know that.” He was surprised at his assistant’s unaccustomed eloquence. Yu usually spoke without book-quoting or history-citing.

“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”

“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”

“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”

“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”

When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes—Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.

“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”

Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.

He replied, “Thanks, Detective Yu. I know I can depend on you.”

As they left the park, they saw a group of people gathering in front of the gate, on which a notice had just been put, saying the park would be closed for the day due to redecoration.

When the truth was not to be told, one excuse was as good as another.

In the distance, a white gull glided over the slightly yellow water, silhouetted against the horizon, as if carrying the sun on its wings.

* * * *

Chapter 2

ou have come a long way, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.” Party Secretary Li Guohua of the Shanghai Police Bureau smiled, leaning back in his maroon leather swivel chair by the window. Party Secretary Li’s spacious office overlooked the central area of Shanghai.

Chief Inspector Chen sat across the mahogany desk from him, breathing into a cup of the new Dragon Well green tea, a special treat few would have been offered in the powerful Party Secretary’s office.

As an emerging cadre with further promotion awaiting him, Chen owed a lot to Li, his mentor in bureau politics. Li had introduced Chen to the Party, spared no pains showing him the ropes, and advanced him to his present position. An entry level cop in the early fifties, Li had moved up steadily to the top of the bureau, picking his way through the debris of political movements, betting on the winners in inner-Party struggles. So people saw Li’s hand-picking of Chen as his potential successor as another clever investment decision, especially after Chen’s relationship to Ling, a politburo member’s daughter from Beijing, became known to the small inner circle. To be fair to Li, however, he had not been aware of this relationship until after Chen’s promotion.

“Thank you, Party Secretary Li. As our sage has said, ‘A man is willing to lay down his life for the one who appreciates him, and a woman makes herself beautiful for the one who appreciates her.’”

It was still not considered in good political taste to quote Confucius, but Chen guessed that Li would not be displeased.

“The Party has always thought highly of you,” Li said in an official tone of voice. His Mao jacket was buttoned high to his chin in spite of the warm weather. “So this is a job for you, Chief Inspector Chen, for you alone.”

“You have heard about it already.” Chen was not surprised that somebody else had made a report to Li about the body discovered in Bund Park that morning.

“Look at this picture.” Li produced a photo from a manila folder on the desk. “Inspector Catherine Rohn, a representative of the U.S. Marshals Service.”

It was a photo of a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, handsome, spirited, her large blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“She is quite young.” Chen studied the picture, thoroughly puzzled.

“Inspector Rohn has studied Chinese in college. She is sort of a sinologist in the Marshals Service. And you’re the scholar on our force.”

“Hold on—what job are you talking about, Party Secretary Li?”

Outside the office window, an occasional siren was heard in the distance.

“Inspector Rohn is going to escort Wen Liping to the United States. Your job is to help her accomplish this mission.” Li cleared his throat before going on, “An important job. We know we can count on you, Chief Inspector Chen.”

Chen realized that Li was talking about a totally different matter. “Who is Wen Liping? I do not have the slightest idea about this job, Party Secretary Li.”

“Wen Liping is Feng Dexiang’s wife.”

“Who is Feng Dexiang?”

“A Fujian farmer, now a crucial witness in an illegal immigration case in Washington.”