Huang’s colleague.
“He’s somebody,” Huang said vaguely, not sure if it would have the effect Chen wanted to produce.
As they stepped into the spacious living room, Huang saw a gray-haired man sitting with Chen on the leather sectional sofa, with a bouquet of carnations arranged in a crystal vase on the marble coffee table in front of them.
“This is Comrade Qiao, the director of the center,” Chen said without even standing up when they walked in.
Huang knew of Qiao as a sort of local celebrity and had seen his picture in the newspapers. Mi must have met Qiao before, under different circumstances, and she couldn’t conceal her surprise at the sight of the two sitting together there.
“Mi, let me introduce you,” Qiao said, standing up and grinning from ear to ear. “This is Chief Inspector Chen Cao. He is a special envoy from Beijing. Comrade Secretary Zhao, the retired head of the Central Party Discipline Committee, made several personal phone calls to arrange his vacation here. It’s an honor for us to have him stay at our center.”
The way Qiao was talking was puzzling. In terms of cadre rank, Qiao’s was probably higher than Chen’s. There was no need for him to make such a show of obsequiousness. Nevertheless, Chen seemed to take it for granted.
“It’s an honor for me to work under him,” Huang echoed, believing that the scene before him must have been arranged, even though he was unable to figure out for what purpose. Up until now Chen had made a point of keeping a low profile, and Huang had been his only contact with the investigation.
“You’ve already met with Sergeant Huang, Mi. I don’t think you need any further introduction.” Chen added in a patronizing tone, “A capable young man, he serves as my local assistant.”
“Why-I mean why?” she said, flustered, her glance shifting from one to another, before she settled on Qiao with an imploring look.
Equally puzzled, Qiao shifted awkwardly on the sofa, glancing sideways at Chen without knowing what to say.
“You may leave us now, Director Qiao,” Chen said curtly. “Please see to it that we are not disturbed.”
“Of course, I’ll make sure of that, Chief Inspector Chen. If there is anything else I can do for you, just let me know,” Qiao said, bowing his way out. “The center is at your service.”
Signaling Huang to pull a chair over for her, Chen didn’t start speaking at once. He took a cigarette out of an embossed silver case, lit it, and waved the match repeatedly in the air before dropping it into the crystal ashtray. Huang stood beside him, keeping his back as straight as a bamboo pole.
An oppressive silence was building up in the room.
“Oh, you sit down too,” Chen said, patting the sofa for Huang.
Huang seated himself on the sofa edge beside Chen, like a respectful subordinate, and didn’t say a single word.
Finally, Mi couldn’t stand it anymore and blurted out nervously,
“What do you want from me?”
“Well, I’m not just a cop, I’m also a poet,” Chen said deliberately, not responding to her question. He handed her two business cards. “You know what? The first time I saw you at your company, I was reminded of an ancient line: ‘
It sounded flirtatious, but it wasn’t, Huang knew. Rather, it came across as a serious warning.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Chief-”
“Chief Inspector Chen,” Huang said, stealing a glance at the business cards in her hand. While the first one stated Chen’s position with the Shanghai police, the second one represented him as a member of the Chinese Writers’ Association and of the Shanghai People’s Congress.
“My vacation here is only a pretext,” Chen said. “You should be able to guess why I want to talk to you today.”
“If it’s about Liu’s murder, hasn’t Jiang already been arrested?”
“You are well-informed, Mi.”
“Then what do you want to talk to me about?”
“Well,” he said deliberately, “because I don’t want to see a young, beautiful woman like you get into trouble for something that’s not exactly your fault.”
“I’m totally lost, Chief Inspector Chen.”
“In a murder investigation, things may appear to be complicated, but what’s behind it all can be simple when seen from the perpetrator’s perspective,” Chen said, a cigarette smoke ring spiraling out of his fingers. “It’s always done for something-money, power, or whatever the criminal hopes to gain. Now, what could Jiang have possibly gained by killing Liu? Nothing. On the other hand, someone else could gain tremendously.”
“What are you talking about?”
She kept playing dumb, Huang noted, and he himself felt no less dumb, having no clue as to what Chen was driving at.
“About the death of Liu, you made several statements. And I want to remind you, Mi, that perjury is a serious crime,” Chen said. He reached over and pressed the start button on a mini recorder sitting on the coffee table.
“What’s all this? I’ve told the police officers-including Officer Huang-only the truth and everything I know.”
“Let me say this one more time, Mi. You’re responsible for what you did, but you don’t have to be responsible for somebody else. You have to ask yourself whether it’s worth your sacrifice.”
It was an intriguing dialogue. Chen pushed on like he was playing a tai chi game, pointing rather than striking. Huang wondered how this could work. It wasn’t likely that Mi would fold in the face of such an insubstantial bluff.
“People take a lot of things for granted,” Chen went on. “Like the water in the lake. I still remember a song about how clear and beautiful the water is here.”
“Liu tried his best to contain the pollution,” Mi said. “I worked closely under him, I know.”
“You worked closely under him, in both the company office and at his home office. So let me ask you a question. You said that you saw Jiang arguing with Liu in his company office. And you were quite specific about the date. It was in early March, the day before Women’s Day.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“In Liu’s office at the company, correct?”
“Correct. Fu saw him too.”
“So the local police took your statement at face value, especially because it was corroborated by your present boss, Fu. After interviewing Jiang, who denied meeting with Liu at the company that day,” Chen said, turning to Huang, “Officer Huang double-checked with Fu on his statement. It seems that Fu isn’t so sure about the date.”
“No, he was not at all sure,” Huang said, even more mystified than before. He hadn’t double-checked anything with Fu. Nor had he discussed such a plan with Chen.
“But I remember it clearly,” Mi said, shifting nervously in the chair.
“According to our research, Liu was at a business meeting in Nanjing that day,” Chen said, taking out a folder without opening it. “He didn’t come back until very late that night-practically the next day. We checked the company calendar and Web site, as well as the hotel records, which showed he had a late checkout, around nine P.M. We also obtained a copy of the night train ticket for which he had been reimbursed. What’s more, we talked to Mrs. Liu about it. She, too, remembers the date clearly because he came back late that night. It was raining heavily, and he apologized for waking her up. He bought a present for her for Women’s Day, which was the next day.”
For a moment, Huang was too astonished to play along. Fortunately, Mi was so flabbergasted that she didn’t notice anything about Huang.
“Oh, maybe I didn’t remember the date too accurately. It was about two months ago, you know,” she said rather lamely. “But I did see Jiang arguing with Liu in his office.”
“No, that’s a lie. But it was somebody in the background who wanted you to make that false statement, and you had no choice but to comply. Nor were you fully aware of the complications involved. Anyway, you had to support the people above, didn’t you? You might not have been able to think too clearly under the stress.”
