“Thank you,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
East Wind Travel Agency occupied a single office suite on the second floor of a colonial-style building on Chengdu Road. In front of the reception desk were gathered a group of people with various pieces of baggage, which made the office appear even more congested. All of them had plastic name tags on their lapels. It looked like a group that had just arrived and was waiting for a guide. Several people were smoking. The air in the office was bad.
The manager threw up her arms in an apologetic gesture to Chen, but she lost no time in giving him a computer printout. “We have the name, date, and address here. We do not store photos in our database. So we cannot say if this Wei Hong is the one you’re looking for.”
“Thank you so much for your information. Also, I’m looking for another person.” He showed the manager Guan’s photograph, “Guan Hongying.”
“A couple of weeks ago, somebody else in your bureau inquired about her, but we do not have the name in our records,” she said, shaking her head. “The national model worker-we should have recognized her. You think she traveled together with Wei Hong?”
“That’s possible.”
“Little Xie was the escort for that group. She may be able to tell you whether Guan was one of the tourists. But Little Xie no longer works with us.”
“What about Zhaodi?” he asked. “Was there someone named Zhaodi traveling in the group?”
“I’m afraid you have to check for yourself.” She pounded several times on the keyboard, gesturing for him to sit down. “I’ve got so many people waiting here, you see.”
“That’s all right, I understand.”
The agency did a good job of storing data. He started searching by date. After pulling up that October’s records, he found the name of Zheng Zhaodi listed for a trip to the Yellow Mountains. The information was not complete, however. There was no entry for her address or occupation. But there were also a few others with missing addresses, too. To key in all the data in Chinese was a time-consuming job.
Wei Hong was listed for the same trip.
Before he took his leave, Chen also asked for Little Xie’s address. The address was Number 36 Jianguo Road, 303, and her full name was Xie Rong. Since she lived not too far away, he decided to go there first.
His destination was at the end of a small apartment complex built in the style of the mid-fifties. The staircase was dark, damp, difficult. There should have been a light on even during the day. He failed to detect the switch. He knocked at the door, which was opened a little, though still secured with a chain from inside. A white-haired woman wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses peeked out.
He told her who he was, showing her his card through the door. She took it and studied it carefully before admitting him. She was in her early sixties, and she wore a pearl-colored blouse with a high pleated neckline, a full skirt, stockings and oxford shoes, and carried a foreign-language book in her hand.
The room had little in the way of furniture, but he was impressed by the tall bookshelves lining the otherwise bare walls.
“What can I do for you, Comrade Chief inspector?”
“I am looking for Xie Rong.”
“She’s not here.”
“When will she be back?”
“I don’t know. She’s left for Guangzhou.”
“For a trip?”
“No, a job.”
“Oh? What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re her mother, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must know where she is in Guangzhou.”
“What do you want with her?”
“I want to ask her a few questions. About a homicide case.”
“What-how could she be involved in a homicide case?”
“No, she’s a witness, but an important one.”
“Sorry, I don’t have her address for you,” she said. “I received only one letter from her when she first arrived there, just the address of the hotel where she was staying. She said that she was going to move out, and that she would send me her new address. Since then I’ve heard nothing from her.”
“So you do not know what your daughter is doing there?”
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “She’s my only daughter.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be, Comrade Chief Inspector,” she said. “It’s the Modern Age, isn’t it? ‘Things fall apart; the center cannot hold’.”
“Well, that’s true,” he said, surprised at the old woman’s literary quotation, “from one perspective. But it is not necessarily that anarchy is loosed upon the world. It is just a transitional period.”
“Historically, a transitional period is short,” she said, in her turn surprised, but animated for the first time in the course of their conversation, “but existentially, not so short for the individual.”
“Yes, you’re right. So our choice is all the more important,” he said. “By the way, where do you work?”
“Fudan University, comparative literature department,“ she added, “but the department is practically gone. And I’m retired. No one wants to study the subject in today’s market.”
“So you are no other than Professor Xie Kun?”
“Yes, retired Professor Xie Kun.”
“Oh, what an honor to meet you today! I have read The Modernist Muse.”
“Have you?” she said. “I had not expected that a high-ranking police officer would be interested in it.”
“Oh, yes, in fact, I have read it two or three times.”
“Then I hope you did not buy it when it first came out. I came across it the other day on a broken rickshaw, marked on sale for twenty-five cents.”
“Well, you never know. ‘Green, green grass spreading out everywhere,’” he said, pleased to make another quick-witted allusion which suggested that she had readers and students everywhere who appreciated her work.
“Not everywhere,” she said, “not even at home. Xie Rong, for one, has not read it.”
“How can that possibly be?”
“I used to hope that she, too, would study literature, but after graduating from high school, she started working at Shanghai Sheldon Hotel. From the very beginning, she earned three times my salary, not to mention all the free cosmetics and tips she got there.”
“I’m so sorry, Professor Xie. I don’t know what to say.” He sighed. “But as the economy improves, people may change their minds about literature. Well, let us hope so.”
He decided not to tell her about his own literary pursuits.
“Have you heard that popular saying-’The poorest is a Ph. D., and the dumbest is a professor.’ I happen to be both. So it is understandable that she chose a different road.”
“But why did she quit the hotel job to work for a travel agency?” he said, anxious to change the subject. “And then why did she quit the travel agency to go to Guangzhou?”
“I asked her about that, but she said I was too old fashioned. According to her, young people nowadays change jobs like clothes. That is not a bad metaphor, though. The bottom line is money, of course.”
“But why Guangzhou?”
“Um, that’s what worries me. For a young girl to be there-all alone.”
“Has she talked to you about a trip to the Yellow Mountains last October?”
“She did not talk to me much about her work. But as for that trip, I do remember. She brought back some green tea. The Cloud and Mist tea of the mountains. She seemed a bit upset when she got back.”
“Did you know why?”
“No ”
