“Yes,” he said. “Can we talk inside?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Do you have a warrant or something?”
“No.”
“If not, you’ve no right to push your way in here.”
“Well, I’ve just a few questions, Comrade Jiang, about somebody you know. I cannot force you to talk, but your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.”
“Then you cannot force me.”
“Listen. Comrade Chief Inspector Chen Cao-you know him-is my boss. He suggested I come to you this way first. It is in our common interest.”
“Chen Cao-why?”
“The situation’s quite delicate, and you are well known. It would not be a good idea to draw publicity to you. Unpleasant publicity. Here’s a note from him.”
“I’ve had plenty of publicity,” she said. “So why should I care?”
But she took the note and read it. Then she frowned, standing with her head slightly bowed, gazing at her bare feet, which were spotted with paint. She must have been working.
“You should have mentioned Chief Inspector Chen earlier. Come in.”
The apartment was a studio but also served as a combination bedroom, dining room, and living room. Apparently she did not care much about the appearance of her room. Pictures, newspapers, tubes of paint, brushes, and clothes lay scattered all over the place. Dozens of books were shelved against the wall in different positions and at various angles. There were also several books on the nightstand, with a bottle of nail polish among them. Shoes, most of them separated from their mates, had been abandoned around the bed. The other furniture consisted of a large working table, a few rattan chairs, and an enormous mahogany bed with tall posts. On top of the table were glasses of water, a couple of containers filled with wilted flowers, and a shell ashtray containing a half-smoked cigar.
On a pedestal in the center of the room stood a half-finished sculpture.
“I’m having my second cup of coffee,” she said, picking up a mug from the table. “What would you like to drink?”
“Nothing. Thank you.”
She pulled over a chair for him, and another for herself which she set opposite him.
“Questions about whom?”
“Wu Xiaoming.”
“Why me?”
“He has taken pictures of you.”
“Well, he has taken pictures of a lot of people.”
“We’re talking about those-in the Flower City- ”
“So you want to discuss the art of photography with me?” she said, sitting up in her chair.
“I’m a common cop. So I’m not interested in talking about these pictures as art, but as something else.”
“That I can understand,” she said with a cynical smile. “As a cop, you must have done some research work.”
The shadows beneath her eyes somehow gave her a debauched look.
“Well, it’s to Chief Inspector Chen’s credit, I have to admit,” he said.
But how Chief Inspector Chen recognized her, Detective Yu did not know.
“Really?”
“Yes. So we believe you may want to cooperate.”
“What do you want to know about Wu?”
“What you know about him.”
“You are asking for quite a lot,” she said. “But why?”
“We believe Wu’s involved in a murder. It’s the case of Guan Hongying, the national model worker. There’s a special investigation under way.”
“Ah-I see,” she said, without registering too much surprise on her face. “But why does your Chief Inspector Chen not come to interrogate me himself?”
“He is away in Guangzhou, interviewing a witness.”
“So you are serious?”
“Yes, we are.”
“You must know something about Wu’s family background?”
“That’s why we need your help.”
Detective Yu believed he detected a change in the artist’s tone, and also a subtle sign of it in her body language, as she slowly stirred her spoon in the coffee mug, as if measuring out something.
“You’re so sure?”
“Chief Inspector Chen has made a point of excluding your name from the official file. You will be an understanding woman, he says.”
“Is that a compliment?” She took a long swallow of the coffee, the cream leaving a white line along her upper lip. “By the way, how is your chief inspector? Still single?”
“He’s just too busy, I think.”
“He had an affair in Beijing, I’ve heard. It broke his heart.”
“Well, that I don’t know,” Yu said. “He has never talked to me about it.”
“Oh, I don’t know much about it, either. It was such a long time ago,” she said with an unfathomable smile on her lips. “So, where shall we start?”
“From the very beginning, if you please.”
“First, let me make a point. The whole thing’s in the past tense. I met Wu about two years ago, and we parted one year later. I want to emphasize this, not because of his possible involvement in a murder case.”
“Understood,” he said. “Now, how did you get to know him?”
“He came to me, saying that he wanted to take my picture. For his magazines and newspapers, of course.”
“Few would turn down such an offer, I bet.”
“Who would say no to have one’s own picture-free and published?”
“So the pictures were published?”
“Yes, the pictures turned out to be of high quality,” she said. “To be fair, Wu’s a gifted photographer. He’s got the eye for it, and the instinct, too. He knows when and where to get the shot. A number of magazines are eager for his work.”
“What happened afterward?”
“Well, as it turned out, I was his personal rather than professional target-that’s what he said to me over a lunch. Believe it or not, he posed for me, too. One thing led to another. You know what happens.”
“A romantic involvement?”
“Is that a sort of euphemism?”
“Is it?”
“Are you trying to ask if we slept together?”
“Well, was it a serious relationship?”
“What do you mean by ‘serious relationship’?” she said. “If it means that Wu Xiaoming proposed to me, then it wasn’t, no. But we had some good times together.”
“People have different definitions,” he said, “but let’s say, did you see each other a lot?”
“Not a lot. As a senior editor for Red Star, he got assignments from time to time, to go to Beijing or other cities, even abroad on one or two occasions. I am extremely busy with my work, too. But when we had time, we were together. For the first few months he came to my place quite frequently, two or three times a week.”
“Days or nights?”
“Both, but he seldom stayed overnight. He had his car-his father’s, you know. It was convenient for him.”
