“Really, older ginger is spicier than young, Uncle Yu,” Chen said, resorting to a cliche. “You surely have the knack of digging out information.”
“A woman called Jiao Nanhua told me that Guan was having an affair shortly before her death.”
“Who is Jiao Nanhua?”
“She’s a dumpling vendor on Guan’s street, on the corner, in front of the grocery shop. A night vendor with a miniature kitchen on her shoulder. She literally carries everything on a bamboo pole. On one end of the pole, a stove, and a pot of steaming water, and on the other, a shelf with dumpling skins, ground pork, vegetables, bowls, spoons, and chopsticks. She does her business when restaurants are closed, making dumplings then and there for the customer on the street. In three minutes, she’ll have a steaming bowl in your hands.”
“That’s nice! I wish there was one like that in our neighborhood, too,” Chen said, aware of Old Hunter’s other nickname, “Suzhou Opera Singer,” a reference to a popular southern dialect opera known for its performers’ tactics of prolonging a story through endless digression. “So what did she say?”
“I am just coming round to it.” Old Hunter was sipping at his tea with a leisured show of enjoyment. “A story must be told from the very beginning. Don’t get impatient, Comrade Chief Inspector. Now on several occasions, very late in the night, Jiao saw a car pulling up across the street. Just about ten feet away. A young woman would emerge, hurrying toward the dorm building at the entrance of Qinghe Lane. The dorm was at some distance from where Jiao stood, so she could not see clearly, and she did not pay much attention at first. It was not her business. Still, she grew more and more curious. Why didn’t the car pull up just in front of the lane? It’s really easy to do so. It was not pleasant for a young woman to walk the distance, alone, in the depth of the night. Jiao was also a bit upset, I believe, because the mysterious woman never came over to buy a bowl of dumplings from her. One night, she moved her mini-kitchen over to the other side of the street. She was licensed to do business on Hubei Street, so it did not matter where she positioned herself. And the car appeared again-”
“Then who did she see?” Chen was growing impatient.
“Guan Hongying. None other! The well-known national model worker. Jiao immediately recognized her, having seen Guan’s picture so many times in newspapers and on TV. Guan walked very fast, never looking around.”
“Did she see anybody else with Guan?”
“No, except the one who drove the car.”
“Did she see him?”
“Not clearly. He stayed in the car.”
“What kind of a car?”
“A fancy one. White. Perhaps imported. She could not tell what make. But not a taxi. There was no taxi sign on top.”
“Could there have been someone else in the car besides the driver?”
“No, she does not think so. In fact, she’s quite positive there was only one person in the car.”
“How can she be so positive?”
“She observed something Guan did. Every time, before heading for the dorm, Guan would lean into the window on the driver’s side.”
“What could that mean?”
“Guan leaned into the window for a long, passionate kiss.”
“Oh, I see.” It started to sound like a scene from a romantic movie, but the peddler could be right.
“She’s certainly imaginative,” Old Hunter chuckled. “A devilish woman.”
“Excuse me, Uncle Yu. I’m just curious,” Chen said. “How did she come to tell you all this?”
“Well,” Old Hunter took a deliberately slow sip at his tea before reaching the climax of his story. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but don’t tell Guangming or anybody. And you can take the credit for discovering the witness.”
“I won’t tell anybody, but the credit remains yours.”
“It’s another long story. After my retirement, I made up my mind not to be a bore. I have seen too many retired policemen dogging their grandchildren’s footsteps. I just wanted to walk around by myself, visiting various parts of the city I hadn’t seen for years. Shanghai has changed such a lot. Slums have turned into parking lots, parks into factories, and a few streets have disappeared completely. But soon I had seen them all. To keep myself from being idle, I started working for the neighborhood security committee as a sort of watchdog. One of the areas I have patrolled is the food market on Fuzhou Road.”
Chen knew that part of the story well. Detective Yu had told him all about it. At first, the patrolling job seemed to work out well for the old man. With the free market still regarded as politically “black”-an undesirable threat to the state market system- the work consisted of taking private peddlers’ bamboo baskets and stamping on them vigorously. The job paid little, but the market patroller derived a good deal of pleasure from it, wearing a red armband, imagining himself a staunch pillar of justice whenever he drove a weeping country wench out of the market. But when times changed and the free market became a necessary complement to the socialist state market, the old man suddenly lost his purpose there.
“Are you still working there?”
“Yes. Things change so fast nowadays. Guangming and the other kids all wanted me to quit, but I’m still doing it. Not for money-just for something to do. Besides, a number of the peddlers are still up to no good, selling bad stuff and overcharging customers. And my job is to catch those guys in the act. It’s not too much to do, but it’s better than nothing at all. There should be somebody to keep an eye on them.”
“I see,” Chen said, “and I think you’re right. So you patrol the market on Fuzhou Road.”
“I can position myself anywhere close to the market, or the area related to it. These days peddlers no longer have to confine themselves to a market. So of late, I positioned myself close to Qinghe Lane, and I happened to catch Jiao, the peddler, in the act of stuffing her dumplings with ground pork that wasn’t fresh. For something like that, she could have her license taken away. I told her that I used to be a cop, and that my son works in the bureau. That scared her out of her wits. I guessed she must have heard of Guan’s death, since she does business in the neighborhood. I beat about the bush a bit, asking her to give me some information about the case. And sure enough, she did offer something in return for my not dragging her to the police station.”
“You’re not retired, Uncle Yu. And you’re so experienced and resourceful.”
“I’m glad that the information could be of some use to you. If necessary, she’ll testify in court. I will see to it.”
“Thank you so much. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You don’t have to. Guess why I wanted to see you,” Old Hunter said, looking into his tea, instead of at Chen. “I still have some connections, in the bureau and elsewhere. I’m a retired nobody, so people are not so guarded talking to me.”
“Of course, people trust you,” Chen nodded.
“I’m old. Nothing really matters that much to me now. You’re still young. You are doing the right thing. An honest cop, there are not many like you left nowadays. But there are some people who do not like seeing you do the right thing. Some people high up.”
So Old Hunter had called him for a reason. He had ruffled feathers at a high level. And people were talking about it. Was it possible that he had already been placed under surveillance?
“Those people can be dangerous. They’ll have your phone tapped, or your car bugged. They are not amateurs. So take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, Uncle Yu. I will.”
“That’s all I can tell you. And I’m glad Guangming’s working with you.”
“I still believe justice will prevail,” Chen said.
“So do I,” Old Hunter said, raising his cup. “Let me drink a cup of tea to your success.”
It could be his last case as a chief inspector, Chen thought somberly, as he made his way out of the crowded City God’s Temple Market, if he insisted on continuing the investigation. If he buckled under the pressure, however, it might still be the last case for him. For he would not be able to call himself either an honest cop or a man with a clear conscience.
Chapter 27
