A Case of Two Cities

silence.
     
    “How did you come to be an interpreter today?” Chen asked, disposable chopsticks in his hand.
     
    “I’ve been studying Chinese for years,” Catherine said. She sounded not so pleased with his question—the first of their reunion. “You didn’t tell me about your visit.”
     
    “I tried—several times—but either your line was busy, or others interrupted. There are delegation regulations, you know. Yesterday afternoon I called you again, but I got your machine. I didn’t leave a message because I forgot my room number.”
     
    “You weren’t calling from your hotel room?” she asked sharply. Without waiting for an answer, she went on, “I thought you must have forgotten about me.”
     
    “No. Of course not, but I did wonder if it was a good idea for me to contact you, being what I am.”
     
    “That’s so considerate of you,” she said, taking a drink from her cup. “Anyway, they approached me for information about you—being what you are.
     
    “Oh, they ... I should have realized that.”
     
    “As the delegation head, you must have a lot of responsibilities—special responsibilities, since you were appointed on such short notice.”
     
    “Oh? You heard about that? You know a lot—” Chen stopped midsentence.
     
    They were certainly being mistrustful of each other again, he thought, just as they were the first time they met in Shanghai. It wasn’t difficult for him to pick up that much.
     
    Still, how would he react in her position?
     
    But there was something she hadn’t told him either. Surely, she wasn’t assigned to the Chinese delegation just because of the homicide case.
     
    “I’ve missed you,” he resumed on a different note. “You remember Mr. Gu of the Dynasty Karaoke Club, where you were introduced as my girlfriend?”
     
    “Yes, I remember. That sly businessman.”
     
    “I talked to him about you, and he wanted me to bring you something— to my ‘beautiful American girlfriend.’ It’s in my room upstairs.”
     
    “What did you say to him about me?”
     
    But before he could respond, they were interrupted by Bao, who returned carrying a large portion of fried dumplings, declaring he had more questions for her.
     
    “Comrade Bao is a well-known Chinese writer, as well as the Party secretary of our delegation,” Chen said by way of explanation, barely able to conceal the frustration in his voice. It was no surprise that Bao showed off his official responsibility from time to time, but he seemed to make a point of not letting Chen out of his sight for very long. It was all the more exasperating now with Catherine here. “He has to show his concern for the case—even during the lunch break.”
     
    “When a case like this happens,” she said, “everybody must be concerned.”
     
    “Really. What is the American government’s response?” Bao said. “How could you have allowed this to happen to a Chinese delegation?”
     
    “There’s no point repeating these questions to her, Bao. How can she answer for the American government? She’s been busy working all morning,” Chen said curtly. “Catherine, if you want, I’ll show you to my room and you can take a short break there.”
     
    But his room was still being examined by two American cops. Little Huang had taken a bath there before stepping out. Chen had to think of some other excuse for them to be alone.
     
    “We’d better speak to the hotel security,” he said. “I am not familiar with the hotel management here. You have to help me, Catherine.”
     
    “Let’s do that,” she said.
     
    But that didn’t work out either. His cell phone rang. It was a call from the Foreign Ministry in Beijing. A call of diplomatic formalities, but he had to listen and answer attentively. She stood at a distance, leaning against the wall with her ankles crossed, the same way she did back at the Peace Hotel in Shanghai. Then Detective Lenich returned to the hotel, wanting to speak with Chen again. Then Shasha showed up in the lobby and started to talk to Catherine.
     
    As it turned out, the American cop had a new scenario: the murderer was a delegation insider, or at least was connected to an insider. Detective Lenich’s theory was based on a detailed analysis of the crime location. He took out a city map and started drawing red and blue lines across it. It was not uncommon for a tourist to stroll around upon arrival in a new city, but usually not very far. A couple of blocks, a