A Case of Two Cities

libraries.”
     
    “What did he do there?”
     
    “Mostly Internet searches on Xing and some companies possibly related to him.”
     
    “When I was in China, I tried to get onto American Web sites, but most of them were blocked. So he may be trying to get information about Xing while here.” She added after a pause, “Still, he didn’t come all the way here for computer research, did he?”
     
    “Well, I wanted to keep you posted. If you have anything, let me know.”
     
    “I will. Bye.”
     
    It was time for the Chinese to move over to the tram station so she led them to the line there. Underneath the towering Arch was a museum called Westward Expansion. They only had three or four minutes before their turn, but Zhong and Shasha moved over and started taking pictures again. Chen smiled at her apologetically, holding the camera.
     
    When their turn came they had to go on two tram cars. Shasha, Bao, Peng, and Zhong sat in the first one, Catherine and Chen, the second. They were not alone, though. There was also an old American couple sitting in the same car, who probably couldn’t speak or understand Chinese. However, both Chen and Catherine felt they had better talk in a guarded way as the tram started to climb, in jumps and jerks.
     
    “Thank you for your idea about the cell phone card. It was brilliant.”
     
    “You think there’s something wrong about his cell phone?”
     
    “I’m not sure, but it’s too expensive for him. And he doesn’t know many people here,” he said, before changing the subject. “I’ve got faxes about Little Huang from China. There was nothing in his background. Nothing that justifies it. Such a young interpreter.”
     
    She knew what he was driving at. In a case of premeditated murder, there had to be a motive, but Chen didn’t see one. Huang wasn’t a plausible target for Detective Lenich’s theory.
     
    They were in the dark, as the tram bumped up through an almost vertically rising tunnel, with nothing but the somber concrete walls surrounding them.
     
    “Your delegation appointment was made at the last minute. So you may not know everything.” Anything was possible with Chen: that was one thing her boss had said to her.
     
    “I have thought about it, and the others might be possible but not Little Huang.”
     
    Before they could discuss it any further, the tram jerked to a stop. They stepped out with the old couple. The top level of the Arch was like a long, narrow corridor crammed with people looking out of small square windows along both sides. They had a great view of downtown and of the murky, ship-studded Missouri River. She’d lost sight of the other Chinese, who must have moved on ahead. She stood beside Chen, whispering in his ear.
     
    “We know what case you were investigating in Shanghai.”
     
    “How?”
     
    “Xing applied for political asylum here. It’s been widely reported in the American newspapers. It’s a quandary for our government so we’ve paid close attention to the development of the case in China.”
     
    “I’m not here because of Xing,” he said.
     
    “But it doesn’t take a chief inspector to lead a writers’ delegation.” She had a sense of déjà vu. In another city, she had voiced similar questions. It didn‘t take a chief inspector to act as a tour guide. But it was more than that—there was their reversal of roles for the part of tour guide.
     
    “Things in China are complicated. Honestly, I don’t know why I was chosen to head the delegation. What I was investigating in Shanghai might not have been pleasant to some people, I think. That’s a possible reason why they sent me out.”
     
    “Sent you out? What do you mean?”
     
    “As a delegation head, I had to stay away from the investigation.”
     
    “But that’s only a matter of two or three weeks. What’s the point—”
     
    Then the Chinese writers discovered them and came over excitedly.
     
    “We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Zhong said.
     
    “The tram ride is not for the claustrophobic,” Shasha said with a giggle.
     
    Afterward, in the midst of the Chinese, Catherine had hardly any time alone with Chen.
     
    * * * *
     
    That evening, they went to a dinner held at a magnificent Chinese restaurant on Olive Street. A banquet of yajin —to relieve the shock. A representative of the city government also attended. There were speeches of formalities from both sides. In spite of all the condolences, people did not lose