A Case of Two Cities

He’s in Shanghai, isn’t he—because of the investigation?”
     
    “Comrade Zhao may be one of the last Bolsheviks, like Old Hunter, but you can’t expect him to go out investigating by himself. A high-ranking revolutionary of the older generation, his hands are bound with all the doctrines,” Chen said, taking a sip at the bun. “Oh, I have met with him at the Western Suburb Hotel and mentioned your name to him. He has heard of you too.”
     
    “Me? That’s not possible.”
     
    “But that’s true. I suggested to him that you be permitted to act on my behalf during my visit abroad, and he agreed.”
     
    “Any specific instruction?”
     
    “With this case, anything is possible.” After a pause, Chen said, “If need be, you may go to him in person. But you don’t have to. You’re an emperor’s special envoy too, and can do whatever you believe necessary. Here is the statement signed by Comrade Zhao on behalf the Party Discipline Committee. I have added one line to it.”
     
    Yu took the statement printed on the letter of the powerful committee. The line in Chen’s handwriting read, “Comrade Detective Yu Guangming of the Shanghai Police Bureau is hereby authorized to act on Chief Inspector Chen Cao’s behalf during his trip out of China.” Chen had put the line under the original statement, but above Comrade Zhao’s signature, together with his own signature. Yu wondered whether Chen had done that in the presence of Zhao.
     
    “How can I contact you in the United States?”
     
    “You don’t call me. I will try to call you—in our weather jargon.”
     
    In one of their earlier cases, worrying about the possibility of their phone lines being tapped, they had successfully practiced their special weather jargon. Phrases like “cloudy with the possibility of rain,” or “the possibility of the sun breaking out in the afternoon” had served their purpose well.
     
    “And you can’t be too careful,” Chen concluded, draining the cup.
     
    “Don’t worry, Chief.”
     
    * * * *
     
    But, at home at the end of the day, Yu was worried.
     
    Peiqin was busy warming dishes in their room. She was dressed in white and blue floral pajamas and a pair of transparent plastic slippers he had never seen before. He made himself a cup of tea, going over what he had done during the day.
     
    Not much, he admitted, spitting out a tea leaf. Instead of talking to Kuang, Yu had approached a young cop working with Kuang, and the information he had obtained about An’s phone record did not reveal anything new or different. For an anchorwoman, her phone calls seemed to be surprisingly few. As for Jiang and Dong, it was out of the question for him to go to their offices. And he did not know any people working there.
     
    “Time for dinner, Guangming,” Peiqin said. “There is a dish in the microwave.”
     
    He put the tea on the windowsill and took out a dish of salted pork fried with fresh leek. Peiqin was ladling out a bowl of rice for him.
     
    The dish was steaming hot and good, in spite of its coming out of the microwave. The appliance was a housewarming gift from Chen in celebration of their moving into the shikumen room. A well-chosen gift, especially for Peiqin, who insisted on having hot meals at home. She could not, however, bear the idea of the shiny white microwave being smudged by the wok fumes in the common kitchen area, so she put the microwave in their bedroom, which also served as the dining room.
     
    Theirs was not exactly a multiroom apartment, but it was still a huge improvement on what they had had—staying under the same roof with Old Hunter and sharing everything. It was at least a room under Yu’s own name.
     
    It was a simple meal only for the two of them. Their son Qinqin studied hard at school and would normally stay there until after nine. Earlier this evening, he had called, saying that he would be studying even later for a coming test. It was a crucial period. They did not have to wait up for him. With the partitioned outer room, Qinqin could come back late without waking them up.
     
    Peiqin made a point of preparing special dishes only when Qinqin was home. It was a priority of necessity, to which Yu had no objection. Qinqin should have a different life, and for that, a good college education was a must. They had to save every penny for the boy. So the only fresh dish that evening was the hot and sour soup made of the ingredient package Peiqin had bought at a food