Death of a Red Heroine

lower edge of her oversized T-shirt.
    Detective Yu had succeeded in bluffing her and getting information he had not expected. But he was not elated. Ning, too, was a victim.
    He began the long walk home. The new facts, instead of diminishing the puzzle, seemed to add to its complexity.
    What an HCC monster! So many women in his life. Even in his most intimate moments with a woman, Wu had not forgotten to take those horrible pictures for his ulterior purpose. But what was the point of conquering so many women if there was no future with any of them? What was the point?
    There had been only one woman in Yu’s life—Peiqin. But Yu was a happy man because of it.
    Was there a woman in Chief Inspector Chen’s life? There had been one—according to Jiang—in Beijing, years earlier. Yu had never heard anything about it, but it was said that of late there was a female often seen in Chen’s company. According to the bureau housing committee, however, there was no one. Otherwise Chen would surely have tried to make a point of it when applying for an apartment.
    Even Jiang seemed to have a soft spot for the chief inspector. At least she changed her attitude abruptly because of his note. The fact that Chen had recognized her in the picture also intrigued him. Nothing but her bare back showed in that photograph. Was it the black mole on the nape of her neck that had revealed her identity to him?
    Could there be something between the two? Immediately Yu hoped he was wrong. He had come to think of Chen as a friend. It was time for Chen to settle down, but not with somebody as modern as Jiang.

Chapter 24
    I t was Chief Inspector Chen’s fifth day in Guangzhou. He had awakened to find a note on the nightstand. It was just an address with a short line underneath it.
Xie Rong. 60 Xinhe Road, #543.
You will find her there. Have a wonderful day.
    Ouyang
    Xinhe Road was not one of the main streets. Walking past a run-down Turkish bathhouse with a pasty-faced girl in the doorway and a pretentious coffee shop with several computers on the glass-topped tables beside a sign saying “Electronic Mails,” Chief Inspector Chen reached a tall building at the address given him.
    Old and dilapidated, the building was neither an office building, nor was it residential. Yet, there was a doorman sitting there, sorting mail at the entrance desk. He stared up at Chen over his reading glasses. When Chen showed him the address, the doorman pointed at the elevator.
    Chen waited for about ten minutes without seeing any sign of the elevator coming down. He was about to climb the stairs when the elevator arrived with a thud. It appeared even more ancient than the building itself, but it carried him to the fifth floor and bobbed to a stop.
    As he stepped through the squeaking door, he had a weird feeling of stepping into an old movie from the thirties. Song Girl —he recalled its name. There was a narrow corridor, smelling of dead cigars, lined with a number of suspiciously closed doors, as if General Yan of the movie, still wrapped in scarlet silk pajamas, would pop out of a door in the next minute to take a bouquet of roses from a flower girl. The flower girl had been played by Zhou Xuan, so breathtaking in those days.
    Chief Inspector Chen knocked at the door marked 543.
    “Who is it?” a young girl’s voice called out.
    “Chen Cao, Mr. Ouyang’s friend.”
    “Come on in. The door is not locked.”
    Pushing the door open, he found himself in a room with a half drawn velvet curtain. The room contained little in the way of furni- ture: a double bed, a large mirror on the wall just above the headboard, a towel-covered sofa, a nightstand, and a couple of chairs.
    Propped up on cushions, a young girl was reclining on the sofa, reading a paperback. She wore a blue-striped bathrobe that showed most of her thighs; her bare feet dangled over the sofa arm. On the coffee table was a crystal ashtray with lipstick-marked cigarette butts.
    “So you are Chen Cao.”
    “Yes, has Ouyang told you about me?”
    “Sure, you’re special, he’s told me, but it’s a bit early for me, I am afraid,” she said, moving to a sitting position. “My name is Xie Rong.” She got to her feet, not embarrassed as she straightened her robe.
    “I should have called first, but—”
    “That’s okay,” she said. “A distinguished customer is always welcome.”
    “I don’t know what Ouyang has told you, but let’s have a talk.”
    “Take a seat.” She gestured