Death of a Red Heroine

identity, too.
    “You won’t get into trouble if you cooperate with me,” he said. “I give you my word.”
    “Then why didn’t you say so from start?”
    “When I came to you, I was not prepared to see you like this. Ouyang had just told me that you were the one I’ve been looking for. I was surprised, and you did not give me a chance to say anything.” He handed the bathrobe over to her. “Put it on before you get cold.”
    “I don’t trust you,” she said, taking the bathrobe. “Why should I cooperate with you?”
    “I can have you arrested,” he said, taking out the recorder from under the pillow. “Once you are put in jail, you’ll have to talk anyway, but that’s not what I want to do.”
    “What a treacherous sneak!”
    “I’m a police officer.”
    “So why don’t you go ahead and put me there?”
    “Ouyang is my friend. Besides—”
    “Why did you lie to Ouyang about being a poet?”
    “No, I didn’t. I am a poet.”
    It took him some time to ferret out his Writers’ Association membership card from his wallet.
    “Then what the hell do you want with me?”
    “Just a few questions.”
    “You are so horrible.” She broke down, sobbing with fear and humiliation. “When I was ready—”
    He had attained authority over her with his surprise revelation of his official identity. But they were still involved in a highly dramatic scene. He, in his half-buttoned shirt and underpants; she, in a bathrobe. The knowledge of her nakedness under the robe, soft and bulging in the right places, was disturbing. He poured her a cup of tea to calm them both.
    Sipping at the tea, her painted toes like fallen petals on the carpet, she regained some control.
    The touch of her toes was still fresh in his memory.
    “Let’s go to a restaurant,” he suggested. “I’m hungry.”
    “What?”
    “You mentioned dinner afterwards.”
    “Why? More of your dirty tricks?”
    “No. I Just want to buy you a meal. What about the White Swan Hotel? It is quiet there, Ouyang’s told me. As for your time—”
    “Don’t worry about that. Ouyang has paid for the whole day.”
    “So the least I can do is pay for the lunch.”
    He had saved enough to be able to afford this gesture, thanks to Ouyang, who had bought him so many morning teas and dinners.
    “Why can’t we stay here?”
    “Listen, I’m a cop,” he said, “but I’m a man too. If I stay here with you, just the two of us, I won’t be able to help feeling distracted.”
    “So I’m not repulsive to you?”
    “We need to have a good talk.”
    “Fine, if that’s what you want.”
    She got up and went into the bathroom without closing the door. Her robe fell to the floor in a heap around her feet, her bare breasts and hips were vivid in the mirror. He turned to the window.
    When she came back, she had put on a white summer dress and slung a small purse over her shoulder. She did not wear a bra, so her nipples were almost imprinted on the dress. He considered asking her to put on something else, but he held the door open for her.
    On the street, he noticed she kept looking back over her shoulder, as if anxious to make sure there was no one following them. There was actually a man walking behind them at a distance, but Chief Inspector Chen did not see why they would be followed.
    The White Swan Hotel was a new building on the southeastern coast of Shamian Island. It was an immense white tower, like a transplant from Hong Kong across the water. There was a dazzling waterfall in the lobby. Several Western-style restaurants were located in the eastern wing of the building, and the Chinese restaurant was tucked behind the waterfall. There was a slender hostess standing at its entrance, smiling.
    He was not going to indulge himself, but he felt obliged to spend some money. He did not like the idea of having Ouyang pay for everything, even for Xie Rong’s “service.” And he had to admit the so-called foot massage had been an exciting experience,.
    They selected a private room—the Sampan Chamber. It proved to be a cozy room shaped like the cabin of a sampan on the Pearl River and decorated like one, too. The table and chairs were made of cedar—rough, unpolished, like those he’d seen in early black-and-white movies. The soft scarlet carpet on the floor was the only difference, but it was a necessary one, to give the customer a feeling of luxury. They could talk here without fear of being overheard.
    A young waitress came in. She was wearing