Death of a Red Heroine

mean?”
    “Well, there may be some,” Chen admitted after a moment’s hesitation.
    “There may be a lot, some people think,” Li said.
    Chen waited for Li to go on.
    “Timing is the heart of the matter here. In the present political climate, do you think your investigation will be helpful to the Party’s image?” Li paused—for effect—before he resumed. “Who is involved in the case? A national model worker and a married HCC in an adulterous bed—if your hypothesis is correct. What would people think? Ideological bankruptcy! What is worse, people would come to see the HCC as a product of our Party system, and blame the high cadres of the old generation for every problem. And some could even use it as an excuse to slander the government. After what happened in Tiananmen Square last summer, a lot of people are still shaken in their belief in our socialist system.”
    “Could it be so serious?” Chen said. “With Wu’s family background, our media would probably never cover the case at all. And I don’t think that people would react in the way you’ve said.”
    “But it is possible, isn’t it? At present, political stability is of paramount importance, Comrade Chief Inspector. So, officially the investigation will go on, and its responsibility still lies with us,” the Party Secretary continued. “But if you don’t stop, you can count on Internal Security making a parallel investigation. If necessary, they will block your investigation with whatever charge they can bring out against you.”
    “A parallel investigation, I see.”
    “You cannot give those people any ‘queue’ to grab. Or they will really tear off your scalp.”
    Chief Inspector Chen had enough queues, he was well aware, for others to grab. Not just the trip to Guangzhou.
    The Party Secretary seemed to be doing some heavy thinking. “Besides, your hypothesis may account for some facts,” Li said, “but there is no eyewitness. No weapons. No hard evidence of legal value. Nothing but circumstantial evidence in support of what is, essentially, an imaginative theory. And finally, no motive either. Why should Wu have murdered her? So at present, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen, nothing can justify the continuation of the investigation.”
    “Well—” Chen said bitterly, “no politics can justify it.”
    “Consider the case closed—at least for the time being. We don’t have to declare this. Let’s wait. When the political wind changes, or when you get hold of irrefutable evidence, or find the motive, we’ll talk about it again.”
    It was always possible to wait. No one could tell, however, when that wind would change. And what irrefutable evidence could there be since the final definition of what was probative would be made somewhere else?
    “But what if the weather does not change, Comrade Party Secretary?”
    “You want the entire system to bend to you, Comrade Chief Inspector?” Li said, frowning. “I’ve made myself clear, I believe: I do not want to declare, as an official decision, that you are no longer in charge of the case. Yes, I am the one who introduced you into the Party, but as a Party member, first and foremost, I have to protect the interests of the Party. You’re a Party member, too. So we are both supposed to be aware of the paramount importance of serving the Party’s interests.”
    Any further argument would be futile, Chen concluded, and he made no further protest. “I see, Party Secretary Li,” he said, rising from the table.
    “I cannot see why you’re so hooked on this case,” the Party Secretary said as Chen left.
    Nor could Chief Inspector Chen himself.
    Not even back in his apartment, after thinking about it all the way home. Turning on the light, he collapsed into the chair. The room looked bare and shabby—staggeringly empty, forlorn.
    A room’s like a woman, he reflected. It also possesses you. Besides, you have to spend a fortune to make it love you.
    Whether this was a metaphor he had read somewhere, or just a momentary spark of his own mind, he was unsure. Poetic images came to him, more often than not, at unexpected moments.
    He could not fall asleep, he knew, but after an eventful day, it was good to lie down on the bed. As he was gazing up at the shadows flickering across the ceiling, surges of loneliness came rushing over him. Occasionally, he enjoyed a touch of solitude in the depth of night. But what struck him was more than a melancholy sense of being alone. It was as