Death of a Red Heroine

if his very existence were becoming doubtful.
    Guan must have experienced those lonely moments too; as a woman she had to bear even more pressure, alone in her cell-like dorm room.
    He got up, went into the bathroom, and rinsed his face with cold water. He had to make an effort to think about the case from the Party Secretary’s perspective, but his thoughts moved back to Guan.
    Looking out at a light in the distance, Chief Inspector Chen detected an affinity between the dead woman and himself. In their careers, both had been smooth and successful—at least in other people’s eyes. They had been promoted to positions normally beyond the reach of people of their age. As Overseas Chinese Lu had observed, luck had fallen in Chen’s lap. Some of his colleagues’ jealousy was understandable. Jealousy could also explain Guan’s unpopularity among her neighbors.
    They both also happened to be, in a newly coined Chinese term, “not-too-young youths.” It had carried weight with the bureau housing committee, but other than that, it was anything but pleasant, with its strong connotation that these people should have married a long time ago.
    Success in a political career helped little in one’s personal life. On the contrary, it could hurt. Especially in modern times, in China. Being a Party member meant being loyal to the Party first according to the Party Constitution, which was not necessarily attractive to a potential spouse. A would-be husband would, more likely than not, prefer a wife who pledged loyalty to him first, who would take care of their family with all her heart and soul.
    Being politically successful could make one’s personal life difficult in a variety of ways. He knew that from his own experience: He was constantly watched—a bachelor chief inspector in his mid-thirties. He had to live up to his official role. That might have been one of the reasons that he had remained single. The same might have applied to Guan.
    But it was not a night to be sentimental. Once more he tried to view matters from Li’s perspective. There was something to Li’s argument, Chen admitted. After all the years wasted in political movements, China was finally making great strides in economic reform. With the GNP growing annually in double digits, people were starting to have a better life. And a measure of democracy was also being introduced. At such a historical juncture, “political stability”—a popular term after the tragic summer of 1989—might be a precondition for further progress. At this moment, the unquestioned authority of the Party was more important than ever.
    So rather than damage the Party’s political authority, and political stability, the investigation had to be stopped.
    But what about the victim?
    Well, Guan Hongying had lived in the Party’s interests. It appeared only logical that she should have died in the Party’s interests as well. And a cover-up would be in her own interests, too—it would perpetuate her unsullied image as a role model.
    It would not be the first time, nor the last, for a police officer to stop halfway in an investigation. Few would guess the real reason. So what was the big deal?
    At the worst, a matter of losing face. And, possibly a matter of saving his neck.
    Party Secretary Li was not alone in wondering at Chief Inspector’s Chen’s persistence.
    Chen asked himself sleepily, why?

Chapter 29
    H e was awakened by the telephone ringing.
    “Hello.”
    “It’s me, Wang Feng. It’s late, I know, but I have to see you.”
    Wang’s anxious voice seemed so close, as if she were next door, but at the same time, it sounded far away, too.
    “Is something wrong? Don’t worry, Wang,” he said. “Where are you?”
    He looked at his watch. Twelve thirty. This was not a call he had expected. Not from her. Not at this hour.
    “I’m at the public telephone booth just across the street.”
    “Where?”
    “You can see it from your window.”
    “Then why not come up?”
    There was a telephone booth standing on the street corner, a fashionable new installation, where people could insert coins or cards to make calls.
    “No, you come down.”
    “Okay, I’ll be down in one minute.”
    He had not seen her since that night. It was understandable that she hesitated to come up. She must be in serious trouble.
    He slid into his uniform, grabbed his briefcase, and ran down the stairs. Better business-like, alone at such a late hour, he thought, buttoning up as he rushed