Death of a Red Heroine

market, his cotton padded collar upturned as high as his ears as he hammered at a gigantic bar of frozen fish in front of the refrigeration house.
    The shortcut through the market proved to be a mistake, so he had to turn into another side street, spending even more time on his way back home.
    In retrospect, many of his decisions had been mistakes, he admitted, whether serious or trivial. It was the combination of these decisions, however, that had made him what he was. At the moment, a suspended—though not officially—chief inspector, with his political future practically finished. But at least he had tried to be an honest, conscientious decision maker.
    Whether sending the letter to Beijing was just another mistake, he did not yet know. He started whistling, off-key, a song he had learned years ago: “Yesterday’s dream is driven by the wind, / Yesterday’s wind is still dreaming the dream . . .”
    It was maudlin, even more so than Liu Yong’s poem.

Chapter 30
    I t was late Friday afternoon. Detective Yu was still at his desk, staring at the files of the special case squad.
    Chief Inspector Chen was not in his office. He was serving as an interpreter and escort for an American writers’ delegation. This had been an unexpected assignment announced by Party Secretary Li the previous day. A writer and translator in his own right, Chen had been chosen as a representative of the Chinese Writers’ Association.
    The announcement had come so suddenly that Yu had hardly any time to exchange information with Chen. They had missed each other on the first day of Chen’s return from Guangzhou. And early the second day, when Yu had just stepped into the large office, Chen’s new assignment had been made. Chen left for the airport almost immediately.
    On the surface, it was not too bad a signal. It could even signify that Chief Inspector Chen was still a trusted Party member, but Yu was worried. Since that crab banquet, he had in Chen an ally, and a friend as well. Old Hunter had told him about the snag their investigation had struck, and the trouble Chen was in. And in the afternoon, Yu, too, had talked with Party Secretary Li, who assigned him to an important conference in Jiading County, to act as temporary security.
    “What about the case?” Yu asked.
    “What case?”
    “Guan Hongying’s case.”
    “Don’t worry, Comrade Detective Yu. Comrade Chief Inspector Chen will be back in a couple of days.”
    “Our squad also has a lot of work.”
    “Finish as much as you can before reporting to the conference on Monday. Other people will take care of things here.” Li added without looking at him, “Don’t forget to ask the accountant about the standard meal allowance. It is possible that you will be staying there for quite a few days.”
    Yu had not finished much of his work by five o’clock. Files of unfinished cases were stacked high on his desk. The case of the Henan abduction ring that kidnapped girls and sold them as wives to peasants in faraway provinces, Yu thought gloomily, could be turned over to the Henan Province Bureau. As for the pilferage case at the Shanghai Number 2 Steel Plant, he did not know what to do. Factory pilferage was constant and enormous. For some workers, it was a form of additional compensation. Ordinarily, if caught, a worker would be either fined or fired. But in accordance with a recent Central Party Committee document on the damage caused by pilferage from state-run enterprises, a culprit could be sentenced to twenty years. And there were several other cases, special just because the city government wanted to make them examples to warn young people in one way or another.
    Detective Yu closed the file in frustration, scattering a thin layer of cigarette ash on the desk. Justice was like colored balls in a magician’s hand, changing color and shape all the time, beneath the light of politics.
    A murderer was at large, while the police officers were in trouble.
    In his position, however, there was nothing Detective Yu could do—except what he was told to.
    At a quarter to six, the phone started ringing again.
    “Detective Yu,” he said, picking up the phone.
    “What in heaven’s name are you up to, Yu?” Peiqin’s voice sounded exasperated.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Did you remember the parents’ meeting in Qinqin’s school today?”
    “Oh—I forgot. I’ve been so busy.”
    “I’m not nagging, but I hate being here all by myself, and taking care of him without