Death of a Red Heroine

suppressing frequent yawns.
    “It’s not that bad. At least he is an incorruptible commissar.”
    Depending on one’s perspective, that was a good point—or a bad one.
    “It’s in your interest, too, to work closely with a comrade of the older generation,” the Party Secretary concluded in a lowered voice.
    When Chen returned to the main office, he saw Detective Yu scanning a group of pictures at his desk. Chen took a seat opposite his assistant.
    “Was Guan that important?” Yu asked.
    “A national model worker is always important.”
    “But that was in the sixties and seventies, Comrade Lei Feng and all that propaganda.”
    “Yes, we have been brought up with these communist role model myths,” Chen said. “In fact, such a concept is not without its root in Confucianism. Only Confucian models were called sages, whereas in the twentieth century, they are called model workers, model peasants, model soldiers. And even today, I can still sing the song, ‘Learn from the Good Example of Comrade Lei Feng.’”
    “So can I,” Yu said. “There’s another one. ‘Be a Good Soldier to Chairman Mao.’ I was humming the tune the other day, and my son was totally lost.”
    These songs had been very popular throughout the nation in the early sixties. Comrade Lei Feng was a model PLA soldier who served the people wholeheartedly, helped others in need, and never cared about his own interest. The Party lauded such mythical communist models to whom the people were expected to measure up, giving but not taking, contributing but not complaining, conforming but not making trouble. After the Cultural Revolution, and especially after the summer of 1989, however, few really believed in the orthodox propaganda.
    “So,” Chen said, “Comrade Lei Feng may be more needed than ever now.”
    “Why?”
    “Contemporary social polarization. Nowadays, a handful of upstarts live in luxury beyond ordinary people’s dreams, but so many workers are laid off—’waiting-for-retirement’ or ‘waiting-for-assignment.’ Many people have a hard time making ends meet. So propaganda advocating a selfless communist model is all the more necessary.”
    “That’s true.” Yu nodded. “Those high cadres and their children, the HCC, have everything and take it for granted.”
    “That’s why the propaganda ministry is trying very hard to come up with some contemporary role model. Guan was, at least, a pretty young woman. A considerable improvement—in the fashion-shop window of politics.”
    “So you don’t believe in the political shit either.”
    “Well, so much for political myths,” Chen said. “What do you think of the case?”
    “It’s anything but a political case.”
    “Yes, put politics aside.”
    “Guan was attacked that night on her way to a vacation. Forced to take off her clothes in a car, raped, and then strangled to death. Since she was not dating anyone at the time of her death—according to the department store—we can presume that the murderer was a stranger, probably the taxi driver.”
    “So what action do you suggest?”
    “Inquire at the taxi bureau. Collect the drivers’ receipts for that night, and check the records at the bureau. And of course, question those with suspicious pasts.”
    It was the same hypothesis, Guan as the victim of a taxi driver. Detective Yu had discussed it with Chen even before they had established the identity of the dead woman.
    At least it explained how the body came to be found in that distant canal.
    “Yes, that makes sense. Cover all the areas you think worth looking into.”
    “I’ll do my best,” Yu said, “but as I’ve mentioned, it won’t be easy, with so many cars running around the city nowadays.”
    “In the meantime, let’s do the regular checkup as well. I’ll go to the dorm building where Guan lived, and you’ll interview her colleagues in the department store.”
    “Fine,” Yu said. “It’s a special political case, I understand. But what about Commissar Zhang?”
    “Well, keep him informed about our work. Whenever he wants to say something, just listen to him—as respectfully as possible,” Chen said. “After all, Zhang’s a veteran cadre, influential in his way.”

Chapter 7
    D etective Yu woke up early. Still sleepy, he took a look at the radio clock on the nightstand. It was barely six, but he knew a full day awaited him. He got up, moving carefully so as not to wake up his wife, Peiqin, who curled up against the towel-covered