Red Mandarin Dress

were not so Americanized, he contemplated in wry amusement.
    His cell phone started ringing again. It was Overseas Chinese Lu, his middle school buddy, now the owner of Moscow Suburb, a swank restaurant known for its Russian cuisine and Russian girls.
    “Where are you, buddy?”
    “In People’s Park, enjoying a box lunch. I have this week off for my Chinese literature paper.”
    “You must be joking—a Chinese literature paper in the midst of your soaring career?” Lu exclaimed. “If you are really going to quit the police force, come and be my partner, as I’ve said hundreds of times. Indeed, customers will come pouring in because of your connections.”
    But Chen knew better. His connections came from his position. Once out of that position, most of his “friends” would evaporate into thin air. He would probably never go to work with Lu, so he saw no point in discussing it.
    “Come to Moscow Suburb,” Lu went on. “I have all my Russian waitresses wearing mandarin dresses. It’s a weird sight. Westerners look out of joint in mandarin dresses. Still, so mysterious, so exciting, so delicious that customers practically devour them alive.”
    “The exotic flavor, I bet.”
    For an entrepreneur like Lu, it was natural to seize any opportunity to make money without worrying about aesthetics, or ethics.
    “Whatever flavor, the plastic box lunch in the park is definitely not edible. A disgrace to a renowned and refined gourmet like you. You have to come—”
    “I will, Lu,” Chen said, cutting Lu short, “but I have to go back to the library now. Someone’s waiting for me.”
    The box lunch was waiting, to be exact. It would soon get cold.
    Before he opened the plastic box, however, his phone shrilled yet again. He should have turned it off during the break. It was Hong, the young cop in the homicide squad who worked as Liao’s assistant.
    “This is a surprise, Hong.”
    “Sorry, Chief Inspector Chen, I got your cell phone number from Detective Yu. I tried your home first, but no success.”
    “You don’t have to say sorry for that.”
    “I have to report a case to you.”
    “But I’m on vacation, Hong.”
    “It’s important. Both Party Secretary Li and Inspector Liao told me to contact you.”
    “Well,” he said. A lot of things could have turned into important grains in Li’s political mill. As for Liao, his request that Hong call Chen was possibly no more than a deferential gesture.
    “Where are you, Chief Inspector Chen? I can come over immediately.”
    It could be another sensitive case, something not convenient to discuss on the phone. But, if so, then it wasn’t for the library, either.
    “Come to People’s Park, Hong. Close to the entrance of the number three gate.”
    “You’re enjoying your vacation. People’s Park. What a coincidence!”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A second body in a red mandarin dress was found early this morning. In front of the Newspaper Windows close to the number one gate of the park.” She added, “Oh, Detective Yu has joined the special investigation too.”
    “A serial murder!” Chen recalled having seen a crowd there earlier, though he hadn’t paid any particular attention. It wasn’t an unusual scene for the Newspaper Windows.
    “That’s what I’m calling about. They wanted me to be the one to contact you because they said that Chief Inspector Chen would not say no to a young girl.”
    The request could not have come at a worse time—for his paper. Still, he had to do something. It was the first serial murder case for the city, for the bureau. At the very least, he had to make a gesture of concern.
    “Bring me the information you’ve gathered, Hong. I’ll take a look in the evening.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    The lunch box remained untouched, now totally cold. He threw it into the trash can. He rose and moved toward the gate in question, trying to imagine the scene earlier.
    The Newspaper Windows were located at the intersection of Nanjing and Xizhuang Roads, an area that permitted no parking along the curb. Any car parked there would get immediate attention, and the police patrol went on all night.
    The murderer must have planned it carefully, Chen reflected.
    There was a large crowd of people there, but the area around the Newspaper Windows was not taped off. He didn’t see any cops moving around, either.
    He caught the sight of a young girl walking over in a white overcoat, like a pear blossom in the morning light. A