Red Mandarin Dress

longer the age of Comrade Lei Feng and no one wants to follow the selfless communist model.”
    Yu wondered if Tian’s mind was clear enough to grasp what they were talking about. Perhaps better if not. Better a total blank page than to mourn the death of his daughter and face his own inevitable end. Whatever he had done during the Cultural Revolution, the retribution was enough.
    Yu pulled the ladder over and climbed up cautiously.
    “Yes, that’s where she lived.” Uncle Fong remained standing on the floor, looking up. The climb was too difficult for him.
    It was not even an attic. Just a “second floor,” added in a makeshift way over Tian’s bed, which occupied most of the first floor. A grown-up girl, she had to have some space for herself. Yu was unable to stand erect up there, his head touching the ceiling. Nor was there a single window. In the darkness, it took him a minute or two to find a lamp switch, which he turned on. No bed, only a mattress. Beside it squatted a plastic spittoon—possibly her chamber pot. There was also an unpainted wooden box. He opened the lid to see some clothes inside, most of them cheap and old-fashioned.
    It seemed pointless to stay any longer. He climbed down to the side of the bed, raising no questions. How could Fong know anything about the case?
    Yu said good-bye to Uncle Fong and left the lane, feeling depressed by the visit.
    If a girl, in her flowering age, had chosen to live like that, she wouldn’t likely have been an easy target for a sex murderer or triggered a serial killing.
    Instead of going back to the bureau, Yu went to the hotel where Jasmine had worked, which was located in the Old City area. The Seagull wasn’t a fancy hotel, but because of its convenient location and reasonable price, it had become a “hot choice for budget travelers.” In the crowded lobby, Yu saw a group of foreign students carrying huge knapsacks. The front desk manager appeared professional in his scarlet uniform, speaking fluent English to them. He stammered, however, at the police badge Yu produced. He led Yu into an office, closing the door after them.
    “Whatever we talk about here, please don’t let any media people know about the hotel’s connection to the red mandarin dress murders. Or our business will go down the drain. People are superstitious and they won’t stay in a hotel where they think someone has met a violent death.”
    “I understand,” Yu said. “Now tell me what you know about her.”
    “A good girl, hard-working, easy to get along with. We’re all shocked by her death. If anything, perhaps she worked too hard.”
    “I’ve talked to her neighborhood committee. They also told me she worked really hard, and she did not stay much at home. Do you know anything about a possible second job of hers?”
    “That I don’t know. She worked overtime here, for which we paid her time and a half. She worked for housekeeping in the morning and helped at the hotel canteen. She worked extra nights too. She had to pay her father’s medical bills. Ours is a hotel capable of housing foreign tourists, so we would rather have trusted employees working here. Our general manager gave her as many hours as she pleased. People like a young pretty girl.”
    “People like a young pretty girl—what do you mean?”
    “Don’t get me wrong. We do not tolerate any improper service here. A girl of her age could have chosen to work somewhere else—say, a nightclub—for far more money, but she stayed here, working longer hours.”
    “Do you know anything about her personal life? For instance, did she have a boyfriend?”
    “I don’t know,” the manager said, stammering again. “That’s her private life. She worked hard, as I’ve said, and she did not talk much to her colleagues here.”
    “Is it possible that there was anything between her and someone staying at the hotel?”
    “Comrade Detective Yu, ours is not a high-end hotel. And the people staying here are no Big Bucks. They come for a convenient location at a reasonable price, not for . . .companionship.”
    “We have to ask all sorts of questions, Comrade Manager,” Yu said. “Here is my card. If you can think of anything else, please contact me.”
    The visit to the hotel yielded little new information. If anything, it only confirmed his impression that a girl like Jasmine probably wouldn’t have set off a lust killer who happened to cross her path, either by the grubby lane or at the shabby