The Mao Case

her.”
    “Perhaps it was little from your point of view, but a lot from her point of view. Anyway, have you heard any speculation about
     the changes in her life?”
    “Most people believe that there’s someone behind her. An upstart who provides everything for her. But in matters like that,
     you can’t ask a young girl for an explanation if she chooses not to tell you.”
    “That’s true.” Chen said, “But back to the package. Did you give it to her after she became a regular visitor here?”
    “Not at first. I wasn’t sure, what with the unexplained change in her life, and with the possibility that there was someone
     else behind her. But I eventually did, several months ago. It’s hers, isn’t it? I had no reason not to give it to her.”
    “Did you find out what was inside?”
    “No. whatever secret it contained, it wasn’t mine. Some day I may have to swear,” Xie said, his eyes slightly squinting in
     the light, “that I have never seen anything.”
    The afternoon sunlight, sifted through the foliage, illuminated the shrewd lines on his face. A survivor of these tumultuous
     years, Xie had to be cautious.
    “Did she tell you anything about what was inside the package?”
    “No, she didn’t.” Xie changed the subject abruptly, “By the way, have you heard about the burglary at her place about a month
     ago?”
    “No, I haven’t,” Chen said. But it wasn’t difficult for him to under
stand why Internal Security hadn’t said anything about it, and why Liu believed that what they wanted to find was in Xie’s
     place.
    “Hers is in a well-guarded complex. Yet a thief managed to sneak in, though he left without taking anything valuable.”
    “Has she told anyone about the package?”
    “I don’t know. She should know better, I think.”
    “She has since been a regular visitor to your place and the two of you have a lot of contact. Apart from the package, have
     you noticed anything unusual about her?”
    “Well, for a young girl living in affluence, she’s not really happy, but that may just be my impression. If anything is a
     little unusual, I think it’s her frequent visits. It’s understandable for the Old Dicks to come over and over again; they
     have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. But for someone like Jiao, it beats me.”
    “That’s a puzzle,” Chen said. “Also, a Big Buck would show off his ‘little concubine’ like he would a Mercedes, but no one
     seems to have seen Jiao appear in that kind of situation for anybody. Do you know anything about it?”
    “No, I have never seen or heard of such a Big Buck in her company.”
    “Do you think she lives by herself all the time?”
    “Yes, I think so. Now that you’ve raised the question, though, I think there may be something. One afternoon, two or three
     months ago, she got a phone call in the middle of her painting lesson here and left in a great hurry, saying, ‘Somebody’s
     waiting for me at home.’ She lives there by herself, doesn’t she? How could someone be calling her from there? Also, it was
     on a red cell phone she has never used before or since.”
    “You’re observant. No wonder you’re a painter. But it might have been simply an unexpected visitor at her home,” Chen said
     reflectively. But Xie was observant, perhaps not simply in his capacity as a painter and teacher. “Well, as her tutor, is
     there anything unusual about her painting?”
    “I may not be a good judge. According to some critics, I’m no more
than an arm chair impressionist — with nothing to share but impressions of those decadent years.”
    “We don’t live in the opinions of critics, Mr. Xie. Anything you have noticed of late, not necessarily as a judge?”
    “Well, not anything remarkable, I would say. Recently, she did a painting of a witch riding a broom, flying over the Forbidden
     City. Surprisingly surrealistic in terms of the subject matter.”
    “A witch riding a broom?” Chen said. “Like in an American cartoon?”
    “Yes. I don’t think she has tried her hand at a cartoon before. Nor have I noticed such a surrealistic streak in her work.”
    “That may be something, but I’m no art critic. Anything else, Mr. Xie? Anything you can think of that may help me — and help
     you too?”
    “That’s really about all I can think of.” Xie added in earnest, “Don’t worry about an old, useless man like me, Mr. Chen.
     But Jiao is a good girl. So young, and beautiful. She thinks highly of