The Mao Case

a stone stump, which was placed there
     to connect the links of a chain along a winding trail. For him, it served as a seat. Not far away, a young mother was sitting
     on another such stump with a baby sleeping in an old, worn-out stroller beside her. She had kicked off her shoes, her bare
     toes grazing the edge of the green grass. Gazing at the baby with affection, in profile she bore a slight resemblance to Shang.
    Had Shang come here with Qian? Perhaps Shang didn’t sit on a stone stump, and her baby didn’t sleep in a ramshackle stroller
     but had she been as happy, contented?
    After all, meaning and essence for each individual life doesn’t depend on something divine or imperial. The unfortunate life
     of Shang an emperor’s woman, was an example.
    Chen took out a cigarette, but he didn’t light it, casting another glance at the baby. The unlit cigarette between his fingers,
     he felt as if the park had been exercising a subtle effect on him, felt himself thinking with greater clarity.
    Yu had sometimes joked that the park must be a place with auspicious feng shui for the chief inspector. As early as the seventies,
     Chen had started studying English in the park, an experience that led to many things in his life. He didn’t believe in feng
     shui, but that late afternoon, tapping the cigarette on the back of his hand, he wished he could see some signs of it in the
     park.
    He got up and moved over into the shade of a flowering tree, where he dialed Liu.
    “What’s up, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?”
    “Among the people Song approached in the last few days, was there someone in the real estate business?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “Or someone surnamed Hua?”

    “I’m not sure. Song talked to a number of people. How am I supposed to remember all of them offhand?”
    “Can you check for me?”
    “Well, I’m not in the office…”
    Wherever Liu might be at the moment, Chen thought he heard music flowing like gurgling water and girls’ laughter like drifting
     boats in the background.
    “Please find out for me as soon as possible, Comrade Liu.”
    “I will, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen,” Liu said with an edge in his voice. “But we’ve discussed our plan, haven’t we?”
    For Liu, Chen’s request must have sounded like another tactic for stalling.
    “Yes, we have,” Chen said, “but you haven’t gotten the search warrant yet, have you?”
    Afterward, Chen made his way back to the curved walkway above the water, breathing in the air with its characteristic tang
     from the river. He had done everything possible. Internal Security would take action the next day. Barring a last-minute miracle,
     the chief inspector would have no choice but to walk away from the case.
    He turned around slowly, facing the sight of the pyramid-shaped tower of the Peace Hotel across Zhongshan Road. A gothic-style
     hotel built by Sassoon, a legendary Jewish businessman in the twenties, it was a soaring symbol of the then most sumptuous
     building in Shanghai. In the fashionable nostalgia of the city, stories about the extravagances associated with the hotel
     were becoming elaborate myths. He wondered whether the notorious jazz band of Shanghai Old Dicks would perform in the hotel
     bar that night. After nearly two weeks at Xie’s place, he had little interest in going there.
    Then his cell phone rang, the sound almost lost in the siren coming from near the river. It was Peiqin.
    “What’s up, Peiqin?”
    “I’m at Jiao’s place, preparing another dinner — for two, that’s my guess.”

    “Tonight?”
    “Yes, to night. Jiao said she won’t be back until after eight.”
    Chen glanced at his watch, almost mechanically. “You’re sure about the time of her return.”
    “I have to make sure that the rice remains warm until she gets back. She was quite particular about that.”
    “That’s something, Peiqin,” he said, thinking of what he had discussed with Old Hunter, who swore that he had seen a man in
     Jiao’s room — though only in a fleeting glimpse — the last time she had “a dinner for two” at home. “Have you told Old Hunter
     about it?”
    “I have. He’ll be patrolling the area to night. He told me that the information could be important to you.” She added, “Oh,
     I’ve made a list of what’s unusual in her place. Do you think it might be useful?”
    “Of course. Really useful. Can you fax it to my home?”
    “Yes, a copy shop can fax it for me.”
    “I don’t