The Mao Case

last night.”
    “But there was no class yesterday, as I remember.”
    “No class. No party in the evening either.”
    “Then how did she come to be here?”
    “The question is,” Song said deliberately, “how did she get in here?”
    “What do you mean, Song?”

    “She couldn’t have flown into the garden like a butterfly. Someone must have opened the door to let her in. Who else was here
     at the time? Nobody but Xie.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He didn’t know anything, of course. What else would he say?” Chen didn’t have an immediate answer. “Xie says he alone has
     the key,” Song went on. “With the place frequently mentioned in the media, he makes a point of keeping the door locked all
     the time. People have to ring the bell and be let in. Yesterday evening he went to bed early.”
    “Well …” Chen knew what Song was driving at. “We’ve put a man outside his room.”
    Could the body’s appearing in the garden be a set up? It would serve as an excuse for “tough measures” by Internal Security,
     but Chen decided to put such a possibility aside for the moment.
    “Tell me more about the discovery of the body, Song.”
    Song provided a rather scanty summary. Around seven, Xie took his usual morning walk in the garden, where he was shocked by
     the sight of the body, lying face down under the tree. He called the police. It took about twenty minutes for the first officers
     to arrive at the scene. And it wasn’t until the cop turned over the body that Xie recognized it as Yang, a student in his
     painting class. He had no idea how she had come into the garden.
    “Yang could have sneaked in by herself,” Chen commented, “with a key she had obtained.”
    “Technically possible, but for what, Chief Inspector Chen?” Song countered. “To be attacked and killed by someone who had
     sneaked into the garden earlier?”
    “She could have chosen the garden as a romantic place for her rendezvous. Quiet and secluded, especially when there’s no party
     at the house. Xie usually goes to bed early, which she knew.”
    “Do you think that she would have gone to the trouble of obtaining a key for that purpose?”
    “For some, it is a romantic place. These students come here not just
for the painting class, you know,” Chen said. “Did Xie have any visitors yesterday?”
    “He hemmed and hawed, saying only that he fell asleep early.” That was a problem for Xie. No alibi. It might not be uncommon
     for a man of his age to go to bed early, but that wasn’t good enough for Song, in spite of the fact that Xie himself had called
     the police.
    “What are you going to do, Song?”
    “We’re going to conduct a thorough search of the house,” Song said. “As for Xie, we’ll take him into custody first.”
    So the Mao Case was back to ground zero: the “tough measure” that Internal Security had opted for — to break Xie, and then
     Jiao, for the sake of the Mao material.
    “A body in his own garden, and no alibi — Xie whould have known better,” Chen resumed. “No one would be that stupid. Besides,
     what could be his motive?”
    “Xie’s different. What’s his motive for his classes and parties? You never know.”
    “He’s different, but if we lock him in as the suspect, it could mean the real criminal will walk away.”
    “We have waited for your approach to work, patiently, for a week, but what? A young life was wasted. Had we acted earlier
     …”
    Song was upset. So was Chen.
    But for the case — the Mao Case — such a move could prove disastrous, even more so in the light of the latest information from
     Detective Yu. Chen was debating whether he should share it with Song when the latter’s cell phone shrilled out. Presumably
     it was something new about Yang. Song listened, furrowing his forehead, while cupping the phone in his hand.
    Chen made a vague sign to Song and headed back to the living room.
    He was surprised at the sight of Jiao standing behind the French window, her eyes slightly squinting in the sunlight. She
     wore a white T-shirt and jeans with a leather label near the waistline. She could have seen them talking in the garden.

    That morning, she was the only visitor there — apart from Chen.
    “Oh you’re here,” he said. “No one else will come today, I’m afraid,” she responded. “How did you get in?”
    “I didn’t know anything, so I came over, as usual.”
    “You had a long talk with the cop out in the garden. It must have