The Mao Case

out of my place like a market. Oh, it’s terrible.”
    “I can imagine,” Chen said. “Let’s go out to the garden.”
    “Garden?” Xie said, looking up. “Yes, let’s talk there. Follow me.”
    They walked over to the plastic garden chairs, which had
     been moved from under the flowering pear tree. Chen wondered if Xie had sat in the garden since Yang’s death. They probably
     wouldn’t be overheard there.

    “I heard about what happened to Officer Song,” Chen went straight to the point, seating himself on the dust-covered chair.
    “I talked to Officer Song just a couple of hours before his death.”
    “Song was murdered and they see you as the main suspect. I’m trying to help, but you have to tell me everything. You’re an
     intelligent man, Mr. Xie. I don’t see any point in beating about the bush.”
    “No, of course not, but what do you mean by telling you everything?”
    “To begin with, your relationship with Jiao’s parents.”
    “What, Mr. Chen?”
    “When Song talked to you about Yang’s murder, you made a statement, saying that you did not know Jiao before her visit to
     you about a year ago. That was a lie. You misled the investigation, especially because it was Jiao that provided your alibi.
     She didn’t tell the truth, either. That’s perjury, involving both of you, and obstruction of justice. A felony.”
    “Perjury! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Song’s colleagues are out for revenge,” Chen said, picking up a brown twig from its edge of the chair and breaking it. “What
     they are capable of, you don’t need me to tell you.”
    “Do you think I really care? I’m nothing but a straw man, striving hard to keep up an appearance. And I’m sick and tired of
     it, Mr. Chen. They may do whatever they want.”
    “But what about Jiao?”
    Xie didn’t come up with an instant response.
    “What worries me, Mr. Xie, is that there is something ominous about this case.
     Already two people have been killed. First Yang, and then Song. Both were connected to you and Jiao. As a result, much more
     will happen, I’m afraid. Not necessarily to you, but to Jiao.”
    “Oh, my God! But why?”
    “Now, this is just my guess, Mr. Xie. People are desperately searching for something. Until they get hold of it, they will
     never stop. Nor will they stop at anything.”
    “What can it be? When I came into the world, I brought nothing
with me. Nor will I take away anything with me upon leaving. So let them have it. Nothing’s worth having so many people dying
     for it.”
    “It may not be in your possession.”
    “How can she —” Xie cut himself short and came up with a question. “I wonder how you know all this — and what you can do to help?”
    “What I can do to help, to be frank, I don’t know, not at this stage. But I happen to know all of this,” he said, taking out
     his business card and badge, “because I am a police investigator. I’m telling you more than I’m supposed to. That’s why I
     brought you out into the garden. The house may be bugged. They are Internal Security, not the ordinary police.”
    “I trust you, Mr. —” Xie stammered, examining the business card, “Chief Inspector Chen?”
    “You don’t have to trust me, but you trust Mr. Shen, don’t you?” Chen produced his cell phone. “Give him a call.”
    “No, I don’t have to. Mr. Shen’s like an uncle to me,” Xie said reflectively, and then, resolutely, “So you want to know about
     my relationship with Jiao’s parents?”
    “Yes, please tell me from the beginning.”
    “It was such a long time ago. In the fifties, my family and Qian’s family knew each other, but things were already changing.
     My parents were urging me to behave with my tail tucked in, and not to mix with Qian.”
    “Because of the stories about Shang?”
    “Do you think anyone would have talked to a young boy about those things?”
    It was obvious that Xie had heard the stories but Chen didn’t push, further breaking the withered twig in his hands.
    “At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, our two families were plundered by the Red Guards. But it was worse for hers.
     Shang became a target of relentless mass criticism. One scene is still fresh in my memory — of her standing on something like
     a stage, half of her hair shaven off in a so-called yin/yang style, and wearing around her neck a string of worn-out shoes
     as a metaphor for her body being used by so
many men. Red