When Red is Black

recliner, to me. She gave it to me three or four years ago.”
     
    “She gave you a new plastic folding chair? Why?”
     
    “That summer she had a visitor, her nephew, I think—”
     
    “What?” Yu cut in. He had never heard of a nephew before. Nor had one been mentioned by Old Liang. “Hold on—her nephew? Did she describe him that way?”
     
    “I’m not absolutely sure, but she introduced him to me. He was just a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old at the time. He came from the countryside, I don’t know where. He had no other relatives in the city, she explained.”
     
    “Did he stay with her here in the tingzijian room?”
     
    “Yes, but not exactly. It would not be convenient to have a guest in so tiny a room. She bought the folding recliner for him to use, so he could sleep in the courtyard. It’s quite common for people to sleep outside here. Some even sleep in the lane. One night, the courtyard was so full, Yin had to set up the folding chair for him in front of my door. That’s when she introduced him to me, but her introduction was not that specific.”
     
    “How long did he stay here with her?”
     
    “Maybe four or five days. Less than a week.”
     
    “Did you talk to him?”
     
    “No, he was out during the day, I think. I saw him coming back with her one evening. She must have gone out with him. After he left, she gave the chair to me.”
     
    “Has he ever returned since?”
     
    “No, not that I know of. Perhaps he was a poor relative from the countryside making his one visit to the city.”
     
    Yu took out his notebook. The shrimp woman wiped her hands on her apron apprehensively, which reminded him once more of the trace of coal dust on his hand the previous afternoon.
     
    “Let me ask you another question. You said you that were busy peeling shrimp on the morning of February seventh, the morning Yin was murdered, and that you never moved a step away from here.”
     
    “That’s correct. The food market pays by the weight of the finished product. I cannot even afford time to go to my chamber pot.”
     
    “You work very hard, I know. But I also know that you got to Yin’s room some time between six fifty-five and seven ten. Now, with the back door open, you must have heard Lanlan shouting for help and seen others rushing upstairs. How could it have taken you somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes to reach Yin’s room?”
     
    “Fifteen minutes?” She was momentarily flabbergasted. “I don’t know. I do not know what you are driving at, Comrade Detective. I heard the noise, let me think, yes, I heard the noise, and I went over.”
     
    “Don’t be nervous. We don’t punish innocent people,” Yu said. “Did something else happen in the lane that morning?”
     
    “No, nothing I can remember.”
     
    “Take your time. Try to recall every detail, from the moment you picked up the frozen shrimp supply from the market. It might have been trivial, perhaps an unexpected sound in the lane, or something else that distracted you.”
     
    “A sound—let me think—yes, I do remember now. There was some noise coming from the green-onion-cake booth. It’s always a noisy place. Lei hawks his wares at the top of his voice, you know. But that morning the noise was louder, mixed with another voice. So I stepped out to the main lane to take a quick look.”
     
    “How long did that take?”
     
    “I don’t know. One minute. A couple of minutes, maybe. From where I stood, I could not hear clearly. It took a little time for me to make out what was happening.”
     
    “Did you walk up to the booth?”
     
    “I took a few steps in that direction, but I never went really close to it, not with my hands covered in shrimp slime.”
     
    “Don’t move, Comrade Peng,” Yu said, standing abruptly. “I’ll be right back.”
     
    He strode to the front lane entrance, and came back with Lei following him, his hands covered in flour. The shrimp woman, her face now a mask of anxiety, was unaware that she was crushing a shrimp to a pulp between her fingers.
     
    “Did you have an argument or a quarrel with somebody on the morning of February seventh, the morning Yin was murdered?” Yu asked.
     
    “Yes, I did. Some bastard complained about a piece of hair in his onion cake, and he demanded ten Yuan as compensation. That’s bullshit. He could have put his own hair into his food. Anyway, we don’t claim to be a five-star restaurant!”
     
    “Do you remember the