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When Red is Black

When Red is Black

Titel: When Red is Black Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Qiu Xiaolong
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didn’t mention anything to me.”
     
    “She talks about a lot of things to me, you know, about your ginseng, about your work, and about you, too.”
     
    “I know, my dear old pal. Thank you so much.”
     
    Putting down the receiver, Chen thought that if he were going to take White Cloud out to dinner one of these evenings, it would not be to Moscow Suburb, even if Overseas Chinese Lu insisted, as always, on treating.
     
    His buddy and his mother had in common an overanxiety about what they both called “the most urgent matter” in his personal life, what Confucius regarded as the most important duty of a filial son. The worst unfilial thing is not to provide offspring for the family. Overseas Chinese Lu had somehow become his mother’s loyal and enthusiastic consultant on that particular aspect of Chen’s life. Any girl seen in Chen’s company, however unlikely, would immediately give rise to fantasy, no matter how unsubstantiated, on both their parts.
     
    For one second, Chen almost envied Overseas Chinese Lu—a successful businessman, and a good family man too. Lu managed to keep up with the newest fads, but at the same time he remained conservative, traditional in his concern about his friend.
     
    Perhaps Lu had adapted better to the times, combining the old in his personal life and the new in business.
     
    Chen cracked his fingers, and moved back to his desk. Back to work, which alone did not disappoint him. In fact, his work often gave him a place to hide.
     
    A new idea occurred to him. Even if he could not uncover the murder motive, he could speculate as to why the murderer chose to hide and wait, in accordance with Detective Yu’s hypothesis. A possibility at once suggested itself. The murderer might have been afraid—not of being seen, but of being recognized by the neighbors in the shikumen building. That opened up a number of new possibilities. The murderer could be someone who had once lived in the house, someone who had stayed there, someone who had been there before, even though not as a resident, someone who had met other residents in the shikumen building—or even in Yin’s company. When Yin’s body was discovered, he might be found easily because his identity was known. That’s why he had to hide himself at such great risk.
     
    Soon, however, Chen’s excitement began to fade. He realized that this way just another possibility, like all the other possibilities in his mind. There was no evidence to back them up.
     
    * * * *
     

Chapter 16
     
     
    C
    hen the investigation took a surprising turn. Wan Qianshen turned himself in to the police for the murder of Yin Lige.
     
    This happened on February 14, a week after Lanlan had discovered Yin’s body in the tingzijian room and two days after Old Liang had taken Cai into custody. According to his own statement, Wan had murdered Yin not for the sake of money, but out of a long-held, class-conscious grudge against her.
     
    Initially, Old Liang was nonplussed, but then he readily embraced the surprising turn of events which, after all, fit his original inside-murderer theory. Wan had been on his list of suspects from the very beginning. Yu, too, should have been pleased with the breakthrough, but he was not. In fact, as he sat in the company of Old Liang and Wan in an interrogation office of the district police station, he was confounded.
     
    “Yin Lige deserved it,” Wan said in a low controlled voice. “She had slandered the Party and our socialist country. Indeed, her death was long overdue.”
     
    “None of your political lectures,” Old Liang said.
     
    “Tell us how you did it,” Yu asked, taking out a cigarette but not lighting it. “Give us all the details.”
     
    “I did not sleep well the night before. That is, the night of February sixth. So I got up later than usual on the seventh, but I still wanted to go to the Bund. As I went downstairs, Yin came up. By accident, I brushed against her on the stairs. I did not mean anything by this; the stairs were narrow. She snapped, ‘Still a Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member?’ That was way too much. She had the damned nerve to insult the working class to my face. In a moment of uncontrollable rage, I turned back, followed her into her room, and smothered her with the pillow before she could shout or struggle.”
     
    “Then what did you do?”
     
    “I realized that I had killed her in a moment of blind anger. I had not intended this. So I pulled

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