When Red is Black

are you, Yu?”
     
    “At home.”
     
    “Let me call you back in five minutes.”
     
    The cell phone bill for this month was going to be staggering. The police bureau would pay it, but Chen did not want the accountant to raise her eyebrows at him again. Nor did he want to say more in front of White Cloud.
     
    The antique phone in the corner still worked, he had noticed. It was a pay phone for the bar. Most of the status-conscious customers here, with their cell phones, would never consider using the pay phone.
     
    Chen picked it up and dialed Yu’s number.
     
    “I have been doing some thinking about the case,” Chen resumed. The sound quality of the phone was affected by the wear and tear of time, but it was reasonably clear. “In a shikumen house like that, with so much broken stuff and furniture stored here and there, it would not have been impossible for someone to hide until he had a chance to sneak out, especially if the shrimp woman was temporarily absent. But a question occurred to me: why should the murderer have wanted to hide if he was an outsider?”
     
    “That’s a good question,” Yu said.
     
    “One possibility is that he was not so much afraid of being seen as of being recognized. With that in mind, I called the Shanghai Archives Bureau. I asked them to check all Yin’s relatives, with special focus on information about a possible nephew of hers. But the information they provided is the same you had obtained.”
     
    “She could have referred to someone who was a boy as a ‘nephew.’ He did not have to be her real nephew.”
     
    “Yes, that’s possible. But would she have let someone totally unrelated stay with her, and for a week?” Chen asked. “And then there is Peiqin’s point. Now that I have read a few chapters of the novel, I agree with Peiqin: Yin may well have plagiarized somebody else’s work.”
     
    “Peiqin reads too much. I believe she applies Yang’s high standard to the work of others,” Yu said. “But I just do not see how this can possibly be related to our investigation.”
     
    “I have a feeling that there may be something in it. Coincidentally, I had a phone call earlier this evening, from a former colleague of Yang’s. According to him, Yang had been writing a novel before his death. There may be a connection,” Chen said slowly, feeling something eluding him in the hidden recesses of his mind as he spoke.
     
    White Cloud had finished yet another dance and returned to their table, Chen noticed. The music had stopped.
     
    ”Had Yang written a novel?”
     
    ”We don’t know for sure. He might not have finished it,” Chen said, “but he could have left part of one behind. So far, we have   not found a novel manuscript of his, not even a few pages. We   have only that manuscript of poems translated into English.”
     
    ”That’s true.”
     
      ”And finally, I cannot figure out why Internal Security should have withheld the information about her passport application. Was their reason related to her writing or to her trip to United States? If so, which? And why keep us in the dark?”
     
    “We may continue to work on all these possible leads but do we have time, Chief Inspector Chen? Party Secretary Li will hold a press conference early next week. How can we be sure that we will make find the right answers in just a few days?”
     
    “Let me stall him. It’s your case, but it’s also our special squad’s case,” Chen said. “It will be difficult, however, to hold him off for long, if we come up with nothing but some inconsistencies in Wan’s statement. For Li, Wan is ideal, but the culprit does not have   to be Wan. Anybody will serve as a murderer, so long as we give him a quick solution.”
     
    “Yes, we have to make progress. Once the real criminal is apprehended, we won’t have to worry about Wan or about Party Secretary Li.”
     
    Finally, Chen put down the antique receiver and went back to the table.
     
    “Sorry, White Cloud,” he said, “we simply cannot have a nice quiet evening.”
     
    “An important man like you cannot expect a quiet evening, but it is nice. I appreciate your taking me out tonight.”
     
    “The pleasure is all mine. Those interruptions aside, I’ve enjoyed the evening—and your company.” He said, turning toward the approaching waitress, “Another double scotch for the lady.”
     
    He did not know whether scotch was a proper choice after dinner, but it was what she had ordered