She scribbled the woman’s name, address, and phone number on a piece of paper.
“One last thing. I’ll contact you whenever I need to speak with you. But don’t try to contact me at the hotel,” he said, writing down his new cell phone number. “If anything, call this number and this number alone. That’s very important. And don’t call me unless it’s an emergency and you absolutely have to speak to me. Otherwise, I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”
“I’ll be waiting for your call.”
ELEVEN
DETECTIVE YU WAS HURRYING home. He’d gotten a phone call from Peiqin, who had received a phone call from Old Hunter.
The old man had gotten straight to the point with his daughter-in-law, quite unlike his usual Suzhou Opera Singer self. He complained to her about how difficult it was to get hold of Yu these days. In response, Peiqin invited him to come over for dinner that evening. Old Hunter accepted the invitation with an enigmatic comment.
“Good idea. Your three-cup chicken is delicious. The fried mini buns near the agency are not too bad, but you can’t have them every day. By the way, an old friend of mine, who recently lost his job, speaks highly of your cooking skills too, and even quotes a poem about it.”
What Old Hunter had said was unusual, particularly the part about the mysterious old friend, so Peiqin had dialed Yu immediately. Half an hour later, Yu arrived home, having almost run there, arriving even before Old Hunter.
“Old Hunter’s no gourmet,” Yu said, still short of breath. “A cup of strong tea is about all he needs. I think I know which old friend he was talking about.”
“Yes, the friend who recently lost his job,” Peiqin said. “Also, the old man was calling from a new number.”
“You mean a new cell phone number?”
“That’s right.”
Yu lit a cigarette. For once, instead of saying anything about it, Peiqin walked over to the stove.
Pouring a small cup of sesame oil into the wok, she started on the three-cup chicken by frying the chopped chicken. As it fried, she set up a cup of yellow rice wine, a cup of soy sauce, and a pinch of fresh basil on the kitchen counter.
Yu tried to help, clumsily, without much success. His mind kept wandering back to the conversation he had with Party Secretary Li back at the bureau.
Just the day before, Li had snapped at him, even threatening to remove Yu from his position when the latter questioned him about Chen’s being removed from the bureau without notice. But then this afternoon, Li talked to Yu like an amiable Party secretary again. After a bit of small talk about the recent work of the Special Case Squad, Li came around to the point, telling him that the decision to remove Chen and to promote Yu to the head of the Special Case Squad had come entirely from the higher authorities. As far as Li was concerned, the promotion was long overdue. Even Chen himself had suggested it several times.
“The decision was unknown to us until the morning it was announced,” Li said emphatically. “I had no choice but to read it word by word. Some people might have different interpretations of what the higher authorities intended with this decision. Have you heard any, Detective Yu?”
“No. I’ve been overwhelmed with the squad’s caseload, particularly with Chen gone, and Jia away on vacation, and…”
“Has Chen spoken to you lately?”
“Only once, when he was on a cemetery bus to Suzhou. I tried to discuss the open cases with him, but like a filial son, he talked about nothing but his guilt over not having visited his father’s grave in years.”
“How did he sound to you?”
“A bit low. But that’s natural for one on a Qingming trip.”
“Did he mention anything about what he’s planning to do?”
“That would be too personal a topic.”
“No, I mean what he plans to do once he starts his new position.”
“Nothing that I recall.”
“Nothing?” the Party secretary asked, with a suggestion of seriousness in his voice. “You have to take the correct attitude, Comrade Detective Yu. As a Party member and the head of the Special Case Squad, you must trust the Party authorities. In today’s society, things can be complicated. Whatever Chen might have said to you or whatever information he might have given to you, you know what you should and shouldn’t do.”
“Of course, Party Secretary Li. I’ll report to you if there’s anything new. The position as head of the squad is difficult, with a lot of new responsibilities unknown and uncharted. I’ll look to move forward under your guidance.”
“You’re an old hand in our bureau. With Chen gone, there’s nobody but you to help yourself. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yes, Party Secretary Li. I’ll keep every word of yours in mind.”
It was a talk in which Yu had decided not to give anything anyway, speaking only in respectful yet empty phrases. Li should have known better than to try to get him to reveal anything about the ex-chief inspector.
To Detective Yu, Chen was not just a partner or a boss but also a friend. What was more, Chen represented what Yu believed a cop should be. For that reason in particular, Yu was deeply disturbed by Chen’s removal.
It was puzzling that, at this juncture, Chen chose to keep himself busy with the renovation of his father’s grave, alone in Suzhou. Though it wasn’t the first time that the ex-chief inspector had behaved in such an enigmatic way.
Chen had made no attempt to discuss the dire situation with Yu. Instead, Chen had contacted Old Hunter. Chen’s reasoning wasn’t difficult to figure out: as a retired cop, Old Hunter wasn’t under scrutiny.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Peiqin said, slicing the thousand-year egg with a thread for a cold dish. Another cold dish-tofu mixed with sesame oil and green onion-would be prepared once the guest arrived. “Thinking about the trouble your boss is in?”
Yu was indeed thinking about just that, though he had no clue what kind of trouble Chen had landed in.
“He’s my friend,” he said.
“Our friend,” Peiqin said echoing. “And Old Hunter’s too. But your father said very little on the phone.”
“He’ll tell us more this evening.”
“What will happen to Chen, no one knows. Still, it might not be bad for him to start all over. He’s not happy. As a Party-member chief inspector, he’s a product of the system. He tries to make a difference but is that even possible?”
When Old Hunter finally appeared, the table was set with dainty cold dishes and tiny porcelain cups. Yu poured a cup of tea for him. Peiqin hurried to the stove, lifting the wok lid, adding a handful of chopped green onion and then drops of sesame oil to the slightly browned chicken.
“The three-cup chicken smells irresistible,” Old Hunter said as Peiqin opened a bottle of yellow rice wine.
Raising his cup, Yu lost no time asking questions of Old Hunter. For once, the retired cop answered in a straightforward way. Without dwelling on his meeting with Chen, he launched into a detailed account of his meeting with Tang.
“That’s about all Tang could tell me,” Old Hunter concluded, “but he may be able to find out more soon.”
“Tang has no idea that you’re making inquiries for Chen’s sake?”
“No, I don’t think so. He doesn’t even know that the target at the club was Chen.”
“But he knows that Yu is a friend of Chen?” Peiqin cut in, pouring more wine for Old Hunter.
There was no answer to that. Old Hunter stared at a slice of the thousand-year egg, which was shining darkly, like a mystery covered in minced golden ginger.
Their conversation shifted to Chen’s stay in Suzhou.
Old Hunter unfolded a white rice-paper fan with a dramatic flourish, as if ready for a lengthy digression in a Suzhou opera.
“You know Chen’s in trouble. But you don’t know why he’s in Suzhou, do you?” he said, folding and then unfolding the fan. “Indeed, there’s a lot you can learn from Suzhou opera.”