“Oh? What was that about?”
“Neither Lindi nor Xiuzhen makes much money, and they are a family of six, including the son’s live-in girlfriend. If Cai did not help financially… in fact, that’s one of the reasons Xiuzhen married him, so the family could eke out a living. Wan urged Cai to give his family more support, and Cai retorted that it was none of Wan’s business.”
“Well, neighborhood squabbles are not surprising.”
“There’s another thing, Detective Yu.”
“What?”
“Both you and I have questioned him about his alibi, and asked him to name someone who could support his statement. But he never did.”
“That’s true.”
“So Wan is the murderer. It’s obvious. There’s no need for us to continue to investigate.”
“But there are still some things for us to do before we can conclude the investigation.”
“For example?”
“Wan touched a lot of things in Yin’s room, according to his own account. So he must have left his fingerprints there. The initial report about the fingerprints is not conclusive, as there were so many blurred or indistinct prints on every surface, but I don’t think Wan’s fingerprints were listed. We should double-check the fingerprint report. “
“Yes, we can do that.”
“Also, Wan mentioned some cash, five- and ten-Yuan bills, in a drawer, but we only found some coins. That’s suspicious.”
“Well, Wan may not have remembered so clearly.”
“At the moment, we have only what Wan himself says. If that’s true-I mean, about his getting up and moving about after six on that morning-some of his neighbors might have seen him, though they did not pay him any special attention at the time.”
“We may check that too, but I don’t think you have to worry. In addition to his words, we do have some hard evidence,” Old Liang said in a suddenly boastful voice. “In Wan’s loft, I found a train ticket to Shenzhen for next week.”
“Have you already searched his room?”
“Yes, as soon as he made his confession. This is the ticket. I came across it in a notebook in his desk drawer. I had not really expected to find the murder weapon, but the ticket speaks volumes.”
“So-” Yu had intended to ask if Old Liang had obtained a search warrant from the police bureau, but the question might have sounded pedantic. In the years of class struggle, Old Liang could have searched any home in the neighborhood without bothering about a search warrant. “Let me take a look at the ticket.”
“It means that Wan planned a trip to Shenzhen,” Old Liang said as he turned the ticket over. “I have double-checked with the neighborhood committee. Wan does not have friends or relatives there. He is a retired worker, and he has no business there. The answer is self-evident. From there, he could try to sneak over to Hong Kong. A lot of people have done that. Wan knew that if he did not make his getaway, it was only a matter of time before we got to him.”
It sounded logical, except that the ticket was for a soft sleeper, a detail Old Liang had overlooked, Yu thought, as he studied the piece of paper that he held. Why should Wan have paid the extra money for a soft sleeper if he were going to Shenzhen for the purpose suspected by Old Liang?
“What did he tell you about the ticket?”
“That’s more or less what he said.”
“Can I keep the ticket?”
“Sure.” Old Liang looked up at him in surprise. “When you think about it, there’s something else suspicious about him. As a residence cop, I should have noticed it earlier. About half a year ago, Wan started going out early in the morning-allegedly for tai chi exercise on the Bund. Yin also went out for tai chi in the morning. But there’s one marked difference. She practiced not only in the park, but in the lane too, especially on rainy days. Wan has never practiced here. That’s not like a tai chi devotee. No, I don’t think he told us the truth.”
“Well, Wan may not be such a wholehearted exerciser. He only turned to tai chi, he told me, because the state-run company he had worked for can no longer cover its retirees’ medical insurance.”
“That old die-hard still lives in the days of the Mao Zedong Thought Team, and he grumbles all the time. That’s why he committed the murder. Tai chi or whatever is just an excuse. He followed her around, to become familiar with her routine. Then he acted.”
“Did he have to follow her around for months in order to kill her at home early that morning?”
“Is it so impossible?” Old Liang said, becoming impatient with these questions from Detective Yu.
“Let me make a phone call to Dr. Xia first, Old Liang, to ask about the fingerprints.”
“Whatever you want, Comrade Detective Yu.”
Afterward, alone in the office, Detective Yu admitted to himself that it was not absolutely impossible.
Wan’s entire life-or most of it-had been the product of a totally different society. In the sixties and seventies, Chinese workers had been praised to the skies as the masters of society, the makers of history. People like Wan committed themselves unreservedly to Mao’s revolution, believing in their contribution to the greatest social system in human history, which, in turn, promised them a lot too, including retirement benefits: a generous pension, full medical coverage, and the political honor of being retired masters basking in the warm sunlight of communist China. Now these retired workers found themselves, helplessly, at the bottom of the heap. The praise for them as the “leading class” was irrelevant. They had a hard time making the ends meet. What was worse, state-run companies, going downhill, could keep few of their earlier promises.
And things must have been even more unbearable for Wan, who had once been such a prestigious Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Worker Team Member.
Yu phoned Dr. Xia, asking him to recheck the fingerprints, focusing only on Wan’s.
He made a second phone call to the Shanghai railway station. He thought he remembered that there were regulations regarding sleeping-car tickets. The information he received confirmed his suspicion. According to the railway station, tickets to Shenzhen were very hot, especially sleeping-car tickets. New entrepreneurs flocked to the special economic zone to seek their fortunes. Normally, tickets were sold out on the first day of the fourteen-day advance purchase period. The date on Wan’s ticket was February 18, which meant Wan could not possibly have obtained it after February 7 unless he had paid a ticket scalper a much higher price for it.
Yu wanted to discuss this with Old Liang, but Liang did not return to the neighborhood committee office for lunch.
Shortly afterward, Party Secretary Li called. The Party boss sounded very pleased with the latest development, for it meant the conclusion of Yin’s case as a simple homicide, with no suspicion falling on the government.
“Great job, Comrade Detective Yu,” Li repeated over the phone.
“This conclusion is too dramatic, too sudden, Party Secretary Li.”
“I don’t find it surprising,” Li said. “You kept the pressure on, and Wan cracked. With enough fire burning under the pot, the pig’s head will be cooked to your satisfaction. You need not doubt that Wan killed Yin.”
“But we put pressure on Cai, not on Wan.”
“Wan stepped forward,” Li said slowly, “because he couldn’t endure the thought of an innocent man being punished in his stead.”
“There are holes in Wan’s statement, Party Secretary Li. We cannot depend on a so-called confession like this,” Yu said. “At least, I need to get some questions answered first.”
“We cannot afford to wait too much longer, Comrade Detective Yu. A press conference will be held early next week, Monday or Tuesday, no later than that. It’s time to end all the irresponsible speculation surrounding Yin’s death.”