Enigma of China

TWO

The Moller Villa Hotel was one of the so-called elite hotels in Shanghai. It stood on the corner of Yan’an and Shanxi Road and was meticulously preserved because of its history.

Eric Moller, a businessman who had made his fortune through horse- and dog-racing in Shanghai, had the fairy-tale-like mansion built in the thirties. It was designed in accordance with a dream of his young daughter. It turned out to be an architectural fantasy. It sported a northern European style, with Asian elements blended in, such as glazed tiles, colorful bricks, and even a crouching-tiger-shaped attic window, like those commonly seen in Shanghai shikumen. After 1949, it was used as a government office. Eventually the mansion was turned into an elite hotel, at which point it was completely redecorated and refurbished, its interior design and original details painstakingly restored. A new building in the same style was added next to it.

Chen must have passed by this corner numerous times, but he’d never paid any real attention to it, despite its recent rediscovery in the collective nostalgia that gripped the city.

Two uniformed security men guarded the entrance, standing alongside a pair of crouching stone lions.

He walked in and through to building B, located at the back. This was the new building made in fastidious imitation of the original, a three-story red brick villa with arched attic windows. Another uniformed security man sitting at a desk asked Chen to show his ID. The guard looked up at Chen, at the ID picture, then recorded the ID number in a register and made a phone call to someone inside before letting him pass.

The atmosphere of a fairy castle seemed to be completely lacking.

“Room 302,” the security man said. “They’re waiting for you.”

Chen went up to the third floor, which consisted of only six attic rooms, each sporting an art deco window in the original style. He stopped in front of room 302 and knocked on the door. Detective Wei opened the door for him, holding a mobile phone in his hand. There were two others, neither of them from the police department.

Chen hadn’t worked with Detective Wei before, though they had known each other for a long time. A hard-working cop, practical and experienced, Wei hadn’t had an easy time in his career, and on occasion Wei apparently spoke less than highly of Chen’s work.

“This is Comrade Jiang Ke, of the Shanghai city government,” Wei said, introducing a wiry man in his late forties or early fifties with a disproportionately wide forehead. “And this is Comrade Liu Dehua, of the Party Discipline Committee.”

Chen shook hands with both of them. Jiang was the deputy director of the city government, known as a shrewd, scheming man and one of the most powerful confidants of Qiangyu, the first Party secretary of Shanghai. Liu was an elderly-looking man, short, feeble, bald, and with a slight suggestion of a limp. He seemed to be more self-effacing by contrast, possibly because he’d already reached retirement age.

Behind them was the body of Zhou, which had been taken down from a noose dangling from an exposed ceiling beam. His face looked distorted, his mouth twisted as if in a sinister final question never to be answered, one eye still slightly open. Judging from the rigor mortis in Zhou’s body, Chen guessed the time of death was late last night.

It was ironic, Chen observed, that in a city in which it was extremely difficult to find an exposed beam from which to hang oneself, Zhou happened to be detained in one of the few rooms with original beams “preserved” in the old style.

It’s not you that chose the beam, / but the beam chose you. A couple of lines came echoing out of nowhere, but Chen failed to recall the author.

What thoughts would have come across Zhou’s mind at the sight of the rope dangling in the last minutes of his life? It wasn’t hard to understand the rationale behind his suicide. A Party cadre, at the peak of his successful career, tripped up because of a pack of cigarettes, had fallen headlong into an infinite abyss, from which he saw no hope for a comeback.

“I’m glad you’re here, Chief Inspector Chen,” Jiang said cordially.

Chen had met Jiang a couple of times at city government meetings but had never been formally introduced. Liu smiled beside him, nodding without saying anything. Chen had a feeling that Jiang was the one that dominated here.

“Both Liu and I have talked to the hotel night-shift staff,” Jiang said. “Nothing suspicious or unusual was seen or heard the previous night.”

“In such a well-guarded hotel,” Wei commented, “people might have slept too soundly to notice.”

Before there was any further discussion, the crime scene technicians arrived. Chen nodded to one of them he knew. The scene itself was compromised. Jiang and Liu had been there for hours, moving about, touching here and there, examining this or that. In spite of their expertise in shuanggui interrogation, they weren’t cops. A considerable number of hotel people had been in the room too, helping to take Zhou’s body down and move it to the floor.

Jiang led Chen and the others into another room-room 303-next to Zhou’s on the same floor. It was an impressive suite, which turned out to be Jiang’s.

When they were all assembled, Jiang started up with an air of authority. “Since each of us arrived at the scene at different times and from different angles, Detective Wei, you might as well sum everything up for the benefit of Chief Inspector Chen.”

Wei started accordingly.

“Zhou checked into the hotel at the beginning of shuanggui, about a week ago. Since then, he never stepped outside. Shuanggui consisted of a strict routine. He got up around seven, with breakfast delivered to his room at eight, then he talked to Jiang or Liu about his problems or wrote self-criticisms in his room. Lunch and dinner were delivered to him the same way. He seldom talked to the hotel people, he never made any outside phone calls, and he wasn’t allowed visitors.

“This morning, a hotel attendant came to his door with a breakfast tray as usual, but there was no response from inside. The attendant returned about thirty minutes later. Still nothing. After a while, he called another attendant, and they opened the door-only to see Zhou hanging from the beam.

“To the best of their memories, despite their being very flustered, there was no sign of a break-in or struggle, no indication that anything had been removed or was missing from the room.

“Liu, who had stayed overnight in the hotel, was immediately awakened. That was about eight forty-five or nine in the morning. As for Jiang, he was delayed by a special meeting of the city government the previous evening, so he’d gone home instead. Upon getting Liu’s call, he rushed over less than twenty minutes later. They examined the scene together, and around nine thirty, Jiang called Party Secretary Li of the police bureau.”

At the end of Wei’s summary, Jiang stated emphatically, “We were going the extra mile in Zhou’s case. Whoever was involved, we were determined to learn everything. But it wasn’t easy to make him talk. We thought we could bring more pressure to bear by staying in the same hotel with him. For security reasons, there were only the three of us staying here on the third floor.”

“To fight corruption in the Party,” Liu echoed, “particularly among high-ranking Party officials, is a top priority for us. No one can question that…”

Chen listened to the official harangues. Though not really registering what they were saying, he nodded like a wound-up toy soldier, seemingly in agreement.

But Wei, not as accustomed to the official language, began losing patience.

“What about the security videotape?”

“There was nothing on the tape. I checked,” Jiang said.

Liu took a small sip of tea in silence.

“We have to study it,” Wei said.

Jiang said nothing in response.

“So nobody heard or saw anything unusual during the night?” Wei stubbornly went on.

“Both Liu and I have already talked to the hotel staff,” Jiang said, ignoring his question. “And I will double check with them.”

With the death of Zhou, Liu and Jiang weren’t supposed to remain at the hotel anymore, since they could offer no help to the investigation. But they showed no sign of departing anytime soon or of leaving the case to the police. Chen supposed both of them might be waiting for new orders from above. As a result, the two cops were not in a position to proceed as they would have preferred.

“I think the two of us have to go back to the bureau,” Chen said, rising. “Inspector Liao was collecting a file on Zhou. We’ll study it with him. And then when it arrives, we’ll study the autopsy report too.”

Surprise flickered across Wei’s face, but he didn’t say anything.

“Contact me as soon as you find out anything,” Jiang said, also rising.

“Yes, certainly,” Chen said. “And I’ll report to you too, Comrade Liu.”

With that, the two cops took their leave.

Walking out of the hotel, Chen pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Wei.

“Oh, you smoke China,” Wei said, reaching for one. It was an expensive brand, though not as exorbitant as 95 Supreme Majesty. “What do you think, Chief?”

“If it was suicide, we don’t have to be here, but if it was murder, they don’t have to.”

“Well put,” Wei said, taking a deep draw on the cigarette. “Besides, they were here much earlier, and have all the information we don’t.”

“So we’ll have to go our own way.”

“You’re right about that. You’re busy with so many other things, Chief Inspector Chen. Let me do all the legwork, and I’ll keep you posted.”

“You’re the one in charge of the investigation, Wei,” Chen said, wondering at the possible note of sarcasm in Wei’s words. “I’m just a consultant to your team. You may call on me at any time, of course.”

Wei took his leave and headed on; Chen stayed behind and smoked. As Wei’s figure disappeared into the crowd around the corner, Chen looked up at the overpass ahead and pulled out a cell phone.