Death of a Red Heroine

resigned shrug of his shoulders. “Yes, it’s Chen.”
    “It’s Detective Yu Guangming, reporting a homicide case.”
    “What happened?”
    “A young woman’s naked body was found in a canal, west of Qingpu County.”
    “I—I will be on my way,” he said, as Wang walked over to turn off the music.
    “That may not be necessary. I’ve already examined the scene. The body will be moved into the mortuary soon. I just want to let you know that I went there because there was nobody else in the office. And I could not reach you.”
    “That’s okay. Even though ours is a special case squad, we should respond when no one else is available.”
    “I’ll make a more detailed report tomorrow morning.” Detective Yu added, somewhat belatedly, “Please excuse me if I am disturbing you or your guests—in your new apartment.”
    Yu must have heard the music in the background. Chen thought he detected a sarcastic note in his assistant’s voice.
    “Don’t mention it,” Chen said. “Since you have checked out the crime scene, I think we can discuss it tomorrow.”
    “So, see you tomorrow. And enjoy your party in the new apartment.”
    There was certainly sarcasm in Yu’s voice, Chen thought, but such a reaction was understandable from a colleague who, though senior in age, had no luck in the bureau’s housing assignments.
    “Thank you.”
    He turned from the phone to see Wang standing near the door. She had put on her shoes.
    “You have more important things to occupy you, Comrade Chief Inspector.”
    “Just a new case, but it’s been taken care of,” he said. “You don’t have to leave.”
    “I’d better,” she said. “It’s late.”
    The door was open.
    They stood facing each other.
    Behind her, the dark street, visible through the corridor window; behind him, the new apartment, aglow in the lily-white light.
    They hugged before parting.
    He went out to the balcony, but he failed to catch a glimpse of her slender figure retreating into the night. He heard only a violin from an open window above the curve of the street. Two lines from Li Shangyin’s “Zither” came to his mind:
The zither, for no reason, has half of its strings broken,
One string, one peg, evoking the memory of the youthful years.
    A difficult Tang dynasty poet, Li Shangyin was especially known for this elusive couplet. Certainly it was not about the ancient musical instrument. Why, all of a sudden, the lines came rushing to him, he did not know.
    The murder case?
    A young woman. A life in its prime wasted. All the broken strings. The lost sounds. Only half of its years lived.
    Or was there something else?

Chapter 3
    T he Shanghai Police Bureau was housed in a sixty-year-old brown brick building located on Fuzhou Road. The gray iron gate was guarded by two armed soldiers, but, like the other policemen, Chen entered the bureau through a small door adjacent to a doorman’s kiosk beside the gate. Occasionally, when the gates were opened wide for some important visitors, what could be seen from the outside was a curving driveway with a peaceful flowerbed in the middle of a spacious courtyard.
    Acknowledging the stiff salute of the sentry, Chief Inspector Chen made his way up to his office on the third floor. His was just a cubicle within a large office which housed over thirty detectives of the homicide department. They all worked together, at communal desks, rubbing shoulders and sharing phones.
    The brass name plaque on his cubicle door—CHIEF INSPECTOR CHEN CAO—shining proudly in the morning light, from time to time drew his gaze like a magnet. The enclosure was small. A brown oak desk with a brown swivel chair occupied much of the space. A couple of teacups had to stand on a dark green steel filing cabinet by the door, and a thermos bottle, by a bookshelf on the floor. There was nothing on the wall except a framed photograph of Comrade Deng Xiaoping standing on Huangpu Bridge under a black umbrella held by Shanghai’s mayor. The only luxury in the office was a midget refrigerator, but Chen had made a point of letting all his staff members use it. Like the apartment, the cubicle had come with his promotion.
    It was generally believed in the bureau that Chen’s advance had resulted from Comrade Deng Xiaoping’s new cadre policy. Prior to the mid-eighties, Chinese cadres usually rose in a slow process, step by step. Once they reached a certain high level, however, they could stay there for a long time, and some never