Don’t Cry, Tai Lake

be totally unjustified.”
    “But—”
    “No but, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen. You have a lot of work waiting for you back in Shanghai. A retired old Party member, I, too, have my responsibilities.”
    That was an unmistakable signal that their talk had ended. And also that Chen’s vacation in Wuxi was at an end.
    In the distance, he heard the cries of a wild goose flying alone across the lake.
    There was no point in his staying at the center any longer. He had done what he could, and he now had to finish the report for Comrade Secretary Zhao. Still, there were things for him to wrap up here.
    He had to see Shanshan before leaving. She’d been avoiding him since that night, but he was going to say good-bye to her and tell her that he would come back. What else he could say? He didn’t know. He hadn’t yet revealed that he was a cop—one that worked in the system and for the system—but she probably had guessed as much.
    He went back to the bedroom, where he stood with his hand on the frame of the window overlooking the lake. There was a lone sail drifting across the lake, moving past an islet enclosed in something like white duckweed. He looked at his watch and made up his mind.
    There wasn’t much for him to pack, and in less than fifteen minutes, he was ready. He then took another look at the empty room, finished the herbal medicine in the tiny thermos bottle, and left carrying his small piece of luggage.
    At the front desk, he returned the key to the same receptionist who had greeted him on the day he arrived. Now she was smiling up at him with admiration in her eyes, when Director Qiao hurried over.
    “No, you can’t leave so soon, Chief Inspector Chen,” Qiao said, with sincerity etched on his face. “It’s only been a week.”
    “I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me here, Director Qiao. But I have to leave and—between you and me—I’ll tell you why. I have to finish a report that Comrade Secretary Zhao needs for an important meeting in Beijing. The center is a fantastic place, but with all the buzz about the murder, I can’t concentrate on my report anymore.”
    “I understand, but at least let’s have a farewell banquet—”
    They were interrupted by a young boy approaching them nervously, holding an envelope in his hands.
    “Are you Mr. Chen?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “Here’s a letter for you. Confidential. You need to sign the special delivery receipt for me.”
    It was a new sort of business in Chinese cities. Instead of sending things through the post office, people used a service for intra-city delivery. With one phone call, a letter or package would be delivered in a couple of hours. The only equipment the business needed was a bicycle or a motorcycle. Chen had no idea who would have arranged for such a special delivery to him.
    “Thank you.” He signed his name on a form and took the letter, then turned back to Qiao without opening it. “I’ll come back as soon as I can, Director Qiao. Let me take a rain check on your invitation.”
    “Then let the center’s car take you to the station.”
    “That I gratefully accept, Director Qiao.”
    He walked out of the center’s office and a shiny black limousine was waiting for him outside. The limousine driver, a short, middle-aged man with a receding hairline, said in a respectful tone, “Railway station, sir?”
    “No, let’s go to the Wuxi Police Station.”

TWENTY-FOUR
    TWENTY MINUTES LATER, THE limousine drove up to the Wuxi Police Bureau, which was located at the center of the city. It was a sprawling concrete complex with a shining vertical sign in the front of the main building and a gray iron gate on the side. Two armed cops guarded the entrance.
    “Do you want to drive in?” the driver asked, glancing first at the gate and then over his shoulder.
    “No, I’ll get out here. Right here—not in front of the bureau, please.”
    “Whatever you say,” the driver said without trying to conceal the puzzled look on his face.
    “You may go back to the center,” Chen said. “I’ll take a taxi to the railway station when I’m done here.”
    “There’re several trains to Shanghai today,” the driver said good-naturedly. “Don’t worry about getting a ticket. You can buy one at the train station easily—even just five minutes before the train leaves.”
    “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
    It wasn’t yet noon. Chen looked around for a place to sit. Across the street, he caught sight of a teahouse, which