It might have been a traumatic experience for her, which would explain why she’d had no lover for years until she crossed Wu Xiaoming’s path.

Also, Guan had been one who dared to act-despite the shadow of politics.

Or was there something else?

Chen dialed Yu’s home.

“Qinqin is much better,” Yu said. “I’ll come back to the office soon.”

“You don’t have to. Nothing particular is going on here. Take good care of your son at home.” He added, “I’ve got your tape. A great job.”

“I’ve checked Lai’s alibi. On the night of the murder, he was in Nanning with a group of engineers at a conference.”

“Has Lai’s company confirmed that?”

“Yes. I’ve also talked to a colleague of his who shared the hotel room for the night. According to that colleague, Lai was there all the time. So his alibi is solid.”

“Did Lai contact Guan in the last half year-via phone calls or whatever?”

“No, he said not. In fact, Lai’s just got back from America. He’s worked at a university lab there for a whole year.” Yu added, “I don’t think we can get anywhere in that direction.”

“I think you are right,” he said. “It’s been so many years. If Lai had wanted to do anything, he would not have waited for such a long time.”

“Yes, Lai nowadays works with American universities once or twice a year, earning a lot of U.S. dollars, enjoying a reputation in his field, living happily with his family. In today’s market society, Guan, rather than Lai, should have been the one who rued what happened ten years ago.”

“And in our society, Lai can be seen as the one who got the advantage from the affair-a gainer rather than a loser. In retrospect, Lai might not be too unhappy about his long-ago affair.”

“Exactly. There was something surprising about Guan.”

“Yes, what a shame!”

“What do you mean⁷”

“Well, it was politics for her then, and politics for us now.”

“Oh, you’re right, boss.”

“Call me if you find anything new about Lai.”

Chen then decided to make a routine report to Commissar Zhang, whom he had not briefed of late.

Commissar Zhang was reading a movie magazine when Chen entered his office.

“What wind has brought you in here today, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen?” Zhang put down the magazine.

“A sick wind, I’m afraid.”

“What wind?”

“Detective Yu’s son is sick, so he has to take him to the hospital.”

“Oh, that. So Yu cannot come to the office today.”

“Well, Yu has been working hard.”

“Any new leads?”

“Guan had a boyfriend nine or ten years ago, but, following the Party’s instruction, she parted with him. Yu has talked to retired Party Secretary Huang of the First Department Store, who was her boss then, and also to Engineer Lai, her ex-boyfriend.”

“That’s no news. I have also talked to that retired Party Secretary. He told me the story. She did the right thing.”

“Do you know she-” he cut himself short, not sure what Zhang’s reaction to Lai’s version might be. “She was very upset when she had to part with him.”

“That’s understandable. She was young, and perhaps a little romantic at the time, but she did the right thing by following the Party’s decision.”

“But it could have been traumatic to her.”

“Another of your Western modernist terms?” Zhang said irritably. “Remember, as a Party member, she had to live for the interests of the Party.”

“No, I was just trying to see its impact on Guan’s personal life.”

“So Detective Yu is still working on this angle?”

“No, Detective Yu doesn’t think Mr. Lai is involved with the case. It was such a long time ago.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You’re right, Commissar Zhang,” he said, wondering why Zhang had not shared this information with him earlier. Was Zhang so anxious to maintain the communist puritan image of Guan?

“I don’t think that’s the right direction. Nor is your theory involving caviar,” Zhang concluded. “It’s a political case, as I have said a number of times.”

“Everything can be seen in terms of politics,” Chen got up, pausing in the doorway, “but politics is not everything.”

Such talk was possible now, though hardly regarded as in good taste politically. There had been opposition to Chen’s attaining promotion-something expressed by his political enemies when they praised him as “open,” and by his political friends when they wondered if he was too open.

As soon as Chief Inspector Chen got back in his own office, the phone started ringing.

It was Overseas Chinese Lu. Once more Lu declared that he had successfully started his own business-Moscow Suburb, a Russian-style restaurant on Huaihai Road, with caviar, potage, and vodka on the menu, and a couple of Russian waitresses walking around in scanty dresses. Lu sounded complacent and confident on the phone. It was beyond Chen to comprehend how Lu could have done so much at such short notice.

“So business is not bad?”

“It’s booming, buddy. People come swarming in all day to look at our menu, at our vodka cabinet, and at our tall, buxom Russian girls in their see-through blouses and skirts.”

“You really have an eye for business.”

“Well, as Confucius said thousands of years ago, ‘Beauty makes you hungry.’“

“No. ‘She is so beautiful that you could devour her,’“ Chen said. “That’s what Confucius said. How were you able to dig up these Russian girls?”

“They just came to me. A friend of mine runs a network of international applicants. Nice girls. They earn four or five times more than at home. Nowadays China is doing much better than Russia.”

“That is true.” Chen was impressed by the pride in Lu’s voice.

“Remember the days when we used to call the Russians our Big Brothers? The wheel of fortune has turned. Now I call them my Little Sisters. In a way they really are. They depend on me for everything. For one thing, they’ve got nowhere to stay, and the hotels are way too expensive. I’ve bought several folding beds, so they can sleep in back of the restaurant and save a lot of money. For their convenience, I’ve also put in a hot water shower.”

“So you are taking good care of them.”

“Exactly. And I’ll let you into a secret, buddy. They have hairs on their legs, these Russian girls. Don’t fall for their smooth and shining appearance. A week without razor and soap, those terrific legs could be really hairy.”

“You are being Elliptic, Overseas Chinese Lu.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, it just reminds me of something by T. S. Eliot.”

Something about bare, white, braceleted legs which suddenly appear in the light to be downy.

Or was it by John Donne?

“Eliot or not, that’s none of my business. But it’s true. I saw it with my own eyes-a bathtub full of golden and brown hair.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Come and see for yourself. Not just the legs, the business, of course. This weekend, okay? I’ll assign you one of the blondes. The sexiest. Special service. So special that you want to devour her, too. Confucius’ satisfaction guaranteed.”

“That will be too much for my wallet, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean? You’re my greatest friend, and part of my success, too. All on me, of course.”

“I will come,” Chen said, “if I can spare one evening next week.”

Chief Inspector Chen wondered if he would go there even ifhe could spare the time. He had read a report about the so-called special service in some notorious restaurants.

He looked at his watch. Three thirty. There would probably be nothing left in the bureau canteen. The conversation with Overseas Chinese Lu had made him feel hungry.

Then he thought of something he had almost forgotten. Dinner with Wang Feng. In his apartment.

Suddenly everything else could wait until tomorrow. The thought of having her over for a candlelit dinner was making his pulse race. He left the bureau in a hurry, heading for a food market on Ninghai Road, which was about fifteen minutes’ walk from his apartment.