“So you think the body has been left here to be found?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then how shall we start?”

Yu asked a question instead. “Do we have to take the case, Chief? I’m not saying that the bureau should not take it, but as far as I remember, our special case squad takes only political cases.”

Chen could understand his assistant’s reservations. Normally their squad did not have to take a case until it was declared “special” by the bureau, for stated or unstated political reasons. “Special,” in other words, was the label applied when the bureau had to adjust its focus to meet political needs.

“Well, there’s been talk about setting up a new squad-a triad squad, but this might be classified as a special case. And we are not yet sure that it’s a triad killing.”

“But if it is, it will be a hot potato. A hand-burning one.”

“You have a point,” Chen said, aware of what Yu was driving at. Not too many cops would be interested in a case related to those gangs.

“My left eyelid kept twitching this morning. Not a good omen, Chief.”

“Come on, Detective Yu.” Chief Inspector Chen was not a superstitious man, not like some of his colleagues who would consult the I Ching before taking a case. If superstition did come into play, however, there was actually a reason he should take the case. It was in this park that his luck had taken a turn for the better.

“In grade school I learned that Chiang Kai-shek came to power with the help of the gangs in Shanghai. Several ministers in his government were members of the Blue triad.” Yu paused, then went on, “After 1949, the gangsters were suppressed, but they staged a comeback in the eighties, you know.”

“Yes, I know that.” He was surprised at his assistant’s unaccustomed eloquence. Yu usually spoke without book-quoting or history-citing.

“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”

“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”

“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”

“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”

When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes- Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.

“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”

Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.

He replied, “Thanks, Detective Yu. I know I can depend on you.”

As they left the park, they saw a group of people gathering in front of the gate, on which a notice had just been put, saying the park would be closed for the day due to redecoration.

When the truth was not to be told, one excuse was as good as another.

In the distance, a white gull glided over the slightly yellow water, silhouetted against the horizon, as if carrying the sun on its wings.

You have come a long way, Comrade Chief Inspector Chen.” Party Secretary Li Guohua of the Shanghai Police Bureau smiled, leaning back in his maroon leather swivel chair by the window. Party Secretary Li’s spacious office overlooked the central area of Shanghai.

Chief Inspector Chen sat across the mahogany desk from him, breathing into a cup of the new Dragon Well green tea, a special treat few would have been offered in the powerful Party Secretary’s office.

As an emerging cadre with further promotion awaiting him, Chen owed a lot to Li, his mentor in bureau politics. Li had introduced Chen to the Party, spared no pains showing him the ropes, and advanced him to his present position. An entry level cop in the early fifties, Li had moved up steadily to the top of the bureau, picking his way through the debris of political movements, betting on the winners in inner-Party struggles. So people saw Li’s hand-picking of Chen as his potential successor as another clever investment decision, especially after Chen’s relationship to Ling, a politburo member’s daughter from Beijing, became known to the small inner circle. To be fair to Li, however, he had not been aware of this relationship until after Chen’s promotion.

“Thank you, Party Secretary Li. As our sage has said, ‘A man is willing to lay down his life for the one who appreciates him, and a woman makes herself beautiful for the one who appreciates her.’”

It was still not considered in good political taste to quote Confucius, but Chen guessed that Li would not be displeased.

“The Party has always thought highly of you,” Li said in an official tone of voice. His Mao jacket was buttoned high to his chin in spite of the warm weather. “So this is a job for you, Chief Inspector Chen, for you alone.”

“You have heard about it already.” Chen was not surprised that somebody else had made a report to Li about the body discovered in Bund Park that morning.

“Look at this picture.” Li produced a photo from a manila folder on the desk. “Inspector Catherine Rohn, a representative of the U.S. Marshals Service.”

It was a photo of a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, handsome, spirited, her large blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“She is quite young.” Chen studied the picture, thoroughly puzzled.

“Inspector Rohn has studied Chinese in college. She is sort of a sinologist in the Marshals Service. And you’re the scholar on our force.”

“Hold on-what job are you talking about, Party Secretary Li?”

Outside the office window, an occasional siren was heard in the distance.

“Inspector Rohn is going to escort Wen Liping to the United States. Your job is to help her accomplish this mission.” Li cleared his throat before going on, “An important job. We know we can count on you, Chief Inspector Chen.”

Chen realized that Li was talking about a totally different matter. “Who is Wen Liping? I do not have the slightest idea about this job, Party Secretary Li.”

“Wen Liping is Feng Dexiang’s wife.”

“Who is Feng Dexiang?”

“A Fujian farmer, now a crucial witness in an illegal immigration case in Washington.”

“What makes Feng so special?”

Li poured hot water into Chen’s cup. “Have you heard of someone named Jia Xinzhi?”

“Jia Xinzhi-yes, I’ve heard of him, a notorious triad tycoon based in Taiwan.”

“Jia has been involved in a number of international criminal activities. Jia is a heavyweight snake head. He’s been arrested in New York in connection with these activities. To convict him, the American authorities need a witness who will testify to his involvement with an immigrant smuggling ship-The Golden Hope.”