Death of a Red Heroine by Qiu Xiaolong Page A

little magazine. “Miracle” was a poem about a policewoman’s dedication to her work. The editor might have chosen it out of political considerations, but Chen was still overjoyed. “Well, at the Shanghai Writers’ Association, few know that I’m a detective by profession. There’s no point talking to them about it. They would probably say, ‘What, a man who catches murderers should also try to catch muses?’”
    “I’m not too surprised.”
    “Thanks for telling me the truth,” he said. “What my true profession is, I’ve not decided yet!”
    Chief Inspector Chen had tried not to overestimate his poet- ic talent, though critics claimed to discover in his work a combination of classical Chinese and modern Western sensibility. Occasionally he would wonder what kind of a poet he might have become had he been able to dedicate all his time to creative writing. However, that was just a tantalizing fantasy. In the last two or three weeks he had so much work to do during the day that evenings had invariably found him too exhausted to write.
    “No, don’t get me wrong. I believe in your poetic touch. That’s why I forwarded your ‘Miracle’ to Xu— ’The rain has washed your shoulder length hair green —’ Sorry, that’s about the only line I remember. It just reminds me of a mermaid in a cartoon movie, rather than a Shanghai policewoman.”
    “The poetic touch indeed—but I’ll let you in on a secret. I have turned you into several poems.”
    “What! You are really impossible,” she said. “You never quit, do you?”
    “You mean washing my hands in the river?”
    “Last time,” she said laughingly, “you did not wash your hands, I noticed, before the meal in your new apartment.”
    “That’s just another reason I should treat you to a lunch,” he said. “To prove my innocence.”
    “You’re always too innocently busy.”
    “But I will never be too busy to dine with you.”
    “I’m not so sure. Nothing is more important to you than a case, not even whirling around with me.”
    “Oh—you’re being impossible now.”
    “Well, see you next week.”
    He was pleased with the call from her. There was no denying that he had been in her thoughts, too. Or why should she have cared about the news of the seminar? She seemed to be quite excited about it. As for the poem, it was possible she had put in a word on his behalf.
    Also, it was always pleasant to engage her in an exchange of wit. Casual, but intimate beneath the surface.
    It was true that he had been terribly busy. Party Secretary Li had given him several topics for possible presentation at the seminar sponsored by the Central Party Institute. He had to finish all of them in two or three days, for the Party Secretary wanted to have someone in Beijing preview them. According to Li, the top Party leaders, including the ex-General Secretary of the Central Party Committee, had been invited to attend. A successful presentation there would get attention at the highest level. As result, Chief Inspector Chen had to leave most of the squad work to Detective Yu.
    Wang’s call, however, once more brought the image of the dead woman to his mind. Little had yet been done about the case. All their efforts to learn the identity of the young woman had yielded no clues. He decided to have another talk with Yu.
    “Yes, it’s been four days,” Yu said. “We haven’t made any progress. No evidence. No suspects. No theory.”
    “Still no one reported missing?”
    “No one matching her description.”
    “Last time you ruled out the possibility of her being someone from the neighborhood. What about her being one of those provincial girls who come to Shanghai?” Chen said, “Since they have no family here, it would take a long time before a missing persons report came in.”
    With new construction going on everywhere, new companies being founded every day, the so-called “provincials” formed a cheap mobile labor force. Many were young girls who came