turning back said, “This was found deep in a man’s throat. His neck bones were crushed around it.” Fong turned back to the cleric. The man’s face betrayed nothing.
“Perhaps because he was a heretic,” the cleric said simply. Then he astonished Fong by quoting Mao’s Red Book to back up his assertion, “If poisonous weeds are not removed, scented flowers cannot grow.”
Fong ignored the quotation and pressed on. “So this may have been a religious murder? I mean it’s possible he was killed because of this?”
“He may well have been killed because of what that thing stands for.”
“Which is something that offends your church?”
“In matters of faith, my son, offend is much too mild a word to use.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
The commissioner stood in the window of his office watching the moon set as Fong waited for the man to acknowledge his presence. When he finally turned he seemed oddly distracted.
There were two newspapers on his desk. One was the New York Times , the other the Manchester Guardian . Both had screaming headlines about the bombing in the People’s Twenty-Second Hospital. Both quoted the arsonist’s note in the cutline beneath a picture of the fetus in the cage.
The commissioner gestured toward the papers. “The last time the West paid so much attention to us, Mao was claiming to have swum across the Yangtze.” His voice was light. Surprisingly breathy, as if he were about to faint.
Fong was tempted to quip back, “The good old days.” But he thought better of it. He didn’t know this man well enough to chance a jest. And the man’s voice was frighteningly uncentred. So Fong said nothing. It’d been a long day and he was almost asleep on his feet.
“Tired, Inspector Zhong?” The voice was suddenly very high, almost falsetto.
Fong nodded, still unwilling to speak.
The commissioner pointed at the newspapers, “I really don’t care how long you’ve been awake or how many more days you need to go without sleep.” Stabbing his finger at the cutline he barked out, “This outrage must stop!”
It took Fong a moment to realize that the man wasn’t mocking the newspaper headline but giving an order. Fong checked a second time but there wasn’t a trace of irony or sophistication in the liquid depths of the man’s eyes. Just fear. A lot of fear.
“The year 2008 is not far away and the West is now watching us closely.”
For a moment Fong couldn’t figure out what 2008 had to do with an explosion in an abortion surgery. Then he remembered – the Olympics were going to be staged in Beijing in 2008. He smiled inwardly. Beijing must be up the man’s ass so far that he could hardly breathe.
Fong hesitated. Desperate men were often difficult to approach but he didn’t care. “My arson inspector needs more money to complete his investigation and we could use assistance from Hong Kong. They’ve had more experience with arson than we have.”
For an instant he thought the man was going to scream at him but that passed.
“Fill out the forms and I’ll sign them.”
Fong nodded. That was easier than he had anticipated. Now let’s go for broke he thought. “There’s a young captain in Xian who helped me with the investigation into the murders on Lake Ching. I could use his assistance on this case . . . sir.”
It seemed like the commissioner had either not heard or not understood. But just as Fong was about to repeat his request, the man said, “What’s his name?”
The man’s voice was suddenly sad.
Tough. We make our choices in this world and yours have led you to this dark place. Fong held no sympathy for those who rode the wave of politics when they were tossed broken and bleeding on the rocks.
“Chen. The man’s name is Captain Chen.”
Four hours later, at first light, a very young officer approached Fong at the entrance to Special Investigations. “The guy who found the note is here, sir. We let him spend the night at
“Perhaps because he was a heretic,” the cleric said simply. Then he astonished Fong by quoting Mao’s Red Book to back up his assertion, “If poisonous weeds are not removed, scented flowers cannot grow.”
Fong ignored the quotation and pressed on. “So this may have been a religious murder? I mean it’s possible he was killed because of this?”
“He may well have been killed because of what that thing stands for.”
“Which is something that offends your church?”
“In matters of faith, my son, offend is much too mild a word to use.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE INVESTIGATION BEGINS
The commissioner stood in the window of his office watching the moon set as Fong waited for the man to acknowledge his presence. When he finally turned he seemed oddly distracted.
There were two newspapers on his desk. One was the New York Times , the other the Manchester Guardian . Both had screaming headlines about the bombing in the People’s Twenty-Second Hospital. Both quoted the arsonist’s note in the cutline beneath a picture of the fetus in the cage.
The commissioner gestured toward the papers. “The last time the West paid so much attention to us, Mao was claiming to have swum across the Yangtze.” His voice was light. Surprisingly breathy, as if he were about to faint.
Fong was tempted to quip back, “The good old days.” But he thought better of it. He didn’t know this man well enough to chance a jest. And the man’s voice was frighteningly uncentred. So Fong said nothing. It’d been a long day and he was almost asleep on his feet.
“Tired, Inspector Zhong?” The voice was suddenly very high, almost falsetto.
Fong nodded, still unwilling to speak.
The commissioner pointed at the newspapers, “I really don’t care how long you’ve been awake or how many more days you need to go without sleep.” Stabbing his finger at the cutline he barked out, “This outrage must stop!”
It took Fong a moment to realize that the man wasn’t mocking the newspaper headline but giving an order. Fong checked a second time but there wasn’t a trace of irony or sophistication in the liquid depths of the man’s eyes. Just fear. A lot of fear.
“The year 2008 is not far away and the West is now watching us closely.”
For a moment Fong couldn’t figure out what 2008 had to do with an explosion in an abortion surgery. Then he remembered – the Olympics were going to be staged in Beijing in 2008. He smiled inwardly. Beijing must be up the man’s ass so far that he could hardly breathe.
Fong hesitated. Desperate men were often difficult to approach but he didn’t care. “My arson inspector needs more money to complete his investigation and we could use assistance from Hong Kong. They’ve had more experience with arson than we have.”
For an instant he thought the man was going to scream at him but that passed.
“Fill out the forms and I’ll sign them.”
Fong nodded. That was easier than he had anticipated. Now let’s go for broke he thought. “There’s a young captain in Xian who helped me with the investigation into the murders on Lake Ching. I could use his assistance on this case . . . sir.”
It seemed like the commissioner had either not heard or not understood. But just as Fong was about to repeat his request, the man said, “What’s his name?”
The man’s voice was suddenly sad.
Tough. We make our choices in this world and yours have led you to this dark place. Fong held no sympathy for those who rode the wave of politics when they were tossed broken and bleeding on the rocks.
“Chen. The man’s name is Captain Chen.”
Four hours later, at first light, a very young officer approached Fong at the entrance to Special Investigations. “The guy who found the note is here, sir. We let him spend the night at
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