The Skull Mantra by Eliot Pattison Page A

he’s reached Dalian yet.” Tan studied the ember of his cigarette. “What would you have me ask?”
    â€œAsk him about pending cases. Was he putting pressure on someone.”
    â€œI don’t see—”
    â€œProsecutors look under rocks. Sometimes they stir up a nest of snakes.”
    Tan blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Did you have a particular breed in mind?”
    â€œPotential informers get killed. Partners in crime lose trust. Ask if he was compiling a corruption case.”
    The suggestion stopped Tan. He crushed his cigarette and walked to the window. Staring out the window for a moment, he absently picked up a pair of binoculars and raised them toward the eastern horizon. “On a clear day when the sun is right, you can see the new bridge at the bottom of the Dragon Throat. You know who built that? We did. My engineers, without any help from Lhasa.”
    Shan did not reply.
    Tan set down the binoculars and lit another cigarette. “Why corruption?” he asked, still facing the window. Corruption was always a more important crime than murder. In the days of the dynasties, those who killed sometimes simply paid fines. Those who stole from the emperor always died by a thousand slices.
    â€œThe victim was well dressed,” Shan observed. “Had more cash than most Tibetans earn in a year. Statistics are kept in Beijing. Cross-references between cases. Classified, of course. Murders typically are the result of one of two underlying forces. Passion. Or politics.”
    â€œPolitics?”
    â€œBeijing’s way of saying corruption. Corruption always involves a struggle for power. Ask your prosecutor when you reach him. He will understand. Meanwhile, ask him for a recommendation.”
    â€œRecommendation?”
    â€œA real investigator, to start the fieldwork now. I can finish the form, but the real investigation needs to start while the evidence is fresh.”
    Tan inhaled and held the smoke in his lungs before speaking again. “I’m beginning to understand you,” he said, letting the smoke drift out. “You solve problems by creating a bigger one. I wager that has a lot to do with why you are in Tibet.”
    Shan did not answer.
    â€œThe head rolled off the cliff. We will find it. I’ll send squads out tomorrow. We’ll find it and I’ll persuade Sung to sign the report.”
    Shan continued to stare at Tan in silence.
    â€œYou’re saying if the head isn’t found the Ministry will expect me to offer up a killer.”
    â€œOf course,” Shan agreed. “But that will not be their primary concern. First you must offer up the antisocial act. Your responsibility is detailing the socialist context. Provide a context and the rest will follow.”
    â€œContext?”
    â€œThe Ministry will not care about the killer as such. Suspects are always available.” Shan waited for a reaction. Tan did not even blink. “What they always seek,” he continued, “is the political explanation. Murder investigation is an art form. The essential cause of violent crime is class struggle.”
    â€œYou said passion. And corruption.”
    â€œThat is the classified data. Private, for use by investigators. Now I am talking about the socialist dialectic. Prosecution of murder is usually a public phenomenon. You must be ready to explain the basis for prosecution here. There is always a political explanation. That will be the concern. That is the evidence you need.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Tan growled.
    Shan looked at the photograph and spoke to Mao again. “Imagine a house in the country,” he said slowly. “A body is found, stabbed to death. A bloody knife is found in the hands of a man asleep in the kitchen. He is arrested. Where does the investigation start?”
    â€œThe weapon. Match it to the wound.”
    â€œNo. The closet. Always look for the closet. In the old