That was a direction Chen hadn’t considered before, and it was even more alarming in the light of what White Cloud had said regarding Shang’s well-connected wife.
Any one of these cases, when examined under the magnifying glass of Chinese politics, could have been enough to have Chen removed from his position, but none seemed to warrant what had happened to his mother and Qian.
“There is also some discussion in social media about the mysterious death of an American in Shanghai. But that seems to be very vague. My English is not good, and as far as I can make out, it’s about how the American didn’t drink at all, and yet the authorities concluded that his cause of death was alcohol poisoning.”
White Cloud had mentioned that death too, Chen remembered.
“But all these individual events might be neither here nor there. I have no idea which, if any, could be the cause of your trouble.”
“What you’ve learned by searching the Internet really helps, Peiqin. In the meantime, I’ve been listening to the tapes-your family’s conversation, the talk in the ernai café, and the discussion between Old Hunter and Tang. They open up possibilities that I would never have imagined. It may take some time to narrow down the list.”
“Yu said these are like a lot of dots that refuse to be connected. And Old Hunter plans to keep going back to the ernai café, but as he puts it: it’s like standing by the tree, waiting for a rabbit to run by and knock itself out against the trunk. We can’t afford to keep waiting.”
“Has Old Hunter exchanged e-mails with Jin?”
“I don’t think so. He knows very little about the Internet. He’s only just now learning to listen to Suzhou opera online.” She went on after a pause, “I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“Qian’s phone was tapped. Most likely, yours was too. But you can do the same to them. You have some idea of who could be involved, directly or indirectly, don’t you?”
“Sima could be one. And Shen, of the Heavenly World, as well. Tapping their lines could help, but I’m not cop anymore. I’m not capable of doing anything like that. I could try to approach some of my connections, but any indiscreet move on my part could get them into trouble.”
“What about their e-mails, then?” she said, “I’m no computer expert, but I know some people in that field who are fighting the uphill battle against corruption. I knew someone who is really good at hacking, but he went abroad half a year ago.”
Earlier, White Cloud had given him Shen’s e-mail address with the idea that Chen could access his e-mails. Peiqin was thinking along the same lines.
“You did an investigation where you got some help from a hacker,” she said. “I remember Yu telling me about that.”
“That’s true, but I’ve lost touch with him. He changes his phone number every two or three weeks. Given his position, he has to be really careful,” Chen said, then added, “Remember the Wenhui journalist at the temple? She introduced him to me. I think his name is Melong.”
He hadn’t contacted Melong for months, in spite of the crucial information he’d provided in one of Chen’s anticorruption investigations. But it was different asking for help when it’d been a chief inspector asking for it. Now, professional scruples aside, it wouldn’t be advisable to approach the hacker. Melong might be under surveillance, too.
“Of course I remember,” Peiqin said. “It meant a lot to us, first your presence with your journalist friend at the temple, and then the pictures that ran in the Wenhui Daily. Our relatives talked about it for days.” She added abruptly, “Lianping, that’s the name of the journalist. What has happened to her?”
“I haven’t seen her for a while. She’s a happy soon-to-be mother, I think. She gave me the then-current contact information for Melong, but I’m not sure it’s fair of me to involve him in this. He could get in trouble simply by talking to me.”
“I see,” Peiqin said. “Why don’t you give me Sima’s e-mail address?”
“You-”
There was another knock on the door.
She didn’t say any more as a waiter stepped in, holding a menu in his hand. “We can also serve breakfast in the room. Just check the items that you’d like.”
Neither of them was in the mood to pick and choose breakfast items, but they did, like typical Shanghainese, pointing at one item after another, discussing them until the waiter withdrew.
“Old Hunter has Jin’s e-mail address. Give me Sima’s.”
“So you are-”
“Don’t worry. I’m just an ordinary netizen. No one really pays attention to me. Oh, don’t you also have Shen’s?”
He hesitated, but he copied them onto a napkin.
“We often keep lists of customers’ e-mails,” she said with a knowing smile. “It helps our business.”
This wasn’t for her restaurant, he knew, shaking his head as the waiter came back with a tray.
“It’s not too bad,” Chen said, after taking a bite of a fried dough stick. He helped himself to a spoonful of the soy soup strewn with green onion and pepper oil.
“But you can never tell if the dough stick here is fried in gutter oil or not,” she said. “At least you don’t have to worry about that at my place.”
TWENTY
PEIQIN WOKE UP, CONSUMED with worry again.
In the dim light peeping through the curtain, she gazed at Yu, who snored lightly at irregular intervals, his forehead knitted.
Last night, Yu hadn’t come back until after eleven. It was too late for her to talk things over with him, and she wasn’t sure it was something she should discuss with him or not.
She got up, put on her slippers, and walked out into the kitchen. She poured water into a pot of cold leftover rice and turned on the gas.
Waiting for the water to boil, she tried to sort out her tangled thoughts.
Both Yu and Old Hunter had been trying their best to help Chen, each in his own way. But the water is too far away and the fire too close at hand. That was another saying from Old Hunter, whose proverbial way was infectious.
She wasn’t just worried about Chen, but about Yu too. The camaraderie between the two was no secret in the bureau. Sooner or later, Party Secretary Li would get rid of Yu too, in spite of his recent promotion to the squad head. Chen’s crisis was escalating, and any move on Yu’s part could lead to more trouble.
So what could she possibly do?
“What are you thinking, Peiqin?”
Yu walked over to the table in the kitchen area, yawning.
“Nothing,” she said, putting chopsticks on the table. “Breakfast is almost ready. It’s just cold rice reboiled in water. Sorry about that, Yu. The pickles are in the refrigerator. You can take them out.”
“Why are you sorry? I love pickled cucumber and fermented tofu. It’s perfect with reboiled rice,” he said. “What’s your plan for the day?”
“I have to go to the restaurant. Yesterday, after visiting Chen’s mother and delivering something to Old Hunter in Pudong, I didn’t make it back to the restaurant until three o’clock.”
It was an evasive answer, leaving something important out. Luckily, Yu appeared to be absent. He didn’t say much while washing down a second bowl of watery rice and then wiping his mouth with back of his hand. She refrained from discussing the vague ideas she had in mind for the day.
After Yu left home shortly after seven, Peiqin called in sick to the restaurant.
“But I’ll come in if I feel better this afternoon.”