As she approached the vast raised concourse that created the boundary for the altar, the sound of band music grew louder. But she couldn’t see where it was coming from because of the wall around it. She climbed half a dozen steps and entered the concourse through one of its four marble gates. A gang of women in blue smocks and white headcovers leaned on their snow scrapers on the fringes of a large crowd of Zhongshan regulars gathered around a couple dancing to the music. Margaret recognised Glenn Miller’s Little Brown Jug, and even from here could see that the couple were gliding across the snow-scraped flagstones like professional ballroom dancers.
She searched the faces of the onlookers as she drew closer, and spotted Mei Yuan watching intently. But there was no sign of her mother. She eased through the crowd and touched Mei Yuan’s arm. Mei Yuan turned, and her face lit up when she saw her.
‘She’s wonderful, isn’t she?’ she said.
Margaret frowned. ‘Who is?’
‘Your mother.’ Mei Yuan nodded towards the dancers, and Margaret saw with a shock that the couple dancing so fluidly through the falling snow comprised an elderly Chinese gentleman and her mother.
Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth and she couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘My God!’ She watched for a moment or two in stunned disbelief, and then remembered her mother’s fall. ‘What about her leg? She could hardly walk yesterday.’
Mei Yuan smiled knowingly. ‘It’s amazing what a little sexual frisson can do to aid recovery.’
Margaret looked at her as if she had two heads. ‘A little what?’
‘She’s quite a flirt, your mother.’
Margaret was shaking her head in disbelief, at a loss for words. ‘My mother!’ was all she could find to say.
The music came to an end, and the dancers stopped. The crowd burst into spontaneous applause, and the elderly Chinese gentleman bowed to Mrs. Campbell, before heading off to rejoin his friends. Mrs. Campbell hurried over to where Margaret and Mei Yuan were standing. Her face was flushed and animated, eyes brimming with excitement and pleasure. She was also more than a little breathless. ‘Well?’ she said, beaming at them both. ‘How did I do?’
‘You were marvellous,’ Mei Yuan said, with genuine admiration.
‘I didn’t know you could dance,’ Margaret said.
Mrs. Campbell raised one eyebrow and cast a withering look over her daughter. ‘There are many things you don’t know about me,’ she said. ‘Children forget that before they were born their parents had lives.’ She caught her breath. ‘I take it the fact that you were out all night is a good sign. Or do I mean bad? I mean, is the wedding off or on? I’d hate to have to go home early. I’m just beginning to enjoy myself.’
Margaret said, ‘Li is quitting the force. He posted his resignation last night.’
‘No!’ Mei Yuan put the back of her hand to her mouth.
‘He seemed to think that would make me want to marry him again.’
‘And did it?’ her mother asked.
‘Of course not. But I can’t win, can I? I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. And I’m damned if I’m going to be either.’
Mrs. Campbell sighed deeply. ‘Just like her father,’ she said to Mei Yuan. ‘Obstinate to the last.’
‘Anyway,’ Margaret said, ‘I’d hate to spoil your fun. Don’t feel you have to go home early on my account. I just stopped by to say I’m going to be busy today.’ She turned to Mei Yuan. ‘If you don’t mind babysitting for a few more hours.’
‘Really, Margaret!’ her mother protested.
But Mei Yuan just smiled and squeezed Margaret’s hand. ‘Of course,’ she said. And then her face darkened, as if a cloud had passed over it. She still held Margaret’s hand. ‘Don’t abandon him now, Margaret. He needs you.’
Margaret nodded, afraid to catch her mother’s eye, reluctant to show the least sign of vulnerability. ‘I know,’ she said.
The snow was lying thick on the basketball court behind the wire fencing. On a day like this the students were all indoors, and Margaret made the only tracks on the road south from the main campus to the Centre of Material Evidence Determination, where she had carried out her autopsies. Inside, the centre was warm and she pulled off her hat and made her way along the first-floor corridor that led to Professor Yang’s office.
His secretary smiled and inquired, in her limited English, after the health of Margaret’s baby, and then she knocked on the professor’s door and asked if he would see Doctor Campbell for a few minutes. Of course he would, he said, and Margaret was ushered in to a warm handshake and an invitation to take a seat. Professor Yang was a tall, lugubrious man with large, square, rimless glasses, and a head of very thick, sleekly brushed hair. He was sometimes a little vague, like an original for the absent-minded professor, but that only disguised a mind as sharp as a razor. It would be easy to under-estimate him on first meeting. Quite a number of people had. To their cost. He was an extremely able forensic pathologist in his own right. But it was his political acumen, and administrative skills, which had propelled him into his current position of power as head of the most advanced forensics facility in China. Samples from all over the country were sent to the laboratories here for the most sophisticated analysis. Its staff were regularly posted on attachment to other facilities around the world, to learn and bring back the latest refinements in DNA testing and radioimmunassay and a host of other laboratory techniques.
He had a soft spot for Margaret. ‘What can I do for you, my dear?’ His English was almost too perfect, belonging in some ways to another era. The kind of English no one spoke any more. Even in England. He would not have been out of place as a 1950s BBC radio announcer.
‘Professor, I have a favour to ask,’ she said.
‘Hmmm,’ he smiled. ‘Then I am certain to oblige. I rather enjoy having attractive young ladies in my debt.’
Margaret couldn’t resist a smile. Professor Yang took the Chinese system of guanxi—a favour given is a debt owed — very literally. ‘I’ve been working with Section Chief Li on the dead athletes case.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’ve been following it quite closely. Very interesting.’
‘I wonder if you might know anyone with a background in genetics. Someone who might be able to do a little blood analysis for me.’
Professor Yang looked as if his interest had just increased. ‘As it happens,’ he said, ‘my best friend from school is now Professor of Genetics at Beijing University.’
‘Do you think he might be prevailed upon to do me a favour?’
‘There is, my dear, a certain matter of some outstanding guanxi between myself and Professor Xu.’ It was odd how this strangely BBC voice became suddenly Chinese in a single word before returning again to the contorted vowels and diphthongs of his old-fashioned English. ‘So, of course, if I ask him, he will do me a favour.’
‘And then I will owe you.’
He beamed. ‘I do so much like having guanxi in the bank.’
‘I’ll need to retrieve some of the heart blood I took from the swimmer, Sui Mingshan. There should be enough left.’
‘Well, let us go and see, my dear,’ he said, and he stood up and lifted his coat from the stand behind the door. ‘And I shall accompany you to the university myself. I do not get out nearly enough. And I have not seen old Xu in a long time.’