The First Excellence: Fa-Ling's Map (15 page)

“
A man was murdered,” Paula said, “in the room next to ours.”

“
Murdered?” Eloise said, her hand flying to her throat.

“
I think it was a suicide,” Fa-ling said. “The police said he took his own life.”

“
Oh, I forgot you are on our floor,” Paula said. “What room are you in?”

“
I’m in 606,” Fa-ling said. “You must be in 608. Did the police question you?”

Unlike many hotels, the Golden Lion was laid out with room numbers that flowed first up and then down the corridor, rather than with even numbers on one side and odd on the other. Fa-ling’s room was to the right of the dead man’s, while the Kaders’ was on his left.

“
I called Security,” Paula said, “and I’m telling you, it was a murder. I was awake. I heard the whole thing.” She gazed wide-eyed at the group, letting the drama sink in.

No one noticed that Ting-lo and Adrian had fallen silent. Adrian reached for his wife’s hand under the table.

Meanwhile, Paula enjoyed the spotlight, regaling the group with her story and laughing at poor Henry’s butchered attempts to translate for the police.

Fa-ling felt ridiculous. Like a fool, she had believed the big policeman, Cheng, when he told her not to worry. A suicide was cause for sadness, but not for alarm. Had she known a murder had taken place, she would not have ventured out of her room when she heard the vacuum cleaner. In fact, she would have demanded that Henry transfer her to another floor immediately.

Ting-lo stood up and murmured something about a headache.

“
Please tell Cynthia we’ll pass on the Nanning tour today,” Adrian said to Eloise. “I think the excitement is getting to us. We’ll hook up with the group again before the babies arrive.” Then he hurried after his wife, who was already half way out of the restaurant.

Fa-ling left moments later. She needed to get back to her room and call Detective Wang. Also, she had promised to call Daphne at eight o’clock.

What, she wondered, was going on with her little sister?

Wang Yong-qi and his partner Cheng returned to the station earlier than usual, hoping to avoid contact with the crew of the day shift, and in particular with Fat Bayao. Fat was a pain in the ass, but he was dedicated to his job. He did not tolerate poor discipline in his staff. He normally arrived between 8:00 and 8:30, and expected to see his shift fully accounted for by morning roll call at 8:45.

Wang and Cheng signed off their night shift with the desk clerk at exactly 7:59 and hurried out the door. As Wang exited the underground parking lot he waved at Fat, who was just pulling in.

“
That was a close call,” Cheng said.

“
We bought ourselves another day,” Wang said. “He’ll expect our reports by this time tomorrow.”

Wang joined the chaotic flow of traffic, not flinching when a truck came within inches of sideswiping his sedan. Local drivers instinctively understood the unwritten rules of the road. Right of way was assigned according to the size of the vehicle. The largest trucks went first, followed by smaller trucks and buses, followed by vans and cars, then motorcycles, bicycles, and finally pedestrians. Traffic lights, where they existed, were meaningless. Pedestrians had to adopt a Zen-like view of life and death in order to cross a busy road.

It was a short drive to Cheng’s inner-city apartment. Wang had been inside several times, but not during the past year, since Cheng’s widowed mother had moved in. Considering Cheng’s questionable habits concerning his personal hygiene, Wang found the big man’s apartment to be surprisingly tidy and well furnished. Cheng lived the life of many heterosexual bachelors. He ate simple foods, leaning over the sink so as not to spill crumbs, and he immediately washed his dishes. His plate and cup could be found at any time standing like soldiers in the drying rack.

Cheng climbed out of the car and onto the curb outside of his building.

“
I’ll pick you up early tonight,” Yong-qi said. “We can get started on the reports.”

“
I’ll be ready at 6:00. We can go for noodles.”

Cheng disappeared through the lobby entrance. It was a good building, not aesthetic in the Western sense, but certainly one of the nicer residential buildings in Nanning. Cheng’s position allowed for certain privileges. He had the good sense to appreciate them.

Wang Yong-qi was dying to meet the woman who had borne and raised his unconventional partner, but to date he had not been invited to do so. He knew better than to embarrass his friend by pressing the point. If Cheng was reluctant to make introductions, there must be a reason.

Yong-qi was about to pull away from the curb when his cell phone erupted to the melody of Volaré. He put the car in park and fumbled to free the phone from his jacket pocket.

“
Detective Wang speaking,” he said. Anyone hearing Yong-qi speak on the phone would guess from his disembodied voice that he was a scholar, or perhaps even an actor. It did not carry the thick baritone of a stage performer, but rather the mellow quality often assumed by movie stars.

On meeting Wang, though, the illusion was shattered. True, he knew how to dress and move among the upper classes, having come from an intellectual background, but the ‘re-education’ of his parents had taught Yong-qi it was best not to display his true personal style. He had mastered the skill of acting like a simple policeman.

Those who knew him were certain of one thing: Wang Yong-qi was anything but ‘simple’. Although he had never been outside of China, his parents had instilled in him a worldview, ensuring he was able to speak French and Russian as well as Mandarin and Cantonese. Such achievements were not acknowledged outside of the home. Even now, years after the University entrance-exam policy had been re-instated throughout the country, intellectualism was still viewed by the state with suspicion.

In China, no other single skill was as important to one’s survival as the ability to fit in.

“
Hello,” he said. No phone number was displayed on the tiny monitor. He wondered if his phone had dropped the call.

“
Hello,” a woman’s voice finally responded. “Detective Wang, this is Li Fa-ling at the Golden Lion Hotel. We met last night. I’m in room 606.”

“
Yes, I remember, Miss Li. What can I do for you?” Yong-qi tried not to sound pleased.

“
I have some information regarding what happened next door.”

“
May I ask what kind of information you have?”

“
I’d prefer to speak with you in person. Are you able to see me this morning?”

“
I’m off duty now, but I could come by.”

“
Good,” she said. “I’ll wait for you here.” Her accent lent her words the soft assurance of someone who did not question her right to be heard. Despite the precision with which she spoke Cantonese, her voice almost floated into his ears, absent of the false bravado he normally associated with young Chinese women.

“
I’ll be there in about an hour,” Yong-qi said. His first impulse was to drive directly to the Golden Lion Hotel. However, his partner’s earthy odour still clung to the seat next to him, and he realised he would need to freshen up before meeting the lovely Miss Li.

Yong-qi rushed into his apartment and hurried to his bedroom. He was still carrying the bag belonging to the suicide victim. He and Cheng had agreed they would carefully lay out and photograph each item before they turned the victim’s possessions into evidence.

He set the bag onto the floor. Stripping, he hung his dark jacket neatly on a plastic hanger and set the pants aside to be taken later to the dry cleaner.

After a quick shower he dressed in front of the mirror, vainly adjusting his tie and finally discarding it onto the bed. He changed into jeans and a polo shirt, then changed his mind again, not wanting to appear too natty. He shut his eyes, remembering the charmingly unaffected sloppiness of her hair and the way she had worn the man’s white oxford shirt buttoned up incorrectly.

He pulled the polo shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bed along with the tie and dress shirt. He retrieved a white t-shirt from the laundry, smelling it before pulling it over his head. It was going to be a hot day. He chose a lightweight tan coloured jacket from his closet and wore it opened casually over the t-shirt.

Another man might laugh at his attempt to choose the right clothes, but it had been years since Yong-qi felt such a powerful attraction for a stranger. His feelings were unlikely to lead anywhere. Just the same, he wanted to make an impression.

He thought about adding gel to his hair, which had become shaggy with neglect, but knew that would be too obvious an attempt at self-improvement. Instead he let it fall forward naturally, hoping she would consider it to be more youthful than hopeless.

He raced out the door, hurrying back first for his keys, which he’d left in his other pants, then for his cell phone. At thirty-three Yong-qi was seven years younger than Cheng, still young enough to have something in common with a twenty-two year old woman. Besides, Wang knew it was the hope of something new, an unexpected excitement, that carried most people through the tedium of their empty days.

Without that thrill of possibility, however remote it might be, most lives would not be worth living.

Cheng had been correct in saying that Miss Li Fa-ling could give a man a reason to face another day.

After speaking with Detective Wang, Fa-ling immediately picked up the phone again. It was time to call Daphne as promised.

Her younger sister seemed to be going through some kind of difficult patch. Daphne was usually the easy-going one, compliant and cheerful. She didn’t excel in school the same way Fa-ling had, but she never gave their parents a moment’s concern. Her future lay firmly in her music. Her one love was her piano. She didn’t need to ace algebra for that.

Lately, though, Daphne had become less talkative and more secretive. Fa-ling correctly guessed there was a boy involved, probably Nick, whom she had been seeing recently, but when she pressed Daphne for details, her sister clammed up. Now, according to Mom, Daphne had taken to moping around the house when she wasn’t hiding out in her room.

“
When are you coming back,” were the first words out of Daphne’s mouth.

“
You know when I’m coming back. I’m spending a week in Nanning and another in Beijing, then I’ll be home. What’s the panic?”

“
What if you get delayed?”

“
I’m not going to get delayed. Besides, I’m here now. You asked me to call. Let’s talk.”

“
I can’t talk to you on the phone.”

“
Does this have anything to do with that boyfriend of yours?”

“
Just forget it,” Daphne said. “You wouldn’t understand. I have to go.”

“
Daphne, don’t be rude. You’re worrying Mom and Dad with this moodiness.”

“
I’m worrying them? You’re the one who’s wandering around China, for crying out loud. I asked you not to go.”

“
I’ll be back in two weeks. If the crisis can’t wait till then, you can call me on my cell phone anytime.”

“
It’ll wait,” Daphne said. “I just wish I’d gone with you.”

“
Next time.”

“
Yeah. Right.”

“
Seriously. Mom would have freaked out if I tried to bring you this time. She barely even let me go. Next time for sure, we’ll both do it.”

“
Ok.”

“
Are you ok now?” Fa-ling asked.

“
Absolutely.”

“
And you’ll call me if you want to talk about it?”

“
For sure.”

Fa-ling put down the phone and shook her head. Had she ever been that hard to talk to at Daphne’s age? Talk about an emotional wall — she was no closer now to knowing what Daphne’s problem was than she had been last night.

Calling her sister had been an exercise in futility. She reached for her clarinet.

**

Detective Cheng Minsheng was tired but happy as he boarded the elevator. He was pleased with his performance at the Golden Lion Hotel. He enjoyed rattling the cages of the tourists by searching through their belongings without cause. He didn’t really expect to find anything incriminating — only a fool would travel to China carrying contraband — nor did he think it was appropriate to violate their privacy the way he had.

On the other hand, he did enjoy giving the indignant Westerners a rare taste of what it was like to live in the People’s Republic. It was high time foreigners were made to understand how distant a concept freedom was within these borders. The West spoke loudly enough about democracy when it suited its purpose to do so, but Cheng had yet to hear it make a truly resolute demand for human rights in China.

No doubt, Cheng thought, that rallying cry would come soon enough, as China rapidly increased its prominence on the world’s political and economic platforms.

Cheng was even more satisfied with the performance he had staged at the Big Chicken Saloon. He did not think Lulu would have to worry about her lusty manager in the future. He relished the memory of the shocked faces at the sight of his 77B pistol, not the least gratifying of which was the stunned expression of his friend Yong-qi. It didn’t hurt to keep his younger partner on his toes. Cheng did not want to become too predictable.