Chief? I’m not saying that the bureau should not take it, but as far as I remember, our special case squad takes only political cases.”
Chen could understand his assistant’s reservations. Normally their squad did not have to take a case until it was declared “special” by the bureau, for stated or unstated political reasons. “Special,” in other words, was the label applied when the bureau had to adjust its focus to meet political needs.
“Well, there’s been talk about setting up a new squad—a triad squad, but this might be classified as a special case. And we are not yet sure that it’s a triad killing.”
“But if it is, it will be a hot potato. A hand-burning one.”
“You have a point,” Chen said, aware of what Yu was driving at. Not too many cops would be interested in a case related to those gangs.
“My left eyelid kept twitching this morning. Not a good omen, Chief.”
“Come on, Detective Yu.” Chief Inspector Chen was not a superstitious man, not like some of his colleagues who would consult the I Ching before taking a case. If superstition did come into play, however, there was actually a reason he should take the case. It was in this park that his luck had taken a turn for the better.
“In grade school I learned that Chiang Kai-shek came to power with the help of the gangs in Shanghai. Several ministers in his government were members of the Blue triad.” Yu paused, then went on, “After 1949, the gangsters were suppressed, but they staged a comeback in the eighties, you know.”
“Yes, I know that.” He was surprised at his assistant’s unaccustomed eloquence. Yu usually spoke without book-quoting or history-citing.
“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”
“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”
“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”
“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”
When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes—Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.
“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”
Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.
He replied, “Thanks, Detective Yu. I know I can depend on you.”
As they left the park, they saw a group of people gathering in front of the gate, on which a notice had just been put, saying the park would be closed for the day due to
Chen could understand his assistant’s reservations. Normally their squad did not have to take a case until it was declared “special” by the bureau, for stated or unstated political reasons. “Special,” in other words, was the label applied when the bureau had to adjust its focus to meet political needs.
“Well, there’s been talk about setting up a new squad—a triad squad, but this might be classified as a special case. And we are not yet sure that it’s a triad killing.”
“But if it is, it will be a hot potato. A hand-burning one.”
“You have a point,” Chen said, aware of what Yu was driving at. Not too many cops would be interested in a case related to those gangs.
“My left eyelid kept twitching this morning. Not a good omen, Chief.”
“Come on, Detective Yu.” Chief Inspector Chen was not a superstitious man, not like some of his colleagues who would consult the I Ching before taking a case. If superstition did come into play, however, there was actually a reason he should take the case. It was in this park that his luck had taken a turn for the better.
“In grade school I learned that Chiang Kai-shek came to power with the help of the gangs in Shanghai. Several ministers in his government were members of the Blue triad.” Yu paused, then went on, “After 1949, the gangsters were suppressed, but they staged a comeback in the eighties, you know.”
“Yes, I know that.” He was surprised at his assistant’s unaccustomed eloquence. Yu usually spoke without book-quoting or history-citing.
“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”
“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”
“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”
“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”
When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes—Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.
“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”
Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”
Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.
He replied, “Thanks, Detective Yu. I know I can depend on you.”
As they left the park, they saw a group of people gathering in front of the gate, on which a notice had just been put, saying the park would be closed for the day due to
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