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“Don’t use those threats on me,” Guang countered angrily. “I spent eight years in prison camp listening to them, and they didn’t change my answers.”
“Then you well know the injustices that can happen in our country,” Hulan continued. She checked her watch. “Spencer Lee is scheduled to die in two hours. I won’t lie to you. He is involved in this somehow, but if he’s executed his knowledge will die with him.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small box, which she handed to Guang. “Can you tell me what this is?”
“It is the packaging we use at Panda Brand.”
“Can you read what is on the label?”
“It says…” Guang’s voice was aggrieved. “It says Panda Brand Bear Bile.”
“I will repeat,” Hulan said. “Leniency to those who confess.”
Guang’s eyes were moist when he looked up. “Last year I received reports that someone was using our factory to manufacture forged packaging like this box. As we began looking into it, we also found that someone had also been pilfering our stock of bear bile. I have already told you, there is nothing illegal in what we do. We produce bear bile for scientific purposes only.”
“What did you do when you learned about the missing stock?”
“We tightened security. We had no more losses.”
“Did you suspect your son?”
This last was more than Guang could endure. A low moan issued from deep inside him. Then Guang Mingyun shuddered, took a deep breath, and said, “Not until he disappeared.”
“You found something in his apartment, didn’t you?” Hulan asked.
Guang nodded gravely.
“His refrigerator was empty,” Hulan said. “I thought you had sent someone over to take away the perishables.”
“I did. When my man brought everything to the house, I saw the bile. I don’t know why Henglai kept it in the refrigerator.”
“The boys probably just thought it was out of the way,” Hulan said, but Guang wasn’t listening.
“I went back to the apartment myself,” he said. “I found more bile—more than
we have ever manufactured.”
David cleared his throat. Guang’s sad eyes turned to him. “We learned yesterday that there are many illegal bear farms around Chengdu. Could your son have had connections to one of those?”
“I don’t know,” Guang said. “But he couldn’t have done all this alone.”
“He had Billy’s help,” David reminded him.
“No, I mean at our factory. He had to have inside help. If you want to know the truth, you should go there.”
“But first we have to stop the execution,” Hulan said. “To save Spencer Lee’s life, will you testify in court about Henglai?”
Guang Mingyun slowly nodded.
Before leaving Guang’s office, Hulan tried to call the jail, but the phone lines were down in that section of the city. She then called the MPS, hoping to reach Zai or her father, but was told they were both out of the office. There was no way of knowing if the petition for the stay of execution had been accepted. It was now eleven-fifteen. David and Hulan had to get to the jail themselves if they were to stop the execution.
Peter sped down alleyways and side streets, trying to avoid the midday traffic on the main roads. After about thirty-five minutes, they turned into the traffic circle they had to pass through to reach the jail. The daily morning free market was just coming to a close. Most of the peddlers were selling the last of their goods at bargain prices, while others were packing up to go home. Between the market and the gates to Municipal Jail Number Five, people lingered in the street, blocking traffic, gossiping, adjusting their purchases in their bicycle baskets, chasing after a runaway child or two. They were waiting for something.
Hulan jumped out of the Saab, pausing just long enough to ask Peter to stay put. Then she dashed through the crowd, urging David to catch up. They had not gone far when a flatbed truck rolled into the circle. Hulan saw Spencer Lee standing in the back of the truck with his hands shackled behind him and a wooden placard mounted on his back that declared his misdeeds in bold red characters. He was a murderer, a conspirator, a counterrevolutionary committed to corruption, a black mark on the People’s Republic of China. The traditional execution “parade” had begun.
The people in the intersection reacted as though the circus had just come to town. Peddlers abandoned their stalls, knowing no one would steal from them. Mothers stopped their gossiping, picked up their children, and gathered around the truck, following its intentionally slow progress around the circle. As David and Hulan elbowed their way through the crowd, the people threw themselves wholeheartedly into their expected role.
“You corrupt so-and-so!”
“Death to the murderer!”
