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Prosecutors never asked a question unless they knew the answer, but David had been pretty sure what Wu would say. Hulan’s line of questioning had been fruitless. The Wus’ situation was unfortunate, but they were a dead end nevertheless.
On their way out, Hulan stopped to examine the All-Patriotic Society flyer more closely. “Bashan Village is foolish to advertise nightly meetings so boldly.”
“Xiao Da says we should not be afraid of our beliefs,” Wu said.
“You have heard him say this?”
“When he speaks, I listen.” The old man felt for the paper, pulled it off the nail, and handed it to Hulan. “Go to the meeting tonight. Open your heart.”
Hulan took the flyer and stuffed it in her pocket, then she pulled the hood of her poncho over her hair and stepped out into the rain. Once outside, David turned to take one last look at the widow and her cradled baby. Underneath all that dirt and sorrow was a very pretty young woman.
“Zai jian,” he said.
“Be reverent,” the old man answered, then shut and barred the door.
A HALF HOUR LATER THEY WERE BACK AT THE HOTEL. IT WAS close to six, still raining, still hot, and Hom’s guards still manned the front entrance. David and Hulan wandered back to their room in the fourth courtyard. They were wet and muddy. Hulan took the first shower, and by the time David was out of his she’d made tea from the hot water in the thermos. He sat down and took a sip. The closeness he’d felt to Hulan just yesterday seemed very distant now.
“I have to ask you something, Hulan. Why were you so hard on that old man?”
“Sometimes you have to be tough if you want a straight answer. You know that.”
“He lost his son. That woman lost her husband—”
“And they’re both cult members.”
Suddenly her obsession with the group became clear to him. She used it as a barrier against her feelings—against facing her grief over Chaowen’s death, against connecting to him because she knew he was opposed to China’s religious policies, against dealing with Lily’s murder or even that old man’s anguish. That wall may have protected her emotions, but it was blinding her to the facts of the case.
“I’m sorry we came out here,” he said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Of course there is….”
She sighed. “I don’t see that we have time for you to feel guilty or for us to have some heartfelt discussion about my weaknesses, okay?”
He sat back stunned. This day had been a far bigger trigger for her than he’d realized. “Don’t shut me out, Hulan. We came here together—”
“Things have chan
ged. You’re an American civilian. You can’t help me with a murder investigation.”
“When has that ever stopped us? Besides, this is dangerous—”
“Can we just forget I’m your wife? Let me do my job, then we can go home.”
He scraped his chair away from the table and walked to the window. He knew she didn’t understand how her words hurt him. He knew as well that she had no idea of the depth of his frustration. But that had become their pattern since Chaowen’s death. He worried; she ignored him. He tried to protect her; she shut him out. He tried to engage her; she avoided him.
He had a choice. He could come right back at her or he could control his feelings.
He stared out the window as he spoke. “We’re on a train—”
“A train?” He heard the apprehension in her voice. It seemed to ask, Am I to get some metaphor about my life now?
“Things are moving quickly. That always happens in a case. Today….” His solar plexus ached and he realized he was bone-tired from the effort of always having to be up for her, yet here he was doing it again. “You feel it, don’t you, Hulan, the way we’re now just along for the ride and we have to go where that ride takes us. And the day’s not over.”
“No, it’s not,” she agreed briskly. “While you were in the shower, I learned that Fong’s here. He’s with the body. I need to see him. And I’d also like to check in with the men who did the interviews with the staff.”
“And then you’re going to go to that All-Patriotic Society meeting,” he finished for her.
