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“You’re absolutely right, Vice Minister.”
Zai’s voice softened. “Where is the girl now?”
“She was taken to the Number Five Home outside the Third Ring Road.”
“Ah, then she may have a not so unhappy end.” When Hulan looked at him questioningly, he added, “She might be adopted by an American family and have a much better life than the one she would have had.” He leaned forward slightly. “You could adopt too, Hulan, perhaps an infant. It would not be so bad for you to find happiness again.”
He was trying to be thoughtful, but his words hurt, reminding her of sympathizers like Neighborhood Committee Director Zhang, who’d told Hulan she should “try again.”
Zai cleared his throat, letting her know that this personal conversation was over, but what he said next had nothing to do with this morning’s events in Tiananmen Square. “A new case has come to our office. It is an unidentified body found in the Yangzi River.”
Hulan was so taken aback by the abrupt change in subject that she responded without thinking. “Surely this is a common occurrence. Why should the Ministry of Public Security be involved?”
“Because the body is that of a foreigner.” He spoke evenly, but she noticed the involuntary way he glanced at the walls. Did the government still listen to every conversation that went on in this room?
“Has anyone reported a missing foreigner?” Hulan asked, going along with Zai for now. “If the person fell off a cruise ship, the whole country would have been searching for this…. man? Woman?”
“Man. As you point out, he could not have fallen from a cruise ship. But let us not discuss the possibilities. I am assigning you the case. We need to know who he is and how he came to be found in the waters of our great river.”
“You know I’m busy today. I have to write a report on everything that happened this morning.”
“That can wait. More important, it might be better for you to delay. You may want to work on your facts—”
“I don’t need to think about what happened. I did what was necessary in the moment. Beyond that, I don’t do murder cases anymore.” A solution popped into her mind, but she had to offer it with the proper contrition. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap and said, “I am out of practice with the dead. Give the body to Luo or Cui.” These inspectors had risen quickly in the ranks the last two years. As a reward, they’d gone to the United States as part of an exchange program and had spent two weeks at the FBI’s training facility at Quantico.
“I’m not asking them. I’m assigning you. You have no choice.”
Hulan caught something in his tone and looked up. He was nervous, and it was exactly because someone might be listening. She held his eyes until he nodded almost imperceptibly. People were listening. The men across the lake…. Without being given a chance to explain fully her actions this morning, she was going to be punished, and Zai couldn’t or wouldn’t help her.
“Who is the dead man?” she inquired, keeping her voice steady.
“That is for you to discover.”
“But you must have an idea—”
Vice Minister Zai scowled. “Identification is all that is needed at this time,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”
It had been nearly five years since Hulan had gone down to the basement of the Ministry of Public Security building to Pathologist Fong’s domain. Back then she’d been known as someone who could look at any crime scene or decomposing cadaver with an analytical eye. She’d developed a technique of stepping back and back again from a body to take in the whole scene. Her colleagues had always thought her hard-hearted in this regard, and in retrospect maybe she was. But, she told herself, her heart wasn’t hard by nature. She just couldn’t allow herself to acknowledge what was before her as human. A body was merely a question to be answered. Step away and step away again….
She paused before the swinging doors leading into the forensics lab. She tried to prepare herself for what she would see and smell, but what was the point? Water deaths were particularly unpleasant, and she was hopelessly out of practice. But she would deal with it, accept her punishment, then get back to her real work. She pushed through the doors and was assailed by the odors of formaldehyde, bleach, antiseptic, and lurking just below that the unmistakable smell of human death. The outer offices were empty, and she passed through two more sets of doors before she found Pathologist Fong. He peered up at her, regarding her critically. He was a small man, and it had always bothered him that he was shorter than she. At last he said, “You’ve come to see our”—and here he switched to barely discernible English—“John Doe?”
Before she could respond, he scurried down the hall. He pulled out a set of keys, opened a door, and motioned her in ahead of him. In the center of the room was a stainless-steel table. To the right was a sink; to the left a counter with a scale, other equipment, and numerous jars and bottles filled with liquid and specimens. The refrigeration unit for corpses was on the far wall. Hulan didn’t know how many bodies were in there, but even from behind steel doors the smell of decay began to clog the back of her throat.
Fong’s movements slowed. She remembered this about him. His caustic sense of humor would still be present, but his actions would be deliberate and careful. He had more respect for those who entered this room on a gurney than for those who could walk in of their own volition. He slipped on latex gloves, leaving the drawer open for Hulan to get a pair. As she pulled on the gloves, he dabbed a bit of mentholated ointment under his nostrils, then handed the jar to Hulan. She swiped her finger through the ointment, ran it under her nostrils, and felt the rush of menthol into her sinuses.
Pathologist Fong transferred the body bag onto the lab table. Hulan slowly exhaled to steady herself, then crossed to stand next to the pathologist. In one long, swift movement, Fong unzipped the bag, revealing the body from head to toe. The mentholated ointment didn’t begin to disguise the horrible stench that assaulted her.
“We always save the most beautiful ones for you, Inspector,” he recited as though it had been only a few days since he’d last spoken those words to her. He took two discreet steps back to give her time to examine the body alone.
The autopsy had
already been performed and the y-incision sewn up with crude stitches, but this was the only thing about the body that could be said to be normal. Stretched out, the bloated corpse seemed like some grotesquely huge monster. The algae-covered flesh had shriveled into what was known as washerwoman’s skin as a result of prolonged submersion in water and had burst here and there both from trauma and to let out gases. The eyes and nose were gone. The mouth was agape, and she could see the shredded remains of the tongue. The genitals were still complete. The fish had not snacked there. In fact, compared with the torso, the bottom half of the body was in relatively good shape.
“A trip down the Yangzi is no picnic,” Fong commented dryly. “It is one of Chairman Mao’s more obscure sayings, but true nevertheless.”
Hulan ignored the joke. She ran the tip of her finger along the flesh of the man’s arm. “He lost his shirt….”
“That’s my inspector. You disappear but you don’t forget how to look. They should send you out to teach the young ones who come in here. Stupid as water buffalo—”
