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“Of course.”
She set me up on her computer and I checked the photographs, video, and audio recordings of David Zhou, which had been captured by the team over the preceding two weeks. While I was doing this, she made her calls.
After a while, my own phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but it was from Beijing.
“Jack Morgan,” I said when I answered.
“Mr. Morgan, this is Lin Su Yun, Shang Li’s wife. You left a message for me. I’m sorry it has taken me so long to return your call, but I have not been able to talk to anyone. My family. The children …”
I had phoned Shang Li’s wife shortly after arriving in Beijing.
“You don’t need to explain, Su Yun. I can only imagine what you’re going through. I’m so sorry about what’s happened. I wanted to arrange a time to visit to see if you need anything.”
“I need my husband,” she said.
“The police think—”
“I know what the police think,” she replied. “They’re wrong.”
I hesitated. Denial was the most common initial response to bereavement. There was an outside chance Shang Li was still alive, but with three dead colleagues, even if he’d been alive when he’d been taken from the van, there was little chance of him being allowed to live for very long.
“Do you have someone you love?” Su Yun asked me.
I was silent, thinking about Justine.
“If you do, you’ll know you can feel them in your bones. They are part of you, like your eyes or your heart,” she told me. “Would you know if your heart stopped, Mr. Morgan? Mine is still beating. He’s somewhere out there. Find him for me.”
“If he’s alive, we’ll find him,” I assured her.
“My husband speaks highly of you, Mr. Morgan. We will meet when he is by your side and we can celebrate his safe return.”
“Until then,” I replied.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” she said before hanging up.
“Su Yun called,” I explained to Zhang Daiyu when she finished her call.
“How did she sound?”
“Defiant,” I replied.
Zhang Daiyu joined me at the computer and we sat in her modest office reviewing the investigation material for a couple of hours. She briefed me on what she’d already found and pointed out interesting highlights, like David Zhou’s frequent visits to Meihui. I built up a picture of an extremely successful financier with some unusual connections. Along with Meihui, there were regular visits to a street vendor in Pinggu who sold cheap radios and to achow funstall in Dongcheng District.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Intelligence or criminal,” Zhang Daiyu replied. “Maybe both.”
“What was he doing on the university campus the night they were all killed?”
“The police think Zhou knew he was the target of surveillance and that he lured the team somewhere they would be vulnerable,” Zhang Daiyu revealed. “They believe he plannedthe ambush to prevent us from discovering whatever it is he’s up to.”
I didn’t think he’d be so stupid, but Zhang Daiyu’s phone rang before I could respond. She got to her feet and answered, pacing her office while listening to whoever was calling. I’d noticed there were few personal touches in her office. No photos of family or friends, just a framed picture of her in her Beijing Police dress uniform hanging alongside some sort of certificate. Shang Li had told me she was dedicated to her job, and nothing I’d seen so far led me to believe otherwise.
“Okay,” she said after she’d hung up. “Let’s go. I’ve got you into the most secure prison in China.”
“So long as I can get out,” I replied, getting to my feet, wondering how she’d managed to do something so difficult. Chen Ya-ting had said even he couldn’t get into Qincheng. Just who was this woman? I asked myself, studying her.
I didn’t like the wry smile she gave in response to my joking comment. “NowthatI can’t promise.”
