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A few moments later, the lock clicked. Zhang Daiyu checked the coast was clear before pushing the door open. I followed her inside and we crept along a short pitch-black corridor. My senses were alert for sounds and movement, but I could hear only the hum of a distant fan.
Zhang Daiyu pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and suddenly there was a blinding light and the sound of someone shouting. When my eyes adjusted to the dazzle from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, I saw a short overweight woman in her fifties, wearing a nightdress, urging us to stay back. Despite her appearance, I took her very seriously because of the razor-sharp meat cleaver she brandished at us.
Zhang Daiyu spoke to her quickly in Mandarin. Whatever she said calmed the woman. She still eyed me with suspicion but lowered the cleaver while Zhang Daiyu kept talking.
The woman responded to whatever had been said and then shook her head. Her words sounded different to Zhang Daiyu’s.
“What language is she speaking?” I asked.
“It’s Beijing dialect, local to the city. She says her name is Meihui,” Zhang Daiyu revealed. “She claims to be a spiritual adviser. A wise woman. She says she’s never heard of David Zhou.”
“Show her a picture,” I suggested.
Zhang Daiyu nodded and produced her phone. She flipped to a press photograph of Zhou and showed it to Meihui. The older woman shook her head.
“You sure this is the right address?” I asked.
Zhang Daiyu nodded.
“Shang Li runs a tight ship. He certainly doesn’t have amateurs working for us,” I responded. “If the case files say they trailed David Zhou to this apartment, then I believe them.” I fixed Meihui with a stare. “Which means she’s lying.”
CHAPTER 9
I TOOK A step toward Meihui, my hands held in the air, my smile unwavering, indicating I meant her no harm. She backed away and raised the meat cleaver menacingly, while rattling off some angry words.
“She says she will call the police,” Zhang Daiyu translated.
I lowered my hands and took a long look around the apartment. “Tell her we would welcome the police.”
Zhang Daiyu frowned but relayed my words.
Meihui’s eyes narrowed and I could tell she was trying to decide whether I was bluffing.
“Okay, Mr. American. I will call them,” she said, surprising me by breaking into English.
She moved toward an ancient pushbutton phone mounted on the wall beside the equally ancient refrigerator. The kitchen and living room were a tiny combined open-plan space, and Meihuihad filled them with the accumulated clutter of decades. The kitchen was packed with pots and pans, and produce burst out of the old, dilapidated cabinets. The furniture in the living room was from the eighties. There was a straight-backed armchair next to a more comfortable-looking easy chair that both faced an outdated television. A deep-pile rug separated the two seats. There was a smell of incense and sweet spices about the place.
Meihui watched me walk further into the apartment so I could see into the bedroom, which was overwhelmed by clothes and clutter. I glanced through another doorway into the bathroom. Meihui frowned and spoke rapidly to Zhang Daiyu.
“She says she doesn’t want the police coming here and asking questions about her business.”
“I didn’t think she would,” I replied. “Spiritual counselor, right? Wise woman? What is it you really do here?”
While the West had come to rely on digital surveillance, many countries in Asia and Africa still did things the old-fashioned way and maintained extensive human-intelligence networks. A spiritual counsellor would be a valuable tool in the collection of intelligence. People would confide in a simple old lady who was only trying to help. Of course, I couldn’t prove she was anything more than someone trying to serve her community, but experience had taught me to recognize when someone wasn’t being honest, and Meihui was giving all the signs.
“Why did David Zhou come here?” I asked her.
“I don’t know this man,” she replied.
“Come on. We both know that isn’t true,” I countered.
“You have no power here, Mr. American. You both need to leave.”
I shrugged and surveyed the apartment again. “A wise woman needs to be good at reading people. A detective needs to be able to read people and places. You’re lying, that much is clear.”
She muttered something. I didn’t need a translation to recognize a curse.
“Go!” she said.
