sleeper tickets were sold out,” Yu fibbed, growing self-conscious about his appearance. In his old Renli jacket, his pants all wrinkled after a night’s travel, he looked like a bodyguard rather than the partner of the well-groomed Zhao. “Are there any new developments, Sergeant Zhao?”
“No. We’ve been looking everywhere for Wen. No success. The case is a top priority for us. I’m so glad you’ve come all the way from Shanghai to help.”
Yu caught the suggestion of sarcasm in Zhao’s voice. “Come on, Sergeant Zhao. You don’t have to say that. I don’t know anything about the case. In fact, I don’t know why I am here. It is by order of the Ministry.”
The truth was that Yu did not expect to accomplish anything. Either his mission was simply political window-dressing or Wen had been kidnapped by Jia’s Fujian accomplices. If the latter was the case, the search for Wen would be like fishing in the woods unless the local cops were determined to crack down on the gangsters.
“Well, ‘The monk from a far-away temple can recite scripture more loudly’,” Zhao said, smoothing his shining hair with his hand.
“If it is in Fujian dialect, I don’t speak a single word of it. I cannot even ask for directions here,” Yu said. “So you will have to take me to Changle Village.”
“Why in such a hurry, Detective Yu? Let me take you to the hotel first—the Abundance Hotel. You’ve had a long night in the train. Take a break, have lunch with me, and then come to our county police bureau. There we will have a good discussion, and a reception dinner—”
“Well...” Yu was astonished at his local partner’s lack of urgency. “I slept quite well on the train. Chief Inspector Chen will be waiting for my interview tapes.”
They set out for Changle Village. Driving along a bumpy road, Zhao managed to make a brief report about the gang known as the Flying Axes.
This society had been founded in the late Qing dynasty in the Fujian area as a secret brotherhood, with a wide range of “business practices,” including illegal salt distribution, drug trafficking, loan collection, protection, gambling and prostitution. These activities expanded in spite of the various governments’ containment efforts, though the triad remained a local one. The gang was suppressed after 1949 under the communist government and some of the leading members were executed because of their connections to the Nationalists. In the last few years, however, the gang had staged a comeback. The human smuggling business was headed by Taiwan snake heads such as Jia Xinzhi, but the Fujian triad’s role was essential. An illegal immigrant promised to pay the smugglers in installments. At first, the Flying Axes’ role was to make sure that the payments were made on time. Then they became involved in the other aspects of the operation, such as recruiting people to go overseas.
Yu said, “Can you tell me more about Wen’s disappearance?”
So Zhao went on to tell Yu about the work the Fujian police had done so far.
On the morning of April sixth, Zhao went to visit Wen for verification of her passport application. The Fujian police had been informed that an American officer was coming for Wen, so they were trying to speed things up. Wen was not at home. Nor was she at the commune factory. Zhao went there again in the afternoon, but still he had no luck. The next morning, he came to Changle with another policeman. The door to her house was locked. According to her neighbors, Wen had never before gone away for a whole day. She had to work in the commune factory, to take care of the family plot, and to feed the chickens and piglets. They looked into the pigsty, where the starving animals could hardly stand on their legs. So they decided to enter the house after checking for signs of forced entry. There were none, nor any sign of a struggle inside. They started canvassing the village, knocking