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identified him, or the car. So a taxi-driver hypothesis fits.”
    “But the murderer could also be the victim’s acquaintance,” Chen said, studying a picture in his hand. “With her body dumped in the canal, her disappearance would not be easily traced to him. That may account for the plastic bag, too. To conceal moving the body into the car.”
    “Well, not too many people have their own cars—except high cadres, and they would not have their chauffeurs drive them around on such an errand.”
    “It’s true. There’re not too many private cars in Shanghai, but the number is increasing rapidly. We cannot rule it out.”
    “If the murderer was the deceased’s acquaintance, the first question we have to ask is why? A secret affair with a married man, we’ve had cases like that, but then the woman in such a case, almost without exception, is pregnant. I called Dr. Xia early this morning, and it was ruled out,” Yu said, lighting a cigarette just for himself. “It’s still possible, of course, I mean your theory.
    If so, there’s probably nothing we can do until we find out her identity.”
    “So do you think we should start checking with the taxi bureau—in accordance with your theory?”
    “We could, but it would not be easy. There weren’t many taxis in Shanghai ten years ago—you could have waited on the street for hours without getting one. Now Heaven alone knows how many there are, running everywhere like locusts. Over ten thousand, I bet, not including the self-employed cab drivers. Maybe another three thousand.”
    “Yes, that’s a lot.”
    “Another thing, we’re not even sure that she was from Shanghai. What if she came from another province? If so, a long time will pass before we get information about her identity.”
    The air in the small office became thick with cigarette smoke.
    “So what do you think we should do?” Chen asked, pushing open the window.
    Detective Yu let a few seconds go by, and then asked a question of his own, “Do we have to take the case?”
    “Well, that’s a good question.”
    “I responded to the call because there was nobody else in the office and I couldn’t find you. But we’re only the special case squad.”
    It was true. Nominally their squad did not have to take a case until it was declared “special” by the bureau—sometimes at the request of another province, and sometimes by other squads, but more often than not, for an unstated political reason. To raid a private bookstore selling pirated hard-core CDs, for instance, would not be difficult or special for a cop, but it could get a lot of attention, providing material for newspaper headlines. “Special,” in other words, was applied when the bureau had to adjust its focus to meet political needs. In the case of a nameless female body found in a small remote canal, they would ordinarily turn it over to the sex homicide group, to whom it apparently belonged.
    That explained Detective Yu’s lack of interest in the case though he had taken the phone call and examined the crime scene. Chen riffled through the pictures before he picked one up. “Let’s have this picture cropped and enlarged. Someone may be able to recognize her.”
    “What if no one comes forward?”
    “Well, then we must start canvassing—if we’re going to take the case.”
    “Canvassing indeed,” Yu picked a tiny tea leaf from his teeth.
    Most detectives disliked this drudgery.
    “How many men can we call upon for the job?”
    “Not too many, Comrade Chief Inspector,” Yu said. “We’re short. Qing Xiaotong’s on his honeymoon, Li Dong’s just resigned to open a fruit shop, and Liu Longxiang’s in the hospital with a broken arm. In fact, it’s just you and me on the so-called special case squad at the moment.”
    Chen was aware of Yu’s acerbic undertone. His accelerated promotion was going to take some living down, not to mention his new apartment. A certain measure of antagonism was hardly surprising, especially