Free The Hua Shan Hospital Murders by David Rotenberg Page A

apologized profusely in his country accent to each and every person with whom he collided. But Shanghanese are not good at accepting apologies from their country cousins and many retorted with intensely unkind descriptions of the poor man. Fortunately for Captain Chen, most of the slanders were spat out in such furiously fast and extremely idiomatic Shanghanese that it was hard for him to understand. Lily and Fong shouted back at Chen’s assailants until Chen stopped them. “Even the cat may look at the king,” he quoted.
    Fong was pretty sure this expression referred to the rights of the lowly to view their superiors, and in the realms of beauty Chen was far from being king.
    As they passed by the Jade Buddha Temple, Chen stopped. “Can I go in?”
    Fong had never been inside the popular tourist attraction that was supposed to be the “home” of the city god. “Sure,” he said.
    Inside the temple, the city seemed to slip away amid the quiet and the wafting smell of incense. Chen paid for six long sticks, knelt on the low rest in front of one of the large statues, then set the incense alight. As he bowed his head he rubbed the sticks slowly between his palms.
    Fong and Lily stood to one side. Fong looked around. Tourists with camcorders were everywhere. For a moment it occurred to Fong that it was wrong to take pictures in places like this, then he cast the thought aside. Why not, it was just a building set aside to honour superstition. He glanced back at Chen. The young man swayed slightly while he recited his prayers. As he did, it seemed to Fong that a remarkable transformation took place – the overriding clunkiness of Captain Chen gave way to an undeniable elegance. Something about the rhythm of the man’s silent recitation lent him a kind of grace.
    Fong stepped outside. The whole “thing” of the place made him feel uncomfortable. The term left out came to him but he dismissed it. For the first time in a very long time he intensely craved a cigarette.
    Chen came out shortly, with Lily at his side. Both were smiling. Fong led the way through the dank realities of the Old City. They entered a restaurant and Chen marvelled at the choices available on the menu.
    “Order what you like, Chen, this is on us,” Lily said.
    “Thank you, Miss Lily . . . or is it Mrs. Zhong?”
    “For you Lily is fine . . . no Miss. Just Lily,” she smiled at him and touched his hand.
    Fong wondered what had happened to Chen’s wife who he had once described as “a sad woman who can’t get pregnant and blames me.” By the time Fong had figured out what was behind the grotesque murders on the lake boat on Lake Ching, and he and Lily were ready to leave Xian, Chen wasn’t talking about his wife at all. They had probably separated, Fong thought. Why not? Chen was young – almost exactly Lily’s age. He had lots of time to find someone new.
    “Food good, Captain Chen?”
    “Great, sir. Aren’t you going to eat, sir?”
    Fong sipped his Tzing Tao beer and said, “I’m not hungry. Are you ready to work?”
    “That’s why I’m here . . . sir,” Chen said, catching a live shrimp between his chopsticks and plunking it into his mouth.
    “Fine. I want you to lead the investigation into who made this.” Fong took out a photograph of the metal cage in which the fetus had been found. Chen looked closely at the image then put down his chopsticks and spat out the shrimp. He suddenly wasn’t hungry either.
    A half-mile north of where Fong, Lily, and Chen sat, Robert stared at Tuan Li across a cheap card table. They were on Good Food Street down by the river. The street was closed to traffic nightly and turned into the world’s largest outdoor restaurant. It was one of Tuan Li’s favourite places. It was hardly classy dining and Robert knew he stood a very good chance of being quite sick the next morning – but Tuan Li was worth it.
    “There was an explosion in the city today,” she said.
    “I heard.”
    “In a hospital.