The magistrate, p.1
The Magistrate, page 1
Begin Reading
Table of Contents
About the Author
Copyright Page
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Publishing Group ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content,
and info on new releases and other great reads,
sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at
us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
If you’ve come this far, this one’s for You
CAST OF CHARACTERS
(In accordance with Chinese naming conventions, surnames are placed first)
Raven Valley PSB:
Chief Liang
Sergeant Bing
Constable Fatty Wang
Constable Li, “the Mute”
Constable Huang
Constable “Yuehan” Chu
Constable Big Wang
Criminal Investigation Bureau Team:
Ma Xiulan, Forensic Pathologist
Jin Miao, Supervising Technician
Lu Fei, Deputy Chief, Raven Valley PSB
Sun Huizhen, Constable, Raven Valley PSB
Nangang Benevolent Society:
Mr. Chen, Director of Nangang Investment Inviting Corporation
Mr. Liu, Director of Nangang Public Rental Housing Corporation
Mr. Zhao, Director of Nangang State-owned Building Investment Corporation
Mr. Cai, Head of the Nangang Procuratorate Arrest Section
Mr. Pang, Mayor of Nangang District
Judge Ren, President of Nangang People’s Court
Mr. Xu, Chief of Harbin Homicide
Mr. Hong, Chief of Nangang Public Security Bureau
Mr. Wan, Nangang Deputy Mayor and Party Secretary
Mr. Yu, Chairman of Nangang Standing Committee
Mr. Tang, Businessman
Chief Xu’s Team:
Detective Han
Detective Pangu
Magistrate’s Team:
Mr. Zhang
Mr. Li
Others:
Gao Yang, disgraced ex-politician
Ling Wei, Gao’s ex-wife
Hak, North Korean operative
Sister Kim, leader of underground church
PROLOGUE
Chen steps out of the crowded, stifling bar for a breath of air. It’s ten thirty on an overcast October evening. A fine silver mist blurs the headlights of passing cars. Chen tilts his face up to the heavens and sighs as a crisp autumn breeze soothes his overheated flesh.
They say the human body is sixty percent water. In Chen’s case, after several hours of concentrated boozing, it is verging on equal parts water, beer, and whiskey highball.
The occasion of his inebriation—as if he really needs an excuse—is Golden Week, an annual holiday commemorating the founding of the People’s Republic of China. For most citizens, Golden Week is observed with fireworks, parades, and a week’s vacation. For Chen, it’s a pretext to go out drinking every night and sleep until noon the next day.
Chen feels his head spinning like a propeller. Perhaps he’s overdone it. He opens his eyes and shuffles over to lean against a wall. He belches, feels hot liquid rush into his throat, thumps his chest with a fist. He lights a cigarette and hungrily smokes it. A pair of pretty women totter by in short skirts and high heels.
“Have fewer children, raise more pigs!” Chen shouts.
This is an old slogan from the late seventies, when the one-child policy was strictly, and sometimes brutally, enforced. Now that the country is experiencing a population decline—today’s youth is overworked and undersexed—the needle has swung one hundred and eighty degrees back the other direction.
Chen knows this, of course. He just thinks he’s being funny. He laughs uproariously, but the women are not amused. They clutch each other for safety as they hurry past.
Chen finishes his cigarette—the nicotine has vastly improved his condition—and tosses the butt onto the sidewalk. He smooths his hair and looks at his watch. One more for the road. Maybe two. He stumbles toward the bar entrance. He doesn’t see a car roll up to the curb and a tall man dressed in a drab suit and a cotton face mask hop out. The man makes a beeline for Chen.
“Director Chen?”
Chen stares blearily at the man. The mask doesn’t trouble him—nowadays mouth coverings are de rigueur for citizens with the sniffles or who fear the latest rumored outbreak of coronavirus. “Yes?”
The man flashes an ID. “Harbin Metro Public Security Bureau, Financial Crimes Division. Would you come with me, please?”
Chen cups an ear. “What?”
“Harbin PSB, Financial Crimes. Please come with me, sir.”
“There must be some mistake.”
“You are Chen Jianguo, director of the Nangang District Investment Inviting Corporation?”
“Yes—”
“Then no mistake. Let’s go.” The man takes Chen’s elbow and tugs him toward the car.
“No, wait! I don’t—”
“Don’t make a scene, Director. It will only serve to embarrass you. And your fellow conspirators.”
“Conspirators?” The warm liquor sloshing around Chen’s belly abruptly turns to ice water. “What is your name?”
“You can call me Zhang.”
“I will make a call.” Chen reaches for his cell phone.
Zhang snatches it from his hand. “No calls.”
“How dare you!”
“Get in the car, please.” Zhang herds Chen into the backseat, climbs in beside him, pulls the door shut. The driver, likewise wearing a face mask, eases into traffic.
“I think you’d better tell me what this is all about,” Chen says after a few minutes. Zhang doesn’t answer. “I have powerful friends, you know!”
Zhang gives Chen a short, vicious uppercut to the chin. Chen’s head snaps back. He sees stars. Then crashes painfully back to earth. He touches his mouth—his fingers come away bloody. His fear turns to fury. He wings an elbow at Zhang. Zhang deflects it and jams a black device into Chen’s neck.
Chen experiences a violent, shuddering jolt, followed by intense shooting pain. His body stiffens, then goes limp.
“Be still,” Zhang says. “Be quiet. Understand me?”
When Chen can speak again, he gasps: “You’re not the police!”
“I said, be quiet.”
They drive for twenty minutes. Chen racks his brain: Who are these men? Why do they want to harm him? Sure, he has stepped on a few toes to get to where he is now. He’s used and discarded women. Played fast and loose with other people’s money. Leveraged what political influence he possesses to benefit himself. But no more so than anyone else would do in his position!
The driver parks in an industrial no-man’s-land. At this hour, the windows of the surrounding factories are dark, their parking lots empty. Zhang hauls Chen out of the car and tosses him onto the ground. The driver opens the trunk, removes two thick bamboo sticks. He tosses one to Zhang.
“Thank you, Mr. Li,” Zhang says.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Zhang,” Li says. He keeps a stick for himself.
Chen makes a run for it. Zhang catches up and cuts him across the back of his thighs with the stick. Chen stumbles and falls. Zhang and Li stand over Chen and take turns thrashing him, like railroad workers pounding a spike. Chen shrieks and flails, seeking shelter from the blows, but there is none to be found in the cold pavement.
Afterward, Chen lies bruised, broken, weeping.
Zhang squats down, slightly out of breath. “The Magistrate sends his regards.”
Zhang and Li return to the car and drive away.
* * *
Exactly one week and a day later, Director Liu of the Nangang District Public Rental Housing Corporation boards an elevator at the Four Seasons luxury apartment building and presses the button for the lobby. As the car descends, he checks his appearance in a mirrored panel on the wall. Hair combed. Clothes free of stray hairs. No trace of lipstick on his face.
Liu does not live at the Four Seasons, but his mistress, Ms. Hu, does. She’s twenty-four, slim, with an adorable melon-seed-shaped face and perfect alabaster skin. They met at a restaurant when Hu was twenty-two and Liu was forty-one. On their first date, Liu took her shopping at Prada and bought her a dress, scarf, and wallet, paying thirty thousand yuan. Later that night, she demonstrated her gratitude by emerging from the bathroom of their suite at the Shangri-la Hotel wearing the scarf—and nothing else.
Aside from paying for Hu’s apartment and monthly living expenses, Liu takes her on an annual holiday somewhere sunny and lavishes her with small gifts. In return, she launders and folds the clothes he keeps at her apartment, rubs his head when he wakes up with a hangover, and listens patiently while he complains about work. And there is sex, of course, depending on the ebb and flow of Liu’s libido.
Liu checks the time. Cao! It’s later than he realized. His wife doesn’t much care where he spends Friday night, but on Saturdays she prepares an elaborate meal and expects him to eat with her and the children. If the soup gets cold because of his tardiness, she’ll give him a tongue-lashing.
It’s Ms. Hu’s fault. After breakfast she insisted—the naughty minx!—that they attempt a pair of rather acrobatic Daoist sexual positions: Spring Phoenix Ascends the Jade Pillar; Hungry Tiger Cub Enters the Flesh Grotto.
How could he possibly refuse?
The elevator reaches the lobby; Liu rushes outside to flag a taxi. He is pleasantly surprised to find one already idling out front. He waves at the driver, who gives him a terse nod.
Liu opens the back door. “Waiting for someone?”
The driver is wearing a hat, glasses, a cotton face mask. “Just dropped a customer off. Where you headed?”
Liu gives him the address. The driver agrees to take him. Liu slides onto the backseat and pulls the door shut.
They travel a few kilometers down the road before detouring down a side street.
“Where are you going?” Liu asks.
“Traffic ahead,” the driver says. “Shortcut.”
“What traffic? On a Saturday?”
The driver turns down another street. Liu leans forward to look at the ID placard on the dashboard. “Driver Li, do you suppose I’m a tourist and you can gouge me by taking backstreets?”
“No.”
“Then where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Here.” Li turns once more and pulls to a sudden stop.
Liu’s anger grows. “What are you doing, you idiot?”
“Just one moment, sir.”
“Wang ba dan!” Liu reaches for the door. But before his fingers can grasp the handle, the door opens, and a man pushes his way inside.
“Hey!” Liu protests.
“Hey, yourself,” Zhang says. He jams a Taser into Liu’s neck and gives him a jolt. He pulls the door shut. Up front, Li shifts into gear and speeds down the street.
“Sit quietly,” Zhang tells Liu. Like Li, he is wearing a hat and mask. “Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound.”
“Is it money you want?” Liu gasps, probing the seared flesh of his neck. “I’m not rich, but—”
“Give me your cell phone.”
Liu hesitates. Zhang brandishes the Taser. Liu hands over his phone with a trembling hand. Zhang tosses it out the window.
Now Liu is no longer angry. He is afraid.
Li drives to a quiet side street and parks behind a white van. He gets out and opens the van’s rear door.
“Let’s go,” Zhang says. He manhandles Liu into the van and pulls the door shut. It’s dim inside, but Liu can just make out an apparatus bolted to the floor, one that looks very much like a “tiger chair”—an ugly metal contraption used in Chinese police stations and black jails to keep suspects immobilized during interrogations. “Sit,” Zhang says.
“Who are you people?” Liu asks, voice quavering.
Zhang shoves Liu into the chair. Liu struggles. Zhang tases him again, then straps Liu in—ankles, wrists, lap, chest. Up front, the engine starts and the van rolls forward.
Zhang makes himself comfortable on the floor. Liu wheedles and begs until Zhang threatens to tase him again. They drive for a while and then stop. Li opens the back door, climbs in, and pulls it shut behind him.
“Please—” Liu begins.
“Don’t bother,” Li says. He lifts the bottom of his mask, places a cigarette between his lips, lights it. He holds his hand in front of his mouth, the cigarette protruding between stubby fingers.
Zhang flicks on an overhead light. He hums an old pop tune as he picks up a plastic box and opens the lid. He removes an object that resembles a big fat stylus.
“What is that?” Liu moans.
Zhang clicks a button. The tip of the stylus whirrs and vibrates. “I’d advise you to be very still. Otherwise, I might poke an eye out.”
“No!” Liu wails. “I’m begging you!”
“Quiet!” Zhang lowers the stylus and presses his other hand on Liu’s forehead to keep him immobilized. Liu whimpers as the tip inscribes a searing pattern onto his cheek. After several excruciating minutes, Zhang switches off the stylus and steps back. “What do you think?”
“You’re no Wang Xizhi,” Li says. He is referring to a famous fourth century scholar who, as legend has it, practiced his calligraphy beside a pond, dipping the tip of his brush into the water to wash off the ink; such was his diligence that the pond eventually turned completely black.
Zhang smirks beneath his mask. “For a man who can barely read, you’ve got high standards.”
Li drives them back to a residential neighborhood. Zhang unstraps Liu from the chair and pushes him out onto the street. “The Magistrate sends his regards,” he calls out. He pulls the door shut and the van speeds off.
Liu scrambles to his feet and runs like a madman. He passes several pedestrians, who hasten out of his way. Eventually he grows exhausted and slumps onto a bench at a bus stop. As he catches his breath, he considers what to do.
Go to the nearest PSB station? No—he doesn’t know why these men targeted him, and until he does, it’s better to be circumspect. Find the nearest medical clinic? Yes, but first he wants to see what they’ve done to him.
Liu walks to the nearest parked car and looks at his face in the side mirror.
He is shocked and appalled.
His cheek is red and inflamed and it bears a sloppily rendered tattoo of a Chinese character in black ink: 贼.
THIEF.
霜降
EARLY FROST
ONE
The phone rings just before midnight. Lu Fei, deputy chief of the Raven Valley Township Public Security Bureau, groans. At this hour, a phone call can only mean one thing.
Trouble.
Lu Fei doesn’t want any trouble. What he wants is for the phone to stop ringing and to remain right where he is—in a warm bed, pressed up beside a warm body.
Especially because the bed and body belong to Luo Yanyan. His girlfriend.
Lu smiles to himself in the dark. Girlfriend. He likes the sound of that.
When contemplating his relationship with Yanyan, he pictures a wisteria plant: a slow-growing creeper, requiring a great deal of patience; only recently showing signs of blooming after years of diligent cultivation.
While they have not articulated the parameters of their relationship in so many words, they are, more or less, a couple. Lu sleeps over at Yanyan’s house a few nights a week. If he stops by the Red Lotus after work, she is less reticent to openly display her affections for him—gently resting a hand on his arm when she serves him a drink, bringing him a cup of tea at the end of the evening when she’s decided he’s had enough, that sort of thing.
And when alone, they simply cannot keep their hands, lips, and other body parts off one another. It’s as if they are two randy teenagers who’ve been given the keys to the Pent-up Lust Suite at a tawdry love hotel and told to indulge in their wildest fantasies.
Even at this hour, despite the incessant ringing of the phone, Lu’s proximity to Yanyan leads to feelings of arousal. He snuggles up behind her and reaches around to cup one of her breasts. “Marry me,” he says. He makes this request at least once a day.
“Are you planning on letting that ring all night?” Yanyan growls.
“Ta ma de!” It’s times like these Lu regrets he was reinstated as deputy chief after his recent suspension. He rolls over and fumbles for his cell phone. “What?”
It’s Constable Sun, whom Lu has come to regard as one of the most reliable and competent members of his team. “Sorry to bother you at this hour, Deputy Chief. But we have a body. A homicide.”
“Where?”
“Off the expressway. Near the bridge where it crosses the river on the west side of town.”
“How do you know it’s a homicide?”
“The body was set on fire,” Sun says. “And it has no fingers. Or teeth.”
“I’m on the way.”
* * *
Lu dresses with the lights off and kisses Yanyan goodbye. She waves him off grumpily. He goes downstairs and walks a block or so to where he’s parked a patrol car. He feels justified in retaining the vehicle for his personal use because Chief Liang, Lu’s boss, is usually steeped in whiskey and beer at some local karaoke joint by 9:00 P.M. Consequently, whenever something happens after hours, it is Lu who gets the call.
