Chapter 48: Borrowing a Person

"Wu En, Susanna is a major suspect. When you get home tonight, keep a close eye on her—don’t let her slip away under your nose, understand?"

"I got it, brother," Wu En nodded.

With those instructions given, Zhou Sen also prepared to head home.

Walking took too much time, but fortunately the snow on the roads had melted, revealing the ruts, so a bicycle was by far the most efficient means of transport.

He really ought to get a carriage—or even a motorcar, though those were too expensive, guzzling fuel like burning money, hardly affordable for the average person. And at his rank, the station would never assign him a car; the best he could hope for was a little reimbursement for gas, but that would only draw attention.

A small carriage was the more sensible choice.

Pedaling hard, Zhou Sen rode his bicycle toward home. He didn’t catch that scent today, which meant he probably wasn’t being tailed. These days with no privacy were truly suffocating.

When he reached home, the street near his door was deserted. Most windows were unlit—on such a cold night, with little in the way of entertainment, most folks would have crawled into bed as soon as dinner was over.

The loneliest lot were the bachelors. Zhou Sen found himself missing his old life as a shut-in; at least then he’d had a computer or a cell phone, and the nights had never felt quite so empty.

Shaking off these memories, Zhou Sen took out his keys, unlocked the courtyard gate, and wheeled his bicycle inside. He’d never dare leave it outside—in this weather, it would be frozen solid by morning, and then good luck trying to use it.

"Master Vasim..." At the sound of activity in the courtyard, the light in Irina’s bedroom flicked on. She turned on the living room light and, wrapped in a padded coat, came out to greet him.

"Haven’t I told you not to worry about me? Go back inside, it’s cold," Zhou Sen said, pushing open the door. Irina had already set out his slippers and took his coat as he shrugged it off.

"Mr. Anthony instructed me to take good care of you, sir," Irina said, hanging his coat on the rack in the entryway.

"I’m not a child, you should get some rest. I can manage," Zhou Sen replied. "Is there hot water?"

"Yes, it’s all ready for you."

"Good. I’ll take a bath in a bit..." Zhou Sen nodded. In the depths of winter, after working up a sweat on the bike, a hot bath was pure bliss.

Rich men like Old Anthony were never short of grand bathtubs.

He filled the tub with steaming water, tested the temperature, and, finding it just right, undressed and slipped in.

He kept his head above the water and covered as much of his body as possible with a lid to keep the heat in and delay the water cooling.

Meow!

"Lucy, what are you doing in here? Out! You’re a lady cat..." Zhou Sen scolded little Lucy.

But Lucy didn’t leave; she jumped up, settled on the rim of the tub, and gazed at him with her big blue eyes.

Zhou Sen let her stay—if she wanted company, so be it.

After nearly twenty minutes, Zhou Sen knew it was time to get out. Even a good soak had its limits; too long wasn’t healthy.

He dried himself, donned his robe, and returned to his bedroom. He’d checked before—there were no bugs in the bedroom, but caution was still necessary.

All this, merely because of Old Anthony, and now he was under scrutiny, forced to act as if nothing had changed. The act was wearing thin.

And then there was the radio in the study—best not to listen anymore. Even though Lucy had chewed through the bug’s power cord, who could say whether someone might slip in and reconnect it? It would be child’s play for a skilled agent, especially if they found a moment when Irina was out shopping.

He didn’t know if the bug was wired or wireless. If it was wired, the transmission range could be considerable. Wireless, with current technology, would be limited to a few hundred meters at most.

Wired bugs were typically hidden in telephone receivers, powered and transmitting through the phone line; wireless ones just needed a power source.

At that thought, Zhou Sen sat upright.

He didn’t dare turn on the light—who knew if someone was watching?

He hadn’t tampered with the telephone; he’d never taken apart such an old device, and if he broke it, that would only make things worse.

But the bug above the chandelier must be connected to the ceiling power—so it was a wireless device.

If it was wireless, the receiver had to be within five hundred meters, maybe even less if they wanted a clear signal—three hundred meters at most.

In this part of Gaoshi Street, the buildings were low, five stories at the highest. The most discreet place to set up would be in a nearby house, where it would be difficult to detect.

A round-the-clock surveillance operation would require at least two people—no, probably three.

But how to locate the receiver?

Zhou Sen felt that his thirty years of study and experience were barely enough. He had only just managed to uncover Old Anthony’s identity, and even then, who knew how much of it was real? Could he trust anything the Japanese said? He doubted it.

Still, Old Anthony had clearly been on some top-secret mission for the Japanese, and was likely dead. Otherwise, the Japanese would never have paid attention to someone as insignificant as him.

It was as if he had been hit in the head by a windfall—suddenly promoted, suddenly in the spotlight—but none of this was what he wanted.

Enough. Time to sleep.

Zhou Sen lay down, pulled the covers over his head. Overthinking was useless; better to get a good night’s rest and face tomorrow’s troubles with a clear mind.

...

"Miss Susanna, this is an arrest warrant. You are now a suspect in the murder of Mr. Xie Erjin, editor at the Songjiang Daily. We are taking you to the station for questioning," Zhou Sen said, producing the warrant he had obtained earlier that morning at the station. He showed it to Susanna at the Delight Inn.

"Officer Zhou, you must be mistaken. How could I have killed Xie Erjin? He was my boyfriend..." Susanna protested anxiously.

"I didn’t say you killed him. I said this case involves you. Come with us, and don’t force us to use harsher measures," Zhou Sen replied impassively. At this point, it seemed Susanna was indeed not being wronged.

"You’re making a mistake, officer—I’m the victim here!" Susanna’s face had gone pale as she desperately tried to defend herself.

"Save it for the station," Zhou Sen said, nodding at Wu En, who stepped forward and produced the patrol team’s only pair of brass handcuffs, securing Susanna.

There were too many suspicious points about Susanna; even if she wasn’t the killer, bringing her in for questioning was justified.

As Susanna was led out of the inn, a crowd gathered, watching and gossiping. Zhou Sen didn’t bother dispersing them, but hustled Susanna into the car sent to pick her up.

The car was driven by Old Liu, the station’s veteran driver. There was no official driver position; Old Liu was a formal officer assigned to the Special Branch, which was always making arrests.

Old Liu was one of the "old guard," part of the original crew. He’d been driving for years, never advancing in rank, but he didn’t mind—if he ever became a sergeant, he’d probably lose his driving gig. Driving was safe, came with plenty of perks, and only a fool would give it up for a promotion.

Zhou Sen climbed in and handed Old Liu a cigarette.

"Thank you, Officer Zhou. If it’s from you, it must be a good one—I’ll save it for later," Old Liu said with a grin, tucking the cigarette away and lighting a cheap one from his battered pack before starting the car toward the station.

The crowd dispersed with their departure.

Bai Shoutian, the old lecher, had a keen sense for these things. He knew Zhou Sen was currently favored by Akiyama, so he didn’t dare slight him. For anyone else, he’d never have sent the car—it was a gesture of goodwill.

At the station, the detention cell and interrogations were under the jurisdiction of the Judicial Division, but Akiyama had already informed them.

In Zhou Sen’s case, the Judicial Division would assign assistance as needed, but otherwise, he had a free hand—especially in interrogations.

Interrogation was an art, involving psychology, micro-expressions, a variety of techniques and experience.

Since joining the force, Zhou Sen had conducted a few interviews but had little experience with formal interrogations. He was a novice.

"Uncle Lin, I need a favor," Zhou Sen found a chance to call Lin Dakuan, speaking quietly.

Lin Dakuan didn’t know what Zhou Sen wanted, but Saburo Shibuya had told him to support Zhou Sen as much as possible. "Go ahead," he replied.

"Could I borrow Uncle Li for half a day?" Zhou Sen thought of Li Shaotang, the Bureau’s interrogation expert. It would be a waste not to use him.

"Borrow him? What for?" Lin Dakuan’s instincts kicked in—people in his line of work needed a nose for trouble, or they’d be finished in no time.

"The Xie Erjin case. We’ve arrested a suspect. I’m not skilled at interrogations, but I know Uncle Li is an expert. I’d like him to come over and offer some guidance. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s compensated for his time and expenses," Zhou Sen said over the phone.

"Li has an important case right now—it might be hard for him to get away..." Lin Dakuan hesitated, thinking it over.

"Please, Uncle Lin. If you don’t help me, no one else can," Zhou Sen pleaded.

"All right, I’ll work something out with Li and let him spare you some time. After all, I was good friends with your foster father, Mr. Anthony," Lin Dakuan pretended to consider before agreeing.

"Thank you, Uncle Lin. I’ll be waiting for Uncle Li at Nangang Police Station," Zhou Sen replied eagerly.