In his office, Li brewed himself a jar of green tea and sat at his desk to begin sifting through the files that had gathered on it during the night. The piles of transcriptions under the window had grown, and a selection had been pulled out by the lead detectives in each murder for his attention. He lit a cigarette and began the weary process of wading through the statements and testimony of drug dealers and small-time crooks, building workers from all over China, early morning habitués of Ritan Park. By seven o’clock he was on his third jar of green tea, his fifth cigarette, and was none the wiser. The air in his office was thick with smoke, the temperature rising as the sun sneaked in his window at an angle to lay long slabs of pale yellow light across the floor. The day shift detectives next door already had the business of the day well in hand. The third one to knock on his door with some fresh piece of information, and a comment on his suit, got his head bitten off, and Li had not been disturbed for the past half-hour. He liked this time in the early morning, to think, and consider, and sometimes reconsider his thoughts of the previous day. A fresh day often gave distance and perspective to events.

At seven he phoned the Centre of Material Evidence Determination to be told that his test results would be some hours yet.

At seven fifteen there was another knock at his door. Li raised his head, ready to bark at whoever had the audacity to disturb his thinking time. But he closed his mouth again before speaking when he saw that it was Section Chief Chen, carrying with him his habitual cloud of gloom. “Morning, Li Yan.” He stopped as he took in Li’s suit and frowned. “You haven’t got an interview for another job already, have you?”

“No, Chief. Just thought I’d better tidy up my act, given my new position.”

Chen grunted, unimpressed. “Anything overnight?” he asked.

Li shook his head. “Nobody knows anything. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything.” He shrugged. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get those results back from forensics.” Chen opened the door to go out. Li said, “Oh, by the way . . .” Chen waited. “I’ve reconsidered the university’s offer to lend us the American pathologist.” He tried to make it sound as casual as possible.

“Oh, have you?” Chen said. He looked at Li thoughtfully. “Have you been talking to Old Yifu about it, by any chance?”

“I . . . might have mentioned it.”

“Hmm-hmm. And he thought it was a good idea, did he?”

“He, ah . . . he did think her experience could be valuable.”

“Ye-es. It’s a pity you’re more inclined to listen to your uncle’s advice than mine.”

Li was indignant. “If it had been your advice, Chief, I wouldn’t have ignored it.”