“Those gangsters may be far more powerful than we imagine. They have branches in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Canada, the United States, and everywhere else in the world. Not to mention their connection to some of the top officials here.”

“I have read reports about the situation,” Chen said. “But after all, what are we cops for?”

“Well, a friend of mine got a job collecting debts for a state-run company in Anhui Province. According to him, he totally depends on the black way, the way of the triads. Not too many people believe in cops nowadays.”

“Now that this has happened in the heart of Shanghai, in Bund Park, we cannot stand around with our arms folded,” Chen said. “I happened to be in the park this morning. Just my luck. So let me talk to Party Secretary Li about it. At least we’ll make a report and send out a notice with the victim’s picture. We have to identify him.”

When the body was finally taken away by the mortuary people, the chief inspector and his assistant walked back onto the embankment, standing with their elbows resting on the railing. The deserted park looked strange. Chen produced a pack of cigarettes- Kents. He lit one for Yu and another for himself.

“ ‘You know it cannot be done, but you have to do it anyway.’ That’s one of the Confucian maxims of my late father.”

Yu shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

Chen understood Yu’s reasoning, but he did not want to discuss his own. The sentimental meaning Bund Park had for him was private. There was some political justification for his taking the case. If an organized gang killing was involved, as he suspected, it could affect the image of the city. In postcards, in movies, in textbooks, and in his own poems as well, Bund Park symbolized Shanghai. As a chief inspector, he was responsible for preserving the city’s image. The bottom line was that the murder in the park had to be investigated, and he was here.