Commissioner Zhou was not sure which he found more amusing: the sign in Colonel Shen’s hands or the look on Colonel Shen’s face.
“What does this say?” Shen demanded, shaking the paper.
Commissioner Zhou had to pause in order to keep his composure. “It is the English word for the sound made by an explosion.” He noticed Shen’s arms tense and said, “Please refrain from damaging this evidence.”
Colonel Shen dropped the paper on the floor. Zhou motioned for one of his sergeants to retrieve and bag it.
“Perhaps you will salvage something from this investigative failure,” said Colonel Shen.
Commissioner Zhou was not only amused, he also decided to show it. “Do you truly believe you will persuade people you did not create this carnival if only you accuse me enough times?”
What made the moment so fulfilling was that everyone in the lobby had heard it.
Commissioner Zhou said to the Special Force Commander, “Comrade Commissioner, if your men are finished with their work I will examine the apartment for additional evidence.”
Commissioner Kuo nodded and moved in closer to say, “I am confident you will be able to salvage something.”
Commissioner Zhou replied, “I assure you that I strongly share your hope, Comrade Commissioner.” Which was enough to acknowledge that the Special Force Commander was indeed in trouble that would require his help, while intentionally ambiguous enough that the Special Force Commander would not believe he had declared himself an enemy and therefore feel compelled to attack him through the Public Security bureaucracy.
Before he went upstairs Commissioner Zhou called the public security minister’s aide once again and related what had just happened. Once your version of events reached the very top it mattered little what other stories were making their way through the lower levels.
When the elevator did deliver him to the 7th floor the hallway was still filled with a light fog of smoke. Some of the Special Force were packing their equipment while others lined up to take the elevator down. And grumbling that with rush hour beginning they would never reach their headquarters in time for dinner.
The bomb technicians were just leaving the apartment.
“Is it clear?” Commissioner Zhou demanded.
He was in civilian clothes, and they had no idea who he was. But ordinary Chinese, let alone police, had an unerring instinct about anyone who had the face to speak with authority.
The senior man was a grizzled inspector, obviously with many years of service. He said respectfully, “Yes, it is.”
Commissioner Zhou found it difficult to believe they had not discovered any explosive material. “Do not leave with the others. You may be needed.”
He could see their confusion and uncertainty. “Notify your commander. He will endorse these orders.” He knew as soon as they left his sight they would ask one of his men who he was.
And with that he stepped into the apartment. “Allow no one inside who is not wearing gloves,” he said to Inspector He. Chinese policemen were notoriously sloppy about such things, used to suspects who confessed. Or were beaten until they confessed.
He stood in the center of the living room in order to gain an impression. Such a mass of Western things crammed into the space, so alien to the Chinese eye. The difficulty was that this was not the apartment of his quarry, only his temporary lair. So he must first look for what belonged there, then what might have been taken. And what might have been left.
While he was surveying the room one of his policemen stepped past him and picked up a magazine from the coffee table. Commissioner Zhou stared at him until the man finally looked over and met his eye. And turned pale, hurriedly dropping the magazine and beating a retreat. Harsh whispers from behind as the man was chastised.
Commissioner Zhou sighed and shook his head.
Nothing in the living room struck his interest, so he motioned for his men to begin their examination. But the kitchen unit just off the living room was another matter. A kitchen table always had a cloth or a place set, or a vase or a centerpiece. Condiment dishes. Anything. But this one was totally bare, and so stood out.
He never liked to look down at what he was examining. Always across, because something that might otherwise blend into the surface became apparent. And even more so at eye level. As he bent down he picked up an unusual smell. Cleanser and something else he could not place. And a burned spot on the tabletop. Very small, much too small for a hot pan or dish to have made.
He could not banish the smell from his mind. “Inspector He.”
Who hurried in from the living room. “Yes, Comrade Commissioner?”
“Are you able to identify this smell? Not the cleanser, the other.”
Inspector He sniffed cautiously. “Comrade Commissioner, my daughter has an electric iron for burning designs into wood. This is what it smells like when she uses it.”
“Yes! Exactly. Excellent, He.” Now Commissioner Zhou was down at floor level. And there was something the same color as the surface but resting upon it. He picked up a small piece of white plastic wire insulation and showed it to Inspector He. “A soldering iron, perhaps? Left on the table while hot?”
“Yes, Comrade Commissioner.”
“If the laboratory teams ever make their way through the traffic I want swabs taken of the table, floor and counters to identify any chemical traces. Until then no one is to be allowed near this table.”
Colonel Shen walked into the kitchen area.
“No one,” Commissioner Zhou repeated, with emphasis.
An anxious glance over at Colonel Shen, then, “As you order, Comrade Commissioner.”
Commissioner Zhou opened all the cupboards and then stood back and surveyed them as a whole, like portraits in a museum. Something was wrong here, also. “He, tell me what you see.”
“A bowl unlike the others, Comrade Commissioner. The rest are not glass. Or so large. And it is forced into the space it occupies. It does not belong there.”
“Very good.”
Colonel Shen opened the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen.
Which made Commissioner Zhou furious. But Shen would welcome an argument and attempt to portray him as an obstructionist. So he swallowed his anger. At least Shen was still wearing the latex gloves.
Colonel Shen leaned into the open refrigerator. It was on, but there was very little inside. Some jars of pickles and mustard. A few bottles of beer. And a glass bowl filled with what looked like paper. He poked it with his finger. Like most Chinese he was totally unfamiliar with the concept of a coffee filter. He smelled his gloved finger. An astringent chemical odor.
He picked up one of the filters, holding it before the light. Only an American would keep paper in a refrigerator. Inexplicable. With a flick of the wrist he tossed it back into the bowl.
Commissioner Zhou was enveloped by the sound and felt himself leave his feet. A hard blow knocked the breath from his body. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but smoke. It was only when he tried to turn that he realized he was on the floor. The living room floor. Nothing had struck him. He had been thrown from the kitchen to the living room.
Feet crashed down directly in front of his face, nearly trampling him. It was firemen carrying large extinguishers. He tried to roll over onto his stomach in order to regain his feet, but in doing so collided with another body and fell again. It was Inspector He. Who had been attempting to do the very same thing.
They each grabbed onto each other and stood up, coughing from the smoke. A loud sound of shattering glass. The firefighters were breaking the windows to let the smoke out. Commissioner Zhou wondered why they did not simply open them.
The smoke began to drift away. Commissioner Zhou tried to speak, but there was no moisture in his mouth. One of the investigators took his arm and led him over to what had been a glass door to the balcony. The broken shards crunched under his feet.
Even though he had done all this, it took the first breath of fresh air to make him realize what had happened. And spur him into action.
“Out!” he shouted, nearly frightening the investigator at his arm half to death. “Everyone! Out of the apartment instantly!”
They all rushed for the door. Commissioner Zhou noted that all were able to walk, some with assistance. Except the firemen carrying a limp Colonel Shen. He walked around the apartment to satisfy himself that no one was injured and left behind. And that there was no fire. It was clear that the explosion had taken place in the refrigerator. It was blackened, and the sides and top completely separated. Not a large explosion. Designed to kill whoever opened the refrigerator? What could be the reasoning behind that?
The hall outside was utter confusion. Everyone rushing about and either babbling to each other or shouting into radios. Commissioner Zhou shouted again. “Silence!” The noise level dropped but did not cease. “Silence, everyone!” That had an effect. “Get control of yourselves! Cease using your radios and do not call anyone else up here. Send any wounded down in the elevator. If you are unhurt, stand by for orders and be quiet. Where are the bomb technicians?”
They were slow to appear, knowing what was in store. “Here, Comrade Commissioner.”
Commissioner Zhou left them standing before him and turned to the firemen. “Is there any further danger of fire?”
“No, Comrade Commissioner. As long as there are no more explosions, of course.”
“Stand by in case you are needed.” Then he turned back to the bomb technicians. “Return to the apartment and find the other booby traps you missed.”