Chapter 16: A Hot Potato

A wave of irritation surged in Zhou Sen’s heart. If Susanna truly was a secret intelligence agent for the Soviets, and he handed her over, and one day the matter came to light, it would become a permanent stain on his record—one that would surely lead to his own reckoning. Yet now, Akiyama had already asserted that Susanna was a Soviet spy, and she was right before his eyes. This was truly a hot potato. If he hadn’t met with Akiyama and remained ignorant of the situation, it would have been much easier to handle. But now, knowing full well what was at stake, if he chose to conceal the truth or let her go, he would undoubtedly find himself in custody.

Wu En would never betray him, but what about Gu Lao Liu and Ye San’er? Though one owed him a great favor and the other was merely a freeloader, he couldn’t guarantee that neither would let something slip.

What was he to do? He certainly couldn’t just ask Susanna directly, “Miss Susanna, are you an intelligence operative sent by the Soviets?” That would be sheer folly.

“Lao Liu, stay here and help Miss Susanna make a statement. Wu En and I need to step out for a bit; we’ll be back soon.” Zhou Sen decided to make another trip to the Songjiang Daily. Since Susanna had provided some information, he had no choice but to investigate.

“Boss, where are you going?”

“Songjiang Daily.” Zhou Sen was already calling Wu En to follow him out.

...

“Officer Zhou, you’re back again?” The one receiving Zhou Sen was, as before, Olenikov, who evidently had little affection for him.

“Apologies, Mr. Olenikov. We’ve uncovered some new information and have come to consult with you further.”

“Please, go ahead.” Though courteous in words, the disdain in his eyes was plain.

“We learned that your editor, Mr. Shcherkin, who was murdered at home two days ago, had received some unusual letters at work—threats or something of the sort?” Zhou Sen cleared his throat and asked.

Olenikov’s face changed abruptly at this. “I’m not entirely sure about that. If private letters were sent to Shcherkin, we wouldn’t open them—that’s a matter of personal privacy.”

“If it concerns threats or his safety, it’s no longer a private matter, Mr. Olenikov. Please try to recall—did you ever hear of or see such letters or packages?” Zhou Sen pressed him.

“I haven’t heard of anything, but I can ask some of Shcherkin’s colleagues. Would that suffice?” Olenikov realized that whatever he said, this policeman would have a response ready. This was beyond his ability to handle; he would have to seek instructions.

“Of course.” Zhou Sen could tell that when it came to this matter, Olenikov was powerless to answer—clearly, he was just a puppet who needed to check with the Japanese authorities.

A short while later, Olenikov returned to the reception room.

“Officer Zhou, I apologize for the delay,” Olenikov said, sitting down and rubbing his hands with a smile. “I just asked some colleagues who were close to Shcherkin; they did say that he had received some strange, anonymous letters, but they didn’t know the details.”

“Did he ever receive bullets or other items?”

“That, I’m not sure about.” Olenikov smiled helplessly, feigning ignorance.

“Could I have a look at Mr. Shcherkin’s office?” Zhou Sen requested.

“Sorry, but after the incident, we cleared out his office and reassigned it to another colleague.”

“Really, how quickly things change. The case isn’t even solved, and you’ve already eagerly emptied his office. What about his personal effects? I hope you didn’t just throw them away?” Zhou Sen clicked his tongue.

Olenikov showed a trace of embarrassment. “No, we’ve sealed them away for now; we’ll deal with them after the case is closed.”

“I’d like to see those items, if I may?”

“Certainly.” With Dazawa Hayato’s authorization, Olenikov felt much more confident.

The storeroom at the stairwell’s corner was piled high with all manner of odds and ends. As they entered, the stirred-up dust made Zhou Sen cough. In one corner, Shcherkin’s belongings lay in a messy heap.

“Mr. Olenikov, Shcherkin was a photography enthusiast. He always kept a German Leica camera at the office. Now that he’s dead, does the camera have no owner?” Zhou Sen glanced through the pile and immediately realized that many things were missing. Only worthless books and manuscripts remained; valuable stationery, fountain pens, and especially the Leica camera were all gone.

Olenikov’s face changed at this—how did Zhou Sen know about the Leica Shcherkin kept at the office? Only insiders would know that.

“Mr. Olenikov, a camera means little to me, but the negatives stored in it—those might contain clues crucial to the case. I only need those. Is that too much to ask?” Zhou Sen knew well that the Leica had likely already fallen into someone’s private hands; getting it back would be unrealistic. What he really wanted were the negatives from Shcherkin’s photographs—they might hold the information he sought.

In truth, Zhou Sen had deduced this from a group photo found at Shcherkin’s home: he’d seen the Leica in the picture, but during the search, the camera was nowhere to be found. He guessed Shcherkin might have left it at the newspaper office—after all, as a reporter, he would often need it on assignment. Keeping it at the office would be convenient.

Just now, Zhou Sen had been bluffing, and it had worked.

“The negatives? I’ll look for them, and if I find them, I’ll send them over to you,” Olenikov replied, not foolish enough to risk his position.

“Fine. Pack them up with the rest of this and send it all over,” Zhou Sen instructed, pointing to the pile.

“Yes, of course,” Olenikov agreed quickly.

...

Dazawa Hayato’s face was dark and frightening as he stared at Olenikov.

“Why did you clear out Shcherkin’s office without permission, and why did you take his Leica?” Dazawa was furious—how had he promoted such an inept subordinate?

“Chief, Shcherkin was dead, and leaving his office empty was a waste. I just wanted to clear it out and reassign the room…” Olenikov explained timidly, sweat beading on his nose.

“Idiot! Even if you wanted to clear it, why did you all divvy up his things? And you—how dare you keep his camera?” Dazawa jabbed a finger at him, cursing.

“Shcherkin had no family here; his things at the office, well, they belonged to the paper…”

“Even if they did, you had no right to help yourselves. Do I really need to teach you this?”

“Yes, it was my mistake. I’ll have everyone return what they took!” Olenikov was so terrified he didn’t even wipe his brow, just bowed low, frozen in place.

“Forget it. What’s done is done. But the negatives from Shcherkin’s camera—send those to Zhou Sen as he requested.”

“Yes, I’ll find them and have someone deliver them. But should we review the negatives first…”

“Idiot! If you hand them over without review, all our secrets will be exposed!” Dazawa barked. Was it really necessary to spell out something so basic? How could he keep such a fool as a subordinate?

...

It wasn’t that Zhou Sen hadn’t thought to check Shcherkin’s office earlier—he had deliberately refrained. The more inexperienced and careless he appeared, the more Akiyama would deem him unfit for important duties. If he tried too hard, he’d only be putting himself in the line of fire.

From the circumstances, Zhou Sen was almost certain that Olenikov was hiding information about Shcherkin. If Akiyama was right, and Susanna had recruited Shcherkin as a Soviet asset, then the Soviet agents had no motive to kill him. Shcherkin and Old Anthony belonged to the same organization, but what exactly did that group do? Zhou Sen hadn’t figured it out yet.

In other words, if Shcherkin’s death had nothing to do with the Soviet agents in Bingcheng, then who did kill him? To crawl down a chimney and commit murder—the motivation must have been intense. The killer risked being burned by the fire in the hearth; no ordinary assassin could accomplish such a feat.

A figure emerged in Zhou Sen’s mind: a ninja.

After all, weren’t Japanese ninjas famed for their skills in infiltration and assassination? This would also explain why the Songjiang Daily seemed so indifferent to Shcherkin’s death. If it had been the Soviets, wouldn’t they have used the opportunity for propaganda? If it was the Japanese themselves who killed him, then perhaps Shcherkin had indeed been recruited by Susanna and needed to be eliminated as a traitor.

The paper’s reaction after his death was out of character—unless they knew his death had nothing to do with Soviet agents and were afraid that exposure would bring them disgrace.

But why would Akiyama still want him to investigate this case? It made no sense…

...

The aroma of roasted potatoes was pleasant, especially these pure, naturally grown ones, untouched by pesticides. Their sweetness and soft texture were a delight. If only there were some special sauce, the flavor would be even better; absent that, even soy sauce or sugar would do, though sugar was pricey and beyond most families’ means.

Four people—no, five, to be precise—gathered around the stove, eating roasted potatoes for lunch, along with scallions and bean paste. Such strong flavors were clearly not to Susanna’s liking.

Zhou Sen ate three potatoes in quick succession before feeling satiated and a bit cloyed. He washed it down with water and felt better.

“Miss Susanna, you’ll need to come with me to the police station. We need you there in person to officially close your missing person’s case.” After lunch, Zhou Sen spoke calmly.

“Very well.” Susanna hesitated briefly but nodded.

He wasn’t being heartless—he simply had no better solution. Susanna absolutely couldn’t stay here with him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Akiyama was still hiding something from him.