Anna came to offer desserts from a cart.

“Thank you.” Chen said. “Leave it here. We’ll choose for ourselves.”

“Another linguistic question,” Catherine said, selecting chocolate mousse.

“Yes?”

“Lu calls Anna and other waitresses his little sisters. Why?”

“They’re younger, but there is another reason. We used to call Russians our ‘elder brothers,’ believing they were more advanced and we were only in the early stage of Communism. Now Russia is viewed as poorer than China. Young Russian girls come here, seeking jobs in our restaurants and nightclubs, just as Chinese go to the United States. Lu is so proud of this.”

She dug her spoon into her mousse. “I need to ask you a favor-as your American girlfriend-as your buddy imagines.”

“Whatever I can do, Inspector Rohn.” He was conscious of a subtle change in her. Her tone lacked the edge of the previous day.

“I have heard of a ‘knockoff’ street in Shanghai. I would like to ask you to accompany me there.”

“A knockoff street?”

“Huating Road, that’s the name of it. People sell all kinds of fake brands there. Like Louis Vuitton, Gucci, or Rolex.”

“Huating Road-I have never been there myself.”

“I can go myself, with a Shanghai map in hand. Only the peddlers will charge me a much higher price. I don’t think my Chinese is good enough for bargaining.”

“Your Chinese is more than adequate.” Chen put down his wineglass. This was not an activity the authorities would recommend. Such a street market reflected no credit on China. If she chose to tell someone, it could be an embarrassment to the city government. But she would be able to do so even if he did not go with her. “Is it a good idea to go there, Inspector Rohn?” he said.

“Why do you ask?”

“You can buy such things at home. Why spend your time looking for fakes here?”

“You know how much a Gucci shoulder bag costs?” She put hers on the table. “Mine is an off brand. Don’t think all Americans are millionaires.”

“No, I don’t,” Chen said.

“One of Wen’s classmates, Bai-I think that’s his name- sells fake stuff. No one knows where he is. So we can ask about him. These knockoff peddlers must have a network.”

“We don’t have to go there to find him.” He did not think interviewing one more classmate of Wen’s could make much difference. “We deserve a break today.”

“There’s also a possibility that we will spot an imitation Valentino. The victim in the park wore that brand of pajama, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” he said, admitting to himself that she had a tenacious memory for detail. He had mentioned the pajama brand to her only once in passing. “As a chief inspector, I should not go there, but you are my responsibility. Party Secretary Li repeated this to me this morning. So, I’m your tour guide.”

When they were ready to leave, Overseas Chinese Lu made another red-faced effort to decline Chen’s payment.

“Tell you what,” Chen said, “next time I’ll come in alone, order the most expensive dish in the house, and let you be the host. Okay?”

“Sure. Don’t let me wait too long.” Lu accompanied them to the door, holding a camera.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Lu,” she said.

“Call me Overseas Chinese Lu,” he said to Catherine, bending to kiss her hand courteously, in a gesture appropriate to an overseas Chinese in the movies. “We’re privileged to have a beautiful American guest like you. Come again. Next time, Ruru and I will prepare something special for you.”

Several customers leaving the restaurant looked at them curiously. Lu stopped a young man with a crew cut and a light green cell phone in his hand.

“Please take a picture of the three of us. I’ll frame it. The most distinguished guests of Moscow Suburb.”

Chapter 24

It took them less than ten minutes by subway to reach Huating Road. Chief Inspector Chen was surprised at the crowd at the street market. There were also a number of foreigners, with small calculators, bargaining or gesticulating with their fingers. They had probably read the same tourist guide book as Catherine Rohn.

“You see, your Chinese is more than enough,” he said.

“I was afraid I would be the only foreign devil here,” she said.

The narrow street was lined on both sides with booths, kiosks, stands, barrows, and stores. Some specialized in a particular product line, like purses and shoulder bags, T-shirts, or jeans; some displayed an eclectic mixture. Armies of small vendors had created a marketplace out of a former residential area in the last few years. This had been happening throughout the city. A lot of stores were makeshift extensions, or conversions, of the original residences. Some peddlers did business on tables under awnings and umbrellas with brand logos, or simply on the pavements, giving the street the appearance of a fair.

They asked about Bai, the peddler, but no one volunteered information. It was not surprising. There might be more than one knockoff market. She did not seem too disappointed. Nor did they find Valentino pajamas there. Old Hunter’s information had been reliable.

She stopped at a booth to examine a leather purse. She slung it over her shoulder and appeared satisfied, but instead of bargaining for it, she left it saying, “Let me comparison shop at a few other stores first.”

Entering a tiny shop, they saw various familiar-looking, inexpensive products on shelves at the entrance, most of them bearing “made in China ” labels. The goods were the same as those in state-run stores. Further inside, however, appeared all sorts of copies of high-style goods. The owner, a broad-shouldered woman in her late forties, greeted them with a grin.

Catherine took his arm, whispering, “For the benefit of the owner, so she won’t take me for an American sucker.”

While the gesture made sense, it made him oddly pleased. She started to browse just like other customers with an intensity he had not expected.

Another store displayed traditional Chinese costumes. The street, frequented by foreign tourists equally interested in exotic Oriental products, was home to a couple of specialized boutiques. She lit upon a scarlet silk robe embroidered with a golden dragon. As she stroked the smooth material, the owner of the store, a gray-haired woman wearing a pair of gray-rimmed glasses, said affably, “You can try it on here, American lady.”

“How?” Catherine looked around. There was no fitting room.

“It’s easy,” the owner said, pointing at a piece of cloth folded back and hooked on the wall. “Pull it out, hook it onto the other wall, and it is a fitting room curtain. You can put on the robe behind it.”

“Ingenious,” Chen said. What stretched out across the corner of the room was, however, not exactly a curtain. The material was too thin, too short. It was more like a fashionable apron.

Beneath the curtain, he saw Catherine’s dress falling in a heap at her feet. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of her white shoulders before she wrapped herself in the scarlet robe.

“Take your time, Catherine. I’ll smoke a cigarette outside.”

As he lit a cigarette outside the store, he saw a young man in front of another store across the street dialing a cell phone and casting a long glance in their direction. A Chinese onlooker would be intrigued by the sight of an American woman changing her clothes behind the makeshift curtain. Chen did not feel comfortable in his temporary role, standing there like a bodyguard, a “flower protector” in classical Chinese literature.

Something else was bothering him, too. He was not sure what. He dropped the cigarette before he finished, stamping it out under his heel, and went back into the store. She pulled aside the curtain and emerged holding the robe wrapped in a plastic bag.

“I bought it.”

“The American lady speaks Chinese so well,” the owner said with an obliging smile. “I’m giving her the price for a regular Chinese client.”