by Zhou HaoHui
An anguished cry came through the MP3 player. ‘Give me back my money! I want my money!’
‘I keep telling you – I don’t have it,’ a new voice protested. Chen Tianqiao.
‘Stop right there and stay calm!’ Yuan yelled, his own voice anything but.
‘You bastard! Liar! I’m going to kill you!’ Wen Hongbing shrieked like a wild animal roaring at its prey. Suddenly he began panting. The sounds of a scuffle came through the speaker.
‘Let him go!’ Yuan yelled.
Next came the unmistakeable crack of a gunshot.
The recording ended. No one in the conference room spoke. After nearly half a minute, Pei broke the stifling silence. ‘What are your thoughts?’ he said to Du.
The journalist’s usual nonchalant expression was nowhere to be seen. Du shook his head. He was still visibly shocked by what he’d just heard. ‘That boy… It was all because of just one sentence.’
‘That’s right. That one sentence changed everything. It’s heartbreaking, but there’s nothing that could have been done.’ In a softer voice, Pei added, ‘I sincerely hope that you can include that in your article.’
‘Hmm?’ Du studied Pei closely, as if trying to work out what he meant.
‘I don’t want you to just write about this. Take that MP3 player and upload the audio file online as well.’
Du’s mouth slowly twisted into a sly grin. ‘You’re using me, aren’t you?’
‘If you’re not up to the task, you can always say no,’ Ms Mu said icily. ‘You aren’t the only journalist we’ve been in touch with.’
Du looked over at her and raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’ll do it, of course. Given a scoop like this, what kind of reporter worth his salt wouldn’t? But I hope you’ll tell me how you really intend to use my article. Then I’ll be able to properly consider how I write it.’
That sounds reasonable enough, Ms Mu thought. She shot Pei an inquiring look. When he nodded, she focused back on Du. ‘Wen Chengyu, the man now better known as Eumenides, has no memory of that day. He was too young. We’re hoping that you can write an article that will be seen by him. The details within it may very well cause him to abandon his murderous ways.’
‘You want me to write a letter exhorting Eumenides to give up?’ Du asked, grinning.
‘You could say that.’ Ms Mu shrugged. ‘Wen Hongbing’s death is what turned Yuan into a killer. In a sense, the young Wen Chengyu was the catalyst for Yuan’s transformation. Our goal in telling Wen Chengyu about this part of his past is to make him reflect on those events. To make him realise that continuing as Eumenides is not his only option and that the things Yuan taught him aren’t as absolute as they might seem. All of this was simply a matter of chance – the result of something he said as a child. The facts surrounding that bloody tragedy can now be used to bring this to an end.’
Du stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘I see exactly what you mean.’
‘So how will you approach the article?’ Ms Mu asked, arms folded.
Before Du could answer, Pei decided to raise the stakes. ‘I want you to write this article as if your life depended on it. Because, in truth, it does. You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Of course.’ Du snickered. ‘If this article has the impact you’re hoping for, I’ll become the first person to receive a death notice from Eumenides and live.’
‘Good to see you still have your wits about you,’ Pei said. ‘SPU Captain Liu, take him home. I want to see the article as soon as it’s ready.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Liu stood up and snapped a quick salute.
Du rose lazily from his seat and picked up the envelope. ‘What if this is simply my fate?’
‘Move it!’ Liu grabbed the reporter’s arm and dragged him out of the conference room.
Once the doors had shut, Pei turned to Ms Mu. ‘How good do you think our chances are?’
‘Hard to say,’ she mumbled noncommittally. ‘But regardless of what else happens, the article will certainly shake Eumenides’ belief system. He’s likely to be very frustrated by now after such a long and tireless search for the truth about who he is, and that frustration may have worn him down and dented the strength of his feelings. Whether those are feelings of love or hate, he has no reason to persist with them. If an external stimulus were to come along at this point, it’s extremely likely it would have a massive impact on his current path.’
Pei’s heart speeded up. It’s already happening, he thought.
*
13 November, 10:16 a.m.
Captain Pei’s office
Captain Pei was sitting silently at his desk, looking at a copy of the morning paper spread out in front of him. The paper was dated the first of November and he was reading a news story printed in one of the sections inside:
Jinjiang District
The body of a young man was discovered floating in the Jin River early this morning. Forensics tests confirmed that the individual drowned. His blood alcohol level was recorded at 213 milligrams per litre, indicating that he was intoxicated at the time of his death. The police suspect that the man slipped and accidentally fell into the river while attempting to urinate sometime after midnight. Chengdu’s law enforcement authorities have also issued a reminder to all city residents, urging them to consume alcohol with caution.
Pei stared at the story for several minutes and tapped absently at his desk with his right index finger.
There were three knocks on the door, which finally brought him out of his trance. ‘Come in,’ he called out. He folded up the paper and placed it in a drawer.
Lieutenant Yin entered the room smiling. ‘Captain, it’s your birthday today, isn’t it?’
‘My birthday?’ Pei unconsciously glanced at the calendar at the edge of his desk. The thirteenth of November. Yin was right. He grinned sheepishly. ‘Slipped my mind completely. How did you know?’
‘Someone’s here with a gift for you,’ Yin said, still smiling.
‘Who?’
‘No idea. Why don’t you ask him?’ Yin turned back towards the hallway. ‘You can come in,’ he said.
A man in a sky-blue uniform came in carrying a small box. ‘You’re Captain Pei, head of the April 18th Task Force?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said and looked at the envelope on top of the box. He had no idea who’d sent it.
‘A friend of yours ordered you a cake for your birthday. He specified that I must give it to you in person.’ The man stepped forward and placed the cake on Pei’s desk. ‘Happy birthday!’ he exclaimed at a volume that made Pei’s eardrums flinch.
Pei looked at the envelope, but it was blank. ‘Who sent the cake?’ he asked, a smile playing on his lips. Although he was suspicious, it was hard to fight the almost boyish sense of surprise at receiving a present.
‘He didn’t give a name, but I’m sure you’ll recognise him from the description,’ the man said, his face twisting slightly. ‘He looked pretty ragged, if you know what I mean.’
Pei stiffened and his smile vanished. ‘Was he covered in burns?’ he asked hesitantly.
‘He was. All over his body. His whole face was scarred. To be honest, he looked like something out of a horror film.’
‘Yuan?’ Lieutenant Yin whispered.
Pei waved to silence him. ‘When did he place this order?’
‘About three weeks ago.’
Pei’s eyes widened in understanding. Three weeks ago, Yuan Zhibang had strapped a bomb to himself and gone into the Jade Garden restaurant. Someone as thorough and meticulous as Yuan wouldn’t have done that without having made all the necessary arrangements beforehand, but Pei never would have expected those arrangements to have included the birthday present currently in front of him. Was it a final farewell from a former friend or something more sinister?
‘Captain Pei, if everything’s all right with the cake, I’ll need you to sign here.’
‘Oh,’ Pei said, returning to reality. He took the clipboard and signed the paper. ‘Th
at’ll be all.’
‘Got it!’ the young man exclaimed and promptly turned around to leave the office.
Lieutenant Yin shut the door behind him. He looked tense. ‘Should I have the lab test this cake first, Captain?’
Pei understood his meaning well enough, but he knew that Yuan would never resort to something as base as poisoning a cake. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said softly.
He untied the string from around the box and picked up the envelope. Inside he found a birthday card, a slip of paper and several photographs. Each picture showed the same scrawny man. Pei didn’t recognise him. He frowned as he searched his memory for a corresponding face. When nothing came to mind, he opened the card.
To Pei Tao, my closest friend and my greatest adversary.
Happy Birthday.
I’ve sent this person to you as a gift – I know you’re all looking for him.
Yuan was clearly referring to the man in the photos, but who was he? More confused than ever, he finally looked at the slip of paper. His entire face turned pale.
Chen Tianqiao
Apartment 609, Building 18, Southern Coast Forest Community,
Haikou, Hainan Island
*
17 November, 9:41 p.m.
Conference room, criminal police headquarters
Captain Pei and Lieutenant Yin looked at one another and saw that they were both equally exhausted. Just an hour earlier, their flight from Haikou on Hainan Island had touched down at Chengdu’s Shuangliu Airport. Along with their meagre luggage, they had also brought something else back with them – Chen Tianqiao.
The three-day trip to Haikou had been no vacation, but Pei had found his target without much trouble. The police there had been very cooperative and with their help they’d cornered Chen in his apartment and arrested him in almost no time at all. Chen had been living under an assumed name for quite some time, but his fake ID hadn’t deceived Pei for a second.
Chen looked exactly as he had in the photographs: thin and swarthy. He spoke with a silver tongue and his small eyes emitted a crafty gleam. Although he was pushing seventy, he had none of the trustworthiness that Pei typically associated with people of that age. Pei had an innate antipathy for people who made a living out of being deceitful. It was a struggle even to make eye contact with him when they spoke.
Once they were back at police headquarters in Chengdu, Pei took Chen to the holding cells and assigned an officer to guard him. He then called Ms Mu and TSO Zeng to the conference room, and together with Lieutenant Yin they began to discuss what to do next.
‘We need to understand one thing first: why did Yuan do this?’ Zeng asked. He kneaded his temples as he spoke. ‘Right when we were worrying that we’d never be able to find Chen, Yuan basically delivered him to our doorstep. And if that wasn’t enough, he arranged it three weeks ago, before he died. Are we seriously supposed to believe that all this was simply intended as a generous birthday gift for you, Captain Pei?’
‘I’ve been asking myself that same question for the last few days,’ Pei said. ‘I believe the most likely answer is that Yuan was attempting to fight with us for psychological control over Wen Chengyu. Three weeks ago, Yuan knew that his true identity was about to be exposed, which is why he killed himself at the Jade Garden restaurant. The new Eumenides already possessed all the technical skills he needed, but Yuan was still uncertain as to his apprentice’s commitment to his mission.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Ms Mu said. ‘Wen Chengyu never had an opportunity to establish an independent worldview. Once his mentor left him, his faith in the Eumenides project would be tested. Yuan would have been shrewd enough to foresee that.’
Pei nodded approvingly. ‘Yuan guessed that we would focus on Wen Chengyu’s psychological weak points to try and make him give up being Eumenides. Before he died, Yuan made one last move. He gave us Chen, thus creating a new conflict between us and Wen Chengyu.’
Zeng shook his head in amazement. ‘Yuan knew that his true identity would be revealed after the Jade Garden explosion. He also knew that Wen Chengyu would begin looking into his own history as soon as he found out who his mentor really was. Once Wen started delving into the January 30th hostage case, he’d see Chen Tianqiao as the person who caused his father’s death. Which means that now, if Wen Chengyu wants vengeance, he’ll have to kill a man in police custody. Thus sending him deeper into his role as Eumenides.’
‘He left no possibility unaccounted for,’ Lieutenant Yin said with grudging admiration. ‘Even in death, this guy’s controlling his apprentice like a damn puppet. He’s a monster, through and through.’
‘It’s official, then. Our plan to convert Eumenides has failed,’ TSO Zeng said.
Ms Mu shook her head. ‘Not necessarily.’
Pei’s tiredness suddenly lifted and he looked at the psychologist with newfound hope. Ms Mu had surprised him before and he was hoping that she was now about to do so again.
‘Yuan knew that Wen Chengyu would begin investigating his background, but he may not have expected that he’d go so deep. Yuan killed Wen Hongbing, and the six-year-old Wen Chengyu was inadvertently responsible for putting Yuan in that position. I don’t think Yuan would have anticipated his apprentice uncovering those particular details.’
Pei grunted in agreement. ‘What kind of psychological impact will this knowledge have on Wen Chengyu?’
‘A major one,’ Ms Mu said. ‘Were it not for that, Wen Chengyu would blame Chen for his father’s death. But now that he has more information – and especially after he listens to the recording that Du’s going to put online – things will get much more complicated. He’ll see Yuan Zhibang, and even his own father, as ultimately responsible for what happened that day. More importantly, he’ll know that the situation in that room was calming down before he made his birthday cake comment. That’s going to make him feel guilty. He’ll ask himself how differently things might have turned out if he hadn’t asked his father that one question. That guilt will even overshadow his animosity towards Chen.’
‘Yes! That’s perfect!’ TSO Zeng exclaimed, clapping his hands together. ‘All we have to do is release Du’s article and that audio recording to the public and we can finally say a long-overdue goodbye to Yuan Zhibang.’
Zeng’s grin was infectious. Even Captain Pei felt the corners of his lips being tugged into a smile. He had no doubts about the success of Du’s article.
Earlier, Pei had read Du’s account of the hostage crisis with his heart in his mouth, almost forgetting that he already knew the outcome. He couldn’t have hoped for a better piece of writing from the journalist. How could Wen Chengyu’s anger and violent faith possibly remain intact after reading the piece?
‘We can’t allow ourselves to be too optimistic, though,’ Ms Mu said. ‘Nothing in the world is harder to understand than the human brain. Psychological research is extremely accurate when it comes to collecting and analysing data, but it becomes a much trickier science when trying to predict an individual’s future thoughts or actions. Which path will Wen Chengyu choose? I’m afraid that’s not something we can determine just by sitting around this table and talking.’
Pei looked at each team member around the table. ‘And that means that regardless of what Wen Chengyu’s decision is, we need to prepare for two possible outcomes,’ he said.
‘In that case, sir, I recommend that we consider using Chen as bait to catch Eumenides,’ Lieutenant Yin said. ‘Frankly, we don’t have a choice. Even if Eumenides assassinates Chen and is then caught by the police, at least in a way that would be killing two birds with one stone.’
Pei waved his hand dismissively. ‘Not so fast. First we need to hold Chen for suspected fraud. That way he’ll be much more agreeable to anything we suggest. Right now we need to focus all of our attention on Du Mingqiang. If we have too much bait, we’ll only get distracted.’
Lieutenant Yin nodded, but he didn’t appear entirely convinced. ‘It won’t be easy to fin
d hard evidence to support fraud charges against Chen. We won’t be able to hold him for very long.’
‘We just need to hold him until the end of the month,’ Pei said. ‘If by that time Du has actually been killed and we still haven’t caught Eumenides, then we can concentrate our efforts on protecting Chen. Whatever happens, we’ll get more opportunities to catch this guy. For now, we can wait.’
*
30 November, 11:59 p.m.
Du Mingqiang’s apartment
The clock in the living room ticked away the seconds. A young man was sitting on the couch, staring at it. His face was red and coated in sweat. A row of empty beer bottles stood on the floor at his feet.
After so many days of being locked away, his moment had finally come.
He watched as the hands on the clock slowly aligned at the twelve.
It was time. He began to chuckle. He lurched up from the sofa and pumped his fists in the air.
The crash of shattering glass ended his impromptu victory dance. He froze, only to realise that he had kicked one of the bottles over and broken it. A moment later he resumed his laughing, even more wildly than before.
But laughter alone didn’t seem quite enough. He picked up a second bottle and threw it against the wall. Then another. And another. The sound of breaking glass, almost musical to his ears, filled the room.
Once all of the empty beer bottles lay shattered across the floor, the man looked at the clock again. It was five past midnight. The excitement of the past five minutes finally wore off. He raised his hand towards the chandelier, making a V-sign with his index and middle fingers.
Concealed inside the chandelier was a small camera. Identical cameras had been in place throughout his home for many weeks.
It was finally over.
He opened his apartment’s heavy security door and looked out into the dark hallway. He coughed twice and the hallway lights flashed on.
