by Zhou HaoHui
“There are three major knife wounds on the body: a stab wound to the abdomen, a cut on the right upper arm, and a slash wound across the neck. The wound to the neck was fatal. The blade sliced open the victim’s carotid artery, leading to the excessive blood loss that killed him. According to our forensic evaluation, the time of death most likely occurred between midnight and two o’clock in the morning.”
A series of close-up images appeared on the projector screen to accompany Han’s explanation. The people in this room were no strangers to violence. However, the photographs of dark blood and the corpse of a veteran comrade sent an icy shiver down each officer’s spine.
Zheng Haoming’s eyes were shut, but his mouth was wide open as if he had been trying to scream. A close-up of the cruel slash across his neck. A ruler indicated that the wound was 2.75 inches in length.
“Judging from these wounds, the murderer used a small, razor-like weapon. A cleaver was also left behind at the scene. The research done by our technicians tells us the fingerprints on the handle and blade belonged to the victim. Therefore, it appears that the victim wielded the cleaver in self-defense. From these findings and other evidence, we can state with certainty that the victim was engaged in a fierce struggle with the murderer before his death.”
Han gestured to Yin. A succession of photographs of the other areas of Zheng’s apartment flashed upon the screen.
“This is a fresh gouge on the surface of the living room table. The mark is consistent with impact from a sharp-edged object. Possibly even Zheng’s cleaver. The items inside the cabinet were in complete disorder, most likely because the cabinet was struck. There’s a large amount of blood spatter here. It looks like the victim suffered his fatal wound somewhere around this area…”
The audience listened in silence. As Han continued his description of the scene, the others in the room pictured the struggle between Zheng and his killer.
The screen showed a close-up of the wooden floor of Zheng’s apartment. Han nearly flinched when he looked at this picture.
“This photo was taken beside the victim’s feet. We can see several circular drops of blood on the floor. The blood most likely fell from a significant height. Since the victim was wearing long-sleeved pajamas, his clothes would have soaked up the blood from any wounds to his upper arm and abdomen. The blood from the large wound on his neck wouldn’t have left those kinds of drops either. We can be all but certain that these bloodstains came from the killer.”
He turned to his assistant.
“Yin, go back to that close-up of the cleaver you just showed. All right. Everyone, take a look at the bloodstains at the edge of the cleaver.”
“Does that mean that the killer was wounded?” one of the officers asked.
Low, excited voices rippled around the room. If the killer had left blood or any other physical evidence at the scene, it would go a long way in helping them identify and track down the suspect.
“I can tell you with one-hundred-percent confidence that this is exactly what happened!” The other officers hushed as Captain Han swept his piercing gaze over the crowd. He brandished a report in his hand, holding it up for all to see. “These are the results from our lab test. The victim’s blood type isn’t B, but the bloodstains on the cleaver and floor are. There’s no doubt about it. This is the killer’s blood. Now, let’s have a look at the photographs of the kitchen.”
The next image on the screen showed a small wood-lattice window in a style common to older residences.
“This window overlooks the small park at the center of Zheng’s development. It was opened outward when we arrived at the scene. The glass at the very bottom of the lattice had been shattered.” He made another signal to Yin, and a new image replaced the previous one. “This is the kitchen cupboard. We found knife marks here as well.”
He paused, giving the other officers time to process this new detail.
“It appears that the killer made his way to the third floor by scaling the drainpipe and the second-floor window along the rear of the apartment building. He then broke the glass in the window, opened it, and entered the apartment. The noise woke Zheng and he went to investigate. The two encountered one another in the kitchen and began to engage in physical combat. Zheng grabbed a cleaver to defend himself. He was forced backward as he fought, and finally succumbed to his opponent in the living room.”
“Were any of the assailant’s fingerprints or footprints found at the scene?” interrupted one officer.
Han shook his head. “No. The individual may have been wearing gloves and shoe covers. It would seem that this person knows a thing or two about how we conduct our investigations.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even so, we have a firm grasp on several leads. I want everyone to note our projection of the killer’s physical description. He’s most likely a young or middle-aged male with a slim build, between five-foot-three and five-foot-seven, with a fresh knife wound on one hand.”
After a brief scramble for paper and pens, the assembled officers scribbled down the details. Several moments after Han had finished giving his description, a soft murmur broke the silence hanging over the room.
“Captain?”
All eyes turned to the source. It was Yin.
“Is there something you’d like me to clarify?” Han asked, scowling.
“No, sir,” Yin said, promptly shaking his head. “I’m just thinking about the officer we found in the apartment this morning. It’s almost as if he read our minds.”
“Are you talking about Pei Tao?”
“This morning he told me that we should launch a search for a male suspect—thin, approximately five-foot-five, and with an injury on one hand.”
Han’s eyes widened in surprise. Despite the brevity of the physical description he’d just announced, it had taken hours for the team of technicians to determine those details.
If one knew that the killer had silently scaled three stories and squeezed through a small window, it would be a simple matter to conclude that the individual in question was both slender and agile. Coming up with an accurate estimate of the individual’s height, however, was no easy feat.
The investigators discovered that the struggle between Zheng and his killer had left the wooden sideboards in the kitchen and living room scored with knife marks. All signs suggested that the murderer had wielded a sharp knife; each strike had been a powerful stab, and so the killer inevitably would have chosen a stance most conducive to applying force. Operating under this hypothesis, they could use the locations, angles, and depths of the marks to deduce the attacker’s approximate height. Doing so involved a careful process of calculation, and it was hard to imagine that brainpower and the naked eye alone could accomplish this same task.
The killer had left bloodstains on the floor of the scene. The study of blood spatter was an art in itself—the higher the point from which the blood had fallen, the larger the area of the mark it formed when it splashed onto the floor. Thus, one would be able to approximate the height from which the blood fell by contrasting these marks with those of the mock simulations performed at the scene. The final results from the department’s tests indicated that the blood had fallen from a height somewhere between 2.5 and 3 feet above the floor. Considering the warmer and thicker clothing people typically wore at this time of year, the hands and face would be the only parts of the body from which blood would drip if one were wounded. After they’d determined the height from which the blood had fallen, Han’s analysts concluded that one of the murderer’s hands had been injured.
To Han, the idea that Pei had ascertained all these details in such a short time was inconceivable. Yet his shock quickly faded from his expression, as if masked beneath a layer of frost.
“Pei Tao’s motives are still unclear. He is a key suspect in our investigation. Yin, what’s the status on the surveillance I ordered?”
�
�I assigned Jin Youfeng to tail him. I haven’t heard back from him, but I’ll see if I can get in touch with him right now.” Yin took out his cell phone and dialed. After several rings, he heard an answer on the other end of the line. “Officer Jin?”
As Yin listened, his features stiffened. He grunted several awkward replies before approaching Han. Handing over his cell phone, he said, “Captain, you should listen to this.”
Giving his assistant a puzzled look, Han accepted the phone.
“This is Han.”
A baritone voice answered. “My apologies, Captain. This is Pei Tao.”
“Pei Tao?” Han appeared as dumbfounded as Yin. “Where is my officer?”
“We had a slight misunderstanding. I was following up on a lead when I noticed someone following me. I found an opportunity to subdue my pursuer, and I took it. When he resisted, I simply followed my instincts. This only happened a moment ago, by the way. In fact, you called right when I found his badge. Your officer should wake up soon. Please accept my apologies when I say that this was purely an accident.”
The sincerity in Pei’s voice was not enough to clear Han’s cloud of rage. The captain was just barely able to keep himself in check.
“Officer Pei, this is Chengdu. Not Longzhou!” Han shouted, flecks of spit flying from his lips. “You had no right to do what you just did.”
“I understand your frame of mind. My reaction a few moments ago was far too rash, without question.” Pei’s tone suddenly grew grave. “But you would understand my actions if you only knew just what kind of opponent you’re up against.”
“So you’ve found another lead?” Han asked.
“That’s correct. I hope you’re willing to hear me out this time.”
Captain Han clenched his teeth. “I’ll wait for you at police headquarters in half an hour. Meet me in my office.”
“I’m on my way.” Pei paused. “Well, I do have some good news for you. Your officer is conscious.”
After several seconds, he heard Jin Youfeng’s voice.
“Captain, I…”
“Waste of a badge,” Han growled. He stabbed at the phone’s keypad, ending the call.
* * *
The bitter smell of nostalgia struck Pei as he entered Han’s office. This pristine room, with its slick surfaces and state-of-the-art computer, was exactly the kind of office he had once imagined for himself. Life, however, had decided differently. Pei pushed these thoughts aside. Captain Han was seated behind his desk, an expectant look on his face.
“Have you made any more progress?” Pei blurted.
“I’m not obligated to report to you.”
Pei pursed his lips. The captain’s response was neither friendly nor hostile. It didn’t take a police education to sense that he was on thin ice. Considering his interactions with the captain thus far, his best option was to yield now. He forced an awkward laugh. “You do have a point there, sir.”
Han’s mood seemed to improve after this small display of humility.
“We’ve already ascertained the suspect’s physical description,” Han informed Pei. “We’ve also set up checkpoints at strategic bus and subway stops throughout Chengdu. We are also carrying out archival investigations at every level in order to determine whether the suspect could have been involved with any cases Zheng was in charge of.”
“I see your line of reasoning,” Pei replied at once. “You think someone wanted revenge against the sergeant.”
“There were no indications of burglary at the scene. The suspect forced his way into the building and carried a knife. This murder was clearly premeditated. Do you have any other ideas?”
Rather than answer, Pei changed the topic. “Do you know why I was at Zheng’s apartment?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s precisely what I’d like to know.” Han stared at Pei. “What exactly was the nature of your relationship with the sergeant?”
Pei took out a folded piece of writing paper and handed it to the captain. Han unfolded the paper and began to read:
Don’t you remember me, Student 8102?
Once the overture finishes, the first act must commence.
It has been far too long since the overture has faded…But the day has finally come.
As Han read the entire letter, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.
“I received this letter two days ago. It was sent from within the city. 8102 was—”
“Your number at the Sichuan Police Academy,” Han interrupted. “You entered the provincial academy in 1981 and graduated in ’84. Your grades were extremely impressive all around. You graduated at the top of your class. In short, you were one of the most outstanding students the academy had ever seen.
“However, something happened right before graduation. A misstep that resulted in your assignment to the third-tier city of Longzhou, shattering your hopes of a posting in a top city such as…” Han paused here, and Pei saw the ghost of a smile. “This one. You were sent to a station in the suburbs and made a common police officer.”
Pei clenched his jaw. Was Han gloating? Or was he simply trying to earn Pei’s respect?
“Still, you rose through the ranks quickly,” Han went on. “You were promoted to station captain in eight years. Later, you were transferred to the city’s criminal police force.” Smiling, Han tapped a finger against the file on his desk. “I ran a full background check on you.”
An uneasy feeling overtook Pei. Several seconds passed before he spoke.
“What’s that you called it? A misstep?” Pei forced a laugh. “Let’s dispense with the euphemisms, Captain. It was an out-and-out disaster.”
Han was surprised at Pei’s sudden honesty. Up until this moment, he had chalked up the captain’s behavior to arrogance. Now, however, he saw it under a different light—as an expression of overpowering sincerity. It was a shame for such an outstanding officer to have had a promising career limited just because of a few incidents. He suddenly found himself attempting to console Pei.
“You can call it what you like, but it’s all in the past now. Sooner or later, some things have to be let go.”
“No,” Pei said with a painful shake of his head. His eyes opened so wide that Han could see veins bulging at the corners. “I can’t let it go,” Pei said, cold as ice. “It never ended. He’s come back—he’s still here!”
Pei’s puzzling outburst reminded Han of something. Picking up the handwritten letter, the captain fired off questions. “Who wrote this letter? What does it have to do with Sergeant Zheng’s murder?”
Pei rubbed his temples with both hands. Gradually, his emotions cooled. “When did you join the Chengdu criminal police?”
“Ten years ago. Right after I received my master’s in criminal investigation at the People’s Public Security University.” The name of China’s elite police academy rolled off Han’s tongue with pride.
“So this might be new to you.” Pei sighed. “I went to the Skyline Cyber Café after I left Zheng’s apartment this morning. Zheng had taken pictures of a customer there two days ago, at 3:47 in the afternoon. I asked the network administrator to call up the customer’s browsing history. That’s where I found this page.”
Pei, having regained his composure, handed Han a printout of a web page.
Despite his lack of expertise, Han immediately recognized it as a post from a message board. The original poster’s username was Eumenides, typed in Latin script rather than Chinese characters. The subject of the post consisted of four words in a striking bold font:
A CALL FOR JUSTICE
Filthy souls inhabit this world. The law should be a tool for cleansing society, but the law is weak.
People commit crimes, but too often they fall outside the law’s jurisdiction. Or the law fails to find any evidence to convict. Too often wrongdoers are able to bribe themselves ou
t of the law’s reach.
Society needs a different kind of justice.
I will deliver justice.
I will cleanse this world of evil.
The list of wrongdoers, however, is still unwritten.
You have the chance to write it.
Tell me who deserves to be on this list.
Tell me who does not deserve to live upon the earth.
Tell me who is outside the reach of the law.
Tell me their name.
Tell me what they have done.
I will judge them.
You have two weeks before I post the final version of my list.
“This could just be a prank.” Han shook his head noncommittally. “You see things like this all over the internet.”
“A prank?” Pei gave a bitter laugh. He leaned over Han’s desk, full of indignation. “This is monstrous! This is why Sergeant Zheng lost his life. And his wasn’t the first life to be sacrificed. Eighteen years ago—”
Without pausing, Han asked, “What happened eighteen years ago?”
Pei pulled himself back and shook his head. “I can’t,” he said.
Han slammed an open palm against his desk. He glared at Pei.
“It’s classified,” Pei said, his expression grave.
“And you can’t tell me a single thing about it?”
“There was an investigation here in Chengdu eighteen years ago. The nature of this case was so disturbing that, in order to prevent a panic, it was classified at the highest levels. All investigative work on the case was carried out secretly, by a special group organized for that very purpose. However, their investigation was never concluded.” Pei regarded Han with a grudging look. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say at the moment.”
“The case is classified, and yet you seem to know all about it.”
The corners of Pei’s eyes twitched. This question seemed to have touched a nerve. His voice was just above a growl.
