Death Notice

by Zhou HaoHui

  “Don’t you see? I was…involved. This case was what made my career fall apart! I was questioned by one of the members of the task force. By Sergeant Zheng.”

  The captain’s eyes widened. Facts finally locked into place. Causes and effects.

  Pei Tao had been part of this case from the very beginning. Eighteen years after the initial investigation, he received a bizarre letter and returned to Chengdu. Now Zheng had been murdered. A new chapter in this tragedy had begun.

  But what exactly had Zheng been investigating all those years ago?

  When Han finally looked at Pei, his expression was mixed. He tried to keep his composure relaxed. “If you can’t tell me any details, then why are you here?”

  Pei stared unflinchingly at the captain, and he enunciated each of his words carefully. “To beg you to submit a request to your superiors right away. I’m here so you will declassify the case, and re-form the 4/18 Task Force!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD TRAGEDY

  OCTOBER 21, 4:00 P.M.

  CHENGDU CRIMINAL POLICE HEADQUARTERS, CONFERENCE ROOM

  Heaving a sigh, Captain Han Hao rested his hands on the thick stack of case files on the conference table. He had visited the department archives two hours earlier with the sole purpose of declassifying these eighteen-year-old documents. Only after reading the files and familiarizing himself with the history of this case had he realized just how ruthless and fearsome a foe he was about to face.

  Fortunately for the captain, he would not have to face this opponent alone. Seated around the conference room’s long false-oak table were the new members of the task force, reorganized after nearly two decades.

  Pei Tao sat at the opposite side of the table. Although his gaze lingered on those files for quite some time, there was a glassy look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t decide which emotion was appropriate…guilt, anger, or fear.

  He would never forget what had transpired eighteen years earlier, and he knew the only way to break free of the past was to find this bloodthirsty maniac and end the cycle of death.

  Next to Han sat his assistant, Yin Jian. Yin watched Pei with intense curiosity. An air of mystique shrouded the newcomer from Longzhou, and this was precisely what intrigued Yin. His thoughts were riddled with questions: Who exactly was Pei Tao? What had happened to him all those years ago? Why had he returned to Chengdu?

  Another young man sat at the table, wearing an expression that was the exact antithesis of Yin’s. He looked much younger than the other officers, and was scrawny—bordering on emaciated. He wore glasses, and his head was propped up with one hand. His attention, albeit negligible, seemed focused on the pen he was spinning intricately in his fingers. He seemed utterly disinterested in any of the other people seated in the room, save for several brief instances in which he raised his head and glanced around the table. A fierce intelligence shone in his eyes, but only for seconds at a time. If not for his sky-blue uniform, the others in the conference room would never have guessed that he was a police officer.

  Sitting next to the young man was a swarthy, well-built officer who appeared to be in his thirties. His posture was as straight as a steel beam, and his gaze exuded strength. The man glanced at his wristwatch. In a deadpan tone he announced, “It’s time, Captain. Let’s get started.”

  Han impatiently tapped the pile of documents with his finger. “We’re still one person short,” he said.

  The seat between Pei and the young man twirling his pen was indeed unoccupied.

  “Discipline should take precedence at a time like this,” the well-built officer said with irritation. He looked at Han, and his voice rose. “How are we supposed to be any kind of a match for this killer if we can’t even stay on the same page?”

  “We aren’t going to proceed until the entire team is in this room.” A commanding tone seeped through Han’s lowered voice. The muscular officer looked away and said no more.

  “There’s no need to wait,” someone said from outside the room. “I’ve been here for some time already.”

  A slender woman strode through the door, providing a stark contrast to the room’s thick aura of masculinity. Even Pei snapped out of his contemplation and looked up in surprise.

  She was a true southern beauty, with large eyes and an elegant mouth and nose. The jet-black sheen of her hair offset her pale skin. While her exquisite features made it hard to guess her age, she radiated a frank, mature intelligence.

  Han squinted. “And you would be Ms. Mu?” he asked.

  The woman nodded. “That’s right.” Her lips spread into a smile, and she addressed the rest of the room. “I’m Mu Jianyun, a criminal psychology lecturer at the provincial academy.”

  Han smirked—Mu Jianyun. When his superiors at the provincial headquarters had recommended an expert in criminal psychology, he never considered that the individual they sent might be a woman.

  “Why didn’t you come in until now?” the muscular officer asked, as irritated as he was bewildered.

  “I was watching you from there,” Mu answered. She pointed to a window high in one of the room’s walls. “When the captain mentioned that one member of the team hadn’t arrived yet, each of you displayed different—and quite telling—reactions.”

  The officer exhaled slowly through his nostrils, uncomfortable at the thought of being observed.

  Mu sat in the unoccupied seat between Pei and the bespectacled young man. The latter’s eyes were still fixed on her; he had been watching her from the first moment she entered the room. He cleared his throat. “In that case, Ms. Mu, care to share what you learned?” he asked with a smirk.

  “It doesn’t take an expert to observe,” Mu said, turning her attention to him, “that you are the least enthusiastic about your work. Of course, as someone who spends each day communing with an endless stream of ones and zeroes, it’s completely understandable that you’d feel some measure of boredom. The loneliness of a job like yours can be suffocating at times. It could even affect one’s personality. Coming across a woman you haven’t met before, for instance, would give you a thrill, a sense of novelty. I sincerely hope that this feeling can inspire you to apply an appropriate amount of effort, and professionalism, toward your job. However, I want to make one thing very clear—to everyone here. Our relationship will remain professional in nature and nothing more. Even if your skills with computers have made you something of a legend in law enforcement circles, Zeng Rihua.”

  The young man’s features twisted awkwardly. “I’m just honored that word of my reputation has reached a woman as beautiful as you.”

  Mu smiled. Instead of continuing this exchange with Zeng, she shifted her gaze to the muscular officer sitting on the opposite side of the table. While there was no enmity in her expression, the man squirmed under her gaze. He looked down at the table.

  “Special Police Unit Captain Xiong Yuan, I presume?” Mu paused. The man did not answer. “You excel at carrying out orders, and you have a very calming influence on the people you work with.”

  Xiong looked up, his expression growing more cooperative.

  “As for you, Captain Han…” Mu looked at the captain and considered her words for a moment. “You’re extremely decisive, a necessary trait for a leader. Once you’ve made a decision, you rarely give in to others’ suggestions. This has its pros and cons.” She glanced at Yin. “Yet your assistant is filled with curiosity and a drive for exploration. He can help provide you with a wider range of information. In a sense, he complements you very well.”

  Han gave a noncommittal grunt. He was more interested in Mu’s analysis of one particular member of the team. “Three down and only one to go, Ms. Mu,” he reminded the lecturer.

  “Captain Pei, you mean?” Mu smiled. “Something seems to be bothering him. Something tied to those documents in front of you. I see grief in his eyes. It’s
mixed with anger and, if you’ll forgive my bluntness, an irrepressible fear.”

  Curiosity seized the others and their eyes immediately turned to the captain from Longzhou.

  Pei could not hide his surprise. Admittedly, Mu’s analyses of the other team members had been accurate, but she had obtained those results by examining their words and actions. Impressive, but not profound. However, she had read his innermost emotions through his expressions alone.

  Pei kept his gaze level and steady. He stared at Mu intently, and she looked away gracefully.

  “Enough,” Xiong Yuan boomed. “Let’s quit stalling.”

  Han nodded. “I’m officially commencing this meeting. You are all here because you’ve received orders from your superiors, so I won’t waste any time on small talk. The 4/18 Task Force has been re-formed. This group consists solely of the people in this room. My role is that of group leader. Any questions so far?”

  Zeng dragged his pencil through his disheveled hair and squinted at the oversized calendar on the wall with mock surprise. “Don’t you mean the 10/21 Task Force?”

  Xiong and Mu frowned at Han, both confused.

  “Re-formed?” Xiong murmured under his breath.

  Han raised his hand, and the room was silent.

  “We’ve all been summoned to investigate Sergeant Zheng’s murder. However, there’s disturbing information that has just come to light. This is not the first time a police officer in this city was murdered in this manner.”

  Han’s voice was low. He glanced at Yin, who tapped a button on his laptop.

  The ceiling projector flashed, and an enlarged scan of an old color photograph of a garishly furnished room appeared on the screen. While the colors of the wallpaper and couch seemed to have faded with time, the scarlet pools of blood sent a shiver down Mu’s spine. A male body lay facedown on the floor.

  “This homicide occurred on April 18, 1984,” Han continued. “The victim was Xue Dalin. He was male, forty-one years old. He was also the vice commissioner of Chengdu’s criminal police at the time.”

  Pei’s expression remained deadpan under Mu’s watchful eye. However, the others looked shocked. She couldn’t blame them, as she felt the same way. Despite having lived in Sichuan all her life, this was the first time she had heard of this murder. Had the city actually covered up the death of one of its top law enforcement officials?

  “You’re currently looking at the crime scene. The victim was murdered in his own living room. Multiple knife wounds were found over his entire body. The fatal wound was here on his neck. His carotid artery had been cut. He simply bled out until he died. The victim’s wife was away on business on the day of the murder. His only child, a daughter, was living at school. The victim was alone. No fingerprints or footprints were found at the scene. The investigation turned up only one lead: this piece of paper.”

  The projector cycled through other photographs taken at the scene. As the team members watched, an image of a scrap of paper appeared on the screen. They stared at the clean, meticulous handwriting upon it:

  DEATH NOTICE

  THE ACCUSED: Xue Dalin

  CRIMES: Dereliction of duty, accepting bribes, collusion with organized crime

  DATE OF PUNISHMENT: April 18

  EXECUTIONER: Eumenides

  Each character was a display of expert calligraphy. At first glance, the handwriting was indistinguishable from printed text.

  “Was this—” Mu paused for a split second. “Was this left behind by the killer?”

  Han, however, continued listing the details from the case file. “The officers who arrived at the scene found this piece of paper on the victim’s desk. It was attached to an anonymous postcard that was delivered two days before the murder.”

  “The eighteenth of April,” Zeng mused. “That would explain the name of this team. Why have I never heard of this case?” Zeng looked around the table as he asked the question. The others were all equally puzzled—except for Pei, who was shaking his head bitterly.

  “I’ve only just learned of this case myself,” Han said. “All information pertaining to the case was made classified almost immediately after Xue’s murder. The mayor and the commissioner were afraid that the news of the vice commissioner’s murder would cause a panic. At the time, the task force carried out a covert investigation. Sergeant Zheng Haoming was one of the team’s members.”

  Again, Mu noticed that Pei’s reaction was in complete contrast to the others’. The rest of the team appeared noticeably disturbed as the link between two police killings eighteen years apart became clear as day. Pei, however, remained stoic.

  “They never solved this case? I guess you get what you pay for when you ask for a secret investigation,” Zeng snorted. “What was the department so paranoid about?”

  Han scowled at Zeng, and took a deep breath. “It isn’t as simple as that,” the captain said in a low voice. “There were several other victims. Yin, the projector.”

  A new photograph appeared on the screen. The image showed a spacious, dilapidated building that seemed to have suffered a massive fire. Every corner of the ruined area was scorched and charred. Pei, who had kept his composure throughout the entire meeting, suddenly recoiled, as if from an electric shock.

  “Where’s this?” asked Zeng, as loquacious as ever. “And where are the victims you mentioned, Captain?”

  “The victims? They’re here, and here.” Han swept a laser pointer over the image. “Over here as well.”

  Pei clenched his fists until veins bulged from the backs of his hands. The others scrutinized the photograph, but the image was too dim for them to distinguish anything in particular.

  “Go to the close-ups,” Han told Yin.

  Nodding, Yin clicked a button on the small remote in his hand. Close-ups of each of the areas Han had just indicated appeared upon the screen. The conference room fell silent at once. Even Zeng was holding his breath. The team finally had a clear view of the victims’ remains.

  “Remains” isn’t the most appropriate term, thought a shaken Zeng. “Ground meat” would be a much more accurate descriptor. Blackened, to be specific. He could distinguish only vaguely which charred chunk of human remains was a limb and which a fragmented skull.

  The butchery was sickening. Han looked away and found himself observing Pei, wondering what memories tortured him.

  Yet Captain Pei’s gaze did not stray from the horrifying images on the wall. He was fixated. His icy sorrow thawed, transforming into blazing anger.

  Han finally broke the silence.

  “What you’re looking at is another scene from the same case from 1984. This used to be an abandoned warehouse for a chemical factory on the outskirts of this city. On the afternoon of April eighteenth—immediately after Vice Commissioner Xue was murdered—an explosion occurred at the warehouse. Raw chemicals stored on-site ignited and caused the deaths of two individuals, as well as severe injuries to a third. The subsequent investigation revealed that the two people killed were students at the provincial police academy. The injured party was a homeless scavenger.”

  Yin fiddled with the remote, and a medium shot of a handsome young man appeared upon the screen. Mu recognized the crisp blue shirt worn by students at the provincial academy, and what looked like the Distinguished Scholar medal, although the design was a bit cruder than the one currently used. The young man had a cheery expression and a confident smile.

  “Yuan Zhibang, one of the deceased. He was a member of the academy’s class of ’84, a criminal investigation major.” Han glanced at Pei as he spoke. The others, all of whom shared some familiarity with Pei’s background, followed Han’s gaze.

  Pei drew a deep breath. “Yuan was my roommate,” he said hoarsely. “And my closest friend.”

  “The documents I have here state as much,” Han said. He mot
ioned to Yin, who cued another image.

  The next photo showed an attractive young woman in an academy uniform, with long hair tied neatly behind her head. Even in the old photograph, her eyes shone brightly.

  Pei felt a tingle at the back of his throat, as though something were stuck there. An absent look filled his eyes as he stared at the girl in the photograph.

  “Meng Yun, the second victim at the explosion. She was a criminal psych major at the academy and a member of the class of ’84. According to our information, Meng’s relationship with Captain Pei was far from casual.” Han paused. “To put it bluntly, the deceased was romantically involved with Captain Pei at the time of her death.”

  Those words stabbed at Pei’s heart. He closed his eyes, as if that could help shield him from the pain of the memory.

  Suddenly, the conference room was abuzz.

  Xiong did not make eye contact with the newcomer from Longzhou, seemingly out of respect, but Zeng stared with blunt curiosity. Mu glanced only briefly at Pei before returning her gaze to the projector screen. She seemed to have taken a keen interest in this young woman who had been cut down in the prime of her youth.

  Growing impatient, Zeng turned to face Han.

  “Well, what caused the explosion?”

  “We have information on that,” the captain replied, “but a good deal of it consists of notes provided by Captain Pei. Instead of reading those, I’d like to ask the man himself to give us his account. It should be clearer than my own conjectures, at the very least. Don’t you agree, Captain?”

  Han’s last sentence may have taken the form of a question, but the command was clear.

  Lacing his fingers together, Pei covered his eyes and massaged his temples with slow but forceful motions. It had taken eighteen long years, but now he finally found himself sitting before the task force once again. This time, however, he was not merely a witness. He was finally part of the investigation.