by Zhou HaoHui
“Do we have the equipment to do that?” Pei asked.
“My people are already on it. We’ll have the data by tomorrow morning.” Zeng thumbed his nose smugly. “Then we’ll take our first look at the culprit.”
Pei rapped his knuckles against the table. “Perfect!” He immediately restrained his enthusiasm, returning to a serious tone. “We need to start making preparations. Most important, we need to organize enough manpower for our investigation. This is no ordinary opponent that we’re facing. We need to be ready to spring into action at any moment.”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with that.” Han’s tone was oddly strained. “Captain Xiong and I will lead this investigation. My people are handling the search for our suspect. The SPU team will focus on preparing for any special situations.”
Xiong nodded, instantly understanding. Mistakes had been made eighteen years earlier—mistakes that could not be made again.
“How can I help?” Pei asked.
Han met Pei’s eyes for several seconds before giving his answer.
“You’re a long way from Longzhou, Captain Pei. Technically speaking, there’s no need for you to get further involved. We requested you join this task force due to your unique perspective and history. With this in mind, I expect you to reflect on your memories of the 1984 murders and think outside the scope of our main investigation. Perhaps you’ll turn up a few new leads. However, I should stress that your role on this team is not a primary one.”
Pei nodded grudgingly. “I see.”
Han’s formal tone masked a different message, and one that Pei perceived instantly: Han didn’t trust him. It wasn’t as if he had any choice in the matter, though.
“I believe it was you who specifically requested my presence here, Captain Han,” Mu interjected, her tone all business. “What will my role be in this investigation?”
“You will work with Captain Pei. You’re a gifted psychologist, after all. Help Pei search his memory for any leads we might have missed, and build a profile of this madman.” Han paused, and then added, “Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her somber gaze once again fixed upon Pei.
CHAPTER THREE
OPENING MOVES
OCTOBER 21, 6:25 P.M.
The sky was dark when Pei stepped onto the busy sidewalk outside the criminal police headquarters. Shops were still selling off their stock of the mandatory Mid-Autumn Festival delicacy, mooncakes—round pastries stuffed with fillings of red bean paste, lotus seed paste, and egg yolk. Pei sensed the post-holiday languor and calm of Chengdu’s strolling citizens, and he wondered what would happen if they knew that a ruthless killer was hiding among them.
He walked quickly to the guesthouse next to headquarters. The medium-sized building was only two minutes away, and it was where every member of the task force would sleep for the foreseeable future. The younger team members kept their personal lives private, but Pei had seen Xiong on the phone immediately after the meeting. The SPU captain had repeated the same phrases again and again, trying to keep his voice calm: “It’s just temporary!” “You know what this job is like!”
Pei’s own accommodations provided him with all the comforts of home, which, everything considered, was not exactly much to begin with. He washed his face in the bathroom, then went to his desk to begin examining the case files.
Pei had once been a suspect in this very investigation, but he knew almost nothing of the case’s specifics. He had made two serious mistakes back then. First, he had failed to promptly notify the police after realizing that something might have happened to Meng. Second, he had blindly advised Meng while she was trying to disarm the bomb. Since then, he had imagined dozens of scenarios that might have transpired had he done things differently and reported his suspicions immediately. The police might have reached the warehouse in time. They could have found Meng before she even arrived at the warehouse. He could have saved her.
If only he had told her to pull the other wire…
He would never forget the sound of her panicked voice coming through the walkie-talkie.
Regret had followed Pei ever since that day, like a shadow trailing inevitably behind him. He would never think of himself as anything but a failure.
The mistakes he made that afternoon forever altered his path. His promising career was cast aside, and he was forced to return to his hometown of Longzhou, a small, cozy city where little ever changed. Before he knew it, he had idled away eighteen years of his life.
Almost as agonizing as the fact that the two lives closest to Pei had been cut short was the knowledge that he never had the chance to exact revenge against whoever had done it.
Now he did.
As Pei pored over Sergeant Zheng Haoming’s journal, recovered from the late officer’s apartment, he felt himself pulled back into a past he had never truly left behind.
APRIL 18, 1984
A series of murders like this is all but unheard of in modern-day China.
Xue Dalin, the vice commissioner of police, was murdered in his home this morning. Later in the afternoon, there was an explosion inside a chemical warehouse located along Chengdu’s eastern outskirts, immediately killing two students from the academy. Due to the gruesome nature of this case, the city kept all details out of public view. A task force comprised of the most elite law enforcement officers in Sichuan has been covertly assembled. I have the honor of counting myself among its members.
The killer is clearly very familiar with police investigative techniques. No fingerprints have been found on the anonymous letters. These death notices, with their flawless, almost typewritten script, have stumped our efforts to identify the writer. Likewise, we have been unable to collect any fingerprints or footprints from the scene of Xue’s murder. It can therefore be deduced that the killer performed a careful sweep of the scene after killing Xue. Psychologically speaking, we are dealing with a careful, levelheaded personality.
The fire at the warehouse has reduced any possible evidence to ashes. It took our technicians hours to collect the remains of the two victims. It was impossible for us to tell which parts belong to whom.
As of yet, there has been only one promising discovery: a survivor was found at the scene. However, many of his bones are broken, and severe burns cover most of his skin. He was taken to the Provincial People’s Hospital for emergency treatment. His chances of survival remain uncertain.
APRIL 19, 1984
I questioned the academy student Pei Tao again this morning. He was in obvious shock. Or, to put it in colloquial terms: he was a wreck. I sympathize with him, to be honest. From everything that I’ve heard from his peers and instructors, Pei is a phenomenal and dedicated student. It’s undeniable that he has taken it upon himself to bear a certain amount of responsibility for the bomb’s detonation.
I arrived at the Provincial People’s Hospital this afternoon. The lone survivor of the explosion was still unconscious. His condition was extremely critical. In the interests of this case, I hope that he regains consciousness as soon as possible. However, from a more humane point of view, death would be a kinder fate.
APRIL 20, 1984
We are approaching the investigation from multiple angles. My assignment is the man who survived the explosion.
He is still unconscious. I must confirm his identity, but his face…Not even his own mother would recognize him now.
No wallet or identifying documents were discovered on the man’s person, but the doctors found a coiled copper wire among his remaining personal belongings before they performed surgery on him. It might be useful in determining his identity.
The copper wire is tangled up, but it’s approximately six-and-a-half feet in length when stretched out. It appears to be a stripped electrical wire.
APRIL 21, 1984
I made several important discoveries today.
In the middle of all that junk, I found a stripped casing for an electrical wire. Judging from the length, it could be a match for the copper wire found in the man’s pockets.
Who is this man? A homeless scrap collector? I can only wait until he wakes up before I know the answer.
The doctors report that he’s through the worst of it.
APRIL 25, 1984
Things are looking up today.
The man finally regained consciousness. He could barely remember a thing. Not even his own name. The doctors said that his kind of memory loss is typical for someone who’s suffered severe injuries. I need a way to jump-start his memory.
I returned to the cement tunnel to take a few pictures. I’ll have to wait until at least tomorrow morning before I can have them developed.
APRIL 26, 1984
I showed the man the pictures from the tunnel. He appeared confused. Understandable. Then I showed him the copper wire and told him that it had come from his pocket. I encouraged him to try his best to recall what happened.
His expression changed, and he seemed to remember something. It took a great deal of effort, but he began to speak. I leaned in close until my ear was a single hair’s breadth away from his lips.
“I live…inside that tunnel.”
I was overjoyed to get a witness account. Finally. He told me more.
Huang Shaoping grew up in a rural part of Anhui Province, over 1,000 miles away. He came to Chengdu after both his parents had passed away, in order to make a living for himself. Unable to find a job, he had no choice but to call the tunnel his temporary home. He made his living by collecting and selling scrap. To most people here, Huang would have been just another nameless migrant worker.
I asked him again what had happened on the day of the explosion, but he shook his head and said nothing. The memories still seem to evade him.
I will bring pictures from the explosion site tomorrow.
APRIL 27, 1984
I showed Huang the pictures from the warehouse. He seemed quite startled when I told him that a man and a woman had died in the same explosion that had critically injured him. At last, he began to remember.
Huang was resting in the concrete tunnel on the afternoon of the 18th. He claims to have seen three people enter the warehouse over the course of one hour. It’s far, but the mouth of the tunnel does give a direct line of sight to the warehouse entrance. He witnessed an unknown male enter the warehouse at 3 p.m., followed by a second man around thirty minutes after. Then, no more than a few minutes later, one of the men left. A third person, female, arrived about a half hour later. Huang’s curiosity overpowered him when he saw the woman arrive, and he snuck inside for a closer look. The man and the woman were shouting at each other. However, before he could comprehend what was going on, he was caught in the explosion.
When I questioned him, Huang was sure it was the first man to enter the warehouse who left approximately half an hour before the arrival of the woman. If this is true, then we need to find this first individual. Huang’s vantage point from the tunnel was far, but he swore that he could recognize him.
Pei stopped reading. His left hand was curled into a fist. If Huang Shaoping had seen the suspect, then why hadn’t the task force made a composite?
According to later entries in Zheng’s journal, the task force plodded ahead without any substantial progress or new leads. The gaps between entries gradually grew longer, and the sergeant’s writing began to betray a sense of frustration. The investigation came to an utter standstill over the following two years. The team was disbanded, and all active investigations were closed.
However, earlier that very day, investigators had discovered a new notebook in Zheng’s office at the scene of his murder. Inside were the current journal entries written in the days before his death. Pei rifled through the pile of documents he had brought back to his room until he found a black spiral notebook. He opened it eagerly.
OCTOBER 13, 2002
I had long assumed that this was over. That all those memories would remain sealed forever, just like the files. Perhaps I was wrong.
I discovered an envelope on my floor this morning. Inside the envelope were two items: an anonymous handwritten letter and a slip of paper with a web address on it. My heart was hammering as I set the envelope’s contents down onto my desk.
That handwriting—I’d recognize it anywhere! Flawless calligraphy. Perfectly level characters. Every line was a scar in my memory. It was the same handwriting I studied hundreds of times, eighteen years ago.
I accessed the website. What I saw absolutely shocked me. Has he returned? No, I shouldn’t even entertain the thought. What if this is the work of someone involved with the case back then? An attempt at a prank?
I checked the envelope and its contents. No fingerprints, no stray hairs, no anything. It’s as if the letter and the note sprang into existence and sealed themselves into that envelope.
The 4/18 Task Force was disbanded ages ago. I could very well be the last of the team members who still cares. What should I do? Report this to the provincial department, and continue the old investigation? That seems too rash…I’d be risking both my job and my reputation if I got excited about a mere scrap of evidence. Han and his people cannot get involved. Not yet. I need to deal with this under the radar.
OCTOBER 14, 2002
I got in touch with a whiz kid named Zeng Rihua at the provincial department. He agreed to help me run some online surveillance. I borrowed one of the department’s digital cameras. With Zeng’s help, I’ve already taken photographs of possible suspects. The case was classified years ago, so I can’t tell anyone what I’m doing or ask anyone else to help. I hope I’m not wasting my time.
OCTOBER 19, 2002
Took lots of pictures today. Saw Huang tonight. He wasn’t able to identify anyone in the photos.
That forum post has been getting a lot of views and replies. The poster has remained silent, however. Maybe this is just a sick prank.
Zeng tells me that teenagers and young adults make up the majority of users on online message boards. It would be hard to connect any of them to a case from 1984. Even so, perhaps I should investigate some of these kids. Zeng tells me that he’s noticed some strange discrepancies in the provincial headquarters’ computer database recently. His theory is that a hacker was poking around in the provincial system. If he’s correct, it could explain how a hypothetical prankster could have found out about this old case.
That was the final entry in Zheng’s journal, from the day before his murder.
If only you’d reported this to the provincial headquarters…Pei sighed inwardly. As absurd as it was, he could almost picture Zheng listening in from beyond the grave. “When you were struggling with your killer,” Pei said aloud, “you must have realized that this was no prank. But by then it was too late, wasn’t it?”
Three knocks on the door interrupted Pei’s thoughts. He straightened the documents back into several neat piles and got up from his seat. When he opened the door, Mu Jianyun stood before him.
“Good evening, Captain.”
“Here to talk about the case?” Pei did his best to sound friendly. “Come in and make yourself at home.”
He returned to his seat, and Mu sat on the sofa opposite him. She cast a sidelong glance at the files on his desk.
“I just finished reading the case files as well. Would you mind lending me your expertise to answer a few questions?”
Pei smiled. “Don’t be so polite. And I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself an expert. What’s on your mind?”
“Since my background
is in psychology, I typically approach a case by analyzing the suspect’s criminal motive and state of mind. From there, I can deduce his or her social background, life experiences, and personality traits to create a psychological profile. One thing that stands out in our case is the alias used both in the earlier anonymous letters and in the more recent online posts.”
Mu picked up a pen and wrote the word Eumenides on a notepad. “Do you know what this name means?”
Pei didn’t answer.
“It’s a name given to the Furies in Greek mythology. Goddesses of retribution. The legends say that the Eumenides would track down those who had committed serious crimes. No matter where these criminals went, Eumenides would follow and fill their consciences with agony and guilt. In the end, they would make each and every one pay for their crimes.”
“So our killer is classically minded. Goddesses of retribution…”
“In the 1984 murders, two victims received anonymous letters. Both of them were death notices signed with the name Eumenides. It seems the killer was attempting to punish both victims, albeit with a twisted sense of justice. That leads me to what I wanted to ask you: Did the two victims, Xue Dalin and Yuan Zhibang, commit the crimes listed in the letters addressed to them?”
“Did the vice commissioner neglect his job, take bribes, or collude with organized crime? I have no idea. I was just a student at the academy back then. Yuan, on the other hand—” Pei hesitated. “You could say that the ‘crimes’ listed in his letter were plausible.”
“Captain Pei, I realize that Yuan was your closest friend, but when it comes to the specifics of this case I hope that you can give me accurate and definite answers.”
