by Lei Mi
So when Tai Wei emerged from the director's office and then, while heading back down the hallway, once more came across Zhao Yonggui leaning against the window and smoking sullenly, he knew exactly what was meant by the phrase 'misery loves company'.
Because right then, Tai Wei's mood was no better.
Not only had the hospital murder case reached an impasse, there were also zero leads in the recent killing of the little girl. So far, all preliminary investigations into the case had come back with nothing.
On the day of her disappearance, nearly all of Jin Qiao's classmates were promptly picked up by their parents. Only one, a little girl, recalled that when she was heading home, Jin Qiao was still standing outside the school doors, as if waiting for someone. And because the teacher in charge was celebrating her father-in-law's birthday that evening, she had left as soon as school was out. No one noticed who Jin Qiao ended up leaving with or where they went.
Although Jin Bingshan and Yang Qin were originally both professors at Jiangbin City University, Jin Bingshan later left to form an arts and entertainment company with some of his friends, while his wife continued to teach. But whether at the university or in society at large, they both had excellent reputations and no enemies. And while Jin Bingshan did work in the business world, he kept his hands clean, and was never known to have engaged in illicit relationships with any other women. Therefore, the possibility that this was a crime of either passion or revenge could essentially be eliminated.
Interviews with those living near the crime scene also brought miniscule results. According to Jin Bingshan, when he returned home at roughly 2 a.m. that morning, the box was discovered; it was not yet there and he did not register its appearance until five hours later, when he tried to leave and found it blocking the door. Therefore, at some point between two and seven in the morning, the killer must have transported the box containing Jin Qiao's corpse to her parents' doorstep. At this time of year, the sky would already have begun to brighten by 6 a.m., meaning that the killer most likely dropped off the box at some point between two and five. Incidentally, this also happened to be the time when most people sleep their deepest. So when police asked the building residents whether they heard the sound of someone moving something heavy that morning, or saw a suspicious car parked outside, nearly all of them just shook their heads. Only one, a middle-aged man with prostate issues, said that while he was getting up to use the bathroom at around 4 a.m. he heard the sound of a car engine outside. As for the model, license plate, or driver, he never even looked.
As for the box itself, police checked Adidas company stores and specialty shops across the city. They learned that boxes like it were originally used for shipping sportswear, and that after it arrived at a store and was unpacked, it would either be sold to a salvage station or occasionally taken home by one of the employees. There were over a thousand salvage stations of all sizes across the city; investigating them one by one would take a lot of time.
As for the piece of broken pottery, police discovered that it did indeed come from a replica of a vase by the British artist Grayson Perry. Such replicas were available in arts and crafts stores in every corner of the city. Finding the buyer of this specific piece would be like dredging a needle from the bottom of the ocean.
Neither investigation was going anywhere, so when Tai Wei received orders to report to the director's office, he had sighed and prepared for the worst. Luckily, the director didn't blame him at all; just told him to pay attention to every detail and pursue every lead.
After leaving the director's office and nodding at the equally gloomy Old Zhao in the hallway, Tai Wei returned to his office and slumped into his chair. Then, kneading his temples, he lit a cigarette, opened the case folder and began to read, word by word, page after page.
Several hours later, when Tai Wei finally left PSB headquarters it was almost midnight and he was exhausted. At a small roadside wonton restaurant, he ate a cup of hot soup mixed with spicy pepper flakes and looked over the few lines of notes he had scribbled hastily in his notebook.
While reading aimlessly through the case files that afternoon, he had suddenly thought of Fang Mu and remembered how the kid had once talked about a killer's symbols and needs. With nothing else to go on, Tai Wei had figured he might as well try analyzing the case from this perspective.
In a criminal investigation, the key breakthrough point is determining the killer's motive; that way the range of possible suspects can be reduced. And to a certain extent, what is found at the crime scene will suggest this motive.
For example, in the killing of the little girl, there were certain elements that seemed to distinguish the case.
First, the torture. For an adult, murdering a seven-year-old girl would not be a difficult task in the least. So why had the killer taken the time and energy to torture Jin Qiao to death and then afterwards raped her corpse? If this was done to satisfy some sexual need, then the killer was most likely a sexual psychopath.
Second, the videotape, the 15-second close-up that the killer filmed of the victim's genitals. Was this also meant to satisfy some need? If, for instance, the tape was meant to provide sexual stimulation at a later time, why had the killer taken only 15 seconds of footage? More importantly, why deliver this film to the victim's parents? And if the tape was meant to be part of some twisted collection, why only film the victim's genitals when these just barely distinguished her? What kind of significance could this possibly have to the killer?
Third was delivering the victim's corpse to the victim's parents. Based on similar cases in the past, this kind of behavior was often meant as a kind of challenge or way of showing off. In which case, who was he challenging? The police or the parents themselves?
Gulping down the boiling-hot wonton soup, Tai Wei did his best to follow Fang Mu's example and analyze the case based on the killer's psychological characteristics. However, by the time the soup was finished, he had no choice but to admit that besides copying the kid's frowning expression, the rest of it was beyond him.
Afterwards, standing in the crisp midnight air, Tai Wei made a decision: no matter how much the kid glared at him, he was going to visit Fang Mu tomorrow and see what he had to say.
The situation ended up being much simpler than Tai Wei had expected. Unlike before, when Fang Mu had regarded Tai Wei like he was some unwelcome stranger, this time he just made sure the door was closed, and then took the case files from Tai Wei and began reading them quietly.
Tai Wei sighed to himself with relief. He knew by now that when Fang Mu was looking over a case, it was best not to say anything. So with nothing else to do, he turned on Fang Mu's computer and began browsing aimlessly. Inadvertently, in one section on the hard drive, Tai Wei came across a folder titled Data. He opened it. Inside were six more folders, the first titled Huang Yongxiao, the last Ma Kai. His heart skipped a beat; these were the cases Fang Mu had previously helped solve. He double-clicked several of the folders, but they were all password-protected. Then, just as he glanced back at Fang Mu and calculated the likelihood that he would tell him the password, the kid opened his mouth.
"You figure out where this thing came from?" asked Fang Mu, pointing at one of the photographs.
Tai Wei walked over and looked. It was the cardboard box that had held Jin Qiao's corpse. The three-leafed Adidas logo was printed on the side.
"Not yet, we're still looking. Why?"
"Oh, no reason," said Fang Mu, turning his attention to a photograph of the broken piece of pottery. "How about this?" he asked after a moment.
"That one's an even bigger headache. Nearly every crafts market in the city sells them. It's going to be very difficult to determine who bought it."
"What could it mean?" asked Fang Mu, staring at the ceiling and seemingly speaking to himself.
"Could the victim have broken it while struggling with her killer and then grabbed a piece in her hand?"
"No way," said Fang Mu, shaking his head. "I'm certain that the
killer placed it in her hand after she was dead."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Don't you think it's a little big?" said Fang Mu, indicating the piece's size with his hands. "The killer murdered the victim, raped her, and then filmed her—no way in this whole series of events could he have failed to discover that she was holding this thing in her hand."
"You mean to say…" Tai Wei paused for a moment, and then slowly continued. "The killer placed this in her hand to communicate some kind of message?"
"That's right, but I don't know what exactly this message was supposed to be. Still, I think we can go about determining it in two ways. The first is through the object itself. The second is through the meaning expressed in this British artist Grayson Perry's work. For the latter we'll need to do some research, but as for the former…" Fang Mu trailed off. Then, speaking slowly as if deep in thought, he said, "I believe it has something to do with the identity of the victim. What characteristics does ceramic have?"
"Well, it's fairly hard, but also quite fragile."
"That's what I was thinking myself. I believe this can also refer to the female sex."
"Oh. How do you mean?"
"I'll answer that question in a moment, but first let's discuss the killer himself. I believe he's between twenty-five and thirty-five-year-old, possesses a certain amount of education and artistic taste, and lives fairly comfortably. In person he's clean-cut and urbane. And he suffers from a psychosexual disorder that stems from a history of sexual failure."
"On what basis?"
"First, there's the piece of pottery he placed in the victim's hand, which we tentatively believe represents femininity. In and of itself, this implies that the killer received a good education, and possesses a certain amount of artistic taste," he said. "Very often, this sort of person pays a lot attention to his appearance. Next, in committing the crime, the killer's behavior demonstrated the marks of sexual psychosis. For example torturing the victim; for example raping her corpse; for example filming her genitals. In general, raping the victim's corpse is often the mark of an individual unable to have normal sexual relations with women, and frequently one who has been refused or insulted sexually by women. This sort of person is also likely to possess a strong tendency toward sexual domination and sadism. So for such an individual, a dead woman is far better able to satisfy his need to control the female body than a live one. This is why I guessed that the broken pottery, by being hard and yet fragile, was meant to represent the female sex. It implies both refusal, as well as the fragility to collapse at the first blow. This is how the killer views womankind. Also, the return of the corpse to her parents' home probably also expressed this particular attitude. However…" He hesitated for a moment, "I have to admit to being far from confident in this analysis, because I cannot understand why the killer chose a seven-year-old girl. The majority of individuals with this sort of psychological makeup ordinarily select adult women for their victims, in order to better alleviate their feelings of frustration. But conquering a seven-year-old? I can't imagine that could have been all that satisfying for him."
"Maybe this was the killer's first time, so he intentionally selected an easy target? Or I guess it could all have just been by chance."
"Right now it's still unclear, so it would be best not to draw any conclusions," said Fang Mu, shaking his head. "On another note, the case files say that the source of the car is currently being investigated. Has there been any news?"
"Not yet. After speaking to the cab drivers working the morning of the crime, we turned up nothing, so at this point we're beginning to consider whether the killer might have rented a car or used his own."
"Oh." Fang Mu nodded as if lost in thought. "I think you might as well consider the possibility that someone friendly with the parents committed the crime."
"Why?"
"Because if this was a violent kidnapping, there would have to have been some kind of disturbance outside the school, and someone would have seen. Also, having grown up in that kind of household, the victim would surely have been instructed by her parents not to just wander off with strangers. And anyway, she might only have been seven-year-old, but this isn't like when we were young—someone wouldn't have been able to just lead her away with a piece of candy. Therefore, I think it's highly likely that this is a case where the perpetrator was familiar with the family. And after using this familiarity to get the little girl to drop her guard, he kidnapped her."
When Tai Wei was about to leave, Fang Mu asked him how things were progressing on the hospital murder case. Tai Wei hesitated for a moment, and then admitted that Fang Mu's suggested line of attack hadn't worked out. Fang Mu did not look disappointed in the least, but instead just frowned and stared out the window for some time.
"How about the seven-one case?" he said at last.
"I'm not entirely sure. As you know, that case is being handled by the State Enterprise and Nonprofit Institution Investigative Division, so I don't hear much about it, but I suspect they're as stumped as us." Seeing Fang Mu's frown grow deeper, he asked, "Why, what are you thinking?"
Fang Mu said nothing.
"Wait, are you thinking," Tai Wei hesitated for a moment, "that all these crimes were committed by one person?"
After a long time, Fang Mu slowly shook his head. A thin, bitter smile played across his lips. "I myself am finding it difficult to say what exactly I'm thinking," he said, meeting Tai Wei's eyes. "Rationally, this does not seem like the work of one person, because in all three crimes, the murder method, the victims, the characteristics of the crime scenes, and those of the killer's own psychology were much too different. Still, I can't shake the feeling that there's something connecting them." Noticing that Tai Wei was now following his every word with bated breath, Fang Mu smiled awkwardly and said, "However, this could all just be in my imagination. You shouldn't take it too seriously."
As Fang Mu was walking him out, Tai Wei seemed to suddenly think of something. "Did you ever read that letter Ma Kai wrote to you?" he asked.
Fang Mu hesitated for a moment before admitting the truth. "No. I burned it."
Tai Wei was extremely taken aback. "You burned it?" The way he saw it, that letter had been an almost ideal document for the study of criminal psychology, so for someone this interested in the field—not to mention this concerned with empirical research—to simply burn it up without even reading it was mindboggling. He was about to ask why when he saw that the words "Don't ask!" were practically scrawled across Fang Mu's face.
Jeez, thought Tai Wei, what was that saying again? Oh, yeah; geniuses are all crazy.
CHAPTER
16
The Number Killer
Dragging a broom and dustpan, cleaning woman Zhang Baohua climbed wearily to the fourth floor of the Multidisciplinary Building. This was supposed to be Tian Cuixia's responsibility. Zhang Baohua didn't know how that old shrew had gotten so lucky, but after getting divorced, she had been able to marry the boss of a snack food wholesaling company. And then recently, after the wife of Pang Guangcai, one of the electricians from the maintenance department, was killed, police had come snooping around and discovered that he and Tian Cuixia had once had an affair. Even though she was proven to have had no part in the murder, she was obviously not going to stick around there any longer, so without even a word of warning, she quit. Since there already weren't enough cleaners to begin with, the maintenance department had had no choice but to temporarily assign the job of cleaning the Multidisciplinary Building to Zhang Baohua. Her reward would be an extra 200 renminbi a month.
After quickly cleaning several rooms, Zhang Baohua glanced down at her watch. It was already almost 7 a.m. According to regulations, the whole building had to be finished by eight. Thinking of the three floors she still had left to clean, Zhang Baohua massaged her waist and then pushed open the door to Room 404.
Huh? she thought. What were people doing studying here this early?
Amid the empty desks in the cl
assroom two people sat side by side. In the faint morning light, Zhang Baohua could just make out that one of them was dressed all in red.
If they had come there to study, why'd they leave the lights off? Hmph, she thought, they probably just snuck in here last night to have sex.
Curling her lips in contempt, Zhang Baohua switched on the light.
Eating as fast as they could, Fang Mu and Du Yu hurried to the Multidisciplinary Building, but when they arrived they discovered that there was no reason to worry about being late for class. Several hundred students and teachers were already gathered outside the building, the scene as noisy as a food market. But although everyone was saying something different, they all wore the same panicked expression.
What had happened?
Fang Mu was about to ask one of the students beside him, when he noticed police cars parked on the street side of the building, their lights flashing. His face fell. Could someone else have died?
Abandoning Du Yu, he did his best to squeeze through the crowd. When he finally made it to the front, a policeman abruptly blocked his way.
"Can't you see the police tape?" he asked.
Behind him, a blue-and-white cordon separated an empty space in front of the building from the crowd of onlookers. The main door was wide open, and policemen could be seen rushing up and down the stairs. Through the window of the on-duty room, Fang Mu watched one of the building attendants haltingly explain something to an imposing veteran officer. In the chair beside them sat a cleaning lady. She was holding a cup of water with both hands and shaking all over, her eyes absolutely blank.
Suddenly there was a disturbance within the crowd. It was the dean, a rather heavy man, doing his best to wade through the onlookers. Once he had pushed his way to the middle, he lifted the loudspeaker he was carrying and turned it on.
