by Lei Mi
"What was the name of the person he sent you to kill?"
"An old man named Zhou Zhenbang."
"What?" Fang Mu cried out. "Tell me quick, what does this Mr. Z look like?"
He heard the sound of water being gulped down on the other end of the phone.
"He's in his thirties, I guess. He's got an educated look about him… Oh, my god…" Luo Jiahai suddenly began to groan.
Fang Mu was frantic. "What's the matter? Luo Jiahai, what's wrong? Hello? Hello...?"
On the second floor of the roadside diner, Luo Jiahai's convulsing body was leaning against the edge of the table, a bitter almond-like taste shooting through his mouth in waves. He struggled to lift the bottle of mineral water to get a better look, then gave up and stared at the plastic bag near his face on the table. A moment later, his strength left him completely and he slid to the floor with a crash.
The cell phone fell from his hand and snapped closed as it hit the carpet.
Just then the door downstairs opened. A few seconds later, Mr. Z came cautiously climbing up the stairs, out of breath. Peering around the corner, he saw Luo Jiahai lying on the floor. When he spotted the bottle of mineral water near his hand, he laughed softly.
He picked up the cell phone from the carpet, checked the call log, and glanced at his watch. Cursing under his breath, he turned and hurried downstairs. When he came back up, he was carrying a large plastic bucket.
As he splashed the bucket's reddish liquid around every corner of the room, the entire second floor was filled with the overpowering odor of gasoline. Glancing at the open binder on the table, he pulled out a piece of paper from it and then tossed the binder on top of Luo Jiahai's corpse.
After saturating Luo Jiahai's body with gasoline, Mr. Z walked backwards out the door and down the stairs, pouring a trail of the pungent liquid as he went. When he reached the bottom of the stairs the bucket was just about empty. Mr. Z tossed it aside, opened the front door of the diner, took out a lighter, and lit the piece of paper he had taken from the binder. It was a color printout of a photo of Shen Xiang. As the flames slowly engulfed the picture, the girl's pretty, delicate face curled and became distorted.
With a flick of his wrist, Mr. Z tossed the burning photo toward the puddle of gasoline.
As soon as the line went dead, Fang Mu immediately contacted the technical surveillance division to triangulate the position of Luo Jiahai's phone and they were soon able to narrow it down to an approximate location. Fang Mu made another call to task force headquarters to send some officers there immediately while he grabbed his coat. Waving goodbye to his perplexed mother, he ran downstairs, got in his jeep, and drove off, sirens blaring in the night.
Based on the information provided by the technical surveillance division, Luo Jiahai's location was somewhere around the 15 kilometer marker on a highway leading west from the Beltway's southernmost exit. As Fang Mu raced south as fast as he could, he tried repeatedly to call Luo Jiahai's phone. At first it kept ringing out, but after a while his calls were unable to connect. Grinding his teeth together so hard they squeaked, he gunned the engine and shot around the cars in front of him.
Something must have happened to Luo Jiahai, he thought to himself. Was he still alive?
The sense of foreboding in his gut soon turned into certainty. As he passed the 13 kilometer marker, the darkness of the road ahead was lit up by what appeared to be the glow from a blazing conflagration. Fang Mu's heart sank as he sped along the road and the flames became visible.
He arrived at a little two-story roadside building. Through the roiling clouds of black smoke, he could still barely make out the word "Diner" on one wall. As Fang Mu opened the door to get out of the vehicle, a powerful gust of hot air billowed into his face. He took off his jacket, covered his head with it, and tried to get a little closer to the fire.
The entire two-story building was already completely engulfed in a roiling inferno. The hungry tongues of flame lashed through the windows from the inside and everywhere they touched was left black and smoking. The window panes that still remained intact quickly exploded from the intense heat, sending sharp, whip-like cracking noises through the night air. Fang Mu's lungs and throat were burning from breathing the hot, dry air and he felt his eyebrows singeing.
"Luo Jiahai...!" His shouts were drowned out by the roaring inferno. He ran back to the road, gathered a few handfuls of slush and snow and packed them on top of his coat. He uprooted a shrub and holding it in front of him to shield himself from the heat, stooped over and made his way step by step toward the door of the burning building.
He had just taken a few steps when someone grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him backward. It was Bian Ping. He had one hand gripped vice-like around Fang Mu's arm and the other hand raised in front of his eyes and forehead to ward off the hot air.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Bian Ping yelled over the bellow of fire. "Kill yourself?"
"Luo Jiahai's in there...!" Fang Mu struggled to break free, his eyes burning. "And he might have some crucial evidence with him...!"
With a strength that surprised Fang Mu, Bian Ping threw him to the ground. Fang Mu tried to climb to his feet, but Bian Ping shoved him back down with his foot.
"The whole damned place is all burned to hell! You think anything's left in there?" Bian Ping roared at Fang Mu. "Don't be stupid!"
Whether as a result of Bian Ping's words or from feeling suddenly drained of strength, Fang Mu sat back on his haunches as if paralyzed. After gasping hoarsely for a long minute, he finally said, "Let's call the fire department."
Behind him the fire continued to rage, as if determined to consume everything in sight.
CHAPTER
34
Dead End
The boy devoured the cold steamed bun with relish, swaying backward and forward with his other hand gripping the bars of the fence. Liao Yafan stood on the other side, occasionally reaching through the bars to wipe crumbs from the boy's mouth.
"Where did you get so many aluminum cans?" She kicked at the bulging bag on the ground. "There's no way you drank all those."
The boy just smiled shyly, but there was also a look of pride in his eyes.
"Well, thank you." She lifted up one corner of her mouth at him, winked, and tousled his hair with her hand.
This seemed to encourage the boy. He stopped swaying and said in a loud voice, "Anything you need, I can help you get it! Anything at all!"
She gave a wry laugh. "You can't help me."
Frowning, the boy nodded urgently. "Yeah, I can. Yeah, I can. Just tell me. What do you need help with?"
Liao Yafan gently cupped his cheek in her palm. In the soft moonlight, his skin appeared as pale as polished ivory. She stared into the boy's confident eyes for a moment, then turned and looked over her shoulder at the two-story building of Angel Hall.
"I want to leave this place."
The police swarmed the building as soon as the fire had been extinguished. Everything inside had been burnt to a crisp, but somehow the stairs had not collapsed. After clearing away some of the debris, they went upstairs, where they found a single charred corpse, but nothing else of value.
The body was burnt beyond recognition, but after putting in a sample for an emergency DNA test, the lab confirmed that the body was indeed that of Luo Jiahai. The medical examiner's preliminary autopsy report showed that there were no burns caused by inhalation in the deceased's respiratory tract, nor were there signs of smoke or ash in the lungs, indicating that he had probably died before his body was burned. Results from toxicology tests revealed that the victim had probably died from ingesting cyanide.
The cause of the fire was soon identified. The ignition source was determined to have been gasoline. Taking into consideration the phone call the victim made to Fang Mu before being killed, it was assumed that someone had lit the fire in order to silence Luo Jiahai and burn any evidence at the fire scene.
Because the deceased was laying face-do
wn, part of the front of his clothing had been preserved. In his inside pocket, forensic investigators found a debit card that had not been completely melted. After contacting the issuing bank, their computer system confirmed that the person the card had been issued to had used a fake identity. There was only about 10 yuan in the account.
Because Luo Jiahai had told him that the diner was the primary crime scene where the series of homicides had been committed, Fang Mu had gone out on a limb and requested a thorough investigation of the premises by the Bureau's Special Forensic Inspection Division in the hopes that they might turn up some material evidence such as blood or hair. But because the place had been burned so badly, the special investigators found nothing else of value. Of course the paper Luo Jiahai had mentioned on the phone, the one he had taken from Mr. Z, was not found either.
The fire had burned everything clean.
"What?" Teacher Zhou got to his feet, dismayed. He quieted his tone in the orphanage's small room. "Someone wants me dead?"
"Yes!" Fang Mu said, his jaw set. "Where did you go that evening?"
"I went to a bathhouse... After that I went back to Angel Hall."
"Is your..." Fang Mu searched for words. "Um, are you capable of...uh...having sex?"
"No," Teacher Zhou admitted quite straightforwardly. "You remember I told you I was once shot in the thigh? Well, my genitals were completely devastated."
He understood now. In the bathhouse, Luo Jiahai must have gotten close enough to Teacher Zhou to see that he could not have been the man who raped Shen Xiang, and so had become suspicious of Mr. Z.
"Who wants to kill me?"
"It was Luo Jiahai." Fang Mu hesitated. "Someone told him that you were the one who raped Shen Xiang, when she was in high school."
"What...? Why would someone say such a thing?"
"Luo Jiahai joined an organization of people who helped each other to commit murder. Its members are comprised of former test subjects from an indoctrination experiment performed years ago; their leader is a certain Mr. Z. He was the one who told Luo Jiahai that you raped Shen Xiang."
"What about Luo Jiahai? Have you caught him yet?"
"Luo Jiahai is dead." Fang Mu’s nostrils flared. "We believe Mr. Z killed him to shut him up, and then destroyed all the evidence."
Teacher Zhou stared at Fang Mu with eyes that appeared merely two dark orbs in a deathly pale face. At length he sat down heavily on his chair, put his head in his hands, and started tearing at his hair. "How could this have happened…? How could it…?" Abruptly he raised his head. "Who is this Mr. Z? Have you discovered his identity?"
Fang Mu just glowered at him. "Your former assistant was Yang Jincheng, am I right?"
Teacher Zhou's eyes widened as he understood the implication of Fang Mu's question. He shook his head violently. "No, that's impossible. It couldn't be him. I was his professor; how could he have…? Besides, he was with me that night the whole time."
"Who else knows about your visit to the bathhouse with him?"
"Let's see, at the time..." Teacher Zhou's brow wrinkled in thought. "There were others around us, at the Institute..." He pounded his palm against his forehead. "Lots of people saw me when I went there looking for him, but I'm certain no one else knew about our going to the bathhouse."
Fang Mu fell to smoking his cigarette in silence. When he was finished, he put it out and stood up. "Come; let's go have a chat with Yang Jincheng."
Yang Jincheng seemed to be expecting them. Not only did he not give them the typical cordial greeting or the usual pleasantries when they entered his office, he did not even stand to show them to a seat. He just sat in his leather chair behind his desk, glancing casually from Fang Mu to Teacher Zhou, waiting patiently for them to say what they had come to say.
Fang Mu got straight to the point. "Dr. Yang, I need you to give me all of the data and notes from the Indoctrination Field experiment."
Yang Jincheng's eyes swept across Teacher Zhou's face as he took off his glasses and began wiping them slowly and methodically. Only after he put them back on did he answer in a soft voice. "That is impossible."
Teacher Zhou slapped his hand hard on the surface of the desk before him and blood rushed into his face. "Jincheng, this thing is not just about mere scientific ethics and procedure anymore! It's more complicated than that. Someone has learned all about the Indoctrination Field Scheme, and is apparently going around killing everyone who knew anything about it! Whoever it is has already tried to send someone to kill me. If you don't hand over all the data to Officer Fang here and let the police do their jobs, you could be in danger, too!"
As Yang Jincheng watched Teacher Zhou fume, something akin to amusement rippled at the corners of his mouth, as if he thought the old man comical but not enough so to warrant a laugh. "At the risk of sounding redundant, no—you ask the impossible."
Spitting with rage, Teacher Zhou was about to deliver a barrage of insults when Fang Mu raised a hand to cut him off.
"Dr. Yang, some of the data and notes in your Skinner's Box experiment are directly related to a series of homicide cases. I might as well tell you that the mastermind behind them seems to be a man who calls himself Mr. Z. He has already destroyed evidence, so any data you might still possess in your files could represent our only hope in learning his identity. Also," Fang Mu said, raising his voice, "it is very likely that this person is someone working right under your nose. I am hoping that your data might give us some clues, so that we can apprehend him as soon as possible."
"I truly am sorry." Yang Jincheng shook his head. "But I cannot help you."
Fang Mu fixed his eyes on Yang Jincheng for several seconds. "Dr. Yang, as an officer of the law I have the authority to officially request your cooperation—"
"But I am not obligated to provide you with said cooperation!" Yang Jincheng barked. "If you want to play hardball, then believe you me, I have a thousand ways to make sure you both leave this place empty-handed!"
Fang Mu braced both hands on the edge of the desk and leaned forward to tower over Yang Jincheng. The psychologist returned his gaze, not budging an inch. Fang Mu spoke slowly, in a deliberate tone. "Dr. Yang, I do hope you will reconsider."
At that he turned, grabbed Teacher Zhou by the sleeve, and led him toward the door. On their way out they heard Yang Jincheng shout at their backs.
"Professor Zhou!"
Teacher Zhou turned, a hopeful light in his eyes. But what he saw in his former assistant behind the desk was a face devoid of all emotion.
"Professor Zhou—this could be the last time we ever see each other. Please, believe me," Yang Jincheng said, his words measured. "I will bring greatness to psychology."
Teacher Zhou snorted bitterly, turned, and walked out of the office.
As Fang Mu moved to follow him, he paused and turned to address Yang Jincheng. "You don't want greatness for psychology; you just want greatness for yourself."
There was no doubt as to psychology's greatness as a discipline and a science. But in the hands of someone with evil intentions, even the greatest and noblest of sciences was nothing more that an instrument of cruelty. On his way back to the precinct, Fang Mu suddenly thought of Sun Pu.
Sun Pu had burned Professor Qiao alive in that basement. The truth was, that had been a sort of psychodrama, too—directed at Fang Mu, with the intention of recreating a traumatic scenario. It was just that the vast majority of therapists used psychodramas to heal, but Sun Pu had used his to hurt.
How similar Sun Pu had been to this Mr. Z!
Mr. Z was obviously a man with a good deal of familiarity with such therapeutic methods; he knew, for example, that all the principal techniques of a psychodrama must correspond to the special needs of the trauma patient. But he had corrupted the therapeutic ritual, the final stage of a psychodrama, by changing it into group murder whose primary purpose was to silence someone. M. Z ought to know very well that this not only would not help Jiang Dexian and the others to free themselves from th
eir mental disorders; on the contrary, it would likely cause them further psychological trauma.
Fang Mu's fingers curled tightly around the jeep’s steering wheel. Every second counted now; he had to find this Mr. Z as soon as possible.
Fang Mu and the rest of the task force were not the only ones with that idea in mind.
As soon as his aggressive visitors had left through the door of his office, Yang Jincheng wilted into his chair, suddenly as limp as a deflated rubber ball. On his face, the calm and collected expression from earlier had been replaced by a look of desperate fear.
It seemed Teacher Zhou had not simply been trying to scare him after all; someone had indeed gotten his hands on the Indoctrination Field secrets. And as Fang Mu had pointed out, this person must be someone working right under his nose.
Yang Jincheng sat in a daze for a while, and then suddenly jumped to his feet. He picked up the priceless teacup from his desk with both hands, downed the last gulp of long-cold liquid, and pressed the button to open the door to his secret chamber.
He knew he must find this person as quickly as possible. He must not allow any further mishaps to occur prior to his trip abroad.
The huge conference room felt empty with only the three of them – Zheng Lin, Bian Ping, and Fang Mu – sitting around the table. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and each man's ashtray was nearly overflowing with cigarette butts. On each of their faces, written clearly despite the haze, was a profound frustration.
"So, that's where we are at the moment, in a nutshell." Fang Mu stamped out his cigarette butt and waited quietly for his two superiors to say something.
Bian Ping turned to Zheng Lin. "What do you think, ol' Zheng?"
Zheng Lin frowned and stabbed his half-smoked cigarette tip-down into his ashtray. "Apply for a warrant to search Yang Jincheng's place."
