The Blade of Silence (Fang Mu Eastern Crimes Series Book 3)

by Mi Lei

  Fang Mu heaved a quiet sigh of relief and took hold of Hu Yingwei. The young man was pretending to be grimace in pain, but Fang Mu noticed that he was carefully studying him out of the corner of his eyes.

  "Hu Yingbo was your brother?" Fang Mu asked.

  "Yeah," Hu Yingwei confirmed. "If you want to ask about my brother, then you're looking at the wrong guy. I have no idea what he was up to."

  "Is that right?" Fang Mu narrowed his eyes as he took hold of Hu Yingwei's jacket collar. "This jacket is real nice. Did you buy it yourself? Or these..." He gave the Chunghwa cigarette on the ground a swift kick. "How much money did your brother leave you?"

  Hu Yingwei looked away. "No. It's all from..." his voice trailed off before he finally decided on an answer, "the lottery..."

  Fang Mu tightened his grip. "You'd better be telling the truth or you'll be seeing a lot of me."

  "All right, all right." Hu Yingwei sighed in exasperation, cursing loudly. Finally he conceded. "I'll tell you, but only if you leave me alone then."

  Hu Yingbo and Hu Yingwei both still lived with their mother. Hu Yingbo, however, had spent most of his days hanging about town and working odd jobs, only rarely showing his face back home. Last week, he had returned home for the first time in days and he had brought a bag full of money with him. Before he took off again, he had implored his little brother to look after their mother. This was not the first time that Hu Yingbo had needed to lie low, so neither the money nor his sudden disappearance seemed all that unusual. In any case, Hu Yingwei and his mother had not been overly concerned. They had no idea that several days later, Hu Yingbo would be dead.

  Fang Mu listened in silence, then asked, "How much money did he leave with you?"

  "Fifty thousand," came the quick reply.

  Fang Mu fixed a sharp stare on him. Hu Yingwei withered under the close scrutiny, his breathing growing ragged, nervous sweat forming on his brow. "Two-hundred-fifty thousand," he blurted out, unable to take the heavy stare any longer.

  Fang Mu eased his glare, but his eyes remained unmoving on Hu Yingwei. The young man looked like the spitting image of his brother. It was strange to think that another face, almost like the one looking back before him, was right now lying in a morgue.

  "Did you ever wonder where that money came from?" he asked

  After a long silence, Hu Yingwei numbly shook his head. "People die, but money, that's here to stay."

  Sudden loud shouts erupted amidst the clatter of the mahjong tiles. Fang Mu turned and saw Hu Yingwei's mother angrily mumbling to herself as she threw yuan notes over to the other side of the table.

  What had she lost? Fang Mu wondered. Was it the blood money for Hu Yingbo's hand, or maybe his leg?

  It was almost unbearable to watch. Fang Mu loosened his grip on Hu Yingwei's collar and quietly told him, "Live your life. You're not dead; and neither is your mother."

  "I'm just happy..." A bitter smile cracked over Hu Yingwei's face as he raised his wounded right "Happy that I didn't take another beating."

  "Eh?" Fang Mu asked.

  "Two days ago some guys came by to ask me about my brother. I told them what I told you, but for some reason they started to hit me," Hu Yingwei explained.

  "What guys?" Fang Mu quickly asked.

  "No idea." Hu Yingwei flinched at the memory. "But they were brutal."

  Fang Mu quietly sighed. "Don't worry, I won't be back."

  With that, he started to walk away. He had barely taken a few steps when Hu Yingwei called out after him.

  Fang Mu turned back to the bruised brother. He looked fragile and weak, almost disappearing in his large jacket.

  "My brother..." he began, "my brother, he…" Hu Yingwei seemed close to tears. "He was not that bad a guy."

  There was nothing left to say. Fang Mu walked away without looking back.

  It was as he expected. Hu Yingbo had been a bought and paid-for martyr. And the woman Xing Zhisen had seen must have been just another victim. They had all been sacrificed to lure the commissioner into shooting Hu Yingbo.

  Two-hundred-fifty thousand, two lives.

  It was a warm and pleasant day, yet Fang Mu felt a chill run over his entire body. They had lured Old Xing into a deathtrap. If he could not prove that Hu Yingbo had killed the woman, it would be impossible to explain Xing Zhisen's actions. Without proof, Xing Zhisen had simply committed murder.

  The entire situation had more than a hint of tragedy; Old Xing was in danger of falling by the hands of the very law he had given his entire life to uphold.

  Clenching his teeth, Fang Mu forced himself to focus.

  Old friend, hold on, I will prove your innocence.

  Don't give up on me; I will never give up on you.

  Back in the office, Fang Mu called everyone who might possibly know if anyone had come across an unidentified female corpse. It turned out to be an exercise in futility, but he had hardly expected more. Whoever had set up Xing Zhisen knew what they were doing. Also, making a person disappear was really not that difficult in the first place—especially if that person was already a corpse.

  Just as Fang Mu hung up the phone again, he saw the door open and Bian Ping step into his office. The chief was obviously surprised to see Fang Mu. "Oh, you're back."

  "Yeah." Fang Mu quickly rose from his chair. "Were you looking for me?"

  Bian Ping didn't answer. Instead, he tossed Fang Mu a cigarette and lit one for himself. The cigarette was down to the butt before he quietly asked, "How is Old Xing?"

  "Not well." Fang Mu gave the chief a vivid description of the man he had seen in lockup.

  Bian Ping's face darkened and he fell silent once more. He closed the door and in a much quieter voice asked, "Why did he want to see you?"

  Fang Mu only offered Bian Ping an apologetic look for an answer. The chief smiled in understanding and gave him a clap on the shoulder. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and made a call. It took only a moment for Fang Mu to understand that he was calling the director of the lockup. Talking to the director, Bian Ping sounded very sincere and restrained, even subdued. In the end, the director promised that he would ensure that Xing Zhisen was "appropriately looked after". Bian Ping thanked him three times and hung up the phone.

  "Thank you very much," Fang Mu said, smiling appreciatively.

  "Don't thank me; Old Xing is my friend, too." Bian Ping sighed. "And it's all I can do for him."

  "What is the investigation team up to?" Fang Mu asked.

  "Still investigating, but at the moment they have nothing but bad news for us." Bian Ping showed him a printout. "Old Xing won't budge from his account of events, so they've decided to give him a lie detector test."

  "Oh." Fang Mu sat back down. "We could—"

  "Don't even go there." Bian Ping seemed to know what Fang Mu was about to suggest. "They're not going with anyone from the province," he added, pausing. "They brought in an expert from Shenyang City."

  "Damn," Fang Mu breathed in frustration. "What should we do?"

  "Welcome him, and learn," Bian Ping answered with a bitter smile. "We have our work cut out for us."

  "When will he arrive?" Fang Mu asked.

  "In a few days." A heavy scowl crossed Bian Ping's brow. "I just hope Old Xing can get through this."

  Fang Mu knew far too little about polygraphy. In fact, he knew next to nothing. Sitting in his jeep, he was rapidly flipping through a book on the history of lie detector tests. A small pile of freshly bought books sat on the back seat behind him. Maybe in one of them he would find some trick that would allow Xing Zhisen to beat the machine.

  It did not take long for the tide of information to rush right over his head. In its wake, it left little more than confusion. When he saw the time, Fang Mu frowned and quickly dialed a number on his cell phone,

  "Old Ghost, what's the holdup? Please hurry." Fang Mu looked up and quickly added, "Oh, I see your car now."

  A moment later, a man pulled the vehicle's door open with a huff and th
en seated himself with an exhausted puff. Wordlessly, the man snatched up one of Fang Mu's cigarettes and began to smoke.

  "What took you so long?" Fang Mu asked as he started the car's engine.

  "I was over in Xiguan District. Some stupid bitch locked herself out with turtle on the stove." Old Ghost made himself comfortable, lowering the seat as far as it would go. "Why did you call me?"

  "You'll know when we get there," was Fang Mu's only answer.

  Shrugging, Old Ghost leaned back in his seat.

  Ding Shucheng's home was located at Number Three, Fourth Floor, Unit Four, 43 East Lake Road. Fang Mu had observed the place for two days now, but he had seen no one enter or leave the apartment; that was why he had enlisted the help of Old Ghost. In his time, Old Ghost had been a prolific thief, but after a stint in prison, he had turned over a new leaf and was now running a locksmith service. Even so, he remained a man with one foot firmly rooted in the criminal underworld. His many talents and contacts made him a valuable informant for the police.

  "Have you heard about Old Xing?" Fang Mu asked as he stopped the jeep in front of the building, carefully studying their surroundings.

  "Ahh, there's little else in the papers," Old Ghost said casually. "Commissioner Xing sure has a temper on him. It doesn't mean he gets to kill people, though."

  "I need you to learn all you can about the matter," Fang Mu told him. "Please, tell me as soon as you come up with anything."

  "Oh? I'm very busy, you know, Officer Fang," Old Ghost said, as if dismissing the request.

  Fang Mu skipped further words and let his wallet do the talking. He pulled out five 100-yuan notes and handed them to Old Ghost. As soon as he saw the money, the former thief immediately beamed with delight.

  "Well, well, well. I'll call you the moment I hear anything," he said, stuffing the money in his pocket. He pushed the car door open.

  Fang Mu stopped him. "Stay; there's another thing that needs taking care of."

  The two men carefully crept up onto the fourth floor. Fang Mu gave the door of Number Three a few light raps, then put his ear to the wood and listened. Once he was certain that everything was quiet inside, he whispered to Old Ghost, "Open the door."

  "Yeah?" Old Ghost's eyes widened. "What is this place?"

  "Don't ask questions. Open the door," Fang Mu repeated.

  "I wouldn't dare." Old Ghost was already turning away, eager to extradite himself from an impending mess. "I don't do law-breaking."

  "Cut the crap," Fang Mu hissed at him. "This isn't worth your while?"

  Looking Fang Mu right in the eye, Old Ghost whispered, "This is a huge risk for me..."

  Fang Mu snorted and pulled another 300 yuan from his wallet.

  Old Ghost swiped the money the moment it appeared in Fang Mu's hand. He put on an accommodating smile. "I'll do it because you told me to, officer partner."

  Old Ghost squatted in front of the door and began examining the lock. He pulled a small tool bag from his pocket and carefully selected two of the metal picks. It was just a quick push into the lock and few twists before the door opened with a satisfying click.

  "I'm outta here." Old Ghost thrust his tools back into his pocket. "This is all yours now; I've got nothing to do with any of it." He gave Fang Mu a final wave and hurried down the stairs.

  Looking warily up and down the corridor, Fang Mu pushed open the door and entered.

  Inside, he found a dark apartment. Only a solitary ray of sunshine from the bathroom cut through the shadows. The ray of light shimmered with ethereal clouds of dust that lazily floated through the brightness. There was a strong smell of mildew in the air. Fang Mu slipped on his gloves and closed the door. He ran his hand over a shoe cabinet next to the door. When he looked at his fingers, they were covered in dust. Apparently the apartment had been abandoned for weeks, maybe longer.

  The living room was simply furnished. There was little more than a sofa, a tea table, a TV set and a refrigerator. Fang Mu quickly flipped through a stack of magazines on the tea table before turning his attention to the drawers of the TV cabinet. Inside were only a few movies and some tea. He took one more look around and then made his way to the bedroom. Pushing the door open, he saw a double bed covered in a wild shambles of bedclothes. All the drawers of the nightstand had been pulled open. Something felt very wrong about the scene. He was just about to turn back when something forcefully shoved against the small of his back.

  Before he could react, his arms were pinned and he was pushed onto the bed. Face-down on the mattress, he felt two hands pat him down. Fang Mu struggled to turn his head, but he couldn't twist far enough to see his attacker. He felt cold metal pressed against his forehead. He froze, knowing it was the barrel of a gun.

  "Fucker, you've finally come back," the voice behind the gun growled menacingly. "Time to talk."

  "What the...?"

  Fang Mu heard another voice speak from behind.

  "Let him go," the second man's voice said. "That's not Ding Shucheng."

  Fang Mu immediately recognized the speaker.

  The pressure quickly removed from Fang Mu's back. He was about to struggle to his feet when everything went black as a blanket was pulled over his head. He was pushed to the bedroom floor.

  Shocked and shaken, he kicked and squirmed his way out of the blanket. By the time he was free his attackers had already left the room. He rushed to the door and out into the hallway. A flurry of footsteps was racing down the building's staircase. Fang Mu pursued. Leaping down two, three steps at once, he arrived at the building's main entrance just in time to see a dark blue Santana rev its engine to speed off. Fang Mu threw all caution to the wind and leapt in front of the car, arms outstretched.

  With a piercing squeal of rubber, the Santana came to a sudden stop, its bumper bumping against Fang Mu's shins.

  Standing in front of the car, Fang Mu felt cold sweat soak his entire back. He clenched his teeth, rounded the car and yanked the car door open. Shouting every imaginable insult to the driver inside, he quickly plucked the keys from the ignition and threw them over his shoulder.

  For a second, the driver sat in stunned silence, then jumped out, dodged Fang Mu, and began searching the roadside grass for his keys.

  Fang Mu thrust his finger at the backseat passenger. "Zheng Lin! Out, now!"

  The ashen faced Deputy Captain of the Changhong City Municipal Public Security Bureau's Crimes Unit, Zheng Lin, opened the door and stepped out of the car.

  "The hell?" Zheng Lin asked as he slammed the car door. "What's wrong with you?"

  "I was just about to ask you the same thing!" Fang Mu's unwavering gaze met Zheng Lin's eyes. "Why are you here?"

  Instead of answering, Zheng Lin took a step closer. He leaned forward and quietly asked, "What did Old Xing tell you?"

  Stunned, Fang Mu felt the color drain from his face. "You've been following me?" He was ready to punch the captain in the face. "You were the ones who beat up Hu Yingwei?"

  The driver had found the keys and angrily stomped back to the car. His face was red with rage and he, too, looked ready punch someone, namely Fang Mu. Zheng Lin stopped him and reluctantly told Fang Mu, "This is Young Hai." He nodded toward another man who just getting out of the front passenger door. "And that is Little Zhan; they're part of my team"

  Fang Mu's cold stare wandered from one man to the next. Both Young Hai and Little Zhan returned his look with outright hostility.

  "Intimidation of a victim's family, unlawful search," Fang Mu said quietly, with forceful deliberation. "Exactly what kind of game are you playing?"

  "This has nothing to do with you," Zheng Lin said curtly. "Tell us what Old Xing said."

  "That has nothing to do with you!" Fang Mu shot back.

  "You're in over your head." Zheng Lin noted frowned. "You'd better just tell us now."

  "No, first you tell me what you're doing here." Deputy Captain or not, Fang Mu wasn't about to be dissuaded from getting an answer.

  A vein
on Zheng Lin's forehead began to throb noticeably as he stared at Fang Mu for several long seconds. Then, perhaps because he realized that Fang Mu was not going to reveal what he knew, the anger washed from his face, replaced by a shade of capitulation. He motioned Young Hai and Little Zhan back into the vehicle.

  This time, Fang Mu did nothing to stop them. The three were about to drive off when Fang Mu saw Zheng Lin's arm reach out of the window. He pointed a stiff finger straight at Fang Mu, a final warning in his tone. "We're watching you. Don't do anything stupid."

  Fang Mu turned away with a snort. Things had been difficult enough without those three showing up.

  Back in his car, Fang Mu felt a wave of exhaustion roll over him. He knew Zheng Lin well and they had even worked together on a previous case. Under any other circumstances, Fang Mu would have trusted him without hesitation. But now, after what happened with Xing Zhisen, Fang Mu couldn't shake the feeling that all the definite lines and loyalties were beginning to blur.

  Zheng Lin was watching his every move. That was how he had managed to be one step ahead of him with Hu Yingwei and at Ding Shucheng's, but that didn't actually help him understand what Zheng Lin really wanted. One thing was now certain, however: He was not the only one looking into the Xing Zhisen affair.

  The people he could trust – the ones he had to be wary of – it had all become one confusing mess.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Old Friends and Acquaintances

  It had been weeks since the Bay City Hotel homicide, but Xing Zhisen still refused to talk. If Hu Yingbo really had committed a murder and then attacked Xing Zhisen with something that could be mistaken for a knife, then the shooting would be considered incidental to the murder and Xing Zhisen would not face criminal charges. However, if there was no dead woman, Xing Zhisen would have to be prosecuted. As the evidence stood, there was simply no way to confirm Xing Zhisen's version of events.