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For nearly two decades, an unsolved murder case has haunted Sergeant Zheng Haoming of the Chengdu Police Department.
Eighteen years ago, two victims were murdered after being served with ‘death notices’. In refined calligraphy their perceived crimes were itemised and they were sentenced to death. The date of execution was declared, as was the name of their executioner: Eumenides.
Now, a user on an internet forum has asked the public to submit names for judgement — judgement for those the law cannot touch. Those found guilty will be punished and there is only one sentence: death. The user’s handle? Eumenides.
Does Zheng have a lead? Has a long-dormant serial killer resurfaced? Perhaps modern police techniques — criminal profiling, online surveillance and SWAT quick response teams — can catch a killer who previously evaded justice? Or perhaps the killer is more than a match for whatever the Chengdu Police Department can muster?
The first in a trilogy and a bestseller in China, Death Notice is a hi-octane, hi-concept, cat-and-mouse thriller that adds an exhilarating new gear to the police procedural.
Welcome Page
About Death Notice
Cast of Characters
Prologue
Chapter 1: An Impending Storm
Chapter 2: The Eighteen-Year-Old Tragedy
Chapter 3: Opening Moves
Chapter 4: Pei’s Secret
Chapter 5: Cut Throat
Chapter 6: Two Minutes
Chapter 7: Death Mine
Chapter 8: Doubts upon Doubts
Chapter 9: Breaking Out of the Cocoon
Chapter 10: The Birth of Eumenides
Chapter 11: Last Blood
Epilogue
About Zhou Haohui
About the Translator
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
THE 4/18 TASK FORCE
CAPTAIN HAN HAO—Chengdu Criminal Police, leader of the reinstated 4/18 team
OFFICER YIN JIAN—Assistant to Captain Han
CAPTAIN PEI TAO—Longzhou Criminal Police
CAPTAIN XIONG YUAN—Chengdu Special Police Unit (SPU)
OFFICER LIU SONG—Chengdu SPU
MU JIANYUN—Psychologist, lecturer at the Sichuan Police Academy
OFFICER ZENG RIHUA—Chengdu Criminal Police, supervisor of digital surveillance
SERGEANT ZHENG HAOMING—Chengdu Criminal Police, member of the original 1984 4/18 Task Force
Don’t you remember me, Student 8102?
Once the overture finishes, the first act must commence.
It has been far too long since the overture faded... But the day has finally come.
I can barely restrain my excitement when I think of the beautiful dance about to begin. Won’t you join me, my old friend? I know you’ve been looking forward to this for far too long.
I can see you reading this letter. You’re trembling with excitement, aren’t you? Your blood burns, and an unstoppable pressure is building up inside you. I feel it, too.
I smell your eagerness. Your anger. Even your fear.
Hurry. I’m waiting.
OCTOBER 19, 2002. 3:45 P.M.
CHENGDU, SICHUAN PROVINCE
A chill had seeped into the air during the Mid-Autumn Festival celebrations in September, and it had only deepened as the weeks passed. The last several days had seen constant rain and plummeting temperatures. A mist-laced wind whipped and howled past the city’s high-rises and through its streets, spreading a cold misery through the air. It may have been a Saturday afternoon in Chengdu, but the glum weather had already stripped the provincial capital of its characteristic energy.
Zheng Haoming sprinted out of the taxi, forgetting all about the umbrella resting on the vehicle’s floor. He dashed to the sidewalk and darted into a doorway marked SKYLINE CYBER CAFÉ.
Unlike the sparsely populated streets outside, the internet café was bustling. The shop had always enjoyed a steady stream of customers, as it was located within walking distance of several universities. The café’s pudgy owner stood behind the front desk, flanked by two employees in their early twenties. His last check of the register had come up short, and until he finished reviewing the entire month’s security footage, this red-faced man was determined to witness every transaction that took place inside his establishment. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed Zheng hurrying through the door. A middle-aged man was a rare sight here.
Zheng’s clothes were soaked. His hair was tangled in knots. He placed a bag onto the counter, then fished out a slip of paper from one of its pockets and handed it to the owner. His hoarse voice betrayed a touch of fatigue.
“Look up this address,” Zheng ordered. “Tell me which computer it belongs to.”
The plump owner recognized the string of numbers on the slip, as they fell within the range of IP addresses used by the café’s terminals. However, he regarded the piece of paper with an indifferent glance.
“Why should I?” he replied with a cold, disdainful look.
“Just be quiet, and give me the information!”
The owner shrank back from Zheng’s scorching gaze. The older man’s outburst startled a nearby network administrator as well; the young woman’s bright black eyes swiveled toward the source of the commotion. The owner felt a raw wound where his pride once was.
Zheng appeared to be on the verge of losing his temper. He took out what appeared to be a wallet, unfolded it, and slapped it on the counter.
“I’m a police officer!” he hissed.
The owner looked down, and he immediately sucked in his breath. A badge decorated in red, blue, and gold was mounted inside the upper flap. Below it, protected by a shield of transparent plastic, was a card displaying the man’s picture, name, and rank. He swallowed bitterly and handed the slip of paper to the girl beside him.
“Lin, look this up for Sergeant Zheng.”
The girl compared the address with the others on the server’s control monitor. “It’s in the second row,” she announced a moment later. “Sixth from the left.”
Zheng glanced at the young man seated at that particular computer. He appeared to be around twenty years old, and his hair was dyed red.
“How long has he been there?”
“Since noon. He’s been on for almost five hours.”
Zheng removed a digital camera from his bag. He pointed it at the customer and tapped the shutter button until he had taken ten photographs. Within the clamor of the café, the young man was so absorbed in his virtual world that he did not even notice the stranger taking pictures.
The digital camera beeped. The officer checked the device and saw that its memory was full.
He breathed a sigh of gentle relief, as though he had just completed an important task. Over the past two weeks, he had visited every single internet café in the city, and he had taken over three hundred photographs of the customers inside. Yet he had no idea whether any of his efforts would make any difference.
Come on, just go and see him. It’s been eighteen years, Zheng thought. It’s time.
He left the Skyline Cyber Café and trudged down the sidewalk with a new destination in mind. The wind clawed at his cheeks, and he ducked into the collar of his thin jacket. A fragrant blast of steam from a nearby wonton stall rolled over his face, providing a welcome contrast.
For the first time he realized how truly empty Chengdu’s downtown streets had become over the past few weeks. He felt exposed now. Vulnerable. The feeling was as unfamiliar as it was unsettling. A few cold droplets of rain landed on his neck, and he tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a shiver.
I’m waiting.
Those words made Zheng Haoming’s blood run cold. Eighteen years ago, he thought he had escaped from this nightmare. Now he wondered if it had ever ended in the first place.
*
10:17 P.M.
A streetlight flickered over the neighborhood’s north entrance, illuminating a ten-foot gap set between two cement walls. The wide metal gate stood open. Zheng had tried the east entrance first, but the gate there had rusted shut. He aimed his flashlight at the wall on the left. Three characters had been etched into the cement.
“Meiyuan Cun,” Zheng murmured to himself.
Plum Orchard Village. It sounded pleasant enough, but Zheng, who had grown up in this city, knew this place by a different name. Touyoupo Cao, in the local Sichuan dialect. The Cockroach Nest.
After two minutes of navigating the development’s narrow and confusing lanes, Zheng felt like a rat in a maze. Dilapidated single-story apartment buildings boxed him in on every side. A sickly glow flickered from the dim, shattered streetlamps, and an unnerving odor of mildew filled the air.
The rain continued. A layer of sludge glistened upon the pavement. Raw sewage, maybe. Possibly vomit. Ignoring the filth of his surroundings, Zheng walked up to a cramped building. He checked the address and rapped his knuckles three times against the wooden door.
“Who’s there?” From inside the apartment, the weak voice rasped against Zheng’s eardrums, sending pins and needles across his scalp.
After weighing his options, Zheng chose the most direct response.
“Police.”
He heard soft footsteps from inside. Seconds later, the wooden door opened. In the room’s faint light, a grim figure stood before him.
The officer had prepared himself for this moment, yet he still felt himself grimacing with suppressed disgust. He stood face-to-face with a human gargoyle. Of course he had come on a night like this.
Scars the color of mud marked the man’s hairless scalp. As Zheng studied the craggy features of his face, he could not spot a single patch of intact skin. The man’s eyes were askew, and a large chunk was missing from his nose. His upper lip was split at the center, giving him a rabbit-like appearance.
Zheng drew a deep breath. “Huang Shaoping.”
The gnarled man shivered, and he stared at his visitor.
“Are you... Officer Zheng?” The man’s voice seemed to rattle through shredded vocal cords, as though he were simultaneously gasping for breath.
Zheng raised his eyebrows. “You remember me, even after all these years.”
“How could I forget?” Huang gritted his teeth. His voice made Zheng picture a rusty saw, but it didn’t stop the officer from trembling with excitement.
“I have pictures to show you. New pictures.” Zheng’s hands trembled so fiercely that he nearly dropped his camera. He stuffed the device back into his pocket. “I haven’t forgotten either. Not even for a second!”
“Come in.”
Huang leaned against a walking stick. As he turned to lead Zheng deeper into his home, Zheng saw how badly time had treated his wounds. Huang’s legs were twisted like burnt branches leading down from the painful-looking hump on his back. The house was small, no larger than 100 square feet. A small room had been partitioned off beside the door; peeking inside, Zheng spotted a food-encrusted pot on top of a cooking range. He moved farther inside the main room, brushing a cobweb from his face. A bed, table, and several chairs had been set up here. In the only part of the room that seemed to have any life to it, a news program blared from the old-fashioned twenty-inch television standing atop a pile of yellowed lumber.
Zheng felt a pang of pity for the man. Huang never should have ended up like this. His life had been far from luxurious before, but if not for that vile crime eighteen years earlier, at least he would be able to walk outside without drawing stares and whispers.
After leading his guest to a chair and seating himself on the edge of his bed, the hobbling man wasted no time on pleasantries.
“I don’t understand. It’s been so many years. I’ve heard nothing.”
“Yes, but I’ve never stopped looking. I think he’s back.” Zheng took out his digital camera and found the pictures he had taken earlier. “Here. You must tell me if anyone stands out.”
“They’re all so young!” Huang leaned closer and peered at the camera’s display. His head fell. “It was eighteen years ago—most of these kids hadn’t even been born yet.”
“Please, look again,” Zheng said, scowling. “I’ve waited years for a lead like this. I can’t leave any stone unturned. Even if it isn’t the same person you saw eighteen years ago, there could still be a connection. Focus. Even if you have the slightest suspicion, don’t ignore it!”
The scarred man glanced at Zheng in confusion, but he seemed to be trying. He looked carefully through the camera’s pictures, focusing on each one for several seconds. Once he reached the final image, he shook his head.
“Is this all you have?” Perhaps reluctant to disappoint his visitor, Huang added, “Who are these people, anyway?”
Zheng didn’t answer. If it wasn’t even the same person, how was Huang Shaoping supposed to know if they were connected? Zheng’s request was far from simple. In fact, it was absurd. He put the camera away and heaved a grudging sigh. Huang knew nothing. In this eighteen-year-old tragedy, he had merely played the role of victim.
As if he had read Zheng’s thoughts, Huang snickered. It was hard for Zheng to tell who Huang was laughing at. The man’s torn lip curled upward, revealing a row of bone-white teeth.
Zheng raised his eyebrows. “Can you see a doctor about that?” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Oh, why don’t I give my plastic surgeon a call?” Huang snorted, but it sounded as though he were choking. “Take a look around this place. I’m lucky to have made it this far selling scrap and collecting welfare. Just let this old man die in peace.”
“Well, you’ve seen the photos,” Zheng said brusquely. “Get in touch with me right away if you think of anything. I might come back to ask you more questions sometime soon.”
Huang leaned against his cane and rose up from his bed. His disappointment was perfectly clear. There was nothing more to say.
*
TWO DAYS LATER: OCTOBER 21, 10:52 A.M.
CHENGDU CRIMINAL POLICE HEADQUARTERS
The tension filling the office of Captain Han Hao was thick enough to choke on. Captain Han pounded his fist against the polished oak desk and stood up from his chair. His shoulders bulged underneath his crisp blue uniform shirt.
“Tell me everything!” His voice was just below a roar.
Sitting across from him was Officer Yin Jian. Yin was by no means a tall man, but he felt absolutely minuscule under Captain Han’s wide eyes. He recoiled slightly in his seat.
“We just got a call from Nancheng station,” Yin said. “Sergeant Zheng Haoming has been murdered.”
“Give me details!” Han’s cheek twitched. His words sent chills down his subordinate’s spine.
“Ten minutes ago, the station received a phone call reporting a homicide. The first officers were on-scene five minutes later. They identified the victim as one of ours and immediately notified us. That’s all I have. They’re still in the process of gathering more details.”
“Let’s move!” Throwing on his uniform jacket, Han strode out from his office.
Yin hurried after him. “Captain, there’s also a rather unique situation. The man who reported the homicide is also a cop.”
“From Nancheng station?”
“No. He says he’s the captain of police in Longzhou.”
“Longzhou?”
Han frowned. Longzhou was a backwater that was at least a two-hour drive from Chengdu. What was a small-town captain doing on his turf?
Regardless, he did not have the luxury to ponder aimless questions. On the way from his office to the parking lot outside, Han made a series of calls. He marshaled the department’s best forensic scientist, their top criminal investigation expert, and their most capable search team—ordering them all to converge at the crime scene as soon as possible.
The news of Sergeant Zheng’s death had sent shock waves through Chengdu’s police community. The murder of any police officer was shocking, but Zheng Haoming was a legend.
Sergeant Zheng was dead at the age of forty-eight, after serving a full quarter-century on the Chengdu police force. His talent for law enforcement had been apparent from the very beginning of his career. Although he lacked the police academy education that was now standard among members of the department, which prevented him from receiving a promotion beyond sergeant, he was an icon within the force. He had been spending more time behind his desk lately, but the department was still full of officers he had personally mentored. Even the irascible Captain Han softened in his presence.
His murder was a dagger through the heart of every police officer. For Han, this blade plunged deep.
Once inside the police car, Han turned his attention to the officer waiting at the wheel.
“Step on it!”
The car became a flashing blue-and-white blur as it shot down the road, sirens blaring.
Two years prior, Zheng had moved his family out of police housing to a quiet new apartment far from the tumult of downtown Chengdu. Rather than let the aging police apartment lie idle and unused, Zheng still spent nights there whenever he worked overtime. It allowed him to keep in touch with colleagues, and helped to avoid disturbing his sleeping wife and daughter. He called it his second office.
Zheng now lay dead in his second office, virtually within spitting distance of the police station. With the help of the driver’s lead foot, Captain Han reached the apartment in under ten minutes.
The apartment was located in a quieter section of the city in a cluster of small, old-fashioned brick and concrete buildings. A young officer from the police station stood watch at the street entrance. Han opened the door and jumped out before the patrol car had even come to a complete stop. In seconds, he was jogging up the stairs.
When he reached the third-floor landing, he spotted two officers standing guard outside the door to the apartment. Both recognized the captain at once. A tone of respect marked their greetings.
“Why are you both standing out here?” Han’s expression was stern. “What’s going on?”
The younger officers looked embarrassed. One scratched his head.
“We’re not too clear about that. There’s a cop in the room, and he won’t let us inside. He said we had to stand guard out here.”
The two officers explained that they had rushed to the apartment immediately, but the man who had called the emergency dispatch center was already inside the apartment. Both were shocked when he flashed a police badge and refused to allow them inside. Seeing no other option, they called in their report to headquarters while they waited outside.
Han gritted his teeth. Instead of questioning the officers further, he entered the apartment to see for himself.
The residence was a pure example of function over form. The living room on his left contained a sofa, a wooden coffee table, and a dark television set. He stepped into the kitchen on the right, absently taking note of the pile of empty instant-noodle packages on the counter. Then the smell hit him.
The room reeked of blood, thanks in no small part to the building’s poor circulation. Zheng Haoming lay on his back on the living room floor. Judging from the large crimson pool beneath the sergeant’s neck, Zheng had been dead for at least several hours. Next to the corpse was a man crouched on one knee. He was examining a cleaver on the floor.
“You’re the cop from Longzhou?” Han demanded.
Yin Jian entered the apartment as Han spoke, and he took his place behind the captain.
The stranger looked at both of the officers with a gaze that could cut steel. He wore a windbreaker that hugged his thin frame, and he appeared to be around thirty.
He raised his left hand, the palm facing out toward Han and Yin. At the same time, he drew a badge holder from his chest pocket with his right hand. He tossed it toward Han, who snatched it from the air.
“Captain Pei Tao,” the man said. “Longzhou Police Department.”
After glancing at the man’s ID, Han passed the badge to Yin. “Verify his credentials,” he ordered.
Squinting, Pei sized up the two officers.
“I take it one of you is in charge of this investigation?”
Yin gestured toward his superior. “This is Captain Han Hao, Chengdu Police Department,” Yin said.
Pei nodded. “Then I’m sure you’ve investigated plenty of crime scenes like this one. Just take care not to disturb any potential evidence around the body.”
Han’s face soured. He dismissed Yin with a wave of his hand. Yin left the room, shaking his head. There was an unspoken rule among the members of Chengdu’s criminal police force: no one gave orders to Captain Han.
Han aimed his finger at the younger officer. “Captain Pei, why exactly are you here?”
Pei stiffened. Judging from his expression, he had just realized that his previous comments had not been well received. He promptly stood up.
“I came here on a private matter with the sergeant. I had no idea that he—”
“Since you came here due to personal matters,” Han coldly interrupted, “you must leave the scene immediately. Report to Officer Yin outside. He’ll record your account.”
Pei fixed his eyes on the tall, athletic police captain. Han reciprocated with a steely gaze of his own. Voices filled the hallway outside; seconds later, there was a flurry of uniforms and equipment as the forensic scientist and other investigators filed into the apartment.
“Get moving,” Han said. “I don’t want you interfering with our work.”
With a curt nod, Pei strode away from the body of the sergeant. He stopped in front of Han.
“I’ve already found a few leads. Perhaps we could exchange theories on how the sergeant was murdered.”
“Make no mistake, Captain Pei. As a witness, and as the one who reported this crime, you’re legally obligated to cooperate with our investigation. But I’m sure you already know that. You must have investigated plenty of crime scenes like this one.” The faintest hint of a smirk crept over Han’s lips.
Yin poked his head through the doorway. “Officer Pei, please come this way.” His demeanor was a welcome contrast to Han’s. Seeing a chance to extricate himself from an awkward situation, Pei nodded and left the room. As he did, Han began his inspection of the crime scene.
*
Yin led Pei away from the apartment and over to a quieter section of the hallway. His gaze lingered on the fist-sized patch of blood staining Pei’s left pant leg.
“This is all standard operating procedure. Right now I’d like you to give me your account of what happened, starting from your arrival at the scene.” Yin took out his pen and notepad.
The whine of sirens crept in from the windows, and the two men saw several police vehicles pull up outside the building. Han’s reinforcements had arrived.
Pei waved his hand at Yin. “We’ll have plenty of time to discuss what happened later. Right now, there’s something more important. Do you have the authority to give orders to the officers who just arrived?”
Yin shook his head. “Captain Han’s inside the apartment. Why would they listen to me instead of him?”
“In that case, tell the captain that you need to begin a citywide search for our killer. He’s male, thin, and approximately five-foot-five. He may have a knife wound on one hand. The suspect was in this area sometime between eleven o’clock last night and two this morning.” His eyes gleamed as he rattled off each detail.
Yin fidgeted slightly. “There’s no way that the captain will agree to that.”
“You know I’m right.” There was an undeniable firmness and confidence to Pei’s words.
Yin forced a smile. “No, I’m afraid you don’t understand. It isn’t a matter of whether or not I believe you. You need to do as the captain says, not the other way around.”
Exhaustion soured Pei’s features.
“Fine. Just make sure that you take all this down. The reason for my visit here was a private matter. I called Sergeant Zheng’s office at 9:52 this morning. He didn’t answer. I got through to one of your colleagues, who gave me his mobile number. Again, no answer. I managed to reach an aunt of his who told me he often stayed at this apartment when he was working. I arrived here at 10:37.
“I knocked. No one answered, but I could smell a strong odor coming from inside. The door was unlocked. I opened it, saw the body, and reported it to the police. Then I carried out my initial investigation of the scene. The officers from the station arrived at 10:49—ten minutes after I called. In order to preserve the scene’s integrity, I didn’t allow them to enter the apartment. At five minutes after eleven, you and the captain arrived.”
Pei recited each piece of information with the fluency of an actor who knew his lines inside and out.
“9:52. These times are very... exact,” Yin said, with palpable suspicion.
The man from Longzhou gave him a grim look. “The times are accurate—you can trust me on that. My watch is precise to the minute.”
After double-checking everything he had jotted down in his notepad, Yin looked back up at Pei.
“Did you know Sergeant Zheng?”
To Yin’s surprise, Pei shook his head. “No.”
“Then why did you have private business with him?”
Pei paused. “It concerned the details of a separate case. A case that Sergeant Zheng was in charge of.”
“A case?” Yin scratched the tip of his nose. This answer only confused him further. “Wouldn’t that make it official business?”
Long seconds passed before Pei responded. This time he spoke much more slowly than before. “It’s an eighteen-year-old case. I was one of the people involved, before I joined the force.”
“That’s practically ancient history. Why would you suddenly want to go digging through the past all these years later?” Yin pursed his lips. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand. Now, describe the scene as you saw it.”
Pei looked startled. A chill came into his voice.
“I wouldn’t say that the cases are unconnected.”
Yin squirmed under Pei’s piercing gaze. “What is this case, exactly?”
Pei saw that the officer was nervous, unpredictable. After forcing himself to relax, he took a calming breath and asked, “How long have you been a police officer?”
“A little under two years,” the man answered honestly.
“Did you graduate from the Sichuan Police Academy?” Pei asked, referring to the province’s most prestigious law enforcement institution.
“That’s right. I majored in criminal investigation.”
“We’re practically classmates, then.” Pei smiled at Yin, his eyes gleaming. “I graduated from the academy in ’84. Same major as you. Does Wei still teach for the department?”
“He does!” The young officer’s head bobbed up and down. “I had him for a course on trace evidence.”
“Wei and I attended the academy together,” Pei said. He patted Yin on the shoulder. “Ask any of the old instructors in the department, and they’ll probably remember me.”
“Well, what do you know!” Yin made no attempt to hide his new sense of camaraderie.
Pei’s features hardened. “My sincerity should be clear enough. Am I correct in thinking that I can trust you? Because I need your help.”
Yin nodded immediately. Pei’s charisma was undeniable. He had swept away the young officer’s suspicions with an almost brotherly tenderness.
“Excellent.” Pei rubbed his jaw in satisfaction. His lips curled into a slight grin. “You don’t need to ask too many questions about that old case. Not for the moment, at least. Right now I have a few questions of my own. Did Sergeant Zheng exhibit any unusual behavior over the last few days? Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary?”
Yin wrinkled his brow in concentration and glanced down at his feet. “Anything unusual? Over the past few days, he did most of his work outside the station, but that isn’t strange. I’m sure you spent a lot of time on fieldwork as well.”
“How many cases was he working on, exactly?”
Yin shook his head.
“None. I mean, Zheng was no spring chicken. The department stopped putting him in charge of cases a while back. His work generally revolved around analysis and supervision. Still, he was always busy. Even if he hadn’t been assigned any work, he would venture outside the station fairly often. ‘Feeling the city’s pulse,’” Yin said. His eyes suddenly lit up. “I just remembered! I think most of his business over the last several days was about some kind of preliminary surveillance.”
Pei raised his eyebrows at this last revelation. “How do you know that? Did he discuss his work with you?”
“No, the sergeant always kept to himself. He wasn’t much of a people person. The only reason I’m guessing that he was doing surveillance work is because he took a digital camera with him on each of those days.”
“Was it a silver Nikon?” Pei raised his eyebrows.
“That’s right. All our cameras are the same model. How did you know?”
“There’s a Nikon inside the apartment. It’s on the living room table!”
Pei looked past Yin. A pair of stern new arrivals from the Chengdu police guarded the door. Pei’s chances of entering the apartment again were now slim to none. His best option was to turn to his new comrade for help.
“I need to see that camera right now,” Pei whispered. “Do you think you can get it for me?”
Yin hesitated. “Well... I’ll give it a shot. The captain has the final say.”
Pei nodded. As dissatisfied as he was, he knew Yin’s hands were tied. The officer was Han’s subordinate, after all.
Fortunately, Yin did not disappoint. Moments later the officer emerged from the apartment holding a dull silver camera in his newly gloved hands.
“I can show you the photos in the camera’s memory, but you can’t personally touch the camera. Captain’s orders.”
As Pei watched, Yin cycled through each of the photographs that Zheng had recently taken. Pei’s eyes were glued to the camera’s display. Occasionally, he frowned and asked Yin to stop on a certain image. Each time he did this, he would take out his trusted pen and notepad to scribble down a few notes. Half an hour later, Yin finally reached the last of the three hundred images stored on the camera.
Pei let out a long breath. “Okay. These photographs follow a very clear pattern. However, there are a few suspicious points worth noting. Most important, at least we have our hands on a valuable lead now.”
“Let’s see if I can figure out this pattern you mentioned. The photos were taken at several internet cafés. Zheng took these pictures from a concealed position, meaning that the subjects were unaware they were being photographed. I count a total of fifty-seven individuals, primarily teenagers and young adults. However, their ages seem to be all that they have in common. I wonder what Zheng was hoping to find by taking pictures of these people?” Yin’s eyes shone with an eager light. “Did I leave anything out?”
Without even realizing it, he had handed Pei the reins of the conversation.
“Your count was off by one. If you look through the photos again, you should find that Zheng photographed fifty-eight people in all.” Pei twirled his pen in his fingers.
“Do you mean I miscounted?” Yin gave Pei a puzzled look.
“No, you counted correctly. The images do show fifty-seven different subjects. Did you notice that every picture has its own file name?”
Yin fiddled with the camera. “You’re right. They’re all numbered.”
“Each picture is automatically numbered in sequence,” Pei said. “Now here’s the kicker—the six images that should be labeled 280 through 285 are missing.”
“You’re right,” Yin said. Realization dawned on his features. “It seems too deliberate to be a mistake. These images could very well have contained a fifty-eighth individual.”
“But who deleted them? And why?” Pei muttered to himself. “This isn’t as simple as it looks.”
“Are you suggesting that this is somehow related to Sergeant Zheng’s murder?” Yin asked. “Was the sergeant trying to track down this fifty-eighth person? In that case, wouldn’t you say we’re a little late? The culprit already deleted our most important clue. I’m willing to bet that the other people in those photos don’t even have anything to do with this case.”
“But we still have other leads to follow. We can at least try to uncover what the sergeant was searching for in the first place.”
“How do we do that?” Yin asked, unable to restrain his curiosity.
Pei pointed to one section of the notes he had taken while viewing the photographs: Skyline Cyber Café, October 19, 3:47 p.m.
“In the last few photos,” Pei said, “the internet café’s window is visible behind the subject. The decal on the window says ‘Skyline Cyber Café.’ The time stamp indicates this was two days ago, in the afternoon.”
“I’ll pass this on to the captain,” Yin said, admiringly.
“Providing he’s willing to listen. Right now I need to follow up on a lead of my own.” Pei tore a sheet of paper from his notepad and scrawled out a phone number. “Please get in touch with me if anything happens.”
After giving Yin an amiable pat on the shoulder, Pei headed down the stairs.
*
Two hours later, the entire Chengdu criminal police force held an internal briefing with ranking officers from every station and substation throughout the city. A solemn mood had taken hold of the room. All eyes were focused on Captain Han. The man was ashen.
“As I’m sure everyone is aware, a brutal homicide took place this morning.” Han’s voice cracked, as he strained to control the grief and anger roiling in his heart. “Nothing further needs to be said about the victim’s identity. Now, the scene of the murder.”
Han’s assistant, Yin, was standing at his side. He turned on the room’s ceiling-mounted projector when the captain gave the signal. Photographs taken at the crime scene appeared on a large screen for all to see.
“There are three major knife wounds on the body: a stab wound to the abdomen, a cut on the right upper arm, and a slash wound across the neck. The wound to the neck was fatal. The blade sliced open the victim’s carotid artery, leading to the excessive blood loss that killed him. According to our forensic evaluation, the time of death most likely occurred between midnight and two o’clock in the morning.”
A series of close-up images appeared on the projector screen to accompany Han’s explanation. The people in this room were no strangers to violence. However, the photographs of dark blood and the corpse of a veteran comrade sent an icy shiver down each officer’s spine.
Zheng Haoming’s eyes were shut, but his mouth was wide open as if he had been trying to scream. A close-up of the cruel slash across his neck. A ruler indicated that the wound was 2.75 inches in length.
“Judging from these wounds, the murderer used a small, razor-like weapon. A cleaver was also left behind at the scene. The research done by our technicians tells us the fingerprints on the handle and blade belonged to the victim. Therefore, it appears that the victim wielded the cleaver in self-defense. From these findings and other evidence, we can state with certainty that the victim was engaged in a fierce struggle with the murderer before his death.”
Han gestured to Yin. A succession of photographs of the other areas of Zheng’s apartment flashed upon the screen.
“This is a fresh gouge on the surface of the living room table. The mark is consistent with impact from a sharp-edged object. Possibly even Zheng’s cleaver. The items inside the cabinet were in complete disorder, most likely because the cabinet was struck. There’s a large amount of blood spatter here. It looks like the victim suffered his fatal wound somewhere around this area...”
The audience listened in silence. As Han continued his description of the scene, the others in the room pictured the struggle between Zheng and his killer.
The screen showed a close-up of the wooden floor of Zheng’s apartment. Han nearly flinched when he looked at this picture.
“This photo was taken beside the victim’s feet. We can see several circular drops of blood on the floor. The blood most likely fell from a significant height. Since the victim was wearing long-sleeved pajamas, his clothes would have soaked up the blood from any wounds to his upper arm and abdomen. The blood from the large wound on his neck wouldn’t have left those kinds of drops either. We can be all but certain that these bloodstains came from the killer.”
He turned to his assistant.
“Yin, go back to that close-up of the cleaver you just showed. All right. Everyone, take a look at the bloodstains at the edge of the cleaver.”
“Does that mean that the killer was wounded?” one of the officers asked.
Low, excited voices rippled around the room. If the killer had left blood or any other physical evidence at the scene, it would go a long way in helping them identify and track down the suspect.
“I can tell you with one-hundred-percent confidence that this is exactly what happened!” The other officers hushed as Captain Han swept his piercing gaze over the crowd. He brandished a report in his hand, holding it up for all to see. “These are the results from our lab test. The victim’s blood type isn’t B, but the bloodstains on the cleaver and floor are. There’s no doubt about it. This is the killer’s blood. Now, let’s have a look at the photographs of the kitchen.”
The next image on the screen showed a small wood-lattice window in a style common to older residences.
“This window overlooks the small park at the center of Zheng’s development. It was opened outward when we arrived at the scene. The glass at the very bottom of the lattice had been shattered.” He made another signal to Yin, and a new image replaced the previous one. “This is the kitchen cupboard. We found knife marks here as well.”
He paused, giving the other officers time to process this new detail.
“It appears that the killer made his way to the third floor by scaling the drainpipe and the second-floor window along the rear of the apartment building. He then broke the glass in the window, opened it, and entered the apartment. The noise woke Zheng and he went to investigate. The two encountered one another in the kitchen and began to engage in physical combat. Zheng grabbed a cleaver to defend himself. He was forced backward as he fought, and finally succumbed to his opponent in the living room.”
“Were any of the assailant’s fingerprints or footprints found at the scene?” interrupted one officer.
Han shook his head. “No. The individual may have been wearing gloves and shoe covers. It would seem that this person knows a thing or two about how we conduct our investigations.” He narrowed his eyes. “Even so, we have a firm grasp on several leads. I want everyone to note our projection of the killer’s physical description. He’s most likely a young or middle-aged male with a slim build, between five-foot-three and five-foot-seven, with a fresh knife wound on one hand.”
After a brief scramble for paper and pens, the assembled officers scribbled down the details. Several moments after Han had finished giving his description, a soft murmur broke the silence hanging over the room.
“Captain?”
All eyes turned to the source. It was Yin.
“Is there something you’d like me to clarify?” Han asked, scowling.
“No, sir,” Yin said, promptly shaking his head. “I’m just thinking about the officer we found in the apartment this morning. It’s almost as if he read our minds.”
“Are you talking about Pei Tao?”
“This morning he told me that we should launch a search for a male suspect—thin, approximately five-foot-five, and with an injury on one hand.”
Han’s eyes widened in surprise. Despite the brevity of the physical description he’d just announced, it had taken hours for the team of technicians to determine those details.
If one knew that the killer had silently scaled three stories and squeezed through a small window, it would be a simple matter to conclude that the individual in question was both slender and agile. Coming up with an accurate estimate of the individual’s height, however, was no easy feat.
The investigators discovered that the struggle between Zheng and his killer had left the wooden sideboards in the kitchen and living room scored with knife marks. All signs suggested that the murderer had wielded a sharp knife; each strike had been a powerful stab, and so the killer inevitably would have chosen a stance most conducive to applying force. Operating under this hypothesis, they could use the locations, angles, and depths of the marks to deduce the attacker’s approximate height. Doing so involved a careful process of calculation, and it was hard to imagine that brainpower and the naked eye alone could accomplish this same task.
The killer had left bloodstains on the floor of the scene. The study of blood spatter was an art in itself—the higher the point from which the blood had fallen, the larger the area of the mark it formed when it splashed onto the floor. Thus, one would be able to approximate the height from which the blood fell by contrasting these marks with those of the mock simulations performed at the scene. The final results from the department’s tests indicated that the blood had fallen from a height somewhere between 2.5 and 3 feet above the floor. Considering the warmer and thicker clothing people typically wore at this time of year, the hands and face would be the only parts of the body from which blood would drip if one were wounded. After they’d determined the height from which the blood had fallen, Han’s analysts concluded that one of the murderer’s hands had been injured.
To Han, the idea that Pei had ascertained all these details in such a short time was inconceivable. Yet his shock quickly faded from his expression, as if masked beneath a layer of frost.
“Pei Tao’s motives are still unclear. He is a key suspect in our investigation. Yin, what’s the status on the surveillance I ordered?”
“I assigned Jin Youfeng to tail him. I haven’t heard back from him, but I’ll see if I can get in touch with him right now.” Yin took out his cell phone and dialed. After several rings, he heard an answer on the other end of the line. “Officer Jin?”
As Yin listened, his features stiffened. He grunted several awkward replies before approaching Han. Handing over his cell phone, he said, “Captain, you should listen to this.”
Giving his assistant a puzzled look, Han accepted the phone.
“This is Han.”
A baritone voice answered. “My apologies, Captain. This is Pei Tao.”
“Pei Tao?” Han appeared as dumbfounded as Yin. “Where is my officer?”
“We had a slight misunderstanding. I was following up on a lead when I noticed someone following me. I found an opportunity to subdue my pursuer, and I took it. When he resisted, I simply followed my instincts. This only happened a moment ago, by the way. In fact, you called right when I found his badge. Your officer should wake up soon. Please accept my apologies when I say that this was purely an accident.”
The sincerity in Pei’s voice was not enough to clear Han’s cloud of rage. The captain was just barely able to keep himself in check.
“Officer Pei, this is Chengdu. Not Longzhou!” Han shouted, flecks of spit flying from his lips. “You had no right to do what you just did.”
“I understand your frame of mind. My reaction a few moments ago was far too rash, without question.” Pei’s tone suddenly grew grave. “But you would understand my actions if you only knew just what kind of opponent you’re up against.”
“So you’ve found another lead?” Han asked.
“That’s correct. I hope you’re willing to hear me out this time.”
Captain Han clenched his teeth. “I’ll wait for you at police headquarters in half an hour. Meet me in my office.”
“I’m on my way.” Pei paused. “Well, I do have some good news for you. Your officer is conscious.”
After several seconds, he heard Jin Youfeng’s voice.
“Captain, I...”
“Waste of a badge,” Han growled. He stabbed at the phone’s keypad, ending the call.
*
The bitter smell of nostalgia struck Pei as he entered Han’s office. This pristine room, with its slick surfaces and state-of-the-art computer, was exactly the kind of office he had once imagined for himself. Life, however, had decided differently. Pei pushed these thoughts aside. Captain Han was seated behind his desk, an expectant look on his face.
“Have you made any more progress?” Pei blurted.
“I’m not obligated to report to you.”
Pei pursed his lips. The captain’s response was neither friendly nor hostile. It didn’t take a police education to sense that he was on thin ice. Considering his interactions with the captain thus far, his best option was to yield now. He forced an awkward laugh. “You do have a point there, sir.”
Han’s mood seemed to improve after this small display of humility.
“We’ve already ascertained the suspect’s physical description,” Han informed Pei. “We’ve also set up checkpoints at strategic bus and subway stops throughout Chengdu. We are also carrying out archival investigations at every level in order to determine whether the suspect could have been involved with any cases Zheng was in charge of.”
“I see your line of reasoning,” Pei replied at once. “You think someone wanted revenge against the sergeant.”
“There were no indications of burglary at the scene. The suspect forced his way into the building and carried a knife. This murder was clearly premeditated. Do you have any other ideas?”
Rather than answer, Pei changed the topic. “Do you know why I was at Zheng’s apartment?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s precisely what I’d like to know.” Han stared at Pei. “What exactly was the nature of your relationship with the sergeant?”
Pei took out a folded piece of writing paper and handed it to the captain. Han unfolded the paper and began to read:
Don’t you remember me, Student 8102?
Once the overture finishes, the first act must commence.
It has been far too long since the overture has faded... But the day has finally come.
As Han read the entire letter, his brow furrowed in bewilderment.
“I received this letter two days ago. It was sent from within the city. 8102 was—”
“Your number at the Sichuan Police Academy,” Han interrupted. “You entered the provincial academy in 1981 and graduated in ’84. Your grades were extremely impressive all around. You graduated at the top of your class. In short, you were one of the most outstanding students the academy had ever seen.
“However, something happened right before graduation. A misstep that resulted in your assignment to the third-tier city of Longzhou, shattering your hopes of a posting in a top city such as...” Han paused here, and Pei saw the ghost of a smile. “This one. You were sent to a station in the suburbs and made a common police officer.”
Pei clenched his jaw. Was Han gloating? Or was he simply trying to earn Pei’s respect?
“Still, you rose through the ranks quickly,” Han went on. “You were promoted to station captain in eight years. Later, you were transferred to the city’s criminal police force.” Smiling, Han tapped a finger against the file on his desk. “I ran a full background check on you.”
An uneasy feeling overtook Pei. Several seconds passed before he spoke.
“What’s that you called it? A misstep?” Pei forced a laugh. “Let’s dispense with the euphemisms, Captain. It was an out-and-out disaster.”
Han was surprised at Pei’s sudden honesty. Up until this moment, he had chalked up the captain’s behavior to arrogance. Now, however, he saw it under a different light—as an expression of overpowering sincerity. It was a shame for such an outstanding officer to have had a promising career limited just because of a few incidents. He suddenly found himself attempting to console Pei.
“You can call it what you like, but it’s all in the past now. Sooner or later, some things have to be let go.”
“No,” Pei said with a painful shake of his head. His eyes opened so wide that Han could see veins bulging at the corners. “I can’t let it go,” Pei said, cold as ice. “It never ended. He’s come back—he’s still here!”
Pei’s puzzling outburst reminded Han of something. Picking up the handwritten letter, the captain fired off questions. “Who wrote this letter? What does it have to do with Sergeant Zheng’s murder?”
Pei rubbed his temples with both hands. Gradually, his emotions cooled. “When did you join the Chengdu criminal police?”
“Ten years ago. Right after I received my master’s in criminal investigation at the People’s Public Security University.” The name of China’s elite police academy rolled off Han’s tongue with pride.
“So this might be new to you.” Pei sighed. “I went to the Skyline Cyber Café after I left Zheng’s apartment this morning. Zheng had taken pictures of a customer there two days ago, at 3:47 in the afternoon. I asked the network administrator to call up the customer’s browsing history. That’s where I found this page.”
Pei, having regained his composure, handed Han a printout of a web page.
Despite his lack of expertise, Han immediately recognized it as a post from a message board. The original poster’s username was Eumenides, typed in Latin script rather than Chinese characters. The subject of the post consisted of four words in a striking bold font:
A CALL FOR JUSTICE