Without this symbolic bloodsucking behavior, it would be very difficult to imagine these four cases as having been committed by the same person. The age and social status of the victims were all different, the crimes were committed in large buildings and one-story homes, and the causes of death included strangulation by rope, by hand, and being bludgeoned with a flower vase. However, the victims themselves were all cut open in the same way: with a sharp object that the killer had found at the scene and then casually left behind. He also seemed to have paid almost no mind to getting rid of the evidence. His fingerprints covered every crime scene, and when he left, he did not even close the door.
Regarding crimes like these, Fang Mu could think of only one thing: total chaos.
The attacker did not carefully choose his victims. He did not bring the murder weapon with him, and he did not even clean up the crime scene once it was over.
And yet this sort of killer was not actually some ultra careless scatterbrain; rather, he was merely someone who frequently devolved into one.
So the question was: what exactly did the mental disorder that caused this behavior to happen have to do with blood?
At the library, Fang Mu typed the keywords "blood" and "psychological disorder" into the computer, which then responded that the library's third floor reading room had several books on these topics. After copying down their titles, he went directly there.
Because Fang Mu often borrowed books from the library, the librarians working in the third floor reading room were quite familiar with him. After no more than a brief hello, Fang Mu handed Sun, one of the librarians, his book list, and asked where he could find the titles.
"Oh?" Librarian Sun looked at the book list. "Aren't you at the law school? These are all medical titles. What are you doing researching this stuff?"
"Nothing. Just curious, really."
From behind his glasses, Librarian Sun looked closely at Fang Mu. Then he smiled. "They're over in that corner, shelves Z1 and Z3."
Fang Mu followed where Librarian Sun was pointing and found the books. Heading back to check them out, he grabbed a newspaper off one of the tables. One page held an article about the two most recent murders. Above it was a sketch of the killer.
"What do you think?" asked one of the librarians, seeing what Fang Mu was reading. "An article in the paper and an order for the suspect's arrest-won't the vampire be getting out of here as soon as he can?" He sighed and gave the paper a disdainful flick.
"No way," said Fang Mu, not even looking up. "This kind of person generally doesn't pay attention to the news."
"Oh, is that so?" Librarian Sun suddenly became interested. "Where'd you learn that? In class?"
Fang Mu laughed. "It's just a wild guess." But he didn't say anything more. After taking the books from Librarian Sun, he quickly left the library.
After shutting himself in the dorm for an entire day, Fang Mu called Tai Wei. First he asked him what had come of the hospital investigations; however Tai Wei replied that, given how many there were, it would require some time. At this point they had yet to turn up anything of value. As for their interviews with those living near the crime scenes, those were still underway. Fang Mu then told Tai Wei that he had just read several books on blood diseases and psychological disorders. He now felt that the killer had probably been treated at a mental institution-or at least had gone in for a consultation.
"So when we have time," said Fang Mu, "you and I should go to some psychiatric hospitals and check things out." He paused. "However, the sooner the better, because a guy like this is going to strike again-and soon."
"You're back."
"Are you busy? I'm not bothering you, am I?"
There was a laugh. "Not a problem. Come in."
"Were you reading?"
"Aimlessly. Something to drink? Coffee or tea?
"Coffee sounds good."
"I only have instant. That okay?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my mistake. I'd better give you water instead. You're already not sleeping well."
Another laugh." That's fine too."
"Hey, careful. It's a little hot."
"Thank you. Whoa, the books you're reading look so complex. Blood Disease and Psychological Disorders, Psychogenic Disorders, and this one, A Study of…"
"A Study of Agoraphobia."
"Agoraphobia? What's that?"
"Putting it simply, agoraphobia is one of those things where a person fears a situation that he knows will cause him to feel helpless and terrified. "
"Oh, so it's just another phobia?"
A chuckle. "More or less."
"You're really something, knowing all that stuff."
"Oh, it's no big deal. I just like to read a bit in my spare time. Now, about that method I taught you last time-how was it? Effective?"
"Um, not bad."
"In that case, can you tell me what it is you're afraid of?"
"There…really isn't anything."
"Relax." A short laugh. "With many things, so long as you change your perspective, your view of the thing will change as well. For example…"
A mouse is clicked.
"Which of these animals are you afraid of?"
"Um, the rat."
"Okay then, the rat. Look, here's a photograph of a rat."A small chuckle, but not condescending. "No need to be nervous. Look at the screen. Are you afraid?"
"Of-of course."
"That's fine, don't be nervous. Were you bitten by a rat when you were young?"
"No."
"In that case, who among your family is scared of rats?"
"My mom."
When you were young, your mother would often take you out to play, correct?"
"Yes."
"When you and your mother were together, did you ever see a rat?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"One time my mom was carrying me to preschool. We were passing through a park when a rat sprinted across the road in front of her. My mom screamed at the top of her lungs and ran, nearly dropping me. Another time when we were returning home there was a dead rat outside our door. My mom was too scared to get close. She just held my hand tight and we stood there for a very long time. We didn't go back inside until our neighbor finally picked it up and took it away."
A chuckle, and then: "I understand. Do you love your mother?"
"Of course."
"If your mother were in danger, would you be willing to protect her?"
"Of course."
"How old is your mother?"
"Um, fifty-one."
"All right, imagine this scene: Your gray-haired mother-wait, is your mother's hair gray?"
"Yes, on her temples."
"Okay, let's continue. It's wintertime, a strong wind is blowing outside, and your gray-haired mother is standing in the wind, shaking. Crouched before her is a rat, blocking her path. The rat is huge, with black fur and red eyes. And it's staring right at your mother. Don't tremble now, you must be brave."
"O-Okay."
"Your mother tries to go left, she tries to go right, but no matter what, she can't get past. Her fear and worry increase. Tears drip down her face. She mumbles to herself, 'What do I do, what do I do?' Will you help your mother?"
"Yes!"
"Sit down. Now look. It's less than a foot long; with one stomp you could turn it into a pulp and make sure it never frightened your mother again."
"That's true."
"All right then; protect your mother! Come over here, stomp the thing to death."
A chair is suddenly knocked over. There follows the bang-bang-bang of someone stomping on the floor.