"How's it looking?" Tai Wei asked, patting one of the medical examiners on the shoulder.
"Cause of death was mechanical asphyxiation. The murder weapon was a nylon cord; some of the investigators already located it. Time of death was no more than two hours ago."
Tai Wei looked at his watch. "In other words, she probably died sometime between two and two-thirty?"
"Correct."
Killing someone in broad daylight-this guy was too savage. Muttering to himself, Tai Wei looked around for Fang Mu, only to discover that he was still standing in the doorway, ashen-faced and staring at the corpse.
"Over here," Tai Wei called out to him.
Fang Mu was trembling like he'd had some terrible fright. He nodded, but still didn't move.
"You scared?" Tai Wei frowned.
Fang Mu looked at Tai Wei, and then he took a deep breath and walked inside.
The medical examiners were closely inspecting the victim's abdominal wound, carefully lifting open her sliced skin and muscle tissue. Fang Mu stared at the wound for a moment and then swept his eyes across the congealed pool of blood on the floor. Suddenly he turned and fled back to the hallway, nearly knocking over a policeman carrying a bag of material evidence. The man angrily swore at him as Fang Mu passed.
Tai Wei hurried after him. He found him in a corner of the hallway, bent over, one arm on the wall for support. He was retching.
Useless, thought Tai Wei, swearing beneath his breath. He told a nearby officer to fetch Fang Mu some water. Then he returned to the crime scene and got back to work.
Although Fang Mu had always known that, sooner or later, he'd be brought to one of the bloodsucker's crime scenes, he never expected to embarrass himself like this. Normally he could look at revolting crime scene photographs while eating lunch and not bat an eye, but walking through this building-with its dark and dirty hallways, stone-faced policemen rushing past, bright yellow security tape, medical examiners with their ice cold tools, the corpse lying in its dark red pool, and the thin scent of blood that filled the air-he couldn't help but tremble with fear. After all, pictures were just pictures. They could never communicate, through sight, touch, and smell, the message: A life has just been lost here. Thinking about this made him shiver, as if some deep part of his memory, which he dared not touch, had just been struck open.
Get a hold of yourself, he thought between retches. Don't let it affect your judgment.
"You all right?" Tai Wei's voice sounded impatiently in his ear.
Fang Mu gasped for breath, one arm braced weakly against the wall. Lifting the half-full water bottle that the officer had just given him, he emptied it in one gulp. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and, with difficulty, managed to say: "There's probably someone else."
"What?" Tai Wei's eyes went wide in surprise.
Ignoring him, Fang Mu walked unsteadily over to Apartment 402 and knelt beside the door. On the floor was a tiny button printed with the image of Mickey Mouse's face. Just now, when Fang Mu had run out into the hallway to throw up, he happened to spot it. He picked up the button and handed it to Tai Wei. Then he walked into 401, bypassed the corpse, and entered the bedroom.
The furnishings were very simple. There was only a bed, a chair, a desk, and an old-fashioned wooden armoire in the corner against the wall. A pile of clothes lay messily on the floor, and on the bed, four large duffel bags-in red, blue, green, and orange checkered, respectively-were filled to bursting. One of them was already open; several blouses were folded neatly beside it. Fang Mu looked at the mess of clothes on the floor, then at the bags on the bed. He turned to face a policeman who was photographing the scene.
"You finished?" Fang Mu asked.
When the man responded that he was, Fang Mu immediately opened the other three bags. Camera dangling from his neck, the policeman hurriedly tried to stop him, but Tai Wei held him back. After quickly rifling through the clothing folded inside the bag, Fang Mu stood up and sped into the kitchen.
In the kitchen, the wooden knife rack beside the gas stove held a fruit knife, a large kitchen knife, and a boning knife-however one space was empty. From the look of things, the missing knife was probably around six inches long, with a fine blade and wooden handle. A midsized kitchen knife. Nearby, a policeman was busy collecting fingerprints from the kitchen.
"Have you found the knife yet?" Fang Mu asked him.
The policeman was momentarily taken aback. He looked Fang Mu over.
"Have you found it or not?" Fang Mu asked impatiently.
The policeman hesitated. "Not yet," he said.
At this point Tai Wei rushed in. He was holding the button. "You said there was someone else. What was that supposed to mean?"
Fang Mu didn't answer, just continued questioning the policeman.
"Have you found a cup or some other container filled with a mixture of blood and another liquid?"
The policeman looked at Tai Wei. "No."
Fang Mu shut his eyes tight and swore beneath his breath. Then he turned to Tai Wei. "There's another victim, probably a child."
"There's someone else, and it's a child?" Tai Wei frowned. "What are you basing this off?"
But by then Fang Mu was already headed for the hallway. "You want me to explain it to you now? This kid's probably still alive! Tell your men to follow me!"
Tai Wei, Fang Mu, and several policemen had already jumped into Tai Wei's jeep and sped to the edge of the residential area when Tai Wei slammed on the brakes.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Taking this area as our center," said Fang Mu, "we make wider and wider circles, looking for a fairly thin, dull-eyed man between twenty-five and thirty, about five-foot seven-inches, with long, greasy hair and holding a large checkered duffel bag." He paused for a moment. "He'll probably also be wearing rather heavy clothing."
The policemen stared at each other in disbelief.
Tai Wei considered this for a moment. Then he turned to the men in the back. "You hear that? Keep your eyes peeled for this guy!"
After twice circling BrightGardens, Tai Wei found himself approaching a crossroad that extended in all directions. Slowing down, he turned to Fang Mu.
"Which way?" he asked.
Fang Mu stared at one of the cross-streets for several seconds before decisively pointing in a direction. "There!"
At that moment the sky suddenly darkened, and big black clouds like blocks of lead rolled in from the horizon, layer upon layer of them, and the faint rumble of thunder could be heard.
It was a newly-built road heading towards the outskirts of the city. Both sides were lined with little fruit stands and low, flat-roofed homes. There were very few pedestrians.
The wind grew stronger and stronger, battering the jeep windshield with sand and stones from the road. Everyone left outside was rushing for shelter, by bike or on foot. A big storm was about to arrive.
The men in the jeep pressed against the windows, closely scanning their surroundings. Tai Wei's palms were slick with sweat; several times they nearly slipped off the steering wheel. Frequently he would glance at his watch. Three hours had already passed since the crime was committed. It begged the question: could the child still be alive?
Tai Wei hadn't noticed that Fang Mu's face was growing increasingly somber.
Minutes later, huge raindrops finally began to fall, and at once countless little potholes opened in the road, spewing white dust. The scene outside the window became a blur. By then no one was even looking anymore; visibility was too low to make out a thing.