Cí had known this presentation would be different from one to a group of mourners. The best investigators were trained at the Ming Academy, but if he explained his logic, they’d know he had medical training, which could give away his identity.
So he said that if they really needed proof, all they had to do was go to the scene of the crime. At this, Ming threatened to report him to the authorities.
Cí pressed his fists together and bowed. The risk was worth taking to prove he was right.
“Very well, we’ll begin with the cause of death. He didn’t die in a fight; there were neither several assailants nor numerous beatings. He died when his throat was slit, and the incision point and direction of the cut demonstrate that this happened from behind. Given that he was so tall, he must have been seated when he died. Otherwise, the killer wouldn’t have been able to cut down to up like this. The stab wounds on the torso were all delivered by the same weapon, from the same position, and with the same intensity—that is, by the same person. Three of them are mortal, which means that all the others, including the slit to the throat, were unnecessary. So we can discard the story of the attack squad.”
“Pah! Pure supposition,” said Gray Fox.
“You sure?”
Cí seized the wooden spatula as if it were a knife and rushed at Gray Fox. The student leaped backward, holding his arms up to parry the thrusts. Cí kept on coming, eventually cornering him. But as much as he tried to get at Gray Fox’s torso, he never managed to get past the raised arms.
Then, just as suddenly as he’d begun his attack, Cí stopped.
Gray Fox didn’t launch a counterattack, but looked around incredulously. No one had come to his aid, and Professor Ming had watched the whole thing impassively.
“Master!” squealed Gray Fox.
But the professor’s only response was to give the floor to Cí once more.
“As you can see, for all I tried, I couldn’t get past his defense. Now, picture the situation: If I’d had a knife, instead of this wooden spatula, your arms would have cuts all over them. If I had landed a blow on your body, the angles of the cuts, and how deep they went, would all have been very different.”
To this Gray Fox gave no answer.
“But,” said Professor Ming, “that hardly leads us to the idea that the killer was a woman, or his wife, or that he was an escaped convict—nor any of the rest of your conclusions, or fabrications, I should perhaps say.”
Cí went calmly over to the corpse, inviting the group to look closely at the wound on the forehead.
“The result of a fall? Wrong. If your classmate had carried out his examination properly, he would have seen that this section of skin, which he thought came away because of an impact, was in fact pulled off with the very same knife that slit the throat. Look at the edges of the wound.” Cí ran his gloved fingers along them. “He didn’t bother to clean the wound, so he missed that the edges of the wound are sharp and clearly defined. The precise rectangular shape of the wound can mean only one thing.”
“A demonic ritual?” asked Xu.
Please, Xu, not now.
“No,” said Cí, clearing his throat. “It was an attempt to remove something that would have identified the corpse, because it was something that would have identified the man, beyond doubt, as a dangerous criminal, convicted for the worst of crimes.” He paused, turning to Professor Ming. “It wasn’t any old piece of skin that was removed; it was where the tattoo they put on murderers was placed. Fortunately, in this case, the killer either forgot or didn’t know that murderers are also tattooed on the crown of the head.”
From their expressions, Cí could see the students’ attitudes were rapidly changing from disdain to astonishment.
“And the idea that he deserted Xiangyang?”
“It’s well known that our penal code sets out execution, exile, and enforced labor as punishments for murder. This corpse was alive only yesterday, which leaves exile or enforced labor.” He held up the corpse’s right hand. “And the circular callus at the base of the thumb proves, without a doubt, that this man was wearing the bronze ring with which the flexor tendon is tightened.”
“Let me see,” said the professor, coming closer.
“It is also well known that our army forces are concentrated in Xiangyang because of the incursions by the Jin invaders.”
“And that’s why you think he deserted.”
“Basically. In a state of war, no one is allowed to leave the army, but this man did so to return to Lin’an. And not long ago, either, judging by his tan.”
“His tan?” asked Ming.
“Look at this faint horizontal mark,” said Cí, indicating a line across the forehead. “There is a very slight difference between the color of the skin here, compared to a little higher.”
The professor checked this.
“A head scarf,” continued Cí. “In the rice fields, the workers call them two-tones. But here there is only a very slight difference in coloration, indicating he only recently began using the head scarf to hide his tattoo.”
The professor frowned, seeming to weigh his next question.
“And the whereabouts of the woman? What were you saying about asking at the Yurchen shop?”
“Oh, I was lucky there. There was so much leftover food matter in his mouth that I could only deduce he died while eating.”
“But—”
“The Yurchen shop, yes. Look.” He picked up the gourd in which he’d deposited the leftovers. “Cheese.”
“Cheese?”
“Surprising, yes? A very unusual thing to eat around here, but common among the northern tribes. As far as I know, the only place bringing cheese into Lin’an is Old Panyu’s exotic food shop. I’m certain they’d remember the few customers who had recently bought such disgusting fare!”
“Which he perhaps developed a taste for during his time in the army…”
“Perhaps. They have to eat whatever they can find.”
“But you still haven’t explained the key element—that his wife killed him.”
Cí consulted his notes. Nodding, he lifted one of the corpse’s arms.
“These,” he said, pointing to some faint scratches. “The same as on both his shoulders. They showed up when I washed the body with the vinegar.”
“And these lead you to conclude…”
“That she’d been beaten badly earlier in the day and tried to fight back. She couldn’t take the abuse anymore, so when he sat down to eat, she came up behind him and slit his throat. And when he was down, she went into a rage, straddled him, and stabbed him in the torso. When she calmed down, she removed anything that might identify the body or link it to her. But because he’s such a big man, she wouldn’t have been able to carry him very far. Therefore the killer is still in the vicinity of where the body was found.”
“Truly fantastic,” said Ming.
Cí bowed in thanks.
“No, I mean fantastic as in you’ve created a huge fantasy based on scant findings. Anyone could find any number of holes in your argument—for example, why the wife and not a sister? If the skin from the forehead is gone, there’s no way of being certain it had a tattoo on it, let alone what it said.”
“But—”
“Enough. You’re smart, no question about it, but you’re not as brilliant as you think.”
“And…the bet?” said Xu.
“Mmm.” The professor took out a purse and handed it to Xu. “That should settle it.”
The professor signaled to his students it was time to go. As they filed out, he motioned for Cí to follow him. Leaving the students, Ming led Cí over to a hedged garden. Cí’s heart raced as he waited for the professor to say something.