Profiler (Fang Mu Eastern Crimes Series Book 1) (49 page)

Tai Wei frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just wait a minute; first I'm going to give you a simple explanation of what hypnosis is, " Fang Mu decided. "Hypnosis is mainly about causing neurological, biological, and physiological changes through psychological suggestion. For example, hypnosis can be used to cure anxiety and depression and eliminate phobias. It is an extremely complex process and often requires that the hypnotist use various kinds of suggestive signals to help his subject enter a hypnotized state."

"Oh, this stuff I already know," Tai Wei said. "There's a Japanese movie called
Hypnosis
in which the suggestive signal was something like the sound of metal striking metal."

"Right. Now there's also something called post-hypnotic suggestion. This is when the hypnotist provides his subject with a signal that can still cause him to react even when he is no longer hypnotized. For this post-hypnotic suggestion to remain effective, the subject must have a tremendous amount of trust in his hypnotist and must subconsciously recognize the authority of this signal. From what I know, Meng Fanzhe was someone with a vulnerable psyche, making it very easy for him to become psychologically dependent on other people. In other words, he was an ideal candidate for post-hypnotic suggestion. From that night on, I always suspected that Meng Fanzhe had received this sort of post-hypnotic suggestion therapy, but I could never figure out what the signal was. That was, until I discovered the names."

"Are you saying that those names were the suggestive signal?"

"Correct. Meng Fanzhe had a secret that nobody knew about. He was scared of roll call," Fang Mu said. "Most likely nothing else was impressed as deeply on his mind than his own name. At some point he must have gone to see the killer – in his role as the so-called doctor – for psychotherapy. The killer probably then used Meng Fanzhe's fear of roll call to turn his name into a post-hypnotic suggestive signal. There was one time before that night when I spoke to Meng Fanzhe in the bathroom and discovered that when I said his name, he would undergo a very unusual emotional reaction. Then on the night when he tried to kill me, I initially said a few words to him and he barely even responded; but as soon as I called out his name, he suddenly attacked."

"Hey, I just thought of something," said Tai Wei, his face lighting up. "You remember that night in the city bureau, when we were trying to interrogate Meng Fanzhe? At first he didn't respond at all to any of our questions, but then when one of our interrogators said his name, he went absolutely crazy."

"Exactly. I'm thinking that the killer designed the suggestive signal so that when Meng Fanzhe heard his name, he would attack whoever said it."

For a moment Tai Was lost in thought. He pointed under bed. "So then what was the point of him repeatedly carving his name into the bed board?"

Fang Mu thought about this. "In the days before the incident, Meng Fanzhe had probably begun to realize that something wasn't quite right with his mental state. He once told me that he would often forget where he had been or what he had done, and couldn't remember how a bunch of strange things had appeared in his room – meaning all the evidence you guys found. I'm guessing the killer had also hypnotized him into bringing this stuff back. As a result, I believe he had started to become frightened of himself, and especially of his name. And when people are frightened, they will often choose to hide. The space under this bed," he said, patting the bed board beneath him, "was most likely his hiding place. The thing is, he was probably also pretty dissatisfied with how everything was going. Previously, with the help of this doctor, he had nearly overcome the psychological dysfunction relating to his name. So he forced himself to write his name over and over on the bed board, hoping to convince himself that he wasn't scared of it after all."

Fang Mu paused, and then said quietly, "At that point he must have had a very complex relationship with the doctor, doubting him and depending on him at the same time. That's why he wrote his mom the letter."

In a flash, Fang Mu could almost hear the sound of someone under the bed: breathing rapidly, crying softly, and scratching something out onto the bed board, all the while mumbling indistinctly:
"Meng Fanzhe, Meng Fanzhe, Meng Fanzhe…"

Fang Mu clenched his fists.

Frowning, Tai Wei smoked a cigarette and said nothing.

Fang Mu watched him. "How about it? You think this evidence will convince the bureau to reopen the case?"

"I'm afraid it will be very difficult." Tai Wei paused to think for a moment. "First, you were the only person to know about that letter and the GR written on the windowpane. Second, because it seems superficial that the sixth and seventh crimes have already been committed, it would be very tough for the bureau to accept that, in fact, the sixth-lane murder was the killer's actual completion of his sixth crime. And besides, as you well know, the bureau is still firmly of the opinion that you should not be participating in the investigation. So no matter what you say, it's unlikely anyone will believe it."

A dejected look crossed Fang Mu's face.

Seeing his expression, Tai Wei couldn't help but feel for the kid. He patted him on the shoulder.

"Anyway," he said, "did you find anything in that textbook excerpt?"

"Nothing so far." Fang Mu shook his head. "I can't tell you how many times I've scrutinized that thing without finding a single clue." He grabbed a book from his shelf and handed it to Tai Wei. "I took the book that the excerpt came from out of the library, hoping that I might find something. It's called
Legends of the Hulan River
."

Tai Wei weighed the book in his hands. It didn't feel that heavy. But when he opened it and saw how small the printing was inside, he couldn't help but lose heart. "Jeez, it would take forever to find a clue in here."

"I'm also going to check out the textbook that this excerpt came from. Maybe I'll be able to find something in there."

Tai Wei paused to think for a moment. "You think the killer might have written the clue directly onto the excerpt with disappearing ink or something?"

"I don't think so," Fang Mu said quickly, as if he had long since considered this possibility. "He would have known that the paper would be submerged for some time, and if the ink couldn't reappear then there would be no point of writing it in the first place. I think the clue most likely has something to do with the excerpt itself."

"Jeez, who would have thought that an elementary school textbook would contain the clue to a murder?" Tai Wei stood up and stretched. Suddenly he stopped and said, "You think the next victim is going to be a fourth-grader?"

Fang Mu smiled grimly. "Who knows? Anything is possible."

He looked at the mountain of documents stacked beside his computer. "From tests I've taken in the past, I remember that the last question is frequently the hardest. The teacher would always tell us to first do the easier ones, and then if we still had time, to summon our energy and attempt the final problem."

What was the answer to the seventh question?

It was another cold and dry early winter's morning. Backpack on his back, Fang Mu hurried toward the
Education
Building
. The campus was just as bustling as ever. After slacking off all semester the students were finally getting serious. Final exams were almost there.

During first and second period that day, Professor Qiao had been teaching undergraduate criminology. Because there had been no criminology courses at Changhong City Teacher's College, Fang Mu made a point to sit in whenever he could.

In addition, he hadn't seen Professor Qiao since that time in his apartment. His final sentence, "This will all be over soon," had been making Fang Mu nervous ever since. He really wanted to speak with the professor, but even if they couldn't talk, Fang Mu hoped that Professor Qiao might still give him some unspoken clue.

The classroom was much fuller than usual. Since exams were coming up, students were of the mind that they would be penalized if they didn't show up.

Fang Mu sat down in one of the corners of the room. Recognizing him, some students pointed in his direction, but he just pretended to not see them.

It was already after 8 a.m. and the professor still hadn't showed up.

Up until that point the students had been quietly awaiting the start of class, but now they began to get a little noisy. At 8:15, there was still no sign of Professor Qiao. Some of the more impatient students demanded that the class monitor call him up and see what was going on.

Holding his phone, the class monitor ran into the hall and dialed. He returned a moment later. "His phone's off."

"The dean's office, call the dean's office," someone suggested.

At 8:30, someone from the dean's office hurried into the classroom and announced that class was canceled for the day.

Groaning, the students quickly packed up their stuff and then streamed out of the classroom. Before long, Fang Mu was the only person left.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Professor Qiao's cell. It was off.

He tried his home number. Busy.

He dialed it again and again, but it was busy every time.

An ominous feeling suddenly came over Fang Mu.

That afternoon, his feeling finally became reality.

One of Professor Qiao's older graduate students, who was getting ready to graduate, came to see Fang Mu and asked him if he knew the professor's whereabouts. When Fang Mu shook his head, the older grad student grew anxious.

"Shit, man, I haven't finished my thesis yet and now he's missing? I think I might have to temporarily change advisors."

The snide comment made Fang Mu suddenly wanted to curse at the guy. But before he could open his mouth, the grad student had walked off.

Forcing himself to calm down, Fang Mu grabbed his phone and dialed Professor Qiao's home number again. It was still busy.

He kept trying. At last he got through.

A worried-sounding woman picked up the phone. "Hello? Who's this?"             It was Mrs. Qiao.

"Hi, Mrs. Qiao, it's me, Fang Mu. Is Professor Qiao around?" he asked.

Mrs. Qiao began to softly cry. "Old Qiao hasn't been home for a day and a half…"

"What?" Fang Mu felt as if his heart had been suddenly squeezed in an iron grip.

Professor Qiao was missing.

CHAPTER
26
Shixiong

P
rofessor Qiao's house was packed full of people. The living room, which was already small to begin with, felt terribly crowded.

There were classmates from Fang Mu's year, as well as some of the professor's older male and female graduate students. Bian Ping, the top-ranking officer from the provincial PSB, was there, too, and when he saw Fang Mu come in he gave him a slight nod.

Fang Mu nodded back at him. Unable to wait any longer, he walked over to the sofa where Mrs. Qiao was drying her eyes. He asked her: "Mrs. Qiao, what happened?"

Her eyes already red from crying, Mrs. Qiao choked back a sob. "The night before last, Old Qiao told me he was going out to see a friend and then left without saying who it was. I waited up for him until after eleven, and when he still hadn't returned, I called his phone, but it was off. I assumed he had probably gone out to dinner and then to a public bathhouse, so I went to sleep. He didn't return all day yesterday, and his phone was still off. I thought he must have gone straight to school, but no one there had seen him, either. Up until now there's been no news at all…"

Suddenly the phone rang and Mrs. Qiao, who only a moment before seemed to have lost all her strength, practically dove for it and grabbed it from the cradle: "Hello? Hello…" Her voice fell. "You bought your ticket? ...Tonight? Good, come home and help me find your dad. ...Yes, okay, okay."

At last, after hanging up the phone, Mrs. Qiao could no longer control herself, and she began to sob uncontrollably.

Bian Ping stood up and helped her to the couch, consoling her softly.

"You told Qiao Yu to come home?"

"Yes." Mrs. Qiao took Bian Ping's hand. "Little Bian, promise me you'll help me find Professor Qiao. He's an old man; if something bad were to happen to him…"

"Don't think like that, Mrs. Qiao," Bian Ping said quickly. "There's no reason to believe that anything has happened to Professor Qiao. Perhaps…perhaps he just went off somewhere to investigate a case." Then as if he realized that this didn't sound very persuasive, he hurriedly added, "I've already sent my men to look for him; we should be hearing some news soon."

But when the other people around her echoed these words, Mrs. Qiao only seemed to be even more at a loss.

Visitors kept pouring in, the dean of the law school and the president of the university among them. When the phone rang again, Mrs. Qiao once more grabbed it with a look of hope on her face, but as soon as she heard the caller's voice she was once more disappointed.

"Yes… Then you should come by, Little Sun. Okay, see you soon."

Another visitor was on their way over.

After looking around the room, Bian Ping said to the students, "You should all head back. We'll let you know if there's any news."

One after another the students said their goodbyes and left. When Fang Mu walked to the door, he suddenly remembered what Professor Qiao had said to him when they were standing in that same spot only a few days before. Turning to Bian Ping, he said, "Chief Bian, if there's any news, please let me know as soon as possible."

At the moment Bian Ping was speaking to the university president, so he just waved at Fang Mu and said, "I will."

After he returned to his dorm, Fang Mu sat beside his bed and was soon lost in thought. He didn't move until it was almost nightfall.

He couldn't help but connect Professor Qiao's disappearance with what he had said to him.

"Take care of yourself. This will all be over soon."

Unless Fang Mu was wrong, then Professor Qiao seemed to know who the killer was.

Had he tried to catch him single-handedly, and then…?

It was a scenario that Fang Mu was unwilling to consider.

By the time the police began officially investigating the matter, Professor Qiao Yunping had already been missing for 48 hours. They conducted numerous interviews at his workplace and apartment building, and went to the telecommunications bureau to check the call records of his cell and home phone, but discovered nothing of value.

From the time that Professor Qiao went missing, a total of four unidentified corpses were delivered to city hospitals. All four were shown to the missing person's family members, who confirmed that none were the missing professor; nor was any trace of the professor found at any of the city's homeless shelters.

The man had disappeared.

While the police were out searching for Professor Qiao, Fang Mu was also walking every avenue and backstreet of the city. He had no leads and no place in mind. At a loss, he walked down crowded, brightly lit pleasure streets and filthy alleyways, always expecting to turn a corner and see Professor Qiao walking toward him, either from across the street or out of a doorway, or perhaps sitting behind the glass facade of some storefront. Many times he thought he saw him, only to realize upon closer inspection that it was merely someone of a similar age and build.

Where are you?

Every night, as the sky began to grow dark, Fang Mu would return to campus, doleful and exhausted. After eating a quick, careless dinner, he would collapse on his bed with his clothes still on. Sometimes he would be able to sleep a little, sometimes he would just lie there with his eyes open until the morning light. Then he would get up and do it all over again, returning once more to the crowded city streets to search for the man whose fate was unknown.

Fang Mu was well aware that searching around the clock as he did was pointless; and yet he couldn't stop, couldn't bear to sit quietly in his room and wait for news. He had to do something, for Professor Qiao, and for himself.

And all the while, he avoided thinking about the one thing that was almost certain to be true: Professor Qiao had already been killed.

Fang Mu was unable, or rather not brave enough, to confront this possibility. He preferred to believe that the professor had contracted some serious illness and was lying in some forgotten corner of the city, on the verge of death.

Professor Qiao was the person Fang Mu revered most. This was a different kind of feeling than those he had for Liu Jianjun and Zhang Yao. Fang Mu had never actively sought Professor Qiao's help on the case and had been bluntly refused the one time he tried to ask for his advice. And yet, all along Fang Mu had felt that if he himself was ever killed, Professor Qiao would not stand idly by, but rather would find the murderer and bring him to justice. This was because Fang Mu deeply believed in Professor Qiao, believed in his power and experience – believed that he was his last, best hope.

But now the professor had vanished, his fate unknown. And Fang Mu felt more alone and despairing than ever before.

Sitting in a small street-side restaurant, Tai Wei smoked a cigarette and looked at Fang Mu. The kid was incredibly disheveled.

"Why don't you have a few more bites?" Tai Wei said.

The bowl of soup in front of Fang Mu was still half-full of noodles. Listening to Tai Wei, he picked it up and took several sips.

Tai Wei had met Fang Mu in front of one of the city department stores. At the time, the kid had been eating a piece of bread while scanning the faces of everyone who walked by. It was a cold, windy day, but he hadn't seemed to notice. "You want to order something else?"

Fang Mu shook his head.

Tai Wei studied the unkempt young man sitting before him. It had only been a few days since he'd last seen him, but already the kid seemed much skinnier. His big down coat looked huge on him. Seeing him searching his pockets, Tai Wei pushed the pack of cigarettes that he'd placed on the table toward him.

Fang Mu took out a cigarette, lit it, and then smoked it silently.

Tai Wei sighed.

"I'm telling you, brother, the way you're searching is no kind of method. If you're not careful, you're going to collapse before we even find him."

Fang Mu was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "How are things going on your end?"

"Still no news." Tai Wei shook his head. "This thing is mainly being investigated by the local stations, but Chief Bian Ping from the provincial PSB also pulled a lot of strings and sent people to search outside the city. However, no one's found a thing."

Seeing the news made Fang Mu even more upset, Tai Wei quickly added, "Now don't start thinking anything crazy. If Professor Qiao really did have some kind of accident, someone would definitely have reported it. Therefore, I think he either got sick out of nowhere, or suddenly went senile – which, given his age, really wouldn't be that hard to imagine."

After hesitating for a moment, Fang Mu told Tai Wei what Professor Qiao had said to him that afternoon.

Tai Wei didn't say anything for a long time, just took several vicious drags from his cigarette and then forcefully stubbed it out. "This old guy definitely knows the killer. He tried to protect him, and then got trapped himself!"

Fang Mu didn't like hearing that. "Professor Qiao wouldn't do something like that!"

"Okay, okay, okay." Tai Wei had no desire to argue over the point at the moment. "This is a very important clue. I'm going to discuss it with Zhao Yonggui. I don't care if it pisses him off." He stood up. "Fang Mu, have you forgotten what you're best at?"

Fang Mu frowned. "Huh?"

"Finding people isn't your forte; profiling them is." Tai Wei bent over and stared at him so closely that their noses almost touched. "Let us find Professor Qiao. You need to head back and get some sleep. When you wake up, I want you to make me a profile of this guy." He patted Fang Mu on the shoulder. "Right now you're our last hope."

Their last hope?

Fang Mu was back in his dorm room. As he looked at the documents stacked across nearly every inch of his desk, his spirits suddenly fell.

Tai Wei hadn't been consoling him with what he said – he had been pressuring him. The subtext was clear: If Professor Qiao really had gone to look for the killer, then things did not bode well for him.

Still, he completely agreed with Tai Wei's point of view; they needed to find the killer as soon as possible – for it was the killer himself, not Professor Qiao – who was the crux of the matter. As long as they found him, then they would be able to locate Professor Qiao as well, whether he was alive or dead.

Saving the professor or avenging his death – these things would have to wait. Right now the only thing Fang Mu could do was find the killer.

But when faced with the mountain of documents on his desk, he just sat there dully for over half an hour, unable to absorb a single word.

Over the past few days, he had been so tormented by such excruciating sadness, rage, guilt, and despair that his nerves had reached their breaking point. Now he could barely do a thing. The skill he had once had for perceiving criminal psychology seemed to have vanished.

You need to calm down
, thought Fang Mu, as he forcefully massaged his temples.

He lit a cigarette and then forced himself to focus on the materials in front of him.

But instead his eyes fell on the Zippo lighter in his hands.

He repeatedly clicked it open and closed, the sound echoing in his room.

It was the first gift Deng Linyue had ever given him, and it would also be the last.

So whether because of its price or its emotional significance, it should have been precious to him.

And yet Fang Mu had always seen it as just a tool to light his cigarettes or perhaps to shine his way in the dark.

Many things only seemed important in life because of the special significance and sentiments people attached to them. Disconnected from all of this, a limited edition Eternal Star Zippo was no more useful than a one-renminbi plastic lighter. 

It was true of people, too.

Liu Jianjun, Meng Fanzhe, Zhang Yao, and now perhaps Qiao Yunping. They were all just victims.

As for me, I'm a psychological profiler.

Fang Mu opened one of the case folders and was met with a picture of Zhang Yao's lifeless face.