Profiler (Fang Mu Eastern Crimes Series Book 1) (52 page)

Sun Pu paused for several seconds and looked contentedly at all the terrified faces before him. "My question," he said slowly, "is how did this man die?"

This time the students' response was much more serious than before. They quietly discussed all sorts of possibilities, often arguing passionately among themselves.

Seeming very pleased with his students' behavior, Sun Pu walked slowly between the rows. "You must consider this problem very carefully," he said loudly, "the answer will probably exceed anything you've imagined."

Fang Mu already knew the answer, and he couldn't help but feel that Sun Pu's deliberately mystifying style was a little excessive. Organizing his belongings, he prepared to leave when the bell rang.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, his eyes met Sun Pu's.

Although the man was still smiling, his eyes, hidden behind his glasses, suddenly shot forth a look of immense coldness. It was fierce look, like something from hell, and even the sight of his faint smile was enough to make Fang Mu tremble with fear.

Suddenly Sun Pu's grip on Fang Mu's shoulder tightened. Still smiling, he bent over slightly and whispered in his ear: "This is number seven, the final question. Can you answer it?"

It was as if a clap of thunder had exploded overhead. In an instant, everyone around them seemed to disappear without a trace. In the whole world, all that was left was Fang Mu and the person standing in front of him.

Six questions, nine dead, and a friend who would never be right in the head again.

Bloody memories flashed through Fang Mu's mind at lightning speed. He felt all the blood suddenly rush to his head. He leapt to his feet.

All the students around him were startled and they shot him looks of surprise.

Sun Pu didn't move a muscle, just continued to look into Fang Mu's eyes, the same faint smile on his lips. "Well, are you able to tell me the answer?"

Clenching his teeth, Fang Mu held on tightly to the edge of his desk.

Sun Pu's gaze dropped to his watch. "All right, class is about to end. Now I'll tell you the answer."

The students' attention shifted from Fang Mu's strange behavior back to Sun Pu.

"The answer is: the dead man had climbed up to see the man in the cabin – remember, he lived on top of a mountain – and after he knocked on the door, the man who lived there opened it and accidentally pushed his poor visitor down the mountain."

Several students began to laugh.

"But the unlucky guy wouldn't give up," Sun Pu said, "so again he climbed up to the cabin, and again he was pushed back down."

The laughter grew louder.

"This happened over and over again, until finally the visitor could take no more, and perished."

The whole class erupted with laughter as all the students began to clap.

Amid this noise the bell rang, and Sun Pu waved his hand. "Class dismissed."

The students all quickly rushed out of the classroom. When Fang Mu finally came back to reality, he found himself standing there alone.

The dais was empty. Sun Pu must have already left.

Still, Fang Mu stared hard at the place where he had once stood.

No matter what, I will find the answer to the seventh question!

When he emerged from the
Education
Building
, the sky had already grown dark. Looking up, he watched as a big black cloud swallowed the last bit of blue sky. Although it was still afternoon, the hour already felt late.

It looked like another blizzard was coming.

His mind in turmoil, Fang Mu took a few deep breaths of the dry, cold air. Gradually he began to feel a little better. Realizing that he should probably give Tai Wei a call, he dialed him several times on his cell phone, but the cop never answered. After hesitating for a moment, Fang Mu decided to head back to his dorm. 

Sitting on Fang Mu's desk were all the materials relating to the Zhang Yao murder. At the top of the stack was a photocopy of the passage that had been found on her body and underneath it was the book it was from,
Legends of the Hulan River
.

He picked up the photocopy. By now he was as familiar as could be with the passage, even down to memorizing the locations of all the punctuation marks. But no matter how he approached it, he was unable to locate a single clue to the killer's next crime. He had tried combining the seventh word of every sentence, even the seventh of every paragraph, but the result was a bunch of nonsense, containing not even the most obscure hint of meaning.

It seemed that the clue wasn't going to be found in the passage itself, but rather in its source.

The direct source of the passage was the sixth edition summer reading textbook for fourth-graders published by the People's Education Press. It also rested levelly on the desk, looking completely innocent. Fang Mu had read every passage inside, completed every exercise, and still he hadn't found a single clue.

The indirect source was
Legends of the Hulan River
itself.
Resplendent Sunset
came from the first chapter.
Legends of the Hulan River
was far from a long book, but finding a single clue hidden inside would be more troublesome than any of the other possibilities, so Fang Mu had left it until the end. Now it seemed this was his only hope.

Legends of the Hulan River
was written by Xiao Hong, a modern Chinese author. She had been born into a landholding family on June 2, 1911, in
Hulan County
,
Heilongjiang
, and died of an illness on January 22, 1942, in
Hong Kong
.
Legends of the Hulan River
was less a novel than a long prose collection of Hong Xian's cherished childhood memories.

Twirling his fountain pen – a gift from Professor Qiao – Fang Mu patiently read through, page after page.

As he searched for clues, he discovered that the word
troublesome
didn't even begin to describe the difficulty of the task before him.

Based on the previous crimes, the killer should once more be copying the methods of a famous serial killer from history.

But searching through this book – about the lives and customs of people in a small town in northeastern
China
– for clues to a serial killer's murders was like trying to find secret kung fu techniques in a cookbook. As Fang Mu flipped through the pages, he paid special attention to words like "kill," "hit", and "death", hoping to find some trace of the killer's intentions.

"Another horse drowned in the small lake." He felt this one was unrelated; after all, it was just a horse.

"Horribly embarrassed, the mother grabbed the fire poker from beside the door and struck the child on the shoulder. The child immediately began to cry and ran back into the house."
Fire poker?
thought Fang Mu. Had something like that ever been used as a murder weapon?

"She stood inside of an enormous vat, screaming and trying to jump out, as if her life were in danger. Three or four people stood around her, scooping hot water from the vat and dumping it on her head. Before long, her face was red from the water; she couldn't struggle anymore and just stood calmly in the vat. She didn't try to jump out again, as if she no longer thought it possible. The vat itself was huge, so that when she stood up only her head poked out." Was the next murder going to take place in a boiler room, or some other place like that?

"Several ghosts of people who had died wrongful deaths lived under that bridge. Whenever it rained, those who crossed the bridge could hear them crying."

Suddenly Fang Mu swept everything in front of him onto the floor.

The papers and books all fell and fluttered to the ground. A bottle of ink was knocked onto his bed, blackening the sheets. A glass cup flew against the wall, shattering with a piercing sound.

Fang Mu tore at his hair, feeling as if his temples were thumping violently.

He couldn't keep doing this.

Professor Qiao's fate was still unknown and the next victim was in great danger.
Yet here I am
, he thought,
guessing at words.

His chest felt painfully constricted, his every organ on fire. All he wanted to do was tear off his clothes, stick his hands into his chest and squeeze, pinch, and twist.

He suddenly stood up and looked out the window. A heavy snow was already beginning to fall.

It was almost midnight and the rooftop was completely empty. This was what Fang Mu wanted.

Already covered with a thick layer of snow, it shined with a bright, cold light. It was a beautiful sight. After hesitating for a long time, he could wait no longer and finally stepped out.

The sound of his feet crunching against the snow was so familiar it made his heart ache.

A slight breeze was blowing and frequently great quantities of snowflakes would float onto his burning face, melting instantly. The water would then drip down his cheeks, turning from cold to warm.

Looking up, he saw a faint light in the formerly pitch-black sky. The snow fell all around him, as far as the eye could see, making only the slightest sound as it floated gracefully into every corner of the world. Was it sighing with sadness at leaving the sky, or rather rejoicing at returning to earth?

The snow gradually covered Fang Mu's body, so lightly that he neither felt its weight nor its cold. He looked back. His footsteps were deep, clearly showing the way he had come.

He looked ahead. Everything was obscured by a boundless curtain of snow. He couldn't make out a thing.

Midnight. Heavy snow. Faint wind.

It swirled around Fang Mu like a spirit, caressing his skin and whispering faintly. The feeling was warm and sincere.

Like his old friends were surrounding him, speaking to him.

All of you, wherever you are, I know that you're looking out for me…

Fang Mu slowly knelt in the snow.

Please give me a little more time.

Please give me a little more help.

Please give me a little more courage.

The dining hall.

Fang Mu was stuffing food in his mouth as he closely read
Legends of the Hulan River
. He frequently used his pen to mark various parts of the book and now the pages were covered with all kinds of lines and notes. He knew that he would get yelled at when he returned it to the library, but by now he no longer cared.

Someone placed a tray on the table in front of the seat opposite him. Looking up, his eyes met those of Zhao Yonggui's haggard face.

"You're a hardworking guy, huh?" he said mockingly. Still, there was a trace of friendliness in his voice.

Having no desire to talk to him, Fang Mu was about to stand up and leave, but when he thought of how Zhao Yonggui was leading the case, he asked, "Any progress recently?"

Scooping some rice into his mouth, Zhao Yonggui shook his head tiredly.

Fang Mu said nothing, just buried his face in his food and ate, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

Zhao Yonggui, on the other hand, wasn't hurried at all, and he watched Fang Mu as he slowly chewed his food. After a while, he spoke. "Tai Wei came to talk to me a few days ago. He said you have a different opinion about this case."

Fang Mu looked up at him. Zhao Yonggui was frowning and closely watching him, sizing him up.

Fang Mu didn't see a hint of trust in his eyes. Annoyed, he dropped his head and continued wolfing down his food.

Seeing that Fang Mu wasn't going to say a thing, Zhao Yonggui continued. "Do you still think we handled that last case incorrectly?"

Fang Mu said nothing.

"Do you still believe we treated that homicidal maniac unjustly?"

Fang Mu threw his spoon onto his tray with a sharp clatter, causing food to splatter across the table. Several grains of rice stuck Zhao Yonggui's shirt.

Suppressing his anger, Fang Mu did his best to speak in an even tone. "Officer Zhao, if you don't believe me, then there's nothing I can do about that. However, my opinion will not change; Meng Fanzhe was innocent, and the killer is someone else. You have your ideas, and I have my methods – "