Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (47 page)

Fixing his eyes on the old man's hands, Fang Mu took a careful step forward. The expression on Teacher Zhou's face made him stop dead in his tracks.

"Teacher Zhou…" he entreated, "Please, don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?" Teacher Zhou laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "The sins I have committed in my lifetime amount to far more than mere stupidity! You think Yang Jincheng's crimes were unforgivable? Well, in fact, I am no different from him..."

"But think of Angel Hall. Think of the children!"

"I don't deserve to return to Angel Hall, even if I could." Tears streaked down the old man's weathered face. "I am a monster; this whole time, I've been treating them as tools with which I might attain peace of mind. But in the end, all I've done is hurt them, and leave them homeless once again..."

"I know, I know!" Sister Zhao suddenly shrieked. "Teacher Zhou, I heard what you said to Fang Mu that day... I don't blame you; I know all you were doing was trying to atone for what you did... And I
forgive
you... Truly I do..."

Teacher Zhou blinked in shock. A second later, a subtle smile of gratitude floated across his face. "Thank you, Little Zhao. You have given me a ray of comfort to take with me."

"Teacher Zhou!" Fang Mu and Sister Zhao shouted simultaneously.

"Listen to me!" Teacher Zhou barked, his tone suddenly strict. "Little Zhao, Angel Hall is beyond saving now. If you can, take the children to a new home, a home where they have enough food to fill their bellies and clothes to keep warm. Make them stay in school, so that they have a chance to stand on their own two feet someday. Can you do that for me?"

Sister Zhao was now sobbing so hard she could not respond. She just stared at Teacher Zhou, struggling to blink her tears away.

"Can you do that for me?"

With much difficulty, she finally nodded her head.

"Good." Teacher Zhou turned to look at Fang Mu. "Look after Liao Yafan for me, and drop in on the other children now and then. I know I deserve the death penalty for what I have done, but there was no better way to handle it. From now on, the Indoctrination Field Scheme is finished forever…"

"Teacher Zhou!" Fang Mu blurted. "Step away from there this instant, or I'll...I'll... You won't necessarily get the death penalty!"

"Fang Mu, do you still not understand? It's not that I cannot bear to face the law and be punished for my crimes." He shook his head as he stared at Fang Mu. "It's that I cannot bear to face
myself
anymore."

He pointed at Yang Jincheng's corpse. "The truth is,
both
of us should die." A subtle smile appeared on Teacher Zhou's face as he looked first at Fang Mu, then at Sister Zhao. Then he let go of the window frame.

With a shout, Fang Mu darted forward to catch him, but he was too far away. By the time he reached the window, Teacher Zhou was already halfway down the height of the building, his arms outstretched, plummeting toward the earth.

Sister Zhao was screaming. Fang Mu pushed past her and raced into the hallway, shoving aside the employees who had come to see what all the commotion was about. He dashed into the stairwell and took them three steps at a time all the way down to the ground floor.

Don't be dead! Please, don't be dead!!

A small crowd had already gathered at the base of the building. Fang Mu pushed past and threw himself to the ground next to Teacher Zhou's body. The old man's face looked peaceful as a large pool of blood slowly spread from the back of his head, staining the snow crimson. His eyes were half shut and slight spasms rocked his body. Each twitch caused a blob of blood-specked saliva to ooze from the corners of his mouth.

"Call an ambulance!" Fang Mu's voice cracked as he screamed. "
Help!
"

A few of the onlookers fumbled for their cell phones. On hands and knees, Fang Mu leaned over Teacher Zhou's ever more colorless face, unable to complete a single sentence.

"Just... just hold...on... An ambulance will be..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Fang Mu saw Teacher Zhou's hand move. Hastily he grasped the icy cold fingers and stared intently into his eyes.

Teacher Zhou's mouth moved ever so slightly, but no words came out. A moment later Fang Mu felt the fingers trying to squeeze his hand.

The tears finally brimmed and streamed down Fang Mu's face.

"I know." He held Teacher Zhou's hand tightly in his. "I promise."

The strength in the icy fingers gradually left. The corners of Teacher Zhou's mouth twitched upward, and he slowly closed his eyes.

Not long after, the ambulance arrived. The EMTs confirmed that Teacher Zhou was dead, then loaded Sister Zhao, who had come downstairs and fainted, into the ambulance and began to give her first aid treatment.

Fang Mu took off his coat and draped it over Teacher Zhou's body, then got his cell phone out and called the task force's main line.

"This is Fang Mu. I'm at the Institute of Psychology. Zhou Zhenbang has strangled –"

"The Institute director's assistant, Chen Zhe," an icy voice said right behind him.

Heart pounding, Fang Mu whirled around and looked.

Standing there, dressed in a white lab coat and with both hands in his front pockets, was Yang Jincheng.

Yang Jincheng wore a wooden expression as he stared intently at Fang Mu, whose eyes were wide with shock. In a low voice he said, "Come with me."

CHAPTER
36
Dust to Dust

Y
ang Jincheng stood quietly in front of the desk, looking down at the wire around the corpse's neck. He sighed, pulled a thumb drive from his pocket, and connected it to one of the computer's USB ports. After clicking the mouse a few times, he turned the monitor so that Fang Mu could see.

"Have a look for yourself."

Two video windows were open on the screen. In the first one, the assistant, Chen Zhe, walked into the office, seemingly on the pretence of delivering a document of some kind. When he saw that Yang Jincheng was not there, he glanced around for a moment, then casually walked over and plopped himself down in the leather chair behind Yang Jincheng's desk. He swiveled around in it a few times, then picked up Yang Jincheng's teacup and took a sip.

In the other window, the video was of Teacher Zhou strangling Chen Zhe to death, from beginning to end.

Fang Mu watched in silence, then walked over and peeled off the facial mask from the dead man's face. Sure enough, there was Chen Zhe, the assistant who had always stood humbly and respectfully behind Director Yang, awaiting his instruction.

"That right there is Mr. Z, the man you have been looking for."

"Why should I believe you?" Fang Mu gazed into Yang Jincheng's eyes, noting the dark circles around them. "Can you prove it?"

Yang Jincheng chuckled. "You should know the answer to that question. But if you show Jiang Dexian and Qu Rui a photograph of Chen Zhe and look at the expressions on their faces, you will be able to discern whether I am telling you the truth or not—and more than anyone else I have ever met, I believe you have the ability to read people's faces."

"So why did Teacher Zhou kill Chen Zhe?"

Yang Jincheng pointed at the dead man. "If you search through his pockets, you are sure to find a SIM card. He called Professor Zhou and told him that
I
was Mr. Z, so that the old man would come and kill me."

"Then what?"

"Chen Zhe always coveted my position as director—as you can see from the other video. He even tried to act like me, down to the tiniest detail, such as putting on my facial masks and drinking from my teacup. But unfortunately for him, I happened to leave some flunitrazepam in there, so after the poor fellow took a sip this time, he fell straight into a deep sleep. And thus, was killed in my stead."

Fang Mu was appalled and suspicious. "You left a date-rape drug in your own teacup?"

"Yes. I suffer from terrible insomnia, you see, and the only way I can force myself to sleep is to drink this concoction. I had prepared the drink; I just hadn't found the time to drink it and take a nap, that's all." Yang Jincheng shrugged. "Do you feel my explanation is tenable enough?"

Fang Mu's face was ashen. He leaned forward, pressing his face almost up to Yang Jincheng's. "How are you going to convince me that you didn't engineer all of this?"

Yang Jincheng gazed right back at him without flinching. "I have no plans to try to convince you of anything. But at the same time, you have no way of proving that I
did
engineer all of this, am I correct?"

Fang Mu continued to glare at him for a few seconds, and then said in a deliberate voice, "You knew Teacher Zhou wanted to kill you, so you thought of a way to trick Chen Zhe into taking a sip from your teacup. Once he had passed out, you draped the facial mask on him, and then you waited calmly for Teacher Zhou to come and strangle him to death. For you it was two birds with one stone—you got rid of Chen Zhe, while forcing Teacher Zhou to kill himself. Am
I
correct?"

A vague smile danced across Yang Jincheng's lips as his eyes narrowed at Fang Mu. But it was neither a confirmation nor a denial.

At the sound of police sirens outside, Yang Jincheng walked over to the big open French windows and looked down. He looked over his shoulder at Fang Mu. "Your colleagues are here. As soon as they walk into this office, I plan on shutting my mouth and remaining silent. Is there anything else you would like to ask me?"

Fang Mu glared at him wordlessly and ground his teeth.

I've failed. I've utterly, completely failed.

"I see." Yang Jincheng grinned. "Then I will leave you with a final word of advice. Do not bother conducting any sort of investigation into me. You yourself know that at best, it would be a waste of your time."

Fang Mu felt as if all of his blood were rising to his head. Abruptly, he reached down and undid the safety catch on his gun holster.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Yang Jincheng admonished, as if confronted with an ignorant, impulsive young child. "Our eyes are not the only ones recording what goes on in this room. Surely you wouldn't be that foolish."

The door swung open, and Bian Ping and Zheng Lin came striding in. When they saw Fang Mu with his hand on his holster, red-faced and boring holes into Yang Jincheng's eyes with a look of absolute hatred, they both froze.

"Fang Mu, what's going–?"

Fang Mu raised a hand and Bian Ping fell silent. As he let go of the holster, all the energy seemed to drain from his body. He wobbled past his startled comrades and slowly made his way to the door.

"Officer Fang!" Yang Jincheng suddenly cried in a sorrowful tone. "Professor Zhou's death breaks my heart, too, you know."

Fang Mu marched straight out of the office without looking back.

The police investigation into the homicide committed at the Changhong City Academy of Social Sciences' Institute of Psychology was soon concluded, and video files found at the scene proved that Zhou Guoqing (formerly known as Zhou Zhenbang) was the man who had murdered Chen Zhe. Due to the fact that the criminal suspect Zhou Guoqing had obviously committed suicide in order to escape legal prosecution, the case was closed.

The case of the Skinner's Box serial murders was officially adjudicated to a temporary hiatus. Due to lack of material evidence against them, Jiang Dexian and Qu Rui were released, subject to residential surveillance. If no further evidence was found within 12 months, all enforceable measures against the two suspects would be revoked.

In a small teahouse near the Medical University Hospital, Fang Mu sat at a table across from Jiang Dexian and Qu Rui.

Qu Rui had an aloof look on her face and was staring out the window. Across the street stood the drab gray building that housed the inpatient department. Jiang Dexian, his complexion a sickly yellow, sat talking with Fang Mu, but was unwilling to meet eyes with him the entire time. 

"And that's everything that happened." Fang Mu placed Chen Zhe's photograph face-up on the table between them. "That's Mr. Z, am I right?"

Qu Rui gave the photo the most cursory of glances, and then returned her attention to the building across the street. Jiang Dexian stared at the photograph for a long time. Fang Mu studied his face, and within seconds he knew without a doubt that Yang Jincheng had not been lying.

Jiang Dexian finally opened his mouth to speak. "Why would you want to tell us all this stuff?"

"No reason." Fang Mu lit a cigarette and leaned back against the wooden paneling. "As a lawyer, you've probably guessed that we don't have enough evidence to put you away. But none of that matters; I just feel it's important that you two know the truth."

No one spoke for a long time. Suddenly Qu Rui stood and grinned at Fang Mu and Jiang Dexian. She had shed so much weight since Fang Mu had last seen her that her once beautiful smile now appeared horribly twisted and desolate.

"Visiting hours are about to start." With that she picked up her purse and walked briskly out of the teahouse.

Through the clean glass of the window, Fang Mu watched her skinny figure dart across the street and disappear through the front door to the inpatient building.

"Officer Fang."

"Yes?" Fang Mu turned.

Jiang Dexian was looking straight at him for the first time and seemed on the verge of saying something, but then stopped himself.

"Go ahead," Fang Mu said, understanding his hesitation. "I don't have any sort of recording equipment on me."

Jiang Dexian smirked and looked out the window. "Actually, killing my volunteer did not make me feel better at all. And I believe the others felt the same way."

Fang Mu forced himself to remain calm and stared at him with the best poker face he could muster.

"We'll take responsibility for everything," Jiang Dexian said quietly. "Just give Qu Rui some time."

Fang Mu stubbed his cigarette butt out in the ash tray and exhaled in a long, drawn-out sigh. "However much time she needs."

He stood and left the teahouse.

On Platform No. 2 of the Changhong City train station, Liao Yafan stood with an anxious look on her face and her school bag hanging from one shoulder. She glanced up and down the platform and occasionally at the plastic digital watch she wore on her wrist.

With a sharp electronic whistle, another long-distance train entered the station. Throngs of people carrying bags of various sizes swarmed out of the train's door-less access ways as even more people tried to push their way in, desperate to find a seat.

From the platform loudspeakers, a flat, emotionless recorded voice droned on monotonously. "May your travels through the Chinese New Year season be harmonious. For your safety, will each passenger please…"

The dispatcher's whistle sounded, and a male train attendant barked impatiently at Liao Yafan. "Are you getting on or not?"

Liao Yafan took one last look at the crowds of people weaving in and out through the train station entrance, turned, and hopped onto the already slowly moving train.

Wisdom Park District.

Yang Jincheng's apartment was a complete mess. Clothing, books, and papers were scattered across the floor and piled into the corners of every room. Sweating furiously, Yang Jincheng was using the weight of his body to press closed a suitcase that was packed to the point of overflowing.

Behind him, a din of noise was coming from Yang Zhan's room. The sharp sounds of bottles smashing against the wall gave way now and then to the rapid clicking sound of little hands trying desperately to force open the deadbolt.

Ashen-faced, Yang Jincheng picked up another suitcase and began to stuff it with various folders and certificates from the study. He had just succeeded in latching it closed when he heard a knock at the door.

He tiptoed over and peered through the peephole. It was the neighbor.

Yang Jincheng cursed under his breath as he opened the door. "What do you want?" he growled, impatience burning in his eyes.

"Uh, Dr. Yang, uh, hi… There's been so much noise coming from your place over the past few hours, and I can hardly hear my TV, and –"

"Go and file a property complaint then!" Yang Jincheng interrupted him and slammed the door in his face.

As soon as he returned to the living room, he heard Yang Zhan's muffled screams coming from behind the door of his bedroom again. "Let me out! Let me out!"

Yang Jincheng roared distractedly. "Shut your goddamned mouth!"

The shouting stopped. Yang Jincheng breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Picking up a portrait of his wife from the floor, he dragged a chair over, sat down heavily, and gave the photo a quick wipe. Then he carefully placed the picture into a shoebox full of little polystyrene peanuts and replaced the lid.