Fang Mu scratched his head. "All-righty, in that case I'll have to take you and Dad out to eat some time."
"Out to eat? Waste of money! And plus, do you think your mother is silly-brained enough to let you take her out to eat using the very money she gave you? Huh?"
"Okay, okay," he said with a laugh. "Well, then let's go buy some groceries together and go home and cook something up."
"Okay then!" his mother chirped, finally allowing herself to smile. She kissed him on the cheek. "That's my boy!"
After a delicious home-cooked meal and a sleep in his old bed, the next morning Fang Mu awoke feeling refreshed. And along with his newfound energy came a burst of fresh perspective.
If the symbol of the labyrinth ritual had been vengeance, then what had the ritual in the Fushima Mall symbolized?
The problem revolved around two focal points: one was the mall; the other was that teddy bear.
It was plain that the murderers' careful plan, along with the risk they had taken, would have been much more difficult to pull off than simply detaining and killing the victim. It was obvious that it had been very important to them to leave the body in the mall; it had been an indispensable part of their crime. So why would a group of murderers want to dump a body in the mall? And why would they hang it on a wall like they had?
To put it on display.
The most obvious characteristic of a mall was that it was a place with a lot of foot traffic. If one wanted to find an audience for their crime, a mall would certainly be one of the best places to go.
If the murderers had wanted to leave the body in the mall in order to produce the greatest effect in showing off their crime, then that proved at least one point: the murderers, or their leader, had abnormal psychological tendencies. Obviously he or she felt that displaying the victim's corpse for everyone to see was more important than just killing the victim had been.
Just like with any other ceremony, appearances were more important than anything else.
So what sort of emotional satisfaction had this display given the killers?
Had they needed to ridicule the police for their incompetence? Or to show off their own prowess?
An online author who publishes his works on the web would be unable to resist logging in from time to time to see how many click-throughs his works had gotten, and to read any comments his readers might have left.
A movie director, once his baby had hit the big screen, would go to a movie theater himself just so he could sit and watch the audience's reactions.
Every author hoped that more and more people would read his writing. If a story were to elicit a feeling of surprise or even shock among his readers, the author would feel very pleased indeed—because he would have validated himself.
If the killers had felt this way, too, then what had they validated? What had they proved?
The answer must have something to do with that teddy bear.
Fang Mu scrutinized the photos. As he did so, that feeling he had gotten when he first arrived at the crime scene played over and over through his head. Other than that profound sense of ritual, the thing that had left the deepest impression on him had been this teddy bear—but it had not horrified him so much as taken him completely by surprise. He simply could not imagine that a giant teddy bear would be something that could give the killers a boost to their egos.
Just then Fang Mu realized that he had been overlooking something obvious.
If the killers had only used the teddy bear in order to express some sort of inner need, then hollowing it out would not have been necessary. The point of hollowing it out was so that the victim could wear it like a suit of clothing—that is, what the killers really needed had been a person dressed in a teddy bear's hide.
He remembered what Doctor. Cai had said in the Material Evidence Division: wearing a plush bear suit gave one the image of an
advertising mascot
.
The killers' true motive had been to murder this advertising promoter dressed as a plush teddy bear!
But that still left the question of what the killers had wanted to validate or prove by doing what they had. Whatever they had been trying to prove, one thing was for certain; this emotion had been strong enough in them that they had not been able to contain it. And there were only two sorts of things that could arouse them to act on such an impulse: self-preservation and revenge.
So which of these had motivated the killers?
Fang Mu was excited now. The two cases were becoming very intriguing indeed.
He laughed in spite of himself. In his mind, he was still stubbornly linking the two cases together. But gut feelings and assumptions aside, there were now at least two things he had to find out for certain:
First, had Jiang Peiyao, the victim in the labyrinth murder, ever gotten physical when disciplining his students, and thus incurred their resentment? Second, had Shen Baoqiang, the victim in the Fushima Mall murder, ever worked for an advertising company as a promoter? And if so, had anything out of the ordinary ever happened during his tenure?
CHAPTER
19
Hurt Child
A
s per Lu Xu's request, during the third psychodrama he played himself. Because of this Yang Jincheng made some modifications to the original arrangement. First of all, he had the motorcycle positioned closer to the projection screen so that Lu Xu would experience a deeper sense of immersion. Secondly, he added a scenario: Lu Xu's convalescence in the hospital and his return home after having recovered.
When the psychodrama was drawing to an end, Lu Xu emerged triumphantly from the curtain that represented the hospital. His parents were by his side as his coworkers presented him with flowers to welcome him back to the force. As he bowed in tearful gratitude, another unexpected person appeared on the scene.
It was his girlfriend. She stood in the doorway to the gym, eyes brimming with tears as she watched. Lu Xu gaped in shock for a moment and then ran over to throw his arms around her, and together they stood holding each other for a long, heartfelt time.
Inside the makeshift surveillance room, Yang Jincheng stood with his arms crossed, smiling at the drama unfolding on the monitor.
"Wonderful. Lu Xu believes himself to be healthy and fit enough to face his girlfriend. It's like he's finally come back to life." He turned to look at Bian Ping. "I recommend giving Officer Lu the day off so the two of them can be together."
Bian Ping chuckled and nodded his head. "I'll go speak to his superiors."
"Okay, folks, that about wraps it up for Stage Four of the treatment process,” Yang Jincheng said with finality. "The results are much better than I expected. Now we just need to monitor his behavior and set up a series of follow-up appointments. I would like everyone involved to report to me immediately with any changes, good or bad, with regard to Officer Lu's recovery." Yang Jincheng shook hands with them one after another, starting with Bian Ping and Fang Mu. "Thank you for your assistance and cooperation, everybody."
"Don't mention it, Dr. Yang," Bian Ping said as he gripped the psychologist's hand. "We're the ones that should be thanking you."
"I'm just doing my job, that's all." Yang Jincheng turned to Fang Mu. "Officer Fang, I envy Captain Bian for having such a capable man as yourself at his disposal. It is my sincere hope that we have the opportunity to work together again some day."
Fang Mu felt a bit uncomfortable. "I didn't really do anything. Unless you count my serving as Lu Xu's punching bag, I suppose."
"No, you did a lot. In fact, you're quite something else, Officer Fang." Yang Jincheng gazed intently from behind the thick lenses of his spectacles into Fang Mu's eyes. "Quite something else indeed."
Liao Yafan hurried on her way toward Angel Hall, anxious to get back in time to help prepare the evening meal. She had just rounded the corner when she saw Sister Zhao, a basin full of vegetables in her hands, frowning as she stood next to a group of old ladies who were excitedly gossiping.
"Auntie Zhao, what are you doing?" Liao Yafan whispered as she approached. She took the basin from Sister Zhao's hands.
Sister Zhao shushed her with an impatient gesture and continued to listen closely to the old ladies.
Unsure of what to do, Liao Yafan stood and tried to listen for a while. But the old women all had very thick provincial accents, so she could only make out the occasional phrase, such as "worker's comp" or "developer".
Still feeling anxious, she tugged at Sister Zhao's sleeve. "Auntie Zhao, if we don't get back now and start cooking dinner it'll be too late."
Sister Zhao glanced at her watch. Scowling, she turned to head back to Angel Hall with Liao Yafan scurrying alongside.
As soon as they got there Sister Zhao told Liao Yafan to wash the vegetables while she went over to Teacher Zhou's room. Liao Yafan had just begun to rinse a bunch of spinach when Sister Zhao poked her head back in through the doorway and asked, "Where's Old Zhou?"
"How should I know?" Liao Yafan shrugged, more than a little annoyed. "I just got here, too."
Sister Zhao snorted and hurried out to the courtyard, where she pulled a child aside and asked again, "Where's Teacher Zhou?"
Through the window Liao Yafan saw the look of shock on Erbao's young face as Sister Zhao interrogated him. The fierce urgency in her voice caused him to cry out in fear and run away.
Liao Yafan ran out of the kitchen. "Has something happened?"
"No! It's nothing," Sister Zhao barked. "Nothing a brat like you could help with anyway!"
Stung, Liao Yafan pursed her lips and marched back into the kitchen.
It was well after dinner before Teacher Zhou came back. He arrived carrying a baby with a deformed upper lip. As tended to happen any time Angel Hall gained a new member, the entire orphanage flew into a frenzy of excitement as everyone busied themselves with preparing a crib for the child, changing his diapers, bathing him, mixing up some powdered milk supplement for him, and so on. Afterwards, several of the children stood watching as he lay in the crib gumming his fingers until he fell into a deep sleep.
Once Teacher Zhou had gotten the boys and girls settled, he chortled his way into the kitchen, followed by Sister Zhao. A while later, when Liao Yafan entered to get some water from the sink, the kitchen was already hazy with smoke. A half-eaten bowl of rice and dressings was going cold on the table, and Teacher Zhou, cigarette in hand, sat across the table from Sister Zhao.
They stopped talking as soon as she entered. Teacher Zhou smiled at her, but Sister Zhao would not even look up.
Carrying the now full hot water thermos, Liao Yafan paused in the doorway on her way out. The two adults were speaking in very low voices; all she could hear was Teacher Zhou saying something that sounded like, "...don't tell the children of this just yet... I'll think of something..."
What had him so sick with worry? Liao Yafan felt suddenly fatigued; the bubbling excitement from earlier when she was helping to welcome the new member to the orphanage had already completely drained from her.
When Bian Ping delivered his report of Dr. Yang Jincheng's progress in treating Lu Xu, his superiors at the Public Security Bureau listened with a great deal of interest. It just so happened that they were in the middle of launching a province-wide initiative to modernize the police force, and so the Bureau instructed the department responsible for such matters to give official recognition to Yang Jincheng as an authority on psychological counseling and to organize a suitable time for him to give a lecture on the subject.
Bian Ping and Fang Mu arrived at the Research Institute to give the certificate of recognition to Yang Jincheng, only to be informed by his assistant Chen Zhe that Dr. Yang was currently busy with a client.
"Would you like me to let him know you are here?"
"No, it's all right," Bian Ping said. "No need to disturb him. We'll just wait."
Chen Zhe led them to a visitors' lounge on the second floor, poured them each a cup of hot water for tea, and took his leave.
The well-lit room was spacious and furnished with broad, comfortable chairs. Fang Mu sat in one of them and ran a finger along the edge of the expensive-looking wooden table. "Looks like Dr. Yang hasn't done too badly for himself here."
"No surprise there." Bian Ping put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "This is a research institute funded by the provincial government, and it gets a lot of annual donations from the private sector as well."
Bian Ping was beginning to ramble when a couple of people were led in by an institute employee. As Bian Ping glanced at them he made a surprised sound and sat up straight.
It was a woman in her 40s and a seven- or eight-year-old boy; they appeared to be mother and son. When the mother noticed Bian Ping, she seemed to recognize him, too. She hesitated a moment and then led the boy over to take their seats at the far end of the room.
"What? Do you know her?" Fang Mu asked Bian Ping.
"Of course I do," Bian Ping said quietly. "That kid's the one who discovered the body in the Fushima Mall case and that woman's his mother."
"Oh yeah?" Fang Mu could not help but glance over his shoulder at the boy. The child's face was pallid and gaunt, and the broad back of the chair made his already narrow shoulders appear almost skeletal. He was sitting in total silence, staring like a statue at the surface of the table in front of him.
After watching him for a while, Fang Mu decided to get up and walk over to them.
The boy's mother grew visibly nervous at the sight of Fang Mu as he approached. She leaned slightly to her left, as if meaning to shield the child with her body.
Fang Mu nodded at her and gave her a lopsided smile, but her posture remained tense as she frowned up into his face.
Fang Mu bent down to tousle the boy's hair. The moment his hand touched his head, he felt the boy shudder a little. The boy's eyes never left the table, but a rash of goose bumps broke out along the back of his neck.
Fang Mu withdrew his hand and laughed good-naturedly. "What's your name?"
The child did not answer; he did not even look at Fang Mu. He just continued staring at the table through expressionless eyes.
"Go on, tell me. What's your name, buddy?"
"Summer," the boy's mother answered for him in a wary voice. "I know you two are cops. Don't ask my son any questions; if there's anything you want to know, ask
me
."
Fang Mu straightened and sat down next to them. "What's the matter with him?"
"He's in shock." A wave of dismal apprehension swept across her features. "The child psychologist at the Children's Hospital recommended I bring him here to see Dr. Yang."
"Because of what happened that day?"
Summer's mother emitted a long, drawn-out sigh. "My boy has had nightmares every night since that day. Every time he wakes up crying and his sheets and pillow are drenched with sweat. When he's not sleeping, he's like this; he won't talk or answer when spoken to. All he does is fixing his eyes on the same spot straight in front of him."
Fang Mu looked at Summer. He was still vacantly staring ahead, unmoving, seemingly oblivious to everything and everyone around him.
Fang Mu placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and pulled him toward his chest. The boy did not resist; his limp body leaned over, but he continued to stare at the same spot as before. Fang Mu thought for a moment, and then pulled his badge out of his pocket and dangled it in front of the boy's face.
"Summer, I'm a policeman; don't be afraid, okay? Tell me what happened."
After a long moment, Summer's eyeballs rolled nervously and their lids half closed. "I'm scared," he whispered.
"What are you scared of?"
Summer ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Do you have a gun?"
Fang Mu was taken aback. "I do."
Summer hung his head and then suddenly grabbed Fang Mu's hand. "Kill him!"
"Kill who?"
The vacant expression returned to Summer's face, and again he was staring off into space. As Fang Mu watched, he noticed the boy's lips were moving, but no sound was coming out.
"Maomao... Maomao..."
Fang Mu was about to ask what he was talking about when the door to the visitors' lounge opened and Yang Jincheng walked in. He headed straight for Bian Ping.