Profiler

CHAPTER 17

It was fated to be an unusual day.

Before noon, Professor Qiao summoned Fang Mu to the Psychological Consultation Room. First he asked him whether he had been involved in any of the investigations taking place on campus. Muttering to himself about how Professor Qiao himself had already asked him to analyze one of the cases, Fang Mu initially just hemmed and hawed.

But when Professor Qiao narrowed his eyes at him, Fang Mu admitted everything he knew about the situation thus far. When he was done, Professor Qiao frowned and successively smoked two cigarettes. Then, strangely enough, he just spoke a few stock sentences reminding Fang Mu to be careful, and waved him out the door.

Fang Mu sensed that Professor Qiao was dissatisfied with him, but when he considered that this meant the professor might now join the case, and how much easier this would make it to catch the killer, he felt a little better.

Later that afternoon, something happened in the private study room that mortified Fang Mu.

Tai Wei had photocopied several documents and given them to Fang Mu, who hoped to find some more clues hidden within. So he had retreated to a remote corner of the private study room and started to read. He preferred it, as Du Yu and Zhang Yao had occupied the dorm room and were doing their thing.

By the time Deng Linyue saw Fang Mu and walked over, he was already looking at several pages that had been photocopied from the pornographic manga. He didn't even notice her.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him. "You read comics, too, huh? Which one is this?"

When Deng Linyue bent over to get a better look, Fang Mu tried to cover the pictures of stark-naked flesh bound in rope, but it was already too late.

Deng Linyue stared blankly at the pictures for several seconds. Then she blushed to the tips of her ears.

"Um, you have very…unique taste," she said. Then not even daring to glance at him, she spun around and ran off.

Fang Mu hurried to explain, but by then she had already left the room.

"Oh, hell!" Fang Mu yelled, tossing the papers onto the desk. This is just not my day, he thought.

As if the day hadn't been chaotic enough already, Tai Wei called him around nightfall.

"I'm at CaijiaVillage," he said, his voice agitated. "Find a cab and get here as fast as you can!"

"What's going on?"

"No time for questions; this one's big. Get here now. When you're nearby, call me and I'll come meet you." Saying this, Tai Wei promptly hung up.

CaijiaVillage was located on the outskirts of JiangbinCity, and all its residents were registered as city dwellers. Although there was no land there to farm, the people kept to their rural traditions. After dark, they merely ate dinner, turned out the lights, and went to sleep. So even though it wasn't yet 7 p.m., the village was almost totally dark. Almost, that is, because one section was still lit up and there Fang Mu could see the bright flash of police lights.

When he saw Tai Wei standing by the side of the road smoking a cigarette, Fang Mu felt his spirits plummet. Even from a distance, he could see Tai Wei was stooped over, his collar unfolded and his hair blown in all directions by the fall wind. Thanks to the jeep headlights beside him, Fang Mu could make out Tai Wei's downcast expression. Even after knowing him all this time, Fang Mu had never seen Tai Wei look like this.

Fang Mu jumped out of the cab and walked toward him. Seeing him coming, Tai Wei tossed away his cigarette, turned to him, and actually grinned.

I know how you're feeling, thought Fang Mu, but don't smile. It's terrifying.

Once they were inside the jeep, Tai Wei absentmindedly asked him, "How much was the cab ride? I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it."

Tai Wei didn't seem to want to make a big deal over such a small thing, so he said nothing and just kept driving.

A few minutes later, Tai Wei and Fang Mu drove into a small courtyard. An enormous, hundred-watt spotlight shone onto the courtyard, making it bright as day. The faces of all the people milling about looked pale as ghosts in the light. They got out of the jeep.

"You're finally here," one of the men said suddenly. He was crouching by the corner of the courtyard wall.

Fang Mu looked toward the sound of the voice. The man was a medical examiner. Fang Mu had seen him before during the Ma Kai case.

Another man was crouched beside him, a cigarette in his mouth. After glancing up at Fang Mu, he looked away and said nothing.

Fang Mu recognized this man as well. He was named Zhao Yonggui. He had been one of the two policemen present when Professor Qiao invited him to the Psychological Consultation Room.

Right now everyone in the courtyard was staring at Fang Mu. For a moment, he didn't know what to do.

Then Tai Wei called out to him from a corner of the courtyard. "Over here!"

Walking over, Fang Mu could smell a strong odor coming from that direction. When he reached Tai Wei, he saw that he was standing within a pigpen made of crushed brick, wooden planks, and tree bark.

Fang Mu carefully stepped inside. Thanks to the powerful police spotlight, every inch of the pigpen was immediately visible.

The mud was six inches thick. Pig feed was everywhere. The feeding trough had fallen down and was now half-submerged in the mud. It was indeed a sorry way to raise pigs.

At that moment, however, none happened to be in sight. And even though the mud-covered figure lying absolutely still in the muck before him did closely resemble one, Fang Mu was certain that it was a person.

"Who…is that?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Tai Wei didn't respond, just handed him an evidence bag. Inside was a mud-caked passport. It was open.

Fang Mu could make out a picture in the upper-right corner. In it, a blond-haired, blue-eyed white man grinned vapidly. According to the card, his name was Thomas Gill, he was from the United States, and he had worked for the foreign teachers administrative department at JiangbinCityUniversity.

The victim was a foreigner. It was just as Tai Wei had said-this one was big.

Suddenly Fang Mu looked up and glanced all around, as if he were searching for something.

Tai Wei knew what he was looking for, so he handed over another evidence bag. Inside was a watch, just as mud-caked as the ID booklet. But Fang Mu could still see that the hour hand, minute hand, and second hand were all stopped at five.

Fang Mu stared at the watch. This was the fifth murder.

"How about it, Tai Wei?" yelled the medical examiner, a touch of impatience in his voice. "Can we get started?"

Tai Wei turned and motioned for them to begin processing the scene, and then looked back at Fang Mu. "I made them wait for you to observe the scene before they could begin examining it," he said, "although some police from the local substation did manage to disturb a few things before we arrived. Anyway, I know that seeing the scene in its original state is extremely important to criminal profiling." He gave Fang Mu a very self-satisfied wink.

Fang Mu forced himself to squeeze out a thin smile.

Two policemen wearing rain boots then hopped into the pigpen. After struggling to pull the corpse out of the mud, they laid it on a plastic tarp that had been placed in the middle of the courtyard.

The victim was small in stature, looking to be about 5'6", which meant that in the U.S. he was probably considered quite short. Although his body was caked with mud, several of his wounds were still visible. Some were so deep that the bones stuck out.

"Damn," said the medical examiner, frowning as he slipped on a pair of gloves, "it looks like the pigs have been nibbling on this guy for a while. You go handle your business, Tai Wei. With a body like this," he pointed at the corpse, "it's going to take me a little while."

Tai Wei nodded and then led Fang Mu into the house.

Navigating the chaos of farm tools and cooking utensils that had been placed haphazardly in the central room, they made their way into the inner room of the house.

Just like outside, it was ablaze with light. A bony man who looked like a farmer was sitting earnestly on a small stool in one corner of the room. He was the homeowner, and seemed to be the one who had called the police. Sitting on the edge of the kang bed were two policemen, while an interview notepad had been placed on the kang table in between the two parties.

As soon as Tai Wei and Fang Mu entered, the two policemen stopped the interview and stood up. In the corner of the room, the owner also quickly stood up.

Tai Wei waved for him to sit down and then grabbed the notepad and flipped through a few pages. After a moment, he turned to the owner, who was still nervously standing in place, and said, "Repeat for me everything you just said to these two men."

A miserable look on his face, the owner said, "Chief, I've already told it multiple times and I still haven't eaten yet. Besides, my pigs are over at Second Son Wu's house, and I know that cheapskate would never feed them for me."

After the "Chief" promised to buy both the farmer and his pigs dinner, the man very reluctantly began to talk.

"Yesterday I got in a big fight with my no-good, spendthrift wife," he said, "after which she returned to her parents' home. Once she was gone, I went and played poker at a little store nearby, and then came home around five that afternoon. As soon as I entered the courtyard, it occurred to me that I hadn't fed the pigs all day, so why weren't they screaming for food? They still seemed to be doing all right, weren't making a sound. But in any case I heated up a pot of swill and then went to go feed them. While feeding them, I decided to save some electricity-it's so expensive out here in the countryside, sixty-eight cents per kilowatt hour, you guys in the city only pay thirty-nine cents, right?"

At this point the man launched into a nearly two-minute-long tirade against the government's policies toward farmers, which only ended when Tai Wei was forced to remind him to stay on topic.

"Oh, what was I talking about again?" the farmer said. "That's right, saving electricity. So I kept the light off, but as I looked around I could tell something was wrong. I only own four pigs, so what were five doing in the pen? At first I thought one of my neighbor Second Son Wu's pigs must have jumped the fence, and just as I was feeling really happy about that possibility, I noticed that it was just lying there and not eating, so I prodded it with my stick, but still it didn't move. That's when I shined my flashlight over on it and, my God, it was a person! So I called the police and someone from the local substation came out here, showed me his badge, and then called you guys."

At this point the medical examiner entered the house. He turned on the faucet in the central room and washed the mud off his hands.

From the inner room Tai Wei called out to him. "How's it look out there?"

"Cause of death was shock due to blood loss," said the medical examiner, shaking the water from his hands as he walked into the room. "We still have to take a closer look at some of the places that were eaten by the pigs, but it's clear he was stabbed at least fourteen times."

Nodding toward the farmer, he continued. "It's no surprise he took the victim for one of his pigs. This was one heavy guy, at least two hundred pounds. Your pigs have been eating well." Noticing that everyone was now frowning and looking like they wanted to vomit, he cackled with laughter.

Tai Wei muttered the word sicko under his breath and then turned to Fang Mu, only to find the kid was staring off into the corner, mumbling to himself.

"Pig…pig…pig…" he murmured.

Tai Wei was about to ask him what he was talking about, when Fang Mu abruptly turned to the farmer and asked: "You just said that when you first saw the victim, you thought he was a pig, right?"

The farmer nearly jumped with surprise at the sudden question. "Yes," he said, "that's right. It was dark and I couldn't see any of the pigs clearly. Besides, with him lying face down in the pigpen like that, what was I supposed to think?"

Fang Mu turned and looked at Tai Wei. Although the kid's face was ghostly pale, his eyes were shining bright.

"Where's the CD?" Fang Mu asked.

"What CD?" For a moment, Tai Wei had no idea what he was talking about.

"From the last crime, Room Four-Zero-Four! The one the skinless girl was listening to!" Fang Mu was now so agitated his voice was almost incoherent.

"It's at headquarters. Why, what are you thinking?"

Before the words had even left Tai Wei's mouth, Fang Mu had already leapt to his feet and was on his way out of the room.

"Come on," he said, "we need to get that CD!"

Tai Wei drove back at lightning speed, keeping his siren on the whole time. By the time they reached the station, everyone in the Material Evidence Division had already gotten off work.

"We're out of luck," said Tai Wei helplessly, as he turned to Fang Mu and shrugged. "All we can do is wait until tomorrow."

"Unacceptable!" yelled Fang Mu. His answer was short, but utterly decisive.

Having no other choice, Tai Wei called one of his colleagues from the Material Evidence Division. Thirty minutes later, the CD stereo was sitting before their eyes.

Fang Mu turned it on, put on a pair of headphones, and then silently listened to the music.

Tai Wei didn't know what exactly Fang Mu was trying to do, but he figured that the kid already had a pretty good idea about the connection between the CD and the fifth murder case, so it would be best not to disturb him. Lighting a cigarette, he sat beside Fang Mu and watched him in silence.

Fang Mu listened to one song after another, pausing every now and then to jot something down. Some songs he listened to all the way through, others he skipped after only the first few lines.

At last, he came to one song that seemed to really interest him. He listened to it over and over again, rapidly scrawled two words in English, and then circled those words many times over.

Tai Wei quickly leaned over to see what he had written.

"Helter Skelter."

"Helter Skelter?" asked Tai Wei, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Fang Mu had drawn his circles with so much force that he'd punctured the paper, giving it an appearance that aligned with the mindset represented by the two words.

Fang Mu slowly removed his headphones and, ignoring the fact that the CD was still playing, lit a cigarette from the pack on the table and began to smoke. Tai Wei noticed that the kid's hands were shaking slightly.

"Charles Manson," said Fang Mu in a low voice.

Tai Wei felt he had heard this name before, and vaguely recalled that it belonged to the leader of some perverse religious cult. What did he have to do with this murder?

"Charles Manson was the infamous leader of the Manson Family cult," said Fang Mu, "which was active in the U.S. in the late sixties and early seventies. He planned to incite an apocalyptic war by killing white people and then starting a race war between the whites and the blacks. His first group of victims included the wife of the famous director Roman Polanski, their unborn child, and four other people who happened to be staying in their house. The second group was the family of a supermarket executive. There the Manson Family scrawled the words 'Kill the Pigs' on the wall of the crime scene. According to Manson, he had received instructions to start his apocalyptic war by a Beatles song. That song," Fang Mu pointed at the CD player, "just happens to be on the same CD as Revolution 9. It's called Helter Skelter."

Tai Wei listened to all this in stunned silence. Finally, he asked, "So what you're saying is, the killer copied Charles Manson?"

"That's right," said Fang Mu in a quiet voice. "I'd been wondering why the killer left the victim in a pigsty, and then when the owner of the house mentioned how he had mistaken the corpse for one of his pigs, I instantly thought of Charles Manson. There are numerous historical examples of serial killers doing things to shame their victims after they're dead, for example placing them under public signs that read 'No Dumping Trash,' or positioning a young man and woman so it looks like she's giving him oral sex. That's why I guessed that the pornographic manga found in the hospital murder had been left there to dishonor the victim. However, the most classic example of a serial killer who labeled his victims pigs was Charles Manson. And since I had a faint idea that it was a rock song that inspired him to commit his murders, I therefore deduced that this song had to be on the CD from the fourth murder case." Fang Mu slumped tiredly against the table. "And sure enough, I was right."

After thinking for a moment, Tai Wei said, "So do you think the previous crimes were copying the style of other serial killers?"

"It's possible, but I can't say for sure until I do some more research." Fang Mu stood up. "I'd better be heading home; we'll need all the time we have."

Tai Wei stood up as well. "I'll take you," he said.

"Don't worry about it," said Fang Mu, waving his hand. "You need to get back to the scene and make note of anything that doesn't seem to fit. More than likely…" he paused to lick his dry, cracked lips, "you'll find some clue to crime number six."

Six. At the sound of this ordinarily harmless number, the faces of both men turned grim.

All through the night, Fang Mu sat at his computer doing research. At last, when light began to fill the sky, he crawled exhaustedly into bed and fell asleep with his clothes on. He slept straight until noon, when Du Yu finally woke him up.

After eating a hurried meal in the dining hall, Fang Mu rushed to the library.

Since it was still lunchtime, the library was silent and no one else was around. Fang Mu looked at his watch. It wasn't yet one, so there was still more than half an hour before the reading rooms opened. He then walked upstairs to the third floor reference room, placed his bag on the terrazzo floor, and sat down and leaned against the wall, hoping to nap until the place opened.

After closing his eyes, Fang Mu drifted in and out of sleep for about 15 minutes before being awakened by the sound of steps echoing from the stairwell. He heard a man speaking softly.

"Yes… I know… It's not what you think… Well, how about next week…?"

A second later, the speaker appeared in the same corridor as Fang Mu. When he saw him sitting there, the speaker suddenly stopped in place, said, "I'll call you back in a little bit," and then hung up his phone.

With difficulty, Fang Mu forced his eyes all the way open.

It was Librarian Sun.

Surprised, Librarian Sun looked down at him. "What are you sleeping here for?" he asked. "You'll catch a cold if you're not careful." After helping Fang Mu up, he pointed at the chilly terrazzo floor. "You shouldn't go around thinking that being young means you're invincible. You could get hemorrhoids sitting on the cold floor like that."

"Thank you, sir," said Fang Mu, rubbing his head in embarrassment.

Librarian Sun looked at his watch. "Seems you're pretty early today. The library's not even supposed to be open yet. That's okay though, I'll let you in." Saying this, he unlocked the big door to the reference room.

As soon as the door was opened, Fang Mu hurried over to the stacks. One after another, he grabbed The United States Encyclopedia of Crime, The Encyclopedia of Criminology, and Criminal Profiling, as well as several other books, and then holding them in a wobbly pile, walked over to one of the tables and sat down. Through force of habit, he immediately took out a pack of cigarettes, but after thinking about it, he put them away.

At that moment, Librarian Sun walked over. Smiling, he said, "Since the library's not yet open, it's okay to smoke." Then he noticed the pack in Fang Mu's hand. "Well, well, well," he exclaimed. "Hibiscus King-that's a very high-quality brand."

"One of my teachers gave me them," said Fang Mu, a little embarrassed. "Librarian Sun, would you like one?" He offered him a cigarette.

In response, Librarian Sun produced a pack of Hibiscus King cigarettes from his own pocket and, waving them slightly, said, "Already got a pack. Just make sure you don't get ash all over the place." Then he walked back to his desk, sat down and began reading a book, puffing away on a cigarette all the while.

For the rest of the afternoon Fang Mu did nothing but research and take notes. Besides getting up every now and then to find new books and return old ones, he barely moved.

People came and went. Sometimes the reference room was noisy, sometimes it was quiet. But none of this affected Fang Mu in the least. Every bit of his attention was focused on the materials before him. Floating down the river of humankind's criminal history, he brushed past butchers of all kinds, from hulking behemoths to wretched wraiths. Hurtling through the decades, he read about crimes so blood-drenched that they threatened to soak the very pages of his notebook, and entered the minds of criminals from 10, 50, even 100 years ago. All the while, he felt himself drawing steadily closer to the truth.

By the time he was finally so exhausted that he could write no more, the sky outside was already growing dark. Massaging his temples, he got up and walked to the water cooler, filled a paper cup full of cold water, and downed it in one gulp.

By now he was the last person left in the reference room. He looked at his watch. The library would be closing soon. Returning to his table, he slowly gathered up his belongings. All of a sudden, he felt an extreme tiredness creep over him.

How am I this exhausted?

His hands and feet felt as if they were filled with lead, his eyelids fought to close, and his chair felt more comfortable than it ever had before…

The sun is blazing hot. Out on the sunbaked basketball court with all my friends from the dorm, wearing shorts and no shirts, playing ball. Third Brother is being too competitive. We had to win, and if we lost he wouldn't let us leave.

The dorm hallway. Passing silent, grim-faced students, blankets held tightly over their shoulders. Sun Qingdong from Room 351 is sitting in front of the door to the bathroom stall, shaking all over. Someone whispers to me: Zhou Jun died in there.

The library. Flipping through the pages of a book, the sound like a tree full of dry leaves rustling in the breeze. Shock as I look at the library card at the back of the book, at all the familiar names that have checked it out.

The little market. Her hair fluttering, Chen Xi laughs and says, ‘It's up to you. Which one do you think is the best?’

The Route 25 bus station. Chen Xi rests her head against my shoulder.

The student club. Savagely, the demon raises his axe high. Blood spurts into the air. Chen Xi's pale, tranquil face.

Room 352. Wang Jian and Fourth Brother's bodies lie twisted amid the flames. A scorched odor fills the air. Wu Han stands before the door. Slowly, he turns around. Panicked, I say, ‘You were the seventh reader.’ Smiling thinly, he walks slowly toward me, the military dagger in his hand.

Then he whispers, ‘Actually, you and I are the same…’

No…

Suddenly Fang Mu leapt to his feet, startling the dark shape before him so it moved back a few steps.

"Are you okay?"

It was Librarian Sun. Fang Mu could see his own disturbed, sweat-soaked face reflected in the glasses perched on the bridge of the librarian's nose.

"Oh, uh, I'm fine," said Fang Mu, taking his hand from out of his bag, where he had been grasping the handle of the military dagger.

"The library is about to close," said Librarian Sun, still badly shaken, "so when I saw you lying on the desk fast asleep, I figured I'd go wake you up. I didn't expect you'd scream and leap up like that. Scared me half to death."

"Sorry," said Fang Mu, "I was just having a bad dream." He forced himself to smile.

"Don't worry about it," said Librarian Sun, patting him on the shoulder. "You may be young, but you still need to take care of yourself."

Fang Mu nodded, but said nothing more. After gathering his things, he grabbed his bag and left the reference room.

The deceased was one Thomas Gill, 41, a white male from the United States, formerly in charge of hiring at the JiangbinCityUniversity foreign teachers administrative department. On the night of the murder, he took a cab from the school gate to the nearby Evening Breeze Jazz Club. There he had several drinks, but no one paid attention to what time he left. This above information was gleaned from his cab driver, who often picked up people outside the school gates, and the staff at the club.

Cause of death was shock due to blood loss. According to the autopsy, by the time his body was discovered, the victim had already been dead for at least 15 hours. He had been stabbed a total of 21 times in the chest by a sharp blade measuring five to seven inches in length and approximately 1.5 inches in width. Based on the location and appearance of the victim's wounds, the killer seemed to be a right-handed adult man standing between 5'7" and 5'10".

Other than the victim's watch, which had been set to 5:25:25, none of his belongings had been touched. His money, bank card, and credit card were all still in his wallet.

Based on an investigation of the crime scene, it was determined that the pigpen where the victim was found was not the scene of his murder. Since the victim was quite heavy, the killer had probably used some sort of vehicle to transport his body. The testimony given by the individual who reported the crime and the results of the autopsy both indicated that the victim was probably left in the pigpen between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. Police interviewed people living near the crime scene in hopes of finding someone who had seen a suspicious vehicle that day, but they came away with just about nothing. Only one person, a roughly 70-year-old woman, said that on the day the body was discovered, she happened to spot a white car parked near the crime scene. Unfortunately, she was unable to provide the car's make, model or license plate number. And because so many cars had driven past the crime scene by now, even if the killer's car had been parked there, its tracks would be impossible to find.

Interestingly, according to the victim's coworkers, he had been gay. This made police suspect that perhaps the killer was gay as well, or rather had merely pretended to be so that he could trick the victim into accompanying him to the murder scene, where he then took the man's life.

The U.S. and Chinese heads of state had visited each other's nations at the end of 2001 and the beginning of 2002. This was perhaps even more significant for the new American president, who was making his first visit to China. A high-ranking U.S. military officer was also set to visit China at the end of the year, and now the whole world was watching as military relations between the two countries appeared to warm. Therefore, the U.S. consulate in JiangbinCity was paying close attention to this case and had spoken on multiple occasions with the city government and Public Security Bureau in hopes of obtaining a speedy resolution.

The special investigation team could feel the pressure.

Another bright afternoon. As usual, Tai Wei and Fang Mu were sitting on the bench beside the basketball court, a stack of absurdly thick folders beside them.

First, Tai Wei updated Fang Mu on their current progress investigating the case. Fang Mu listened closely, rarely interrupting. Finally, with a downcast look on his face, Tai Wei said that they still hadn't found any clues as to the next murder. Fang Mu thought for a moment, and then grabbed one of the case folders and began reading.

While he was looking through the evidence photos, Fang Mu paused on one of the pictures for a long time. In it, the contents of the victim's wallet were spread out on a table. In addition to a bank card and credit card from the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China and a certain amount of U.S. dollars and Chinese renminbi, Fang Mu also saw a strangely-colored bill, but because it was halfway covered by some of the other items, he couldn't make out its denomination or form of currency.

"What's this one?" asked Fang Mu, pointing at the unknown bill. "The one in the middle."

Tai Wei looked over. "Oh, that one. It's British. Five pounds."

Fang Mu frowned. "Why would he be carrying British currency in his wallet?"

"He's a foreigner," said Tai Wei casually. "They always walk around with foreign currency."

"Yeah, but this guy's an American. For his day-to-day life, all he should need in his wallet are dollars and renminbi. Why carry around pounds? And why only five?"

This question stumped Tai Wei. Scratching his head, he said, "Maybe… maybe it had some sentimental value for him. Why?" He looked at Fang Mu. "Are you thinking this is a clue to the next crime?"

"I can't say for sure," said Fang Mu, shaking his head. "I just think it's a little peculiar. I'll have to do some more research."

"All right. So how's it been over here? You found anything?" Tai Wei looked over the stack of documents Fang Mu had brought along. He knew the kid was going to tell him what was inside, but he was too impatient to wait.

As Fang Mu nodded, his eyes became calm and resolute.

"Things are beginning to come into focus," he said.

"Really? What do you mean?"

"Hold your horses; let's do this one thing at a time." Fang Mu laid the folders from the first four cases in a row. Tai Wei noticed that atop each of the four stacks he placed several sheets of photocopied text.

"Let's start by looking at the second case," said Fang Mu. "At the scene of the first crime, the female victim was found with a syringe stuck in her chest. I believe this was meant to hint that the second crime would take place at a hospital, or that at the very least it would have something to do with the medical profession. Sure enough, it was committed at the school hospital, the victim was a forty-three-year-old woman, and the cause of death was heroin poisoning." Here Fang Mu paused, took the photocopied papers from atop the second stack and handed it to Tai Wei. "Take a look at this."

Taking the papers from him, Tai Wei looked at them. They appeared to have been copied from various books and journals, and each was covered with Fang Mu's underlines and scribbled notes.

"It's probably a little disorganized," said Fang Mu. "Why don't you look through it while I narrate?" Then, speaking slowly, he began. "What you're looking at are some documents on the infamous British serial killer Harold Shipman. In 1963, when Shipman was seventeen, he knelt at his mother's bedside and watched her die of cancer at the age of forty-three. This incident was an enormous blow to him, and it became the turning point of his whole life. For this reason, he decided to study medicine. Before she died, his mother had been in such pain from her illness that for a long time she had been forced to rely on heroin and morphine to get through each day. Therefore, Shipman desired to kill others by using a lethal combination of these drugs. With his mother dead, he could not tolerate other middle-aged women getting to live their own safe and happy lives."

Tai Wei had forgotten to look at the documents in his hands, but rather had stared open-mouthed at Fang Mu this whole time. Unperturbed, Fang Mu continued to speak in the same slow, calm manner: "In 1970, he graduated from medical school, and soon became known as an unusually skilled and highly ethical family doctor. However, he was never able to truly forget what had happened to his mother. In 1984, Shipman began using heroin to kill his own patients, selecting as his victims mainly women around the same age as his mother when she died. By the time he was arrested at the end of 1998, he had poisoned a total of two-hundred-fifteen people to death."

It took Tai Wei a long time to gather his thoughts. At last, he said, "So what you're saying is, the killer was copying Harold Shipman's criminal method?"

"Exactly. Now as you'll recall, the victim at the second crime scene was found with a pornographic Japanese manga in her handbag. Its contents included scenes of torture fetishism and homosexuality. I believe this comic was meant to be a clue to the third crime, during which a seven-year-old girl was tortured to death." Saying this, Fang Mu took several more photocopied papers and placed them in Tai Wei's hands.

"These documents are about the infamous Japanese serial killer Tsutomu Miyazaki. He was born prematurely, leaving him with deformed carpal bones in both hands. Because of this, he developed an inferiority complex from a young age. Although he did not like to interact with other people," he said, "he loved watching pornographic anime. When he was arrested, police discovered over six thousand titles of pornographic anime in his apartment, much of which was focused on torture fetishism. Miyazaki committed his first murder in 1988. The victim was a four-year-old girl. After strangling her to death, Miyazaki raped her corpse and then filmed a close-up of her genitals, which he later used to masturbate. In October and December of that year, and then in June of the following, he committed three more murders. The victims were all little girls no older than seven, and after torturing each to death, he raped their corpses. Most perversely, in January of 1989, the killer returned to the site where he had buried the first victim's body and collected her decomposed remains. Then he packed them in a cardboard box and sent them to her family. Inside, he also left a short, cryptic note describing the crime. Later, he would also send similar notes to several relatively large newspapers. Then, in July of 1989, Miyazaki was arrested. In 1996, the Tokyo district court sentenced him to death; however, he is still appealing the charge to this day."

Hearing all this, Tai Wei muttered to himself. "This…this is simply identical to the Jin Qiao case." Then, too impatient to wait for Fang Mu, he grabbed the documents stacked on top of the fourth case folder and said, "What about this one? Who was he copying here?"

"Ed Gein, the infamous American serial killer." For some reason, whether exhaustion or something else, Fang Mu's voice had grown quiet and his expression was even gloomier than before.

"When the body of Jin Qiao was discovered, she was holding a broken piece of ceramic pottery in her hand. This piece came from a copy of a vase originally created by the British artist Grayson Perry, who is a transvestite. The most famous transvestite serial killer in history was Ed Gein. For his whole life, Gein lived under the stern and tyrannical eye of his mother. When she died, he placed her corpse in a special room in his house and then sealed it off, like a holy tomb. At first, to stave off loneliness, he would dig up the bodies of recently buried women, and then touch and enjoy the sight of them. Later, he began skinning these corpses and sewing them into dolls. In the end, his perversity intensified, and within three years he killed three middle-aged women. He would later turn their body parts into 'handcrafted objects', which included clothes made of human skin and a bowl made of a human skull."

Fang Mu pointed at a photograph on one of his photocopies. "Here, these are the clothes made of skin. After Gein was captured, he admitted to longing to know what it felt like to have breasts and a vagina. When he wore the human skin-clothes he had sewn, he would fantasize that he was his own mother. Have you ever seen The Silence of the Lambs?"

Tai Wei nodded.

"The plot of that movie was adapted from the life of Ed Gein," said Fang Mu, picking up some of the case files that Tai Wei had brought for him. "In the fourth crime, the CD that the skinned girl was 'listening' to was a clue to the next murder, in which the killer imitated Charles Manson. After claiming to have received instructions from The Beatles song Helter Skelter, Manson began what he hoped would become an apocalyptic race war by slaughtering bourgeois whites. As I said before, not only did Manson write something at each crime scene calling the victims pigs, he also always referred to his murders as 'pig butchering'. Before you is all the information I have gathered over the last two days. I believe that the killer is modeling his crimes after history's most famous serial killers and is leaving a clue at each scene that hints at whomever he will be copying next. In my opinion, the sixth crime will most likely have something to do with that five-pound note."

For a moment Tai Wei appeared lost in thought. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, he said: "What about the first crime? You never said who he was copying there."

Frowning, Fang Mu said, "I've also been racking my brains about the first crime. There are too many historical examples of serial killers who dismembered their victims after murdering them. Based on the method used by our killer, it's extremely difficult to judge who exactly he was imitating. However, one of his motives for the crime was definitely jealousy, I'm certain of that. Think of the risk he took transporting Qu Weiqiang's body from his apartment all the way to the soccer field. That's got to mean something."

After thinking for a moment Tai Wei said, "What about Professor Qiao's idea about the killer wanting to rebuild Wang Qian anew. Could that be some kind of clue?"

Fang Mu didn't reply. Picking up the folder from the first case, he flipped directly to the crime scene photographs.

Wang Qian's body lay on the floor, cut into six parts and pieced together in a spread-eagle position.

Fang Mu stared at the photograph, as well as its accompanying description. All of a sudden he seemed to notice something, and his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Head to the north, feet to the south… head to the north, feet to the south…" he muttered to himself, before abruptly asking: "Where were the door and window located at the crime scene?"

After thinking about it for a moment, Tai Wei replied, "I think it was a north-south arrangement. The door was north and the window south. I remember Old Zhao saying to me at the time that the victim's head was pointed towards the door and her feet towards the window."

"What you're saying is, when the police entered the room, this is what they saw?" Saying this, Fang Mu thought for a moment, and then rotated the photograph. Wang Qian's spread-eagle body was now upside-down, her head, arms and legs pointing in five different directions.

Fang Mu's swept his eyes across the victim's head, torso, arms, and legs. Suddenly his breathing grew rapid. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he quickly dialed a number. Tai Wei could see his hands were shaking.

After a few seconds, Fang Mu heard Du Yu's voice on the other end: "Hello?"

"It's Fang Mu. Du Yu, do you still remember what that five-pointed star on our door looked like?"

"Five-pointed star? What five-pointed star?"

Fang Mu leapt to his feet in agitation. "The one from the night of the World Cup finals! We watched the game at a restaurant, came back, I went to the bathroom, and then when I returned to our room, you were wiping something off our door. You said it was a five-pointed star. Do you remember or not?"

"Oh, now I remember. Yeah, that's what happened. What made you think of it now?"

"That's none of your concern! I just need you to tell me, what did that five-pointed star look like?"

"It had five points man, what else can be said? As I recall it was pretty damn ugly, too."

"C'mon, just think; was there anything else special about it? For example…"

"Oh yeah, I just thought of something. The five-pointed star, it was upside-down."

"…Upside-down…" said Fang Mu, seemingly speaking to himself. All of a sudden, his face was ashen.

"That's right. It was drawn with one point down and two points up. Why do you want to know? …Hey, Fang Mu, can you still hear me? Hello, hello…?"

Ignoring him, Fang Mu slowly hung up the phone.

Looking as if all his energy had left him, Fang Mu leaned back against the bench, his eyes empty. From Fang Mu's conversation with Du Yu, Tai Wei more or less understood that on the eve of Qu Weiqiang and Wang Qian's murders, someone had drawn an upside-down five-pointed star on Fang Mu's door. Now he wondered what it was supposed to mean.

"What's the significance of an upside-down five-pointed star?" asked Tai Wei.

Fang Mu seemed to be so scared that he had begun to tremble. It took him a long time to reply. At last, lips shaking, he said, "Richard Ramirez. American serial killer. On multiple occasions between 1984 and 1985, he snuck into peoples' homes, killed all the adult men, raped the women and children, and then dismembered their corpses. Once he was finished, he would leave behind the same symbol at every crime scene: an upside-down five-pointed star. Sometimes he would leave it on the wall, sometimes on a mirror, and sometimes directly on the bodies of his victims."

He pointed at the crime scene photograph. "Wang Qian's head is facing the door and her feet are facing the window so that when police entered the room she would have looked just like an upside-down five-pointed star. Ramirez was different than other serial killers. Not only did he lack any trademark method of murdering his victims-he'd shoot them, beat them to death, slit their throats, strangle them-he also didn't seek out any particular kind of victim. He killed children under five, men and women over seventy, and people of all races and walks of life. As a result, he was extremely difficult for police to catch. At last, Ramirez was arrested in 1985 and sentenced to death in 1989."

With that, Fang Mu dropped his head and said no more.

Lighting a cigarette, Tai Wei slowly organized his thoughts.

"Richard Ramirez, Harold Shipman, Tsutomu Miyazaki, Ed Gein, Charles Manson," he said at last, seemingly lost in thought, "it really does seem like this guy is copying famous serial killers from history. And he even left a clue to the first crime on your door-the five-pointed star…"

The moment these words left Tai Wei's mouth, he abruptly stopped talking and his eyes went wide. The cigarette in his hand was immediately forgotten. For several seconds he sat there, stunned. He then turned to face Fang Mu, who was trying to light a cigarette, but his hands were shaking too much to use the lighter.

At last, with what seemed great determination, Tai Wei slowly said: "Fang Mu, I think this guy is coming for you." He gave the kid a careful look. His face was now deathly pale. "He's testing you, trying to see whether you can guess who he'll be copying next. No one else on campus understands this stuff as much as you do."

Tai Wei spoke slowly and softly, but to Fang Mu, each word felt like a bullet shot straight at his heart. "You think so?" he asked at last. "No way, that's impossible." Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply, and then turned to Tai Wei and forced a smile.

What kind of smile was this? Tai Wei had to wonder.

Disheartened. Indignant. Despairing. Terrified. Was he trying to convince himself that this was all just a coincidence?

Don't be such a fool, Fang Mu thought as his thin, self-deceiving smile twitched involuntarily.

Time passed and the sky grew dark. To Fang Mu, it began to seem as if all the dim shapes around him were growing nearer. The basketball hoops, the chain-link fence, the trees, even the dorms all appeared to come alive, and with the deepening darkness they seemed to be secretly laughing at him, as if they were closing in on him, malice in their hearts, step by step.

He felt his throat become dry, his mouth bitter, and his head spin. At last, unable to stop himself, he bent over and began to vomit.

Tai Wei sat there motionlessly, watching as Fang Mu retched so violently that his body appeared to split in half.

His heart was filled with sympathy and misery.