12 Contact

I demanded to know exactly what He Ping was trying to hide, my tone uncharacteristically forceful, like a judge gripping the truth. He Ping was clearly taken aback by my question, but as a seasoned detective, he recovered quickly and asked, “Chen Mu, what are you implying? Are you trying to frame me?”

Everyone present turned their eyes toward me, evidently puzzled by my intentions; only Jin Ze looked at He Ping, which surprised me. He Ping immediately addressed Jin Ze, saying, “I did open Zhang Wentong’s hand. When I saw his fist clenched, I thought he might be holding something, so I pried it open to check, but found nothing. Miao Miao was present at the time and can vouch for me. I had no intention of tampering with the scene.”

Miao Miao nodded in agreement, then shot me a cold glance, as if questioning what right a nobody like me had to suspect the police. Soon, Jin Ze also looked at me and said, “Chen Mu, unexpected situations often arise during a crime scene investigation. Tampering with the scene doesn’t always mean there’s something to hide, especially since Miao Miao took photographs of the original scene. Old He is a veteran detective, has handled more cases than I have—he’s trustworthy, not someone who would cover things up. What are you really trying to say?”

With everyone’s attention fixed on me, I suddenly burst out laughing. “So you do know what it feels like to be under suspicion, to be nervous, huh? That’s exactly how you’ve made me feel. With no direct evidence, you’ve already pegged me as a suspect, always hinting at things instead of speaking frankly.”

Indeed, I didn’t intend to interrogate He Ping—I had no such authority. I just wanted this opportunity to let them know that I was tired of being treated like a criminal, led around all day to the point of exhaustion.

I could see the displeasure on their faces, except for Jin Ze, who chuckled and said, “Chen Mu, you’re an interesting one. But you also need to understand us. We’re police officers, and you’re a citizen connected to the case. You’re supposed to cooperate.”

I rolled my eyes and retorted, “So police are people but citizens aren’t?”

No sooner had I spoken than Jin Ze pulled me aside and whispered, “Chen Mu, let me remind you: with the severed head, organs, and bloodstained clothes found in your home, plus the footage of you at the funeral parlor, we have more than enough grounds to detain you—not just as a suspect, but in custody. The only reason we haven’t is because I haven’t disclosed certain things; for instance, the rest of the detective squad knows nothing about that video. Our cold case unit handles investigations with an eye for the essence, sometimes with a hint of personal deduction, but that approach wouldn’t fly with the regular detective squad, who value evidence and logic above all. I don’t actually suspect you. The reason I brought you to the scene is to help clear your name. But if you remain obstinate and refuse to cooperate, I may have to adopt the regular squad’s methods and detain you.”

Jin Ze’s words made my heart skip a beat. I didn’t know how much of it was true, but he was right: if they wanted to arrest me, they already had enough to do so—possibly even enough to convict.

Fearful, I gave Jin Ze a sheepish grin. “I understand, I understand. I just got a little carried away when I thought I’d found a clue.”

Jin Ze continued, “Then tell me—Zhang Wentong’s hand sign: not six, not one, but sixty-one. What does it mean?”

I replied, “This is just my guess, but if it were simply six or one, why use two fingers? That must mean sixty-one. Though, it could also be a hint involving both six and one. I think this number is definitely linked to Zhang Wentong’s profession. Could it be the patient file number? Patient sixty-one? Or perhaps patient six and patient one—meaning the killer is one of them? Maybe Zhang Wentong left this clue about his murderer before dying?”

The moment I finished, Jin Ze’s eyes flashed. He nodded and muttered, “No wonder you write novels.”

Without hesitation, he gave orders to search Zhang Wentong’s patient files and his office at the psychiatric hospital. Not long after, a young officer rushed in, brandishing a sheet of paper, shouting excitedly, “I’ve got it! I’ve caught the killer!”

His outburst drew all our attention. He’d found Zhang Wentong’s patient file—number sixty-one. For a moment, we really thought he’d caught the murderer.

But this was indeed an important lead. Patient sixty-one could very well be Zhang Wentong’s killer. Jin Ze took the file, and I craned my neck to see as well.

The moment I saw it, I was stunned. There was no way this was the killer.

Because patient sixty-one was Liu Yang—the very same Liu Yang whose severed head had been found in my fridge.

Jin Ze was clearly shocked too. He frowned, “What’s going on? Why is it Liu Yang?”

I told him I had no idea. Jin Ze continued, “Regardless, your deduction was right: Zhang Wentong’s hand sign really does mean sixty-one, and that points to Liu Yang. But it can’t mean Liu Yang is the killer, since the dead can’t be murderers. The sign must mean something else.”

What he said was casual, but it stirred something terrifying in my mind. I couldn’t help whispering, “This is bad—maybe you’re wrong. Who says there are no ghosts in this world? What if it’s something unnatural committing these crimes? Maybe Zhang Wentong was still trying to identify his killer, and the killer he saw was Liu Yang. Think about it: the mysterious peeper in my house, the dead man’s fingerprints on Zheng Wei’s neck, Zhang Wentong’s dying clue pointing to a dead man, and the calls I got from Zhang Wentong after his death—none of this seems human.”

Just as I finished speaking, a muffled crash sounded in the room—a police officer had dropped a drawer in fright. After all, it was late at night, with a corpse nearby and talk of ghosts—who wouldn’t be scared?

He Ping immediately snapped, “Nonsense. It’s the modern age—who still believes in superstitions like that?”

Jin Ze laughed. “Chen Mu, you’ll scare someone to death. Let me repeat: no matter how odd a case appears, it’s always the work of people. There are no ghosts—only the evil in men’s hearts.”

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, Jin Ze said, “I understand now. The hand sign Zhang Wentong made wasn’t left by him—it was staged by the killer.”

At first I didn’t get his meaning, but it soon dawned on me. “To frighten us?” I asked.

Jin Ze sneered, “No.”

“Then why?” I pressed.

A glint of battle shone in Jin Ze’s eyes. “The killer is taunting us. He thinks we can’t solve the case and wants this game to continue. That’s why, after killing, he used the victim’s hand to leave us a clue. The hand sign must have been arranged by the killer—otherwise, someone as sharp as him couldn’t have missed it. And the clue he left connects all these cases. Liu Yang and Zheng Wei had dealings involving corpse oil cosmetics; Zheng Wei’s wife’s death was probably due to those cosmetics; and Liu Yang was Zhang Wentong’s psychiatric patient. The killer is telling us that these murders aren’t random—the victims are all connected! I bet these people shared some secret we haven’t discovered yet.”

I was shaken to the core by Jin Ze’s words. If the killer really left such clues to keep his game going, playing the police for fools, then he was truly deranged.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but admire Jin Ze’s deductive powers. He saw further and clearer than I did—he was right: the killer couldn’t have missed Zhang Wentong’s hand sign. It had to be a deliberate provocation.

But there was still something I couldn’t understand. “I think you have a point,” I said. “But even if all the victims are connected, what does any of this have to do with my girlfriend Fang Lin?”

Jin Ze narrowed his eyes. “It will, soon enough.”

I could tell the killer had roused his fighting spirit. Pointing to Liu Yang’s file, he said, “After Liu Yang’s body was found, we tried to trace his address but came up empty. But here, in this file, is his address—the killer has left us another clue. Let’s go. Maybe we’ll find what we’re looking for there.”