"That guy was too much," muttered Tai Wei as he walked quickly back down the hallway. Passing the on-duty room, he noticed the electric baton-wielding guard standing outside the door with his mouth open and eyes fixed on the TV screen, just as Park Ji-Sung dribbled beautifully past Christophe Dugarry.
Tai Wei just shook his head and walked into the control room. He glanced at the screen. Suddenly he was yelling: "Get in here now! Someone get this door open!"
Fang Mu held his breath and pressed the red button a second time. Again nothing happened.
His forehead immediately broke out in a sweat.
Should he turn around? Behind him was the most dangerous bloodsucking son of a bitch he'd ever faced.
He turned anyway. He mustn't let his distress show; otherwise he'd be at a serious disadvantage.
"The guard is in the bathroom," said Fang Mu, affecting an expression of total casualness as he returned to his seat. He made a show of coolly glancing over at Ma Kai.
What he saw shocked him.
The trust and sincerity that had been in Ma Kai's eyes only a moment before was now gone, replaced by a look of the deepest hatred.
"You'll never hurt anyone again!"
was what he’d last said to the convict.
Idiot!
He thought.
Why did I have to say that?
It was essential to divert his attention.
"The bruises on your head—how'd you get them?" he asked, plucking a cigarette from the pack and placing it in his mouth. He fumbled several times with the lighter before getting it lit.
Ma Kai didn't make a sound. He just continued to stare fixedly at Fang Mu.
Suddenly Fang Mu remembered. Ma Kai's first night in lockup; he had attacked another prisoner. The bruises must come from the guards and other prisoners.
"Did you attack someone?"
Although Ma Kai still said nothing, his breathing grew heavier.
Noticing this change, Fang Mu's nervousness reached its peak. However, he continued to speak.
"What happened? You suck his blood? I thought you said that male blood was too thick, too difficult to absorb."
Damn! Why did I just say that?
Ma Kai's mouth twisted into a strange smile.
"I can make do if I have to. Such as with you, for example." A look of hunger flashed through his eyes, like a bat in sight of its prey.
Fang Mu's mind went blank. He laughed dryly. "You really think I didn't bring anything to protect myself?"
"Oh?" Ma Kai had been about to stand up, but now he hesitated. A moment later, however, he was once more at ease. "Impossible. They'd never let you bring a weapon in here."
"You think not?" said Fang Mu, forcing himself to keep a thin smile on his face. The smile was there, but he couldn't keep from trembling.
Suddenly, Ma Kai rose to his feet, rushed in on Fang Mu and reached his emaciated arms toward Fang Mu’ neck.
Already stretched to their limits, Fang Mu's nerves snapped. With a yell, he rolled out of his chair and scrambled to the other side of the table, keeping it between him and Ma Kai.
The two of them began circling the table like they were playing a game of tag. Ma Kai's eyes were wide and bloodshot and he was breathing deeply, as if in anticipation. Froth bubbled from the corners of his mouth. Several times Ma Kai tried to jump onto the table, but Fang Mu always beat him back with a swing of his book bag, the contents inside sent flying all over the room.
He wanted to yell for help, but the words caught in his throat.
Finally, Ma Kai lost his patience and leapt successfully onto the table. In desperation, Fang Mu swung his book bag as hard as he could, but since nearly all his things had already flown out, the hit landed soft as a feather and did nothing. Protecting his face, Ma Kai dove forward. Fang Mu dodged back, slipped on a ballpoint pen that had rolled out, and fell face up on the floor.
Seeing his advantage, Ma Kai leapt on him, hands groping for Fang Mu's neck. Fang Mu blocked the grabbing hands and got his foot under him, then he kicked as hard as he could, launching Ma Kai across the room.
As Ma Kai writhed on the floor, groaning in pain, Fang Mu climbed to his feet and ran to the door. He banged on it in desperation, yelling for help. Seconds later he felt Ma Kai's hands on his shirt from behind, pulling him down.
Their previous struggle had nearly exhausted Fang Mu, and he was increasingly incapable of fighting back. Ma Kai, on the other hand, despite his thin, sickly appearance, had become crazed and tireless in his thirst for blood.
I can't keep this up
, thought Fang Mu, watching Ma Kai's gaping mouth draw closer and closer. Instinctively, he turned his head away, but in doing so offered his carotid artery up to his opponent.
Ma Kai's heavy breath sounded in Fang Mu's ear, his saliva dripping onto his open neck. Fang Mu could practically imagine the pain of those sharp teeth tearing into his flesh.
Help me…
With eyes closed, Fang Mu heard the iron door slam open and someone rush inside. At once Ma Kai's grip on his shoulders relaxed, and then his body softly rolled off of him.
He opened his eyes to see Tai Wei's worried face hovering over him. The electric baton was in his hand.
"Are you okay?"
Tai Wei reached out and helped Fang Mu to his feet. Stumbling, Fang Mu quickly grabbed onto the table to steady himself. After taking several ragged breaths, he felt his neck. Suddenly a wave of nausea washed over him, and he bent over and retched.
Several guards had Ma Kai pinned to the floor, and were replacing his shackles and handcuffs.
Fang Mu waited until he was no longer shaking so badly. Then he crouched down and, with difficulty, picked up his belongings scattered on the floor and put them in his bag.
Although Ma Kai's head was pressed against the floor, he watched Fang Mu the whole time, a calm, almost serene expression in his eyes. Not daring to meet his gaze, Fang Mu did his best to look away as he organized the things in his backpack and then haltingly made his way to the door. Tai Wei hurried over to help him, but Fang Mu shoved away his hand.
"Get off me!" he yelled. Then he left the room without looking back.
One hour later, at a small restaurant outside the Jiangbin City University gate, Tai Wei was looking across the table at Fang Mu, who was drinking cup after cup of water, his head down.
"All right, all right," said Tai Wei, passing Fang Mu a cigarette. "You still pissed at me?"
Fang Mu didn't want to take it, but when he saw that it was a super-expensive Zhonghua brand cigarette, he accepted.
Tai Wei hurried to light it for him. "That's the right idea," he said. "Don't be angry with me."
Cigarette hanging from his mouth, Fang Mu mumbled something that sounded like, "I wasn't angry."
"I've already yelled at that guard," retorted Tai Wei in a fierce voice, keeping one eye on Fang Mu's expression as he spoke. "It's a good thing you weren't hurt, otherwise I wouldn't have been so merciful!"
Fang Mu's face seemed to relax a little. Actually, he had been partly responsible for what had happened that afternoon. If he hadn't enraged Ma Kai by saying, "You'll never hurt anyone again!" he could have kept the situation under control. Still, he couldn't help but take it personally that he was nearly killed while Tai Wei was absent from his post.
"You should really eat something, too. My treat," said Tai Wei effusively, mostly because inside he was filled with guilt and fear over what could have happened. He ordered a heap of food and several bottles of beer.
After emptying several glasses of beer, the two of them began talking more freely, as if they had forgotten the terrifying events of earlier that day.
"You know," said Tai Wei, his face flushed, "I really admire you, little brother. If it weren't for you, who knows when we would have cracked this case."
Shaking his head, Fang Mu just smiled and took a sip of beer.
"Still, there's something I don't get," Tai Wei continued.
"Oh," said Fang Mu, "what's that?"
"Well, for one thing, how'd you determine Ma Kai's appearance? Or where he lived and what his family was like?"
Fang Mu placed his glass of beer on the table. "The first time we met, you gave me a bunch of crime scene photographs and reports to look at. Later, we went to one of the scenes together—the one where Yao Xiaoyang and Tong Hui were killed. Taken together, all this information gave me a distinct impression: total chaos. The victims were chosen without rhyme or reason, no forethought was put into any of the crimes, and the scenes themselves weren't straightened up at all. He was even taking the knives used to cut open his victims from their own homes, and then leaving them there afterwards. This led me to believe the culprit was what criminologists call a Disorganized Serial Killer."
"A disorganized serial killer?"
"That's right, as opposed to an Organized Serial Killer. This classification was created by the American F.B.I. in the 1980s. So-called disorganized serial killers usually suffer from serious mental disorders. Additionally, they have often lost much of their intelligence and social awareness—or never had much to begin with—and are either partly or fully disconnected from reality. This results in certain commonly recognizable aspects to their crimes; i.e., they are often impulsive and commit the crimes in areas well-known to the killer. And the scenes themselves are generally messy—carelessly so—and full of evidence. In the case of the bloodsucker, all of these characteristics were obvious."
"Is that so?" Tai Wei was listening intently. "Regardless, it still doesn't seem possible to determine the killer's appearance, family background, and living situation from this information alone."
"Of course it's not. But first let me ask you a question. Have you ever felt a certain way about someone, good or bad, the moment you saw them, and then after meeting them found that your intuition was exactly right?"
After thinking for a moment, Tai Wei nodded. "Yeah, I have."
"Any idea why this happens?"
"Not a clue," said Tai Wei honestly.
Fang Mu smiled. "It's because this person closely reminded you of someone you met in the past, someone who definitely left a deep impression on you. So when you encountered this new individual, you subconsciously replaced his personality with that of the old person, and as a result immediately liked or disliked him. And as we have discovered, there are times when this seemingly improbable kind of intuition is totally correct, which goes a long way to solving the problem."
"What problem?"
"Sometimes, people who look alike
are
alike."
Tai Wei frowned. "Are you talking about Cesare Lombroso? Born criminals?"
"Yes, very good. In his book,
Criminal Man
, Cesare Lombroso set forth his theories about so-called
born criminals
. He also boldly detailed the physical appearances of various kinds of criminals. For example, murderers often have cold, detached eyes, aquiline noses, strong jaw lines, and large ears; while thieves have short hair, narrow foreheads, and thick, closely-spaced eyebrows. Many people have criticized these theories as being unrealistic, but they forget that that Lombroso was a classic empiricist. He made sure that all of his theories were based on concrete evidence. So although a lot of modern empiricists doubt it, I believe his theories about born criminals are entirely scientific. For example, environment, upbringing, culture, and diet all have clear effects on criminality."
"In what way?"
"Let me give you a simple example. You ever hear how husbands and wives look alike?"
"Of course."
"One man, one woman, different in appearance before marriage, increasingly similar afterwards. Why is that? It's because when people live together, their diets become more or less the same–their work and leisure habits, too–and as a result their complexions follow suit. For this reason they will seem to be growing more and more alike."
"Huh." Tai Wei nodded, seemingly lost in thought.
"Now let's look at Ma Kai. I deduced he was very thin for two reasons. The first was that I knew the killer struggled violently with some of his victims. The second was that I sensed an extreme anxiety in his crimes, which I felt was connected to his perceived lack of blood or some other negative physical condition. Think about it: if a person were to live with this kind of anxiety over the long term, his diet would definitely be affected, and he would display signs of malnourishment. In other words, he would look thin and weak. A person like this, who couldn't even attend to his most basic needs, would obviously not be doing squat for his appearance. Among other things, this would lead most notably to him having long, dirty hair. He was also almost certain to live alone, because if he shared a house with relatives or friends their guidance would have calmed him down and prevented his anxiety from devolving into paranoia. His sickness must have only come on in the past few years, otherwise he would have killed sooner, and there have been no crimes like these in the city for some time."