Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

A trickle of sweat ran down Detective Sang’s forehead. He leaned forward, strained and intense. He had been very anxious to participate with Li in the interrogation, and Li had allowed him to take the lead while he tried to remain detached and objective. Sang was neither. He was blunt and aggressive, and frustrated by Birdie’s apparent confusion over where he had, in fact, been on Monday night. Birdie was certain, he said, that he had been playing checkers with Moon, but if Moon said he wasn’t, then he must have been doing something else. He just couldn’t think what it was. Usually he spent nights alone at home. Sometimes he would watch television, although he could not remember what programmes he might have watched on Monday night. But usually he went to bed early, when his birds tucked their heads under their wings. He had an early start, he said. He always went to the park before going to the bird market.

‘OK,’ said Sang eventually. ‘So you agree — you don’t have an alibi?’

Birdie shook his head despondently. ‘But I don’t need an alibi. I haven’t done anything.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t know anything about the murders?’

‘No. I told you. Me and Pauper talked about them.’

‘So you admit you knew that three of the former members of the Revolt-to-the-End Brigade had been murdered?’

‘I told you we had heard.’

‘And had you heard how they were murdered?’

Birdie winced. ‘We heard they were … executed.’

‘What do you mean by “executed”?’

‘That …’ he shifted uncomfortably, ‘that their heads had been cut off.’

‘Who told you that?’ Li asked.

Birdie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. People just knew.’

‘What people?’ Sang pressed him.

‘A woman at Zero’s factory.’

‘That’s Bai Qiyu?’

‘Yes.’

‘What woman?’

‘I don’t know. I think maybe she was the one who found him. Pauper could tell you. She knew more about it than me. She talks to people, she hears things.’

‘So you and Pauper figured that someone was going around killing the members of the Revolt-to-the-End Brigade, and that sooner or later you were going to be next?’

‘That’s what Pauper thought.’

‘Did Pauper always do your thinking for you?’ Sang sat back. ‘Was it Pauper’s idea to kill Yuan Tao before he killed you?’

Birdie was rocking slowly backwards and forwards in his chair. His hands were no longer limp in his lap. They were clasped and wringing one another. ‘We didn’t kill Cat!’ He almost shouted it in tearful defiance. ‘We didn’t know he was in Beijing. We never even thought of him.’

‘There’s no point in lying to us, Birdie,’ Sang said reasonably. ‘We’ll find out the truth in the end.’ But Birdie just stared back at him. ‘How did you find out Cat was back? Did someone see him by chance? Or maybe he contacted you. He must have made arrangements to meet his other victims. Is that what happened? Did he come to the bird market and arrange to meet you somewhere?’

‘No!’

‘What did he say? That he wanted to talk about what happened back in the sixties? That it was too late now for recriminations, but that he wanted to know why? That he wanted to understand? Is that what he said to the others, do you think? Is that why they agreed to meet him? Because they felt guilty? Even after thirty years?’

‘I don’t know,’ Birdie protested. ‘How would I know what he said to them?’

But Sang was on a roll. This was his chance to impress Li, and he was taking it. ‘You must have been scared, Birdie. You must have known he was going to kill you, too.’

‘No!’

‘What did you do? Follow him? That how you found out about the apartment in Tuan Jie Hu Dongli?’

‘What apartment?’

‘I guess you must have gone there that night and waited for him. How did you know to look under the floorboards?’ But Sang wasn’t interested in waiting for Birdie’s spluttered protests of ignorance. He pressed on. ‘You must have been struck by the irony of it when you found the sword there. The chance to kill him with his own weapon, the same way he killed the others, the same way he intended to kill you.’

‘No … no …!’ But Birdie’s denials were feeble now, his eyes filling again with tears.

‘What else did you find under the floorboards? A killing list, maybe. Silk cord to bind his wrists, the same silk cord he meant to use on you? What did he say when you confronted him? Did he admit it?’ Sang leaned forward again, speaking almost softly now. ‘Why did you kill him, Birdie? You could just have gone to the police. What happened? Was it anger? Did he spit in your face? Or was it guilt? The only way you could lay the ghost of the past? That dreadful day in the spring of ’67, remember it? When you humiliated and beat and hounded Cat’s father to his death in the schoolyard in front of everyone, in front of his wife? An old man with a heart condition. You must have felt very proud of yourself.’

Birdie had stopped wringing his hands now. They hung loosely at his sides as he rocked to and fro, and sob after sob ruptured his breathing until Li thought he was going to choke. He stared at his inquisitors unseeingly, and tears ran in rivers of regret down his face.

‘Is that why you had to kill Cat, too? Is that why you forced to him to his knees and raised that sword above his head and cut it off with a single stroke?’

Birdie howled like an animal, a deep throaty howl that rose from his diaphragm and sent a shiver through each of the detectives. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ he shouted. And Li and Sang exchanged glances.

‘Didn’t mean to what?’ Li asked.

‘Kill Teacher Yuan.’ Birdie clawed at his face with his fingers, trying to wipe away the tears. ‘I never meant to do it. Please, please, please, I didn’t mean to.’

‘It’s Cat we’re talking about now, Birdie,’ Li said softly. He waited for a moment. ‘How did you know exactly what it was he had done to the other three?’

But Birdie was shaking his head from side to side, still rocking backwards and forwards. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ he kept repeating.

‘The placard around his neck. How did you know to do that? The name upside down and scored through.’

Birdie stopped rocking and stared at Li through his tears. ‘It’s Teacher Yuan you’re talking about. That’s what we did to him in the Cultural Revolution.’ He suddenly banged his fist on the table in frustration. ‘How many times do I have to pay for that?’ he shouted. ‘How many deaths can you die in one lifetime? We were just children. We didn’t know what we were doing. Only what Chairman Mao told us. He was the red, red sun in our hearts.’

No, Li thought. He was the blood-red hate in your souls.

*

They climbed the stairs to the top floor in silence. Sang glanced apprehensively at Li several times. ‘You don’t look too pleased, boss,’ he said. ‘For a man who’s just cracked a case.’

‘We haven’t cracked anything,’ Li growled. ‘Far from it.’

Sang was astonished. ‘He as good as admitted it.’

‘No he didn’t. He was confused. He didn’t seem to me able to make a proper distinction between Yuan and his father.’

‘But, boss, he had both motive and opportunity. He admitted he knew about the other murders, he doesn’t have an alibi — in fact he lied about it.’ Sang had to walk quickly to keep up with Li along the top corridor.

Li shook his head. ‘The answer’s always in the detail, Sang.’ His uncle’s words fell from his lips as if they were his own. ‘And the detail just doesn’t add up. Where did Birdie get the flunitrazepam from? How did he know about the placard round the neck, or tying the hands with silk cord?’