Lei Mi - Profiler

Green turf. Goalposts. Both hands. Sharp blade.

Three stiff, hard knocks echoed through the room.

Someone was pounding loudly on the door. In an instant Fang Mu came back to reality.

"Come in," said Professor Qiao.

In walked Librarian Sun, a stack of books held in his arms. "Professor Qiao, these are the books you wanted."

"Put them over here," said Professor Qiao, pointing at his desk expressionlessly.

Librarian Sun carefully placed the books on the only open spot on the desk. Then he smiled at Fang Mu, turned and left.

After looking through the folder again, Professor Qiao took a few books from the stack and glanced at them. He lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair, deep in thought.

The two policemen sat respectfully on the sofa, not daring to say a word.

After some time, Professor Qiao suddenly sat up straight and said, "What do you make of this?"

Fang Mu was taken aback. It took him a moment to realize that Professor Qiao was talking to him. "Me?"

"Correct."

"I'm still sort of figuring it out; perhaps you should go first prof-"

"If I ask for your opinion then I want to hear it. Since when were you so timid?" Professor Qiao pointed at the top-ranked officer. "This is Bian Ping, director of the Criminal Psychology Research Division at the province-level Department of Public Security. He is also my former student, and therefore your shixiong . What do you have to be afraid of?" (Translator’s note: Shixiong means "elder apprentice to the same master," or in this case, graduate advisor. By the same token, Fang Mu is Bian Ping's shidi, or "younger apprentice to the same master.")

Bian Ping nodded at Fang Mu.

"After looking through that folder, what caught your attention?" asked Professor Qiao, staring straight at Fang Mu.

Fang Mu hesitated for an instant, and then said simply: "The hands."

Without betraying a hint of emotion, Professor Qiao said, "After murdering the victim, the killer chopped off both his hands and left them on the soccer field. What does that suggest to you?"

This time Fang Mu took a little longer to think through his response. "Deprivation."

"Oh?" said Professor Qiao, raising his eyebrows. "What do you mean by that?'

"When he was alive the deceased loved soccer and was the goalie for the school team. I don't know much about the sport, but I do know that the only player on a soccer field who can touch the ball with his hands is the goalkeeper. For him, hands are the weapons with which he defends the goal. So when you cut off a goalie's hands, you are implicitly depriving him of his most valuable objects. And behind this act of deprivation, I sense a kind of…" Fang Mu paused for a moment, and then said: "Jealousy."

Still expressionless, Professor Qiao pushed the pack of cigarettes toward Fang Mu. Then without looking at him further, he turned to the policemen on the couch.

"After the killer raped Wang Qian, the second victim, he strangled her to death and then dismembered her. Then, however, he pieced her back together. This is the most curious part of the case. If the symbols left by the killer at the crime scenes represent the fulfillment of a special need, and if, as Fang Mu said, the symbols left on the body of the first victim-the severing of the hands-represent jealousy, then what is meant by the fact that he dismembered the second victim and then pieced her back together?"

Fang Mu and the two policemen stared with bated breath at Professor Qiao, just as if they were back in class.

"I sense that the killer desired to construct Wang Qian anew. He seems to have simultaneously lusted after her flesh and despised it, and it was this inner contradiction that caused him, after he raped her, to strangle and dismember her. Then deep within him, the feeling that he needed to possess an 'all-new' Wang Qian led him to piece her severed limbs back together. I believe that while the killer was in the process of reconstructing the deceased, he must have felt extremely conflicted. The fervor of revenge and the delight of having conquered, yes, but also an irredeemable sadness and regret at everything he had done."

Pointing at the folder, Professor Qiao continued. "I've noticed that the Public Security Bureau has barely investigated whether Wang Qian's personal history might have something to do with the case. I believe this could be a breakthrough point. My idea is that one of Wang Qian's former suitors watched helplessly as the girl he was in love with went everywhere with another man-even to the point of living together. And when he imagined how the pure, well-bred young goddess of his heart-for I have noticed that Wang Qian was a notably attractive and innocent-looking girl-was having crazed-sex with this muscled, simple-minded young man in the couple's own apartment, his emotions must have erupted like a volcano. Thus he went mad, and did what he did. However," he paused for a moment, "these are merely a few of my thoughts on the matter, for there are still several questions I am unable to answer. The syringe, for example. Maybe it belonged to the victim, but wherever it came from, why did the killer plunge it into her chest?"

"Perhaps as a way of venting his conflicted feelings for the victim's body; the killer spontaneously grabbed the syringe and stuck it in her," interjected Bian Ping.

"Right now it's still unclear," said Professor Qiao, shaking his head. "But if you think there's some merit to my idea, then you should begin investigating this possibility. And you had better start with people who knew Wang Qian as far back as middle school. Such intensity of feeling does not simply emerge after a day or two-it takes many unfulfilled years."

The two policemen rose to their feet and said their goodbyes. But when they were about to leave, the one who had been silent throughout turned back to Professor Qiao and, pointing at Fang Mu, said: "So this one's your student, too?"

Professor Qiao raised his eyebrows. "That's right," he said, a hint of arrogance in his tone.

The policeman said nothing further, just glanced at Fang Mu one more time, and then turned and followed Bian Ping out of the room.

After returning to his room, Fang Mu sat at his desk for a long time, staring at nothing. Other than smoke cigarette after cigarette, he didn't move an inch.

Then the door opened and Du Yu appeared, a grin on his face. As soon as he entered the room he began to cough.

"Jeez, keep smoking like this and you'll get cancer if you're not careful," he said, opening the door to aerate the room. "Brother, if you're trying to kill yourself, you've picked an awfully slow method."

Fang Mu said nothing, just smiled bitterly, his brows knitted together.

Du Yu's appearance made him realize that this whole time he had been reflecting on the case files he had seen that afternoon. Even now his mental state was much as it had been while in Professor Qiao's office. It was as if a second Fang Mu had quietly emerged within him while he wasn't paying attention, and then had taken over his whole being. This feeling had changed the very nature of his thoughts, and just as any addictive habit that had taken a stronghold, it was difficult to break.

This lack of control was terrifying.

Du Yu walked over and cautiously looked down at Fang Mu.

"What's up with you?" he asked.

"With me? Nothing, I'm fine."

"Then why are you wearing that same gloomy look as before? If something's on your mind you should let it out."

Fang Mu shut his eyes, but then a moment later he opened them and smiled. "It's really nothing. Let's go get something to eat."

The Jin family household was already in a panic.

Holding a cordless phone in his hand, Jin Bingshan anxiously paced back and forth in his living room. On the sofa behind him sat his wife, Yang Qin, her eyes red from crying, along with several female coworkers who were supporting her limp frame and babbling all sorts of worthless words of consolation.