Lei Mi - Profiler

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.