Antonio Garrido - The Corpse Reader

He stopped, looking closely at the corpse’s lips. He made a mental note, and then carried on with his commentary.

“The upper torso shows scratches, probably from having been dragged along the ground. In the abdominal area,” he continued, trying his best to hide his revulsion, “there is a deep cut reaching from the bottom of the left lung to the right groin; the innards have spilled out of this incision.” He broke off to force down another retch. “The intestines are distended, unlike the stomach itself. The penis looks normal. The legs don’t have any scratches on them.”

What have you got me into, Xu? It’s not easy figuring out how someone died—what on earth made you think I could identify the killer, too?

He got the monks to stop digging for a moment and help him turn the body over; unfortunately, there were no marks on the back to help him complete a theory he’d begun to form, so he covered up the body.

“It would appear that the cause of death was the large gash across the gut. That led to the viscera—”

“Gods!” shouted one of the older men of the family. “We haven’t paid you to spell out the obvious!” He gestured to a young, thin man with a scar down his face, who stepped forward and, without a word, grabbed Cí by the hair and held a dagger to his throat.

The older man took a stub of a candle and placed it on the ground next to Cí.

“You’ve got until this burns down to give us an answer. If you haven’t figured it out by then, we’ll be mourning you and your partner, too.”

Cí shuddered; he still hadn’t much of an idea of the cause of death. He glanced at Xu, who didn’t return the look.

Cí had embers brought from the kitchen and spread out across the pit. Once they died down, Cí laid a wicker mat over them and sprinkled it with vinegar. Then he had the body laid on top of the mat and covered with a blanket.

Cí’s stomach was in knots. He kneeled down to examine the corpse’s ankles.

“As I was saying, it might seem as if the gash killed him, but all it actually proves is how cunning and depraved the killer was.” He ran his fingers over the ankles. “The killer was cold, calculating, disturbed. He made sure he had plenty of time to carry out the crime, and he manipulated the body so that we’d mistake the cause of death.”

He had the room’s attention now. He tried to focus on what to say, and not on the weak, guttering flame.

“This man did not die from the incision. I know this because the skin immediately around the gash has not attracted worms; that is, when the incision was made, no blood flowed. And that means that when the incision was made, he had already been dead a few hours.”

A startled murmur went around the room.

“Nor did he die from drowning. His stomach is empty, and there are no food particles in his nostrils or mouth, nor any insects or the kind of muck you usually associate with wells. Had he been dropped in the well alive , he almost certainly would have swallowed an amount of this kind of matter. I therefore conclude that he was dead before he was thrown into the well.”

“He wasn’t stabbed or drowned, and he wasn’t beaten to death,” said one of the sons. “So how did he die?”

Cí was all too aware that his and Xu’s lives were on the line. The candle was almost burned down. He weighed his words carefully.

“My conclusion is that your father was poisoned.” Another murmur went around. “Black lips and dark tongue—these are sure signs of one thing, and one thing only: cinnabar, also known as red mercury, the Taoist’s fatal elixir and the demented alchemist’s venom. After he was dead, under cover of night, your father was dragged by his ankles, face down, and thrown most disgracefully into the well in his own garden. But the killer hadn’t finished. He still had time to open up the stomach and mutilate the face—both of which were intended purely to throw us off.”

“How can you possibly know all this?” came a voice.

“The marks revealed by the vinegar vapor are incontrovertible.” He pointed to the finger imprints on the ankles. “And then, the scratches on the stomach, and the nails, which have so much soil under them, complete the picture.”

“This is all very impressive, but you still haven’t given us the name. The name!” the elder bellowed suddenly, and the youth sprang forward again, grabbing Xu and putting the knife to his neck.

A few moments passed; the room was silent.

The elder wasn’t bluffing; he nodded to the youth, who moved to slice Xu’s throat.

“The Great Deceiver!” shouted Cí. It was the first thing that came to his mind.

The youth looked to the elder for direction.

“That’s the name of the man you’re after,” said Cí.

He glanced at Xu, hoping he’d know what to do next. But Xu’s eyes were pressed shut in terror.

“Do it,” said the elder.

Xu’s eyes were suddenly wide open. “Chang!” Xu shouted. “The Great Deceiver is also known as Chang!”

The elder went pale.

“Chang?” He reached a trembling hand into his robe and brought out a knife that glinted in the light. He advanced slowly on one of the men, who took a few terrified steps back.

The elder motioned to the others, and several of the men took hold of Chang. He denied his guilt at first, but when they started pulling out his fingernails, he burst out with the admission, but he said he hadn’t meant to do it.

They took their time putting him to death; the elder slit Chang’s neck veins, prolonging the process with great skill. Finally, Chang breathed his last and collapsed forward.

Then the men turned to Cí and bowed, and the elder handed Xu a purse full of coins.

“The rest of your money.” Though Xu was still recovering from the shock, he managed to return the elder’s bow. “Now, if you’ll allow us, it’s time for us to honor our dead.”

Xu made to leave, but Cí stopped him.

“Hear me!” Cí exhorted the room. “The gods have spoken through us. It was their will that the murderer be revealed. By the power vested in me, I order you to never breathe a word of what has happened here this evening. Not another soul can know. If anyone shares this secret, all hell’s devils and demons will pursue him, and his family, and death will be close on their heels.”

The elder considered the words, pursing his lips. Finally he gave another bow and withdrew with his contingent. Cí and Xu were shown the exit by the monk who had brought them in.

The pair made their way back into the city, coming back down the hill atop which the Great Pagoda sat. There was a glimmer of the rising sun out to sea—a sun that barely seemed real to Cí. They walked in silence, each of them lost in thought over what had happened. As they approached the city wall, Xu turned to face Cí.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, threatening them like that? They know everyone. If not for your clever little sermon, everyone would be hearing about us; we’d be rolling in clients. We’d make enough to buy ourselves our own cemetery! You just threw it all away!”

Cí didn’t think he could tell Xu that a sheriff was trying to track him down. But that didn’t stop his stomach from churning with anger. Their lives had been on the line, and Xu didn’t even see fit to thank him for saving them. All Xu cared about was the future of the business.

He had a sudden urge to get away from Xu—to take Third and get away, anywhere.

“Is this how you repay me?” Cí said.

“Hey, careful now!” shouted Xu. “Don’t try and take all the credit. I named Chang!”

“OK, I get it,” he said. “You’d have preferred it if I let that guy slit your throat. It would have been better, you reckon, if I’d said nothing about the corpse.”