Chapter 52: Bride in White: A Hanging Mystery

2022-05-20

“You’re saying there was someone else in Gao Rui’s house?” a few people asked, looking confused.

I nodded and told everyone, “That’s right. Did you all notice that bottle of red wine? Judging by the marks on the cork, it had just been opened for the first time. Yet, a third of the wine was already gone. Even if Gao Rui poured himself a full glass, there shouldn’t be that much missing.”

Guan Zengbin’s baffled look turned to shock. “So Gao Rui wasn’t drinking alone? That means someone else was there, drinking with him when it happened!”

I snapped my fingers and said, “Exactly. Gao Rui must have died after sharing that wine with someone. And that means the other person was someone he knew.”

“Right,” I said, turning to Gu Chen. “Did you find anything on the cameras outside?”

Gu Chen shrugged and tilted his head. “Someone destroyed the surveillance footage. We found that out right away during the investigation.”

I couldn’t help but frown. This case was turning out to be anything but simple.

Guan Zengbin started pacing in circles around the chair, talking as she walked. “But think about it—if it was murder, why would Gao Rui let someone inject potassium cyanide into his veins? I found nothing unusual in his system, and what’s left from the wine couldn’t have made him too weak to fight back.”

She stopped and said, “Based on what we know, I still think it’s suicide.”

I tugged thoughtfully at my hair. Honestly, I also thought suicide was more likely. But if someone else had been in Gao Rui’s apartment, could they have forced him to kill himself somehow? Maybe threatened him using people he cared about?

It wasn’t impossible.

“Let’s start with Gao Rui’s acquaintances,” I said to the others. “During the last case, Gao Rui tried to cover up the crime scene, getting in the way of our investigation. Even though we spoke for him, he definitely lost his job. He wouldn’t be allowed back into the school lab. So, how did he even get his hands on potassium cyanide?”

By dusk, we’d made our way to Yucai High to ask some questions.

Honestly, Gao Rui was well-liked. After all, there aren’t many people who are both handsome and talented. Still, asking for potassium cyanide would raise alarms immediately. That stuff’s dangerous, and anyone taking it from the lab would have to sign for it—unless they stole some.

But when we asked around, nobody said Gao Rui had ever made such a request. In fact, a lot of people hadn’t seen him at all.

We checked the lab’s chemical logs and found no one had requested potassium cyanide in the last three months. Plus, the supply in the lab was untouched, so nobody had stolen any from there.

Looking at the building opposite the high school, I asked a teacher, “Is that the middle school over there?”

The teacher nodded. “Are you thinking it came from the middle school?”

Inside the middle school’s lab…

“Someone really did steal potassium cyanide,” the young female teacher in charge blurted out, sweating nervously.

Just a small piece of potassium cyanide could kill an adult in minutes, and the stolen amount was enough to kill ten.

“Cameras?” I asked quietly.

“No cameras,” the teacher replied.

Gu Chen shook his head, looking helpless. “How is it so easy to steal something so dangerous?”

“The school’s been here for decades, and no one’s ever stolen anything—until I arrive…” The teacher broke down in tears.

Guan Zengbin hurried over to comfort her.

Whoever stole the cyanide—if it wasn’t Gao Rui—must’ve been someone from Yucai School. They had to know there weren’t cameras in the middle school’s lab, or they wouldn’t have risked it. The most likely suspect was an insider. I glanced at the young teacher and couldn’t help but imagine some cliché love-drama—maybe someone who secretly liked Gao Rui gave it to him?

“Let’s investigate,” I sighed. “Take statements, one at a time.”

With a case like this, where there’s no clue at all, all we could do was follow procedure: check surveillance, record testimonies.

But just as we were getting started, Xiao Liu called me. “Hey, Wu Meng, where’d you guys run off to?”

“Working on the case, what’s up?” I replied.

“Someone else just committed suicide. The way it happened—it’s eerily similar to the Gao Rui case.” Xiao Liu said, “It’s on Yanghao Street. You won’t miss it when you get there. I’m headed out to the scene now.”

As soon as I heard him, I cut in, “Don’t go to the scene. Grab a team and check out the missing cyanide from Yucai’s middle school. That’s a big job—I’m putting you in charge!”

“What? Why do I always get stuck with the boring and exhausting jobs? Last time—”

Before Xiao Liu could finish, I quickly said, “Signal’s bad, Liu, what did you say?”

I hung up, then turned to Guan Zengbin and Gu Chen. “Let’s go!”

Technically, suicides weren’t our responsibility—tracking down Zhao Mingkun was still our top priority. But this case involved Gao Rui, and there was no way I could just walk away. I hadn’t known Gao Rui for long, but sometimes friendship has nothing to do with how long you’ve known someone.

Yanghao Street sits in Dongxing City’s old district, where buildings still hold onto styles from decades past. No surprise, not a single camera in sight. The two suicides happened just one day apart and not far from each other. From what Xiao Liu described, the methods were even similar—otherwise, he wouldn’t have called us in.

By the time we arrived, it was already dark.

We stepped into the old apartment building. The voice-activated lights were all broken. If someone hadn’t warned us, Gu Chen would’ve probably stomped a hole clean through the stairs.

As we went up, the officer who got there ahead of us filled us in.

The dead woman was named Wang Yiman, thirty-two years old. Her husband died in a car accident five years ago; their four-year-old daughter died in that same crash. After her husband died, Wang Yiman locked herself away, rarely talking to anyone.

Just now, she was found hanged in her own home. She’d been dead a while—the only reason anyone noticed was the smell trickling out. If not for the stink, no one would’ve found her.

At about seven, police got a call. The neighbor noticed a foul odor coming from Wang Yiman’s apartment. They knocked—no answer—so they called for help. At first, the police thought it was a civil dispute, but when they got inside, they found the body.

We’d reached her floor as the story wrapped up.

Opening the door, the first thing we saw was the body.

Wang Yiman was dressed in a wedding gown, the long train spreading across the floor.

“Move in!” I called, snapping my fingers.

I stood beneath the body, face-to-face with Wang Yiman. The stench of decay was overwhelming, but her body itself hadn’t decomposed too badly. Looking closer, I realized her face was carefully made up—she’d taken the time to do her makeup before dying.

I lifted the trailing skirt to check. Hanging deaths almost always end in incontinence, after all.

Wang Yiman had prepared everything so she’d look dignified, even in death.

She must have cared a lot about her appearance.

The stool was the right height for her feet. It’s nothing like those TV dramas where the stool is far from the victim’s feet so someone can fake a suicide scene. That just doesn’t happen in real life.

“Take the body down—carefully,” I said.

Guan Zengbin started a quick external exam.

“All the doors and windows were locked,” Gu Chen reported. “Were they locked when you came in?”

“Yes, locked tight. We had to break down the door. Once inside, we checked everything; all the windows were locked, and bars covered everything. If someone had killed her and tried to escape, there’s no way out.”

“Clear ligature marks,” Guan Zengbin said, examining the body. “Only one groove on the neck, slanting upward. That rules out strangulation disguised as hanging. Judging by the lividity and rigor mortis, I’d say she’s been dead two days. The way the feet and rope lined up—it was a short-drop hanging.”

“Wait, what’s short-drop? Long-drop?” I asked.

Guan Zengbin rolled her eyes. “It means she stood on a stool, kicked it over, and hanged herself. The drop was short, so her spine didn’t break. From the way the rope dug into her neck, she even thought about the exact angle before tying it. Very deliberate.”

So she went out of her way to get it just right?

Guan Zengbin continued, “Don’t think hanging always kills the same way. Sometimes it cuts off blood to the brain, sometimes the spine snaps, sometimes it closes the airway, and sometimes it triggers the vagus nerve and you die instantly.”

“We’ll only know the real cause of death once we get her to the autopsy room.”