Chapter 8: Who Was the Victim?

2022-05-20

Xiao Liu was in charge of investigating the victim’s identity, but right now he looked like he wanted to slap himself. “I just assumed the victim was Zhang Xutong, so I didn’t check her identity carefully. Plus, everyone was busy…”

What Xiao Liu meant was that Team Leader Shao had sent almost everyone out on other tasks. Team Leader Shao cleared his throat and said, “Is there anything else? Go find out who the victim really is. Compare her with all the missing persons cases reported around here. We have to get to the bottom of her identity.”

Now that the killer was caught, there were still a lot of unanswered questions, but at least the immediate pressure was gone.

By lunchtime, Xiao Liu still hadn’t returned.

The three of us sat together eating and chatting. I asked, “Mary…”

“Call me Sister Mary or Senior Mary, thanks.” Mary glared at me as she grabbed a huge piece of braised pork.

“Mm, Mary,” I said, then added, “Why didn’t your husband come? I heard he became a coach when he was only twenty-five.”

Mary stuffed the meat into her mouth, chewed fiercely, and said, “He’s off on some classified mission. Hasn’t been heard from since. But really, kid, how do you know so much about us? My husband’s a pretty low-key guy.”

I shrugged. “Where I grew up, a lot of people owed their trip to jail to your husband…”

Later that afternoon, Xiao Liu came back looking miserable. “Boss, none of the missing persons reports match the victim, not a single one. Based on the condition of her body, she’s been dead for two days. Normally, if a twenty-year-old girl hadn’t returned home in two days, someone would’ve filed a report by now. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

It was odd—and honestly, her showing up in the rain that night was the strangest part.

I kept tugging at my hair, turning things over in my mind. Then a memory hit me. Last night, when we found Luo Zhongcheng, he was already dead. We found three whole packs of that stuff—definitely not a small amount.

But that wasn’t the real point. What mattered was that Luo Zhongcheng had wiped the packaging with tissues.

“Get me a train timetable,” I told Xiao Liu. “For the old-fashioned green trains!”

Back when we were working the case in the Western Suburbs, I remembered a line of trains rolling past us—including a few of those retro green trains. Maybe there was a clue hidden there. Xiao Liu didn’t really get what I was after, but since I’d been brought in as his boss’s man, he couldn’t ignore my request.

“No need,” Mary said, polishing off the last of the braised pork. “I’ll handle it.”

She pulled out an ultra-thin laptop I’d never seen before—probably custom-made. Then I remembered Mary was an expert—one of the best in the field. In no time, a detailed train schedule was open on her screen, even listing the train captains and staff.

The victim had died around 2:10 AM the previous night. Counting back about twenty minutes, that was roughly when she arrived. The departure time, train speed, and distance from the starting point to where she was killed—once we had those three facts, we’d know if any trains passed nearby when she showed up.

The informant Zhang Xutong’s train was a T-class express—those only stopped at major cities and usually skipped this one. By that time, the victim was already dead and Luo Zhongcheng was dumping the body, so we could ignore all trains after that. What mattered were the trains that passed through earlier.

Sure enough, thirteen minutes before, a green train had come through.

That meant the girl would’ve arrived before the train—otherwise, the timing could’ve gone badly wrong.

I tugged my hair and kept thinking: a rainy night, a woman, a slow-moving train. There’d been a huge unanswered question from the start—why did women keep ending up on the train tracks? From what I’d found, this was the fourth time.

Before, these cases were always ruled accidents. There were long gaps between them, but that just made them more shocking.

Team Leader Shao spotted the look on my face. He came over and asked quietly, “Did you notice something?”

“Nightclubs, bars, KTVs,” I blurted out.

Mary rolled her eyes. “You sure jump around—just now you wanted train schedules, and now you’re talking nightclubs. What are you even trying to do?”

I met Mary’s eyes. “Looking for someone.”

“Who?” she asked.

“The victim’s real identity.” I replied.

By midnight, most of the city was asleep.

On a night like this, someone spotted a shifty, tired-looking figure. He called out, “What’s the metal reactivity series?”

The person flinched but immediately rattled off, “Potassium, calcium, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, zinc, iron, tin, lead, hydrogen, copper, mercury, silver, platinum, gold.”

He waved him off. “If you’re out this late, you’re either up to no good or a student.”

But actually, the city’s hottest spots were just getting started—nightclubs, KTVs, dance halls, bars. Here, the nightlife was in full swing. Gu Chen and I were standing outside a club called Black Forest, watching young people puke on the sidewalk. Some were so drunk they just sprawled out on the street, fast asleep.

All kinds of wild things started up in that kind of atmosphere—like ‘picking up’ strangers. For example, there were three bleached-blond punks at my ten o’clock, sitting on the curb smoking and checking out the Black Forest club.

But I wasn’t here for them—I was here to find someone.

The world inside and outside the club were totally different. Outside was dead quiet, but inside was a zoo—shouts, music, bottles clinking, the heavy scent of cocktails swirling in the air. Just stepping in made my head spin.

People stayed out because they didn’t have the nerve to end their day. Under the neon lights, most folks here were lost in the haze—drenched in sweat, spinning in a world of excess.

“Sir…” I caught the attention of a server as I walked in.

I scanned the room, grabbed a bottle from someone’s table, and smashed it right on the tabletop before the people sitting there could get angry. The server saw I was here to stir things up and spoke into the microphone clipped to his shirt, “Brother Li, we’ve got trouble.”

Moments later, a bald guy with some muscle showed up with a crew and faced off with Gu Chen and me.

“You the one causing trouble?” Baldy with the gold chain asked.

“Would you believe me if I said no?” I said, trying to be sincere. “I’m just trying to see Sister Mao. There’s no way I’d get to you guys without making a scene.”

“Sister Mao?” Baldy ripped off his jacket, showing a giant dragon tattoo and a knife scar across his chest. “You got some nerve coming for her. If I don’t beat you to a pulp, I’m not Baldy Biao!”

I sighed. Why does no one ever believe the truth?

“Don’t go too hard on me,” I said.

“A little late for mercy now,” Baldy Biao shot back.

I shrugged. After I finished my cigarette, Baldy Biao and his men were already sprawled on the floor. I handed Gu Chen a cigarette and said, “Thanks for backing me up, man. I’ll handle the rest.”

Gu Chen took the cigarette and said, “Baldy Biao isn’t even as tough as those beggars at the train station. Total pretenders.”

Beggar doesn’t always mean real beggar, and tough guy doesn’t always mean real tough guy. Most club bouncers were just neighborhood punks with numbers on their side, but if they met someone skilled, they were hopeless. Baldy Biao here was definitely a poser.

“You still want to rough me up?” I asked.

Baldy shook his head.

“So you can call Sister Mao now, right?” I said.

He nodded.

An hour later, Sister Mao walked in. I took a good look at her—just like Brother Huang Er had described. She was a woman in her thirties, hair in waves, holding a small purse and smoking a slim cigarette.

Smoke drifted around her, backlit by the lights, wrapping her and her ten-plus followers in mist.

“Sister Mao?” I asked.

“You the one causing trouble?” she said. “Black Forest isn’t my main turf, but that doesn’t mean any random punk can come make a mess. Teach these two a lesson, but don’t cripple them.”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m here for your help.”

She flicked her cigarette to the ground and crushed it with her high heels, answering lazily, “You want my help?”

I nodded. “Brother Huang Er told me, if I ever found myself stuck in this city, I should come find you.”

“Huang Er?” She looked me up and down, surprised. “What’s your relationship with him? What can I do for you?”

“He’s like a brother,” I said. “I need a favor—I want you to help me look for someone.”

Then I pulled out a photo of the victim and walked over. “Sister Mao, do you recognize this girl? Is she one of yours?”