Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes)) (6 page)

To get the truth from the mouth of one who was determined with all his heart to die would be very, very difficult, but Fang Mu still planned on giving it a try. Besides, Luo Jiahai really did have a prior appointment with him.

All the case-related material evidence had been transferred to Changhong City, including the corpses of two of the victims. On the day that Luo Jiahai was asked to identify the bodies, Fang Mu was at the Municipal Bureau also. He stood in the doorway to the morgue, watching distantly as Luo Jiahai was escorted down the hallway by two police officers.

Luo Jiahai was stumbling because he was trying to walk too fast and his ankles were bound with a pair of heavy cuffs. He had his neck stretched out the whole way, and upon approaching the door to the morgue, his eyes began to tear up.

He looked at Fang Mu with trembling lips, seeming about to say something by way of gratitude.

Fang Mu felt rather awkward. He had not actually fulfilled his promise to allow Luo Jiahai to see Shen Xiang one more time; what was happening today was nothing more than a routine procedure to have him identify the bodies. Watching as the two cops pushed him into the morgue, Fang Mu considered this for a moment, and then pulled one of them aside. "After he's finished identifying the bodies, let him stay a while longer on the precondition that he does nothing to mess up the corpses."

Soon the room had grown quiet apart from the heart-rending sound of weeping. The policeman was quite generous and gave him a full 15 minutes before the red-eyed Luo Jiahai was taken out, his face showing a mixture of lamentation and relief.

Luo Jiahai wiped his nose with his sleeve, walked straight over to Fang Mu, and said bluntly, "Let's talk."

Fang Mu stared into his eyes for several seconds. "Okay."

"But I have one condition."

Fang Mu nodded. "Tell me."

"While we're talking, no one else can be present, and no audio or video recordings allowed. And whatever I say, you can tell no one."

"All right, that's not hard to make happen."

In order to preclude any unnecessary worry on the part of Luo Jiahai, Fang Mu did not take him to an interview room; instead he arranged for their conversation to take place in a small conference room on the third floor. While waiting for the elevator in the lobby on the ground floor, the doors had just started to open when he heard an urgent set of footsteps rushing up from behind them.

"Wait!"

A middle-aged man carrying a briefcase hurried over. Fang Mu, Luo Jiahai, and the accompanying police officer hadn't yet stepped into the elevator when the man called out. Fang Mu thought he wanted to catch the elevator, so he reached out to push the door-open button.

The middle-aged man took his time getting into the elevator and asked Luo Jiahai eagerly, "Excuse me. Are you Mr. Luo Jiahai?"

"I am. Who...?" Luo Jiahai looked a bit baffled.

Exhaling in relief, the middle-aged man wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and retrieved a certificate of attorney from the briefcase. "I'm Jiang Dexian, attorney at Hengda Law Firm. I heard about your case and would like to be your defense attorney."

So, a corporate defense lawyer. Fang Mu thought this both curious and ridiculous, but at the same time he felt puzzled. He had heard of this person; Jiang Dexian was a well-known lawyer in the town, and his hands were likely filled with a number of cases already. Why would he take the initiative to come knocking for such an insignificant case like this one?

There was an unwritten rule in the legal profession: Lawyers who were just starting their careers would take on a few criminal cases, especially cases involving the death penalty, in the hopes that they could make a name for themselves if they won. But Jiang Dexian did not need to make a name for himself through such methods.

Luo Jiahai laughed bitterly. "Thank you, but don't bother. I have no use for a lawyer."

"Oh, but you do." Jiang Dexian's tone was firm. "The rules of criminal procedure stipulate that an attorney must be involved in all legal cases involving the death penalty..."

The words
death penalty
seemed to sting Luo Jiahai. A gloomy settled over him. "I'm sorry, but I don't need you. Nor do I have money enough to pay you."

"No; no payment necessary," Jiang Dexian added. "I'll defend you for free. Believe me; I can save your life."

"I don't need you!"

"Give yourself a chance, buddy. Think of your family; think of your girlfr—"

Fang Mu had to doubt Jiang Dexian's professionalism; this probing of his into the family and relationships of a man who was practically doomed to die could be nothing other than rubbing salt in the wound. And thus provoked, Luo Jiahai suddenly lost all reason.

"Get the hell out of here!"

He tried to rush at Jiang Dexian, but having forgotten for the moment that his feet were still cuffed, he took one step and immediately fell to the floor. Terrified, Jiang Dexian retreated a couple of steps, all blood drained from his face.

The policemen in charge of Luo Jiahai's custody snapped into motion, pinning him to the ground. Luo Jiahai continued to struggle and shout abuse. "Get out! Get the hell out! Don't think you can use us to get famous… Get out of here!" His posture suggested that he would not be satisfied until he had bitten a chunk of flesh from Jiang Dexian's leg.

The commotion brought several more cops over to help. Seeing one of them pulling out a baton, Jiang Dexian jumped forward and shouted, "I warn you all, do not use force against my client. If you do…"

With one hand Fang Mu waved for the cop to put his baton away while unceremoniously shoving Jiang Dexian backward with the other. "He isn't your client, so shut up!"

Luo Jiahai was subdued quickly. One of the policemen, with his knees pressing down against Luo Jiahai's shoulder, lifted his head to speak to Fang Mu. "Excuse me, Officer Fang, but I think we need to take him back now."

That went without saying; Fang Mu knew the day's conversation was now an impossibility. Reluctantly, he nodded and signaled for them to take Luo Jiahai back to the detention center.

After watching Luo Jiahai get carried out of the main hall by two of the policemen, Fang Mu turned to find that Jiang Dexian, too, was still staring in the direction of the doors. He must have sensed that Fang Mu was looking at him, for he turned his head. As the two of them locked eyes, Fang Mu saw the trace of an emotion that had not yet had time to dissipate. A second later, Jiang Dexian's expression again returned cold, professional detachment.

He nodded at Fang Mu, turned, and walked off.

Fang Mu contemplated the situation. He had no reason to stay at the precinct, so he, too, made his way toward the exit.

No sooner had he walked out of the main entrance than he saw a black Audi A6 speed off from the street before him, with Jiang Dexian sitting in the driver's seat. As he watched, the car looked like a supple shark darting into the endless stream of heavy traffic. Sighing, he walked toward his jeep.

He got in and started the engine, but for a long time he just sat there in park, engine idling. After a moment he discovered that he was thinking of that emotion he had seen in Jiang Dexian's eyes. It was a look that seldom appeared in the eyes of a professional attorney.

It had been compassion.

CHAPTER
4
Angel Hall

A
ll smiles, Teacher Zhou picked through the paper bags Fang Mu had brought. "Hey, you bought lots!"

Fang Mu's face turned a shade of red. "I'm not very good at buying things…" He watched as Teacher Zhou spread out a pair of jeans. "…I hope Yafan likes them."

"Humph. You were a lot more thoughtful than I would have been." Teacher Zhou folded the articles of clothing and placed them back in the bags. "Yafan has definitely gotten to the age where beauty is all that matters. But in future, you'd better not give her quite so many of these sorts of things; it's best for the children here not to succumb too highly to the vanity bug."

Fang Mu nodded. "For sure."

"So, Yafan will be back shortly. Do you want to give them to her yourself?"

Fang Mu hastily waved his hands in refusal. "You go ahead."

"Me? I'm afraid that wouldn't be very appropriate." Teacher Zhou hefted the bags in his hands. "This girl's a smart one; she'd be able to tell at a glance that I wasn't the one who bought this stuff for her. Sister Zhao, Sister Zhao!"

Sister Zhao walked in, her hands held in front of her and dripping with soap suds. "What's the matter?"

"Give these to Liao Yafan. Tell her you bought them for her. But don't give them to her all at once; spread them out over a few times."

Sister Zhao moved closer and took a peek inside the paper bags, and then looked up at Fang Mu and laughed. "Little Fang, my hands are wet. Help me take them in to my room."

Fang Mu made a compliant sound, took the paper bags, and walked out.

Sister Zhao's room was not very big, and being on the shady side of the building it was quite dark. As soon as Fang Mu entered, the strong scent of smoke assaulted his nostrils. He looked around and placed the paper bags on top of the small single bed.

The room was simple and unadorned, containing only the bed, a chest of drawers, a small table, and two chairs. On top of the chest of drawers were two altar lamps and between them was an incense burner. Amid the heaped ash at its base flickered a few sticks of incense from which thick smoke curled lazily upward. Behind the incense burner, a boy's face was grinning at him from within a black picture frame.

Fang Mu moved closer to the chest of drawers and looked closely at the photograph of the boy. He looked to be no more than 10-year-old or so and in his eyes was a hint of shyness and a look of pretending to be more mature than he was. Traces of a slightly mischievous smile lingered in the corners of his mouth; whoever had taken the photo must have been a close relative, perhaps even Sister Zhao herself.

"That's Sister Zhao's son." At some point Teacher Zhou had walked in behind him. He came and stood next to Fang Mu, gazing at the photograph in front of them.

Fang Mu glanced at the doorway and asked in a low voice, "How…how old was this kid?"

"Eight."

"Illness?"

"No. Suicide."

Fang Mu was shocked. "Suicide?"

Teacher Zhou nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the photograph. After a long while, he sighed and picked up a few sticks of incense from on top of the chest of drawers. He used one of the alter lamps to light them, and then stuck them into the incense burner. The smoke, having grown weak, suddenly thickened.

At dusk, Teacher Zhou tried again to get Fang Mu to stay for dinner. This time he did not decline; he even volunteered to help Sister Zhao peel the potatoes. At first Sister Zhao felt bad and would not let Fang Mu help no matter what he said, but gave in to his repeated insistence. However, after he had peeled three potatoes, Sister Zhao refused to let him continue.

"You're peeling off too much potato with the skin. If you keep going, the amount you'll waste would be enough for a whole extra dish!"

Fang Mu had no choice but to switch to the least technical job she had for him—washing the potatoes.

"How come you're always eating potatoes here, anyways?" Fang Mu placed the washed potatoes one by one into the water basin, and soon had piled them two layers deep.

"We have no choice. They're cheap." Sister Zhao gathered her hair into a ponytail with her hands. "Old Zhou bought such a big plot of land for this orphanage, and now we're already just about broke. Plus, we don't get a lot of charity donations and regular financial assistance such as yours is even rarer. With so many children to feed, clothe, educate, and keep healthy, we have to save money where we can, you know?"

"Yes, of course." He nodded. "It must be hard for Teacher Zhou." He glanced around and whispered to Sister Zhao, "How come I've never met Teacher Zhou's wife?"

"Ah, I've asked him before. The old buzzard has never married; he's been flying solo his whole life."

"What?" He couldn't help but feel admiration. "I guess the old fellow's dedicated his life to these kids."

"Yes, he really is something." She gazed in the direction of the courtyard. Teacher Zhou was sitting in the middle of a flowerbed and in front of him was a little girl, crying with her knuckles held to her eyes. Teacher Zhou was patting her head and saying something soothing to her; the little girl kept nodding her head.

"He excels at giving people guidance. No matter how complex their troubles seem, after talking a while with Teacher Zhou they always come out feeling better." Sister Zhao turned back to Fang Mu, her voice softening. "To be able to meet a person like him in this lifetime, and to be blessed with a chance to work with him, I must have done something remarkable in a past life to deserve it."

He laughed and turned to look back at Teacher Zhou. More than half of the sun's disc had sunk below the horizon already. With his back to the sunset, Teacher Zhou's profile appeared plated with a thin layer of gold that seemed to glow in the deepening twilight. The little girl had stopped crying and a sweet smile had emerged between the tear stains that crisscrossed her oval face.

A girl suddenly jumped in through the kitchen doorway. Confronted with a stranger in the room, the naughty look in her eyes immediately vanished.

It was Liao Yafan, wearing a new pair of jeans. When she saw that the one washing potatoes was Fang Mu, she yelped in surprise, turned, and ran out.

Sister Zhao cursed and laughed. "That child is wound too tight."

A flustered Liao Yafan soon returned, her new jeans having been replaced with a pair of old track pants. Without a word, she grabbed a bowl full of potatoes and began to wash them, head down.

Fang Mu felt that awkwardness again. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands, and then returned to stand for a while in his original spot, after which he turned to walk outside into the courtyard. But before he left, he heard Liao Yafan whisper, "Thank you, Sister Zhao."

The number of children in the courtyard seemed to have abruptly multiplied. Most of them were skinny and wore plain, simple clothing, but the carefree expressions on their faces were no different from those worn by children who had grown up nestled in the arms of a mother and father. This was probably the liveliest time of day at the orphanage. Children who had just gotten out of school burned wholeheartedly through their last reserves of energy, and those children with disabilities, who had had to remain in the courtyard, did not hold back either; they sang out to their returning comrades with an enthusiasm that had accumulated inside them all day long. Everywhere there were children laughing, shouting, and chasing each other back and forth.

Fang Mu sat on a flower bed partition, smoking leisurely and feeling an unexplainable sense of relaxation. His gaze flitted over the children as they dashed past and smelled the fine dust they kicked up in their wake. He remembered that when he was little he, too, had found immense merriment in playing in the dirt like these children. It was pleasantly surprising to find that even in a time when internet cafes and gaming rooms were everywhere one looked, such a simple action as running could still bring such joy to the children.

He became aware that a small child was peering at him through the flowers and grass on the other side of the flower bed. Judging by the simple look and the pair of skewed eyes on his plump face, the child was mentally challenged in some way.

When the child discovered that Fang Mu was looking back at him, he laughed out loud, reached out a limp hand, and waved as hard as he could.

Fang Mu chuckled and waved back at him. Encouraged, the child waved again.

This went on a few more times before Fang Mu finally caught on that this child was actually trying to play a game of rock-paper-scissors with him, but at the same time he realized the kid only had two fingers on each hand. Fang Mu thought for a moment and then began to put out his hand with all five fingers spread in the
"
paper" formation.

This made the master of the "scissors" very happy, and with each successive victory the boy
'
s mouth widened in an overjoyed smile. He even ran a few steps into the flower bed and did a somersault, climbed hastily back to his feet, and continued playing with this fellow who kept putting out "paper" each time without fail.

The sky grew darker, and the child's hands became gradually more indistinct among the shadows from the flowers. Soon Fang Mu could no longer make them out; all he could hear were the excited giggles from his diminutive adversary.

Suddenly he sensed another person nearby. He turned to find Liao Yafan standing in the darkness a few yards away, silently watching him.

After a few seconds, she said softly,
"
Time to eat."

It was a very simple dinner: cabbage boiled tofu, hash browns, chili sauce, and steamed rice. Fang Mu was seated next to Teacher Zhou. Across from him sat Liao Yafan.

Liao Yafan herself did not eat quickly; she was holding a one-year-old disabled baby in her arms and feeding him one spoonful at a time. She let him lean against her chest, holding the spoon in her right hand and a handkerchief in her left, ready to catch any soup that might dribble out of the baby's mouth. Each time he swallowed, Liao Yafan took the opportunity to ladle a few bites of rice or soup and stuff them into her own mouth.

Apparently Fang Mu's willingness to stay for dinner had made Teacher Zhou quite happy. Perhaps because he felt apologetic that the meal was so simple, the old teacher went out of his way to pour a couple of shots of white liquor as recompense.

It was a fine liquor; even Fang Mu, who knew virtually nothing about quality drinking, felt each sip go down soft and mellow. Upon seeing Fang Mu smack his lips in appreciation, Teacher Zhou laughed and said, "It's Wuliangye."

"Ah. I've seriously never drank liquor this good before."

"Well, let me pour you a bit more then!"

"Oh, no thank you," Fang Mu said, quickly declining with a wave of his hand. "I still have to drive in a bit. Plus, you should save such fine alcohol as this for when you're entertaining important guests. Letting a layman like myself drink it up is just a waste."

Teacher Zhou held his shot glass level with both hands and took a delicate sip, holding it in his mouth a while before swallowing.

"Ah," he said slowly, savoring. "Back in the day, I drank Wuliangye like it was water; I had absolutely no appreciation for its flavor." He turned the tiny cup in his hands. "Now there aren't as many opportunities to drink, so when I do have a quality liquor, I can taste its mellowness. It seems to me that the best thing about an aftertaste is the instant it disappears.
"

A low chuckle came from Sister Zhao, a muffled sound around a mouthful of rice. "Old man, I'm guessing you didn't think so much of that stuff back when you had all that money, eh?"