Tao Ran was nonplussed. “Why do you say that?”
“You guys took a photo of the victim’s jacket, didn’t you? There was a tag on it that he hadn’t cut off yet.”
“Of course we checked his clothes. That jacket was from some small shop nearby. We verified with the shop owner and from security-camera footage that the deceased bought it himself.”
“I’m not saying the killer put it on him. Why would you put a jacket on someone after you killed them?” Fei Du laughed. “But if he wore that new jacket out without removing the tag, maybe it seemed a bit pricey, cost more than he was used to spending. But he needed it for something important, so he figured he’d wear it once and then return it. Underprivileged students sometimes do that when they go for their first job interviews. Was the deceased left-handed?”
Tao Ran paused. He’d visited He Zhongyi’s rental; he thought back on where everything was placed. “No.”
“The shoes are from a mid-range brand,” Fei Du continued airily. “They’re well maintained, but the wear on the left one is obvious. He probably borrowed them.”
According to the school security guard’s statement, if He Zhongyi had argued with the person he met before he died, then that person was a man he knew. It was probably someone from his home province, possibly even a relative—otherwise, they wouldn’t have used the province’s dialect. Would he have needed to dress up to meet someone like that?
Tao Ran lived close to work, so they arrived before he puzzled out those details. Collecting himself, he stopped the car by the front gate of his apartment complex. “What you’re saying is that since he got dressed up before he died, it’s likely he was meeting a woman?”
“Not necessarily. He may have taken the trouble to borrow clothes and shoes, but the outfit’s pretty formal. I think it was more for a job interview, or maybe he was meeting someone he really respected. If he was meeting a woman, they were probably set up by a mutual acquaintance, and it was probably their first time meeting.” Fei Du opened the zipper on Tao Ran’s old satchel, then rezipped it shut and tugged lightly. It didn’t come undone again. He handed the bag to Tao Ran. “Your zipper head was loose—I tightened it. Anyway, it’s like… If I went out to meet you, I definitely wouldn’t put on a three-piece suit—although I might spray on a bit of cologne.”
Fei Du’s eyes were a shade lighter than pure black. In the dark, they seemed especially bright, and when he fixed them on a person, they seemed to speak—enticing the listener to forget themselves and drown in them. It was a shame that Deputy Sergeant Tao was effectively blind to that.
“Buzz off. If you want to practice flirting with your girls, don’t use me.” Tao Ran gave Fei Du’s conjectures a moment of serious consideration, then asked thoughtfully, “What do you think it means to stick a piece of paper on someone’s forehead after killing them, then?”
“Oh,” said Fei Du. “Maybe they wanted to keep the corpse from reanimating.” Tao Ran almost rolled his eyes. Then, however, Fei Du assumed a different tone. “Or maybe they regretted killing him and subconsciously expressed their grief and respect for the deceased by imitating an existing practice.”
Tao Ran thought that over. “What if it didn’t cover his whole face, though?” he probed. “What if it was just a small strip of paper taped to the victim’s hair, only covering a narrow area from his forehead to the space between his eyes?”
“The forehead’s a very symbolic facial feature. When elders reprimand children, when stronger people bully weaker ones, and when owners punish pets, they always strike the forehead. Then again, maybe the paper on his forehead represents a tag. You’d only tag something you were selling at a shopping complex, so maybe it’s a form of objectification. What was written on the paper?”
“‘Money,’” said Tao Ran. Fei Du raised an eyebrow. His brows were well shaped, long and clearly defined as they curved into his temples; they gave him a cold beauty. “What are you thinking?” asked Tao Ran.
“Many things. Still, a single word could mean anything, so reading too much into it could be misleading.” Fei Du laughed. “Tao Ran, we’re at your place.”
Tao Ran started, only then realizing that he’d discussed far too much with Fei Du. He pushed the door open to leave, but then thought of something and paused. Still holding the door, he bent down slightly. “Open your hand.”
Confused, Fei Du did as he was told. Tao Ran dug something from his pocket and put it in his palm.
“Fei Du, if you want to jump into the sea, your best bet is to get changed and go swim around on your own for a bit—not cling to a lifesaver while you stand in one corner, soaking your feet. You’re grown now. You can’t rely too much on one person. I’m going home now—drive safe.”
Holding the handful of milk candies Tao Ran had given him, Fei Du watched him walk into his aging apartment building. The candies were from a very old brand that Fei Du hadn’t seen on the market in years. He’d assumed that the factory closed down. He didn’t know where Tao Ran had gotten them. Maybe they were leftover, expired candies. After all, since they were out of their main packaging, there was no way to see their production date.
Fei Du unwrapped a candy and ate it. It was cheap and old; the texture was gritty, and the substance stuck to the teeth, but it was at least sweet enough.
He put the song Tao Ran had frowned at back on an infinite loop and sat silently for a moment. Only when he’d finished the entire handful of candies did he get back into the driver’s seat. Just as he was about to drive off, he suddenly noticed a photo Tao Ran had left behind in the car. The tiny passport-style shot had slipped into a crack in the seat, escaping his notice earlier.
Fei Du turned on the light inside the car and picked up the deceased’s passport photo. Unlike the earlier photo showing the corpse’s sallow, scary face, this one let Fei Du make out the young man’s actual appearance. His brow slowly creasing, Fei Du stared at the crescent-shaped scar on the young man’s temple.