Chapter 9
FEI DU TWISTED the oxygen tube gently, then abruptly smiled. Turning, he blew a kiss at the security camera. “Just messin’ with you.”
He bent down and pulled out a card from a little table to the side. This expensive care home offered a unique service: When patients were physically unable to communicate, their families sometimes felt that just monologuing at them was an inadequate way to express their feelings, so the facility always had paper and pens for the families to write with. That way, their feelings could take a more tangible form. Fei Du gave the man on the bed a withering glance, then wrote simply, with no salutation or sign-off, I hope you can hold on for a few more years.
The care home’s price was no joke. The man’s annual medical costs were enough to pay the salaries of several doctors and nurses. Perhaps some people only benefited those around them in their last few years, when they lay in bed unconscious.
The scorching sun blazed outside the window, but the air conditioning in the intensive care ward kept the temperature the same year-round. Between that and the shade cast by the lush, spreading greenery outside, it almost felt a little chilly.
Once he’d expressed his feelings—I’m happy to see you suffer—it was like Fei Du had completed an annual ritual. He drove back to Yancheng alone. Even when there was no traffic, the drive from Haibin Care Facility was over four hours.
Fei Du had told Dr. Bai that he’d pick up a book from her that evening. He’d officially concluded his regular appointments, but he maintained a friendship with the therapist, visiting with gifts every so often and borrowing books that she recommended.
If nothing else came up, then his plans for his twenty-second birthday included driving for hours, visiting someone in a coma, borrowing a book on mental illness, going home and reading it until midnight, and then getting some rest. Usually, Fei Du liked to go wherever was busiest, but all his close friends knew that he generally shouldn’t be contacted on his birthday, the anniversary of his mother’s death, or during holidays. Even Zhang Donglai, who had no decorum or tact, stayed away during those times—not that he’d have been able to bother Fei-zong anyway, since Fei Du’s phone would be off the entire day and no calls would reach him.
The highway back to Yancheng was congested, so Fei Du got back an hour later than planned. A little tired, he tried to keep himself awake by listening to the radio. The Yancheng police happened to be putting out a call that day for information from the general populace regarding Qu Tong’s disappearance.
“…especially around schools, youth centers, summer classes, and summer camps. If you notice anyone suspicious, please call the police immediately… Also, a reminder to parents: It is currently summer vacation, so please be vigilant about your children’s safety…”
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“HOW DID THAT PROGRAM END UP going into the dangers of swimming in the wild?”
Having run around outside all day, Luo Wenzhou finally returned to the municipal bureau just before the workday ended. He felt like his soul was about to evaporate out of the top of his head. Mercilessly, he dumped someone else’s tea into his own cup and drank it all.
Lang Qiao ran over, but it was too late to stop him. “Boss, that’s my diet tea!” she screamed.
Luo Wenzhou paused for a moment, then downed the rest of the cup without so much as a change in expression. At this point, he’d have drunk any liquid, even insecticide. When he was done, he wiped his mouth. “Did you guys find anything at Qu Tong’s place? And did you find Xu Wenchao or Su Xiaolan?”
“We checked all the footage from store cameras near Qu Tong’s apartment,” Lang Qiao replied. “In a single day, more than forty different people visited on business alone—real-estate agents, delivery drivers with parcels and milk and food and whatever else. Good thing they all wore uniforms. I called and confirmed their identities and whereabouts with their companies. Four of them were suspicious, and they’ve been brought here for questioning. We’ve also made a list of everyone who entered or left the neighborhood outside rush hour. There’s more than eighty of them, and we’re currently checking their addresses with the neighborhood committee.”
Hearing about the workload almost made Luo Wenzhou’s overheated brain explode. It was a good thing the municipal bureau had enough hands on deck. Who knew how long it would take to go through all that otherwise?
“We’ve already found Xu Wenchao,” Lang Qiao added. “Tao Ran’s talking to him inside. Su Xiaolan couldn’t come—she’s gone.”
“Gone?” Luo Wenzhou was confused. “You mean she moved out of town? Maybe even abroad?”
“No… She’s not just gone from the country. She’s gone from this world—she’s dead.”
Luo Wenzhou froze. “Dead? How old was she? How can she already be dead?”
“After her involvement in that case, Su Xiaolan’s life was basically over. She never got anywhere with dance, and her grades weren’t adequate. She just barely got into a vocational high school and dropped out halfway through. She had no proper career, so she took advantage of her beauty and youth and just hung around various wealthy people for a while. She had a child out of wedlock in her teens, and the rest of her life continued along those chaotic lines. Apparently, she suffered from a lot of ailments and passed away two months ago—here are the details.”
Lang Qiao handed Luo Wenzhou a very thin file. It didn’t take long to read through it. Su Xiaolan’s life had been too short; there really wasn’t much to say. The file contained her former address, contact information, and two records of disciplinary action at school. It also included details on a public nuisance charge that stemmed from an instance of being drunk and disorderly. That had landed Su Xiaolan in jail briefly. Finally, the file contained a death certificate.
The last thing in the file was a photo taken not long before Su Xiaolan’s death. In it, she was only thirty or so years old, but she looked like her brief time on earth had ground her down. Her gaunt cheeks clung tight to her skull, her chin was very sharp, and wrinkles already bracketed her mouth. Remnants of half-removed makeup lingered on her face. It required a close look to spot traces of the beautiful girl from all those years prior.
In the long hallway, Luo Wenzhou and Lang Qiao stared at each other for a while. This had been the fate of the last…survivor.
“You know, Sergeant Luo, sometimes when I see this kind of thing, it makes me think that life is actually very ugly,” Lang Qiao mused.
Luo Wenzhou whacked the back of her head with the file’s manila envelope. “If you have so many thoughts, go write a book. What are you doing here as an officer of the law? Right now, our priority is finding Qu Tong. Tell me, what does this Xu Wenchao do for a living?”