Horrorgeschichten, die in einer verlassenen Wohnung spielen

Kapitel 14

“You’re not telling the truth.” I stared at him. The so-called “killing on impulse” is just a momentary urge. There’s no such thing as not being impulsive at the time, then going home and thinking about it all night before deciding to kill.

He neither admitted nor denied it, nor did he deliberately avoid my gaze.

His expression was strange, but there was no fear in his eyes; he was very calm.

"You could very well be sentenced to death, do you know that?"

"I know." When he said those two words, he even smiled, not a hysterical smile, nor the meaningless twitch of his earlier smile. There was a meaning in that smile that I couldn't understand.

At that moment, he seemed like someone who would die for some ideal, resolute and composed. But I couldn't understand this at all, so his attitude gave me a very eerie feeling.

"Why didn't you run away after killing someone?" I felt uncomfortable, so I asked the next question.

"I knew I couldn't escape; the police solve cases very quickly."

"So you travel around a lot?"

"Yes. Take advantage of this last bit of time."

My conversation with Lü Wanqiang lasted for over half an hour. Without a doubt, he wasn't telling the truth many times, and at other times he remained silent. No wonder Detective Huang didn't decide to close the case immediately; there must be more to the story.

This interview can be considered a failure. There are certain things in Lü Wanqiang's mind that are unshakable, and no matter how I tried to get information out of him, I couldn't get it.

"Okay, thank you for accepting my interview."

“It’s nothing,” he said.

"To ensure the accuracy of the news, please take a look at my interview notes. See if there are any mistakes or corrections," I said, handing the notebook through the window.

"Isn't that necessary?"

I smiled and gestured for him to look.

He picked up the notebook with his handcuffed hands and slowly read through my interview with him. What I wrote didn't really mean much to him, but people are always curious—curious about what a journalist had written about himself.

I remember very quickly, so my handwriting is large. I wrote four and a half pages, and he looked through them one by one until the last page.

I stared at his face, and finally, when I turned to the last page, I noticed that his expression had changed.

It was a very subtle change; his eye twitched, as if a pebble had struck his peaceful sleep, creating ripples before he quickly recovered.

He closed his notebook somewhat hastily, and the handcuffs rattled as he put them on.

He pushed his notebook out the window.

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"No, no problem," he replied, as if he had calmed down. But I noticed that his left eyelid was twitching involuntarily.

I smiled; at least the trip wasn't a complete waste.

Detective Huang was waiting for me outside and immediately asked, "How was it? We couldn't see his expression on the monitor."

I opened the interview notebook, and on the right side of that page was a small photo—a close-up of Xue Ying's face.

“His eyes were off; he definitely recognized the person. He acted as if he hadn’t seen the photo at all, didn’t ask me any questions, and immediately handed the interview notebook back to me. But I’m sure he stared at the photo for at least three seconds.”

"I knew this kid was up to something," the detective said excitedly.

"But even knowing there's something fishy going on, it's hard to say whether he'll tell the truth," I said, recalling the look in his eyes.

Detective Huang stroked his stubble-covered chin and nodded, saying, "This kid is not easy to deal with."

Chapter Eleven: An Imperfect Conclusion

I finally finished the last page of *A Brief History of Time*. This thin book took me so long, yet there are still so many parts I don't understand. Especially the mysterious theory of general relativity, with its geometric explanation of the world's structure, keeps giving me the illusion of spacetime curvature, like a lingering effect after watching a sci-fi blockbuster. There's a saying that only a handful of people in the world truly understand general relativity; if that's true, my confusion is perfectly normal. However, I know very well that's nonsense.

General relativity was proposed at the beginning of the last century, and now there are new theories attempting to refine it, such as superstring theory. Should I take a look? Would that reduce or increase my doubts?

I closed "A Brief History of Time." With a soft snap, as if a valve had been opened, the noise I had just successfully filtered out rushed into my ears like a torrent.

It is 5:20 p.m., the time when the news room is bustling with activity.

No matter how profound general relativity may be, for me now, it pales in comparison to the mysteries surrounding Huang Zhi. What I'm encountering isn't a cosmological model and equations requiring complex theoretical foundations to understand, but rather a series of facts unfolding right before my eyes. These are things that are immediately clear, but trying to understand the connections between them is utterly futile, no matter how hard I try. I'm even powerless to come up with some bold hypotheses. What I see are fragmented pieces of broken logic, yet I know clearly that they form a whole.

Actually, reading *A Brief History of Time* at this time and in this place is a way for me to relax. It helps my brain avoid getting stuck in a dead end and allows me to think about something completely different and profound. This method seems to have been quite successful.

I looked around and realized I couldn't fit into the bustling work atmosphere. I shut down my computer, grabbed my bag, and went outside.

At the newspaper office entrance, I ran into Director Zong Er, who casually asked, "How's the interview for the long feature article going? Is it going smoothly?"

I shook my head.

He knew some of the basic facts of the case and asked, "Is the killer's motive still unclear? I remember you went to interview the killer's friend today, did you find anything?"

“None of them expected that Lü Wanqiang would commit murder. Lü Wanqiang was indeed a bit secretive in his daily life, but he didn’t have violent tendencies and his temper was alright. In general, they were just his roommates and didn’t know him very well.”

Zong'er nodded and said, "I see, then let's go with Ganbadie aba."

"Gan what?" I didn't understand.

"Gangbadee, that's what Korean means 'effort'. Hmm? I think it's from Japanese, wait... I've been watching too many Japanese and Korean dramas lately, so anyway, that's what it means."

"Why does it sound disgusting to hear you say it?"

"Hahaha!" Zong laughed three times, patted my shoulder, and said irresponsibly, "Anyway, I believe you can definitely get this manuscript done." After saying that, he swaggered into the door.

I sighed, and couldn't help but recall the interview I had conducted earlier that day.

Lü Wanqiang rented an apartment in a residential complex not far from the train station. The area was originally designed as an upscale residential area to fetch high prices, so it was fully equipped with greenery and various amenities. However, it's unclear which family started it, but they began subdividing apartments and renting them out to newcomers to Shanghai. Over time, more and more people followed suit, and the area eventually became a mixed bag of migrant workers, yet property prices failed to rise as rapidly as in other areas.

The apartment where Lü Wanqiang lived had three rooms. Two people lived in the largest room, and another person lived in a small storage room of a few square meters, making a total of five people. The rent varied, of course. Apart from the two people sharing a room, the tenants didn't know each other. This was considered a spacious place to live, and only people who had found decent jobs in Shanghai would rent it. If someone had just settled down or had a meager income, they would live in a room with six beds, like the old-fashioned university dormitories.

Although they live under the same roof, their jobs are different, and their departure and return times are different. Some even have to work shifts, so roommates don't always run into each other. In my interviews, I only found two people who could be considered somewhat familiar with Lü Wanqiang's room.

There was a skinny boy named Lu Wangcai, only nineteen years old. The name sounded strange to me, and I wondered if he was originally named Wangcai, but changed it because he didn't like the sound of it.

Lu Wangcai was an insurance agent who also worked as an Amway product salesman in his spare time, displaying numerous Amway bottles and jars in his room. He had tried to sell insurance and Amway products to everyone living there, but in the end, only Lü Wanqiang bought a bottle of Amway detergent. The residents here didn't have much money, so Lu Wanqiang's willingness to spend that much made Lu Wangcai feel that Lü Wanqiang was a truly good person. Of course, his own persuasive salesmanship was the biggest credit.

"Kind-hearted, patient enough to listen to you, and willing to help others." These were Lu Wangcai's impressions of him. "If I didn't know how cruelly and calmly Lü Wanqiang killed a weak woman, I would really think that Lü Wanqiang was a model for outsiders in Shanghai."

Another person familiar with Lü Wanqiang was also short, named Qin Dong. He worked as a deliveryman at a courier company, his face tanned dark from years of exposure to the sun and wind. He was the one who lived in the cramped storage room. When he first came to Shanghai, he couldn't find a job, and it was Lü Wanqiang who helped him get one after quitting his job at the courier company.

Because of this relationship, Qin Dong felt grateful to Lü Wanqiang and naturally wouldn't speak ill of him. Like Lu Wangcai, Qin Dong also couldn't believe that Lü Wanqiang had committed murder. He wasn't very cooperative with me, the reporter, repeatedly asking if Lü Wanqiang had really killed someone and if the police might have made a mistake.

However, neither Qin Dong nor Lu Wangcai revealed what job Lü Wanqiang had taken after resigning from his delivery job. He still left early and returned late every day, and when asked what he did now, he would just smile and remain silent.

“I think something’s on his mind.” Qin Dong told me about Lü Wanqiang’s behavior after he took a mysterious new job. “He often stares blankly into space, staring at something, and even waving his hand in front of his face might not bring him back to his senses. For a while, he was always listless. Lu Wangcai and I both asked him what was wrong, but he always said nothing was wrong.”

Qin Dong frowned and shook his head as he said this, "But I still don't believe he would kill someone."

I hate it when someone stops halfway through a conversation, so I quickly said, "Whether he killed someone or not, telling us everything you know will help us find out the truth."

Qin Dong glanced at me uncertainly, and finally continued, "None of us know what's on his mind. I felt that a few times when we talked, he wanted to say something, but in the end he didn't. After a while, he seemed to be doing better."

"It's better, but it's still a bit different from before," said Lu Wangcai, who was being interviewed with me. He works in sales and has a more discerning eye for people.

"How are they different?"

"I can't quite explain it, but the way he looks at people is off."

"A little bit," Qin Dong nodded in agreement. "Sometimes it makes you feel uneasy."

I asked them what exactly was wrong, but I couldn't get a clear answer. Feelings are sometimes mysterious and elusive; if one can successfully convey those feelings to others, one becomes a master artist. Qin Dong and Lu Wangcai clearly lacked this potential.

Therefore, I found no reason for Lü Wanqiang to commit murder from these two people. The only thing I knew was that Lü Wanqiang had become very strange for a period of time before the murder. This period lasted four or five months, starting from when he resigned from the courier company.

If Lü Wanqiang's changes are related to Huang Zhi's death, does that mean he started plotting it four or five months ago?

I specifically asked Qin and Lu whether Lü Wanqiang had acted strangely in the days leading up to the murder. They, however, felt that Lü Wanqiang was in good spirits, as if something had made him happy. Since quitting his courier job, Lü Wanqiang had noticeably reduced his spending, but a week before the incident, he treated his roommates to drinks. Afterwards, Lü Wanqiang said he was going on a business trip and didn't return for several days, only reappearing before Qin Donghao and Lu Wangcai the day before the incident.

My phone beeped, bringing me back to my senses.

A text message from He Xi. Only three words, as she always is very brief.

"The case is closed."

I was taken aback and quickly replied, "That's it? So fast? Has the murderer already confessed?"

After waiting for a while and not receiving a reply from He Xi, I couldn't stand it anymore and called Detective Huang.

"Detective Huang, I heard the case is closed?"

"Yes, the case is closed. You're really well-informed."

"Has Lü Wanqiang confessed everything?"

The detective sighed on the phone and said, "No."

"Then how can we close the case? There might be a whole string of unrecoverable cases behind it."

"It's all because of you media outlets," the detective said with a wry smile.

"us?!"

“Most cases can be handled slowly, but this one was reported the day after the incident, the media was pressing us, and we were under a lot of pressure. Now the murderer has been caught, we can confirm that he committed the crime, and he has confessed, so the evidence is conclusive. It would be really difficult to keep the case closed because the motive is unclear…”

“I understand,” I said, still sighing. I understood his predicament. It was similar to why the French police closed the case even though there were still doubts. When a case could be closed, what reason would the police have to endure increasing public pressure for the sake of perfection? Besides, their superiors must have set time limits for solving the case.

"The prosecution will soon file charges. For a high-profile case like this, the trial should be open to the public. He's at least on a suspended death sentence, and his attitude toward admitting guilt isn't good. He'll probably be sentenced to immediate execution. If he can't withstand the pressure after sentencing and confesses again, he might get a reduced sentence. That's what we're hoping for now."

I recall his expression during the interview; he already knew what his fate would be. Would he suddenly weaken at the last moment? But who knows? Being prepared for death is one thing; being able to bear its approach is another. There's always a will to live in the human heart, unless…

Unless he has something more important than life and death to hold onto.

"By the way, we also investigated Cui Xingjian later."

"Cui Xingjian, who is that?"

"It's that pervert you mentioned in your interview with Lü Wanqiang the day before yesterday, the one who always likes to stalk women. You mentioned him during your first statement; we questioned him, and since there were no suspicious points, we let him go. However, what Lü Wanqiang told you the day before yesterday was that he followed Cui Xingjian to Huang Zhi's residence the day before the murder. If what he said is true, then given the layout of the small hotel, when Cui Xingjian saw Huang Zhi enter room 319 and turned back downstairs, he would definitely have seen Lü Wanqiang."

"Ah, right! Lü Wanqiang definitely needs to follow him upstairs to find out which room Huang Zhi is staying in. What did the stalker say?"

“He didn’t see Lü Wanqiang. And he said with certainty that if someone followed him into the hotel, he would have noticed, unless it was the cat!”

How does Lü Wanqiang explain this?

Detective Wang snorted and said irritably, "He said he was very careful, so Cui didn't find out."

"Nonsense!"

"We know he's talking nonsense, but there's nothing we can do about it. Now he's not even afraid of death."

I silently ended the call with the detective. The police investigation confirmed that Lü Wanqiang's killing of Huang Zhi was not a spur-of-the-moment decision, as simple as killing someone on a whim. He had learned Huang Zhi's address through other means. This means involved things he had tried so hard to hide, things he would rather die than reveal.

I stood there blankly by the roadside amidst the bustling crowd, the sky gradually darkening as I pondered these aimless thoughts.

"Beep—" The phone rang again.