veneno Gu - Capítulo 27
Wang Liguo reasoned that since the murderer was so arrogant, he was likely a very repressed person in real life. The behavior of a psychopathic killer during a crime is often the opposite of their usual behavior.
These questions remain unanswered, but Wang Liguo knows that the clues he currently possesses are sufficient to identify the murderer: a male around forty years old; 1.60-1.66 meters tall, thin and strong, with arm strength, small eyes, and dark skin; a history of unhappy marriage; a criminal record; a twisted and vengeful mentality; possibly a former soldier, security guard, or scaffolder on a construction site; a local resident familiar with the city.
The key question is whether the police officer investigating the murderer has fully grasped these conditions? Does his experience and ability allow him to capture his prey like a hunter?
Wang Liguo now knows that the strange character is an alternate form of the character "媌" and its meaning, but he's thinking more about who the murderer was trying to tell by writing it. What was he trying to tell? Since the murderer understood counter-surveillance and did it thoroughly, he must have thought that only the police would enter the scene, and ordinary people, except for the person reporting the crime, wouldn't see anything. Was he writing it for the police? Did he want to tell the police that all beautiful women are prostitutes? Perhaps he wanted to tell the police that he believed all beautiful women were prostitutes and deserved to die? In other words, he believed he had a reason to kill, and that he only killed prostitutes? Like Li Pingping from Beijing, 41 years old, who killed five prostitutes in six months and even ate their eyes and kidneys raw. When talking about his atrocities, he was self-righteous: "I'm just unbalanced. I work hard for a month and can't even earn two thousand yuan, while they earn so much money so easily. They never even look at me properly when they ride in my car." Does the strange character the murderer wrote also mean the same thing? If so, is he currently unemployed? Is he psychologically resentful?
Wang Liguo deduced that the strange character the murderer had written must be related to his experiences, his misfortunes, and his mindset. His life and his experiences must have been inextricably linked to a certain type of woman, which explains why he even played drinking and card games with the victim. His feelings towards the so-called beautiful prostitute didn't seem entirely hatred; there was another side to it. The meaning of this strange character—both beautiful and associated with prostitutes—was inherently contradictory, reflecting a similar contradiction in his psychology.
However, he couldn't fathom what the killer's motive would be for spending over two hours at the scene. If it was related to sex, no evidence of a sex crime was found at the scene.
As Wang Liguo continued to think this way, he finally made a new discovery.
Since the murderer spent so much time arranging the scene and even wrote words on the victim's back, it means he had a strong urge to vent. He couldn't control himself from expressing himself; he wanted to tell the police his thoughts and let more people know about his murder. Although he was very good at counter-surveillance, he still couldn't resist creating many surprises at the scene, and the inevitable outcome was that he would eventually expose himself.
The murderer couldn't be completely calm and in control; he was bound to make a mistake. Did someone else have to pay the ultimate price to expose his weakness? Wang Liguo felt a chill run down his spine. He was restless and distracted all day, and couldn't even eat dinner that night. Holding a steamed bun in his hand, he felt a tightness in his chest.
Two weeks have passed since Lanzi was murdered on June 28th. Today is July 5th, a Saturday. Tonight, almost all the police officers are out on stakeouts. If the estimate is correct, the murderer will definitely strike again tonight.
The phone rang, and after only one ring, he grabbed the receiver. Li Zhongxin shouted, "Captain! Captain! Good news! Good news! We've caught him! We've caught him! I'm on my way back to the captain's office!"
Wang Liguo was naturally very excited; all his anger, all his hard work, and all his hopes had finally come to fruition!
He glanced at his watch; it was only 10 PM. Why was this psychopath making his move so early? Our stakeout was practically in the open; we couldn't possibly be completely foolproof. But the killer was lurking in the shadows. If he paid even a little attention, he would discover our actions. Wouldn't he try to avoid us? Would he walk right into our line of fire? He figured his opponent wasn't that stupid.
When the surveillance network was first set up, people were caught every night, mostly thieves. One night, eighteen thieves were caught. Now, no thieves dare to come out at night anymore. They know that there are police everywhere, and the nighttime security has never been better. No more security incidents have occurred.
The psychopathic killer that Xiao Li brought back was around thirty years old, less than 1.70 meters tall, and not fat. Seeing Wang Liguo scrutinizing him, he hurriedly grinned and said, "Officer, you've misunderstood! We've misunderstood!"
Xiao Li jumped up and said, "Who misunderstood you? Didn't you yourself keep saying you were a psychopathic killer? Didn't you say you killed without blinking an eye? Didn't you tell us to step aside?"
The psychopathic killer's face immediately changed. He waved his handcuffed hands and stomped his feet, shouting, "I'm not human! I'm not human! Women are all afraid of this psychopathic killer. I wanted to take advantage of him and get women without spending any money. I only followed her yesterday, and she caught me today."
Seeing his wailing and howling appearance, Wang Liguo couldn't detect any murderous intent in him. But after hearing Xiao Li recount how he was captured—by openly threatening a woman to take him home—Wang Liguo became even more convinced that this wasn't the psychopathic killer they were looking for. Modern psychopaths have learned their lesson; they would never let their victims see them alive. They would only break into homes in the middle of the night to kill and silence witnesses. Why would he dare to commit such an act outdoors and walk right into their trap? They had no choice but to hand him over to the police station.
Wang Liguo was left alone in the room again. He had smoked so much that his mouth was burning, and he could no longer taste the smoke. It seemed that all he could do now was smoke. All his comrades were on guard duty in the streets and intersections, but he remained in the room, waiting for news from them. He was afraid to hear their news; he felt it was unlikely to be good. Two weeks of daytime searches had yielded no substantial progress; no suspect had been found. That meant the murderer was still safely hiding in the shadows, and of course, he could be mobilized at any time.
He suspected that something must have gone wrong in the daytime investigation. There were still no results, and no results meant another murder was likely to occur in the city tonight. Did those negligent and derelict police officers realize that their momentary lapse in attention would cost a young woman her life?
At midnight, he felt like he couldn't breathe. He felt like he could see the dark figure of death approaching him from the shadows.
"Any man's death makes me lose a part, because we are all human beings. And never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for you and for me." He couldn't recall where he had read these words before, but his heart was immediately shaken, and he memorized them instantly. He had solved nearly a hundred murder cases; he had dealt with life and death far too often, but those were all after death. Never before had he kept vigil for a living young woman, waiting in the middle of the night for news of her young life being taken, enduring the fear of knowing clearly that death was imminent yet being powerless to stop it.
He could imagine the pain of the hammer striking his head and the despair of his dying struggle; he could imagine the anger and hatred of the innocent victims.
He was restless; it was already past 1 a.m., and the murderer should have started making his move.
His office was on the second floor facing the street, a place never quiet; if the windows were open, the room would be as noisy as a market. But now, he suddenly felt a deathly silence, a silence that made it hard to breathe, and a panic gripped him. He checked his watch: three in the morning, the time the killer had left. He couldn't stay trapped in the room any longer, couldn't wait for death to come. The surroundings were deathly silent, without any news. He couldn't contact any of his comrades; they were all hiding in the darkness, keeping watch, and without finding any clues, they wouldn't send any information. No news from them meant there was no progress.
He finally couldn't stand it any longer, put his phone away, rushed out of the office, breathed in the fresh air that was free of the stench of cigarette smoke, and strolled westward along the dimly lit street in front of the office building.
There's a small fast food restaurant on the north side of the road. They've eaten there a few times, I think they were there about two weeks ago. Lost in thought, he walked into the restaurant but noticed something strange. The layout looked more like a karaoke bar.
Two stylishly dressed young ladies warmly asked him, "How many people are in your party, sir? Would you like a large bag or a small bag?"
He said, "Isn't this a restaurant?"
The woman laughed and said that the place had been converted into a karaoke bar for half a month!
Without thinking, he walked into a private room and waved to the hostess who had been talking for a long time.
He picked up the songbook, turned to the page with the four characters, found the number for "Jingzhong Baoguo" (敬忠报国), and entered it into the computer.
As the music started playing, a warm feeling welled up in his heart and he sang his favorite song, "Serving the Country with Loyalty," in his mind.
When "Loyalty to Serve the Country" played again, he forgot his worries, forgot who he was, and forgot what day it was.
He picked up the microphone, stood up, and waited quietly for the third start of "Serving the Country with Loyalty".
He transformed himself into the melody of "Serving the Country with Loyalty," into the lyrics of "Serving the Country with Loyalty," singing "Serving the Country with Loyalty" with his whole life, over and over again, ten times, twenty times...
He usually can't even drink two bottles of beer, but tonight he drank four. Not only did he not get drunk, but he became more and more sober. The more he drank, the more his heart ached. The more water he drank, the more tears welled up in his eyes.
He didn't know that he was singing with tears streaming down his face, he didn't know that he was singing until he forgot his fear, and he didn't know that he was singing until his voice was hoarse.
It was nearly 5 a.m. when Wang Liguo returned to his office and lay down on the bed without even taking off his clothes that he realized he was trying to escape the fear of death.
He said he really couldn't take it anymore that night because he knew a good woman was going to be murdered, but he couldn't help her at all. He was a policeman!
Afterwards, Wang Liguo told me that he was very sad about the incident, feeling that he had not been calm enough in the face of pressure. However, I was deeply moved. This incident showed me a man with guts.
Rumor has it: Only the person who is most afraid of what knows it.
Everyone has two doors in their heart. Opening one reveals endless beauty and courage, while opening the other unleashes boundless fear. If you don't believe me, just try it.
Lili said she could smell flowers when she walked down the street. It was true; she always smelled the red scent of roses around her—so gentle, so soft, so exciting. But it was midnight. How could there be the red scent of roses in a taxi? It was just the scent of the red roses he had given her during the day. Now, Lili could still feel the warmth of his hands—gentle, damp, and electrifying—still radiating from her breasts and palms, surging through her body like life itself.
Thinking about all this, Lili gradually felt weak, damp, and lightheaded. Suddenly, she felt an urge to get out of the car and walk alone, to savor her happiness in solitude. She hurriedly called for the driver to stop, gave him 20 yuan, and waved goodbye before he could give her change, leaving the driver waiting on the roadside for a long time, wondering if Lili was up to something…
This city not only has a reputation for producing beautiful women, but its taxi drivers are also mostly honest and kind. If you get out of the car halfway through the journey, they will feel uneasy; if you tell them you want to take a taxi to the train station, they will seriously tell you that there are no more trains running.
The driver then smiled and drove off.
Lili strolled along the street, as if seeing it for the first time at night—so radiant, so mysterious, so gentle. The trees along the roadside, under the streetlights, seemed more charming and playful than during the day; light and shadow swayed among the branches, and the virtual leaves on the ground danced merrily. Especially the green lawn, which always gave her a sense of youthful vitality. Why? Was it related to her first experience? Lili recalled the afternoon spent on the grassy hillside, that carefree and unrestrained afternoon, where there was nothing they couldn't do in the city. They were there, indulging in their own desires, doing whatever they pleased. It was an afternoon that couldn't be better, more beautiful than anything else. Lili wondered if she would ever have such a good feeling or such a good opportunity to enjoy herself again.
I didn't sleep well last night. I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, remembering what I'd heard in class during the day about a psychopathic killer. They said he specifically targets and follows single women day and night, scouting locations beforehand, and then strikes at night. Anyone he follows has no chance of escape. They also said he specifically kills on Saturdays, and they all said tomorrow is a terrifying Saturday, a Saturday of death, and they wonder which unfortunate woman will suffer this fate. Now, I keep being awakened in my sleep by the sound of the psychopathic killer's footsteps on the stairs.
He called her at noon to ask her out, and she couldn't help but hesitate. Today was a dreaded Saturday, a Saturday of death. If he hadn't said that if she already had a date, then forget it, she really planned to stay home and sleep all day. Since he said that, wouldn't refusing him be tantamount to admitting that she had another date?
She found it all incredibly strange. They'd been at nightclubs and bars, going crazy for most of the night, and they'd been so excited and affectionate, each time so passionate it made her heart race and her blood boil. Yet, Lili still felt like she had endless energy. No wonder some say love is both giving and receiving. Despite this intense effort, she didn't feel tired at all; all night she felt boundless energy, and her heart flowed with joy like a river.