by Chan Ho-Kei
‘He can still hear,’ said Lok sombrely.
‘So what if he can hear?’ said Choi Ting. ‘How will he tell us what he’s thinking? The man’s in a full-blown coma.’
‘As long as he can hear us,’ Inspector Lok pointed at the geek girl sitting behind him, ‘she can do the rest.’
The young woman said nothing, pounding at the keyboard and ignoring the odd looks all five visitors were giving her.
‘She’s called Apple, she’s a computer expert.’
‘Oh, really?’ Wing-yee clearly felt this explanation was superfluous, given that Apple had in front of her three screens of different sizes, a tangle of multicoloured cables and a laptop covered in cartoon stickers.
‘What can a computer expert do? Pluck out the guy’s brain and hook it up to her CPU?’ jeered Wing-lim.
‘Well, more or less.’
No one had expected this from Inspector Lok, let alone with a straight face.
‘It’s a bit complicated to explain – best to try it for yourself. We’ve modified the program to let you experience it.’ The inspector turned to Apple. ‘Is it ready?’
‘Yes, just about,’ said Apple, handing over a black rubber headband, about two centimetres wide, a grey wire connecting one end to her blue laptop.
‘This is how we’ll pluck out Superintendent Kwan’s brain,’ explained the inspector. ‘Mr Wong, could I borrow you for my demonstration?’
Old Tong stepped forward uncertainly.
Inspector Lok seated him on the sofa, then placed the band around his forehead, where it looked like the Monkey King’s golden circlet. The two ends clamped onto his temples, and Old Tong could feel countless little protrusions sinking into his skin. The inspector gently adjusted the band.
‘Right, that should do,’ said Apple, still staring at her screen.
‘Do you all know what EEG is?’ he asked.
‘Electroencephalography,’ answered Choi Ting.
‘Yes, that’s right. Our brains are made up of nerve clusters, and when we think, tiny electric impulses move between these clusters – which we can measure, through EEG. Scientists call these brain waves.’
‘And this thing can turn brain waves into speech?’ Wing-yee was astonished.
‘No, current technology doesn’t go so far yet, but for several years now we’ve been able to track the condition of the brain, and with recent breakthroughs, very simple equipment is all that’s needed.’
‘The main difficulty has been in working out which readings are brain waves and which aren’t,’ Apple cut in. ‘Take this room – the medical equipment alone creates huge amounts of interference. You used to need a special environment to do an EEG, but now you can cut out all this “noise” on the computer. I wrote this program myself, using a formula from a Berkeley research team’s library. As for the interface, it—’
‘To put it simply, this device is able to detect a person’s thought as soon as he has it,’ the inspector interrupted, pointing at one of the screens. Apple turned the screen round and everyone saw a rectangle divided in two, the top half white, marked YES in black letters, the bottom half black with NO in white letters. On the line between the two was a tiny blue cross.
‘Mr Wong, please concentrate, and imagine the blue cross moving,’ said Inspector Lok. Old Tong had no idea what was going on, but did as he was told.
‘It’s moving,’ Wing-lim cried out. And sure enough, the cross was inching upward, hitting the letters YES with a ping.
‘There’s a significant difference between when the brain is concentrating and when it is relaxed,’ said the inspector, gesturing at the screen. ‘When Mr Wong focuses his attention, his mind produces... produces...’
‘Beta waves – that is, between twelve and thirty Hertz.’ Apple stuck her head out from behind the screen. ‘When the brain is at rest, it produces alpha waves of eight to twelve Hertz.’
‘Right, beta waves.’ Inspector Lok chuckled, thinking what a terrible scientist he’d make. ‘Mr Wong, please let your mind grow still – maybe look out at the ocean? – and the pointer will settle down. You can control its movement by switching between concentration and relaxation.’
The assembled company stared dubiously at the screen as the pointer slowly bobbed up and down. But Old Tong’s expression told them all this was no fakery.
‘It’s true! When I try to make it move upwards, it really does rise! And when I stop thinking, it falls,’ he exclaimed, full of wonder.
‘You may all try it, if you like,’ said Inspector Lok, removing the band.
Wing-yee was always curious about new discoveries and would normally have been the first to volunteer, but didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
‘Hang on,’ Old Tong asked, ‘this young lady says she wrote the program, but what about the hardware? This rubber thing looks like it was specially manufactured.’
‘I bought it,’ replied Apple.
‘Where would you buy such a thing?’
‘Toys “R” Us.’ Apple produced a cardboard box. ‘Toys controlled by brainwaves have been in shops for a few years now – this is nothing new. All I did was modify an off-the-shelf product. I’ve also been able to turn toy 3D cameras into virtual reality inductors...’
‘Are you actually suggesting we place this device on Superintendent Kwan, so he can tell us the results of his deductions?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But this only allows him to say “Yes” or “No” – how will that solve the case?’
Inspector Lok swept his sharp gaze across the group. ‘Even “Yes” and “No” can have a big impact. Besides, he’s much better at controlling this machine than the rest of us.’
He stepped gingerly across the cables to place the band gently around the old man’s forehead, adjusting it until Apple said, ‘Okay.’
‘Sir, can you hear me?’ Inspector Lok sat on a chair by the head of the bed.
The computer pinged crisply, and the blue pointer leaped onto YES.
‘Why did it jerk like that? Is it broken?’ asked Yue Wing-lim.
A dull beep – dub-dub – and the pointer swooped onto NO.
‘As I said, he’s become adept at using this apparatus,’ said the inspector. ‘This is how he’s communicated every time he’s been in a coma state – about a month of practice. The system’s gathered so much data about his brain, the likelihood of error is virtually zero.’
‘Could anyone really improve their powers of concentration so quickly?’ said Choi Ting, her eyes flicking in astonishment between the old man and the screen.
Ping. The pointer said YES.
‘Blind people can judge distances through sounds, and deaf people learn to read lips – people discover their potential in extreme circumstances.’ Inspector Lok’s hands were clasped, resting in his lap. ‘Besides, this is his only means of communicating with the outside world now – he had no choice but to learn how to use it.’
The pointer drifted slowly back to the centre, as if insisting it was now part of Kwan’s body, and he wouldn’t have anyone impugning its accuracy.
‘In order to speed up the investigation, I’ve asked all five of you here today, so Superintendent Kwan can fully understand the situation. We were going to carry out the questioning after he regained consciousness, but with my superiors so eager for an outcome, I’ve had to resort to extraordinary measures. Naturally I’ll do the bulk of the questioning, and the superintendent will come in with responses and suggestions where necessary.’
Ping. YES.
‘Why are you interrogating us? Wasn’t he murdered by a burglar? I thought that was clear,’ snapped Wing-lim impatiently.
‘I’ll go through all of that, and explain the details of the case to Superintendent Kwan,’ said the inspector, ducking the question. ‘Would you please take a seat?’
Old Tong was already sitting down. Wing-yee, Wing-lim and Choi Ting joined him on the sofa, leaving Nanny Wu, who hadn’t yet said a word, to hesitate a mom
ent before taking the wooden chair by the door. From the middle of the sofa, Wing-yee’s vision was partly blocked by the table across the bed – he could only see half the old man’s face. Still, everyone was paying more attention to Apple, or rather the seventeen-inch black-and-white screen next to her that had now replaced Superintendent Kwan’s mouth.
3
‘AH SING, PLEASE record this,’ ordered the inspector. His assistant, perched on a stool behind Apple, switched on a compact little digital camera, making sure he could see everyone on his viewfinder before nodding at his superior.
‘Sir, I’ll start with an overview of the case.’ The inspector pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. ‘On the night of 7th to 8th September 2013, that is the early hours between Saturday and Sunday, there was a murder at Fung Ying Villa, number 163 Chuk Yeung Road in Sai Kung. This was the residence of Fung Hoi Consortium’s director, Yuen Man-bun, and his family; the deceased is the property owner, Yuen Man-bun himself.’
Hearing his father’s name, Wing-yee’s heart pounded.
‘The victim was sixty-seven years old. In 1971 he married Yue Chin-yau; as she was the only child of the Yue family, he agreed to have their children take her surname. In 1986 he assumed the directorship of the family business, and when his father-in-law Yue Fung passed away the following year, he became the head of the household.’ Inspector Lok turned a page. ‘He had three children. The oldest son, Wing-lai, died in a car accident in 1990. Second son Wing-yee and third son Wing-lim still live at the above address. Wing-yee was married last year, and his wife, Choi Ting, moved in with him and his parents. The victim’s wife, Yue Chin-yau, passed away this May. Apart from the four people mentioned, Fung Ying Villa is also home to a private secretary, Mr Wong Kwan-tong, and a maid, Ms Wu Kam Mui. These six people were the only ones present the night of the incident. Do you need me to repeat any of that, sir?’
Dub-dub. NO.
‘Next, the setting and events of the crime.’ Inspector Lok cleared his throat, and continued unhurriedly, ‘Fung Ying Villa is a three-storey building that, together with its grounds, occupies half an acre of land on Chuk Yeung Road near Ma On Shan Country Park. This mansion has been the Yue family residence since the early 1960s, housing three generations of the family.’
The inspector glanced at the group, noting Nanny Wu’s gentle nodding, as if she was thinking back to the glory days of the old master building up the consortium in the sixties and seventies.
‘At half past seven on the morning of the 8th, Yue Wing-yee noticed his father wasn’t in the living room reading the newspaper, as was his habit, and subsequently found him dead in the study on the first floor. In the police investigation that followed, it was initially thought that the deceased had surprised a burglar and been attacked.’
A shiver went through Wing-yee.
‘The study window had been broken, and the room showed signs of being ransacked.’ Inspector Lok put down the notebook, glancing at the face of the old detective in the bed. Having gone over it so many times in his mind, he could describe the scene from memory alone. ‘The flame trees in the garden were close enough to the study window that a criminal could easily have gained access that way. There were strips of sticky tape fixed to the outside of the window to prevent the glass making a sound when broken – suggesting an experienced burglar. We found a roll of waterproof tape on the ground beneath, and the lab has confirmed it matches what’s on the window.’
The blue cross on the screen remained motionless, like an attentive listener.
‘Yuen Man-bun’s study was four hundred square feet in size. Apart from the usual office furniture, there was a rather unusual item: a steel cabinet a couple of metres high and a metre wide. This contained a number of spearguns – Mr Yuen used these to hunt fish while deep-sea diving, and had a licence to do so. Next to it was a styrofoam box, a metre square, full of old newspapers and magazines. According to the family of the deceased, he used this for target practice in his spare time.’
‘No, Inspector Lok, it wasn’t practice,’ blurted Wing-yee.
‘Not practice? But Mr Wong said—’
‘The boss used it as a target,’ Old Tong explained. ‘But it wasn’t practice. He’d had arthritis for several years, and his left leg grew too weak for him to dive, meaning he could no longer go fishing. So he had me build him this set-up to play with his spearguns in the study, reliving the old days. In fact, you shouldn’t use a speargun on land, it’s very dangerous.’
‘Ah, so I had it wrong. Anyway, this was the situation, sir.’
Ping. Kwan seemed to be urging him on through the computer.
‘Both the safe and the speargun cabinet showed signs of being attacked with a chisel, and while the safe remained intact, the intruder had managed to force the cabinet open. Books and documents had been swept off the shelves and flung all over the floor, the desktop computer screen had been smashed and the contents of the drawers tipped out. All in all, about two hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars in cash was taken from the room, but the deceased’s ring and the jewelled letter-opener on the desk were left behind, as was an antique gold pocket watch worth three hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars.’
Listening to his superior’s account, Ah Sing remembered the first day of the investigation. When he’d learned that the missing two hundred thousand was kept in the study as ‘petty cash’, he’d realized just how distant his own life was from the Hong Kong elite.
‘The investigators found no footprints or fingerprints in the room, and believe the intruder must have worn gloves.’ Once again, the inspector opened his notebook. ‘So much for the scene of the crime. Next, the incident itself.’
Ping.
‘Forensics put the time of death between half past two and four a.m. The deceased was found lying next to the bookcase. There were two contusions to the back of his head, but the fatal wound was in his belly – he was shot by a harpoon from the speargun, and bled to death.’
The glint of that thin metal shaft protruding from his father’s belly seemed to flicker before Wing-yee’s eyes.
‘I’ll describe the murder weapon in more detail.’ Inspector Lok turned over a few more pages. ‘The harpoon was 115 centimetres long, with barbed hooks along the top three centimetres. It was these that pierced multiple organs and caused massive loss of blood. On the floor in the middle of the room, we found a carbon- fibre speargun manufactured by the South African company Rob Allen, model number RGSH115, barrel length 115 centimetres long, the shuttered tip fitted with a thirty-centimetre rubber tube. The only fingerprints on the gun belonged to the deceased.’
When Inspector Lok first took on this case, all the terminology had muddled him, so he’d spent some time mastering it. The speargun used the elasticity of the rubber tube to fire the harpoon, just like a slingshot. With the harpoon gripped by the trigger mechanism, the diver would pull the tube back, hooking it to the ammunition. Pulling the trigger released the rubber tube, propelling the harpoon forward.
‘We’ve inspected the cabinet, and ascertained that this speargun is from the deceased’s collection, because there was a compartment for three weapons that only held two of different lengths, an RGSH075 and an RGSH130, leaving the middle rack empty. There was also an extra-long RGZL160 – Rob Allen Zulu model – and a seventy-five-centimetre RABITECH RB075 aluminium alloy gun, but these were broken down and stored in carry cases. The cabinet also contained harpoons of varying lengths, from 115 to 160 centimetres, which our investigators confirmed were of the same make as the one in the victim’s body.’
‘Father never used the Zulu,’ said Wing-yee, visibly stirred. ‘He said he bought it to go shark-hunting, but before he could take it out even once, his arthritis had left him unable to dive.’
Inspector Lok made no response to this, but went on, ‘Also in the cabinet was other equipment for diving and fishing, including scuba masks, wetsuit hoods, oxygen regulators, gloves, harpoon lines, a screwdriver, Swiss army knives, and a tw
enty-five- centimetre diving knife. Our initial investigation suggests that the murderer forced open the cabinet and killed the victim with his own speargun.’
Ah Sing swallowed. Although he’d seen plenty of corpses in his two years as Inspector Lok’s assistant, when he thought of that long, barbed metal spear slicing into a soft belly and making mincemeat of someone’s innards, his hair stood on end.
‘Apart from the fatal injury, the two head wounds were odd,’ continued the inspector. ‘According to forensics, the second blow was received some time after the first. The bloodstains on the victim’s collar and the injuries themselves suggest a half-hour gap between the two. The exact circumstances are still unclear, but we’ve identified the weapon – a metal vase that normally stood on the desk. There were no fingerprints whatsoever, suggesting the murderer wiped it thoroughly after assaulting the victim.’
Inspector Lok looked up from his notebook, sweeping his gaze across the assembled people, coming to rest on the patient.
‘As for the position of the body, that’s what makes me most suspicious.’ The inspector’s brow furrowed. ‘He was lying by the bookcase, with a family album beside him, from which investigators lifted some bloody fingerprints. The bloodstains on the floor show that after sustaining the fatal injury, he crawled five metres or so from the desk to the bookshelf, where he looked through the album. Forensics estimate he died more than twenty minutes after the harpoon struck him. At first I assumed he was trying to leave us a message, but there’s no pattern at all to the marks in the book. He simply wanted to look at the old photographs. Even stranger, there were marks showing duct tape had been wrapped around his wrists and calves, as well as covering his mouth, but all this tape had been ripped off by the time he was found, and wasn’t anywhere in the room.’
When these test results had come in a few days ago, Ah Sing had suggested this might not have been the work of the murderer – what if the deceased was into S & M, and the tape marks came from a bondage session? This earned him some filthy looks from his female colleagues, as if he were the pervert. Inspector Lok brushed off his theory, chuckling, ‘I suppose you’re the sort who thinks rich folk are all completely depraved, with secret fetishes?’