Skinner's Box (Fang Mu (Eastern Crimes))

by Lei Mi

  He scrolled through the documents one by one, and each time he finished reading one, a strange expression came across his features, as if he could not wait to read something with which he had long become familiar. It was as if he was playing hide and seek with himself, all the while asking himself, This one is really exciting, right? All the while he tried his utmost to forget those images and bits of text that had long ago been inscribed in his memory, so that when he opened the next document, within his thoughts he could exclaim in self-deception, Wow! This one is even more exciting!

  Yang Jincheng never tired of playing this game. It seemed to be his calling, his soul; it was as if the second half of his life was counting on it.

  At 10:30 p.m., Yang Jincheng's silver Honda pulled slowly into the Wisdom Park District. This was a high-end residential neighborhood of the city, and as its name implied, many of the owners living there were high-ranking intellectuals. Yang Jincheng parked his car and walked briskly toward his apartment. Before reaching the foot of the building, he saw a tiny figure sitting on the steps out front. Yang Jincheng muttered to himself, wondering whose child this was and why he was out so late, and the sound-activated light above the entrance to the apartment building lit up.

  Yang Jincheng froze. Was it his own son, Yang Zhan?

  He hurried over and gave Yang Zhan's shoulder a gentle shake. "Hey, how come you're sitting here asleep?"

  Yang Zhan lifted his head sleepily and looked at Yang Jincheng for a long time, as if he had not quite registered that this was his dad. Yang Jincheng grabbed him by both arms and picked him up. Fishing out his keys, he asked, "Where's your key? Did you lose it again?"

  Yang Zhan grunted an affirmative and reached up to rub his eyes with his knuckles. With his schoolbag hanging from his elbow, he could not lift his arm, so he had to tilt his head sideways. Yang Jincheng hefted the schoolbag and casually draped its straps over his son's shoulders. Bewildered, Yang Zhan's father's movements caused him to stumble. He quickly stood up straight and obediently followed his father in to the elevators.

  Inside the eighteenth floor apartment, Yang Jincheng had kicked off his shoes, tossed his suit jacket onto the sofa, and was just beginning to unwind when the telephone rang.

  Cursing under his breath, he stood and picked up the receiver. "Hello... Yes, I am Yang Zhan's father... Oh, hello, Mr. He... What? How much did your son's schoolbag cost?... Uh-huh, okay, I'll get to the bottom of it... Ah, my apologies. One day soon I'll come over and knock on your door and offer an apology. Goodbye."

  Yang Jincheng hung up, turned, and shouted, "Yang Zhan!"

  Yang Zhan stood and very slowly came to the room’s doorway. He still looked the way he had when they had just entered the apartment; he had neither taken off his schoolbag nor his shoes. But he did not appear to have the slightest intention of trying to escape, either.

  Yang Jincheng lifted his son and carried him as delicately as if he were a downy chick over to the middle of the living room. In moments he had removed his son's schoolbag and was looking it over carefully in his hands.

  It was an extremely ordinary backpack. On the top was printed "Ultraman" in gaudily colorful letters. The cheap fabric from which it was made had begun to wear and ink stains of all different sizes were scattered all over it.

  "Is this your schoolbag?" Yang Jincheng shook the backpack with his hands, causing the books and pencil case inside to clatter out.

  Head down, Yang Zhan said nothing.

  "Tell me! Is it or isn't it?" Yang Jincheng gave his son a shove in the hollow of his shoulder.

  "No," Yang Zhan said in a quiet voice.

  "Why would you force someone to trade schoolbags with you? Huh? Do you know how much your schoolbag is worth? And what about this one?" Yang Jincheng threw the bag onto the floor furiously. "What is wrong with you?"

  Yang Zhan looked up suddenly. His face was calm, and he even cracked a smile. "Would you even recognize my schoolbag?"

  Yang Jincheng was stunned. Scowling, he raised his hand and delivered a heavy blow to Yang Zhan's face with a loud smack.

  The blow knocked Yang Zhan's little body sideways, and he fell to the floor with a thud. Still furious, Yang Jincheng charged over and picked him up with one hand, about to hit him again.

  Blood was trickling out of Yang Zhan's nose and mouth. He struggled feebly in his father's hands, craned his neck around, and shouted in the direction of the living room wall. "Mommy! Mommy…!"

  The mournful voice stopped Yang Jincheng's hand in mid-swing, and he couldn't help but glance at that wall. His wife stared at him and his son from within the black picture frame with a pair of warm, gentle eyes that seemed to be pleading.

  Yang Jincheng loosened his grip. Yang Zhan fell to the floor, curled into a ball, and continued to weep softly while still burbling, "Mommy… Mommy…"

  Yang Jincheng stood there, arms dangling at his sides, mouth gaping for breath. When he could breathe easily again, he pointed toward his son's bedroom. "Go to your room! You'll go without dinner tonight!"

  Yang Zhan climbed laboriously to his feet, ran to his room, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  The child sat quietly in the room without any lights on, filling the darkness with occasional sniffles. He had long since stopped crying and the tears had dried to his tautly stretched cheeks. After sitting a while, he carefully massaged his puffy face and could distinctly feel a few swollen lumps rising in the shape of fingers.

  The child's face was calm; he neither appeared wronged nor resentful. He just slowly rubbed his face and listened closely for sounds from the living room.

  Finally he heard the sofa creak, as if someone had stood up. Soon he heard his father's heavy footsteps. The sound continued over to his father's bedroom, after which it ceased completely at the sound of the door closing.

  The child did not move; he simply sat there, listening alertly, until he was sure that his father had fallen asleep. He slid along the edge of the mattress until his butt touched the floor, and then crawled under the bed. A moment later he squirmed his way back out holding a small metal box.

  Sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, the child opened the box. Inside were all sorts of edibles; most of them were leftovers of some kind. There were a few pieces of bread, a rice cake broken into small pieces, half of a sausage, an opened packet of crackers, and a few pudding containers. With the help of the moonlight shining through his window, the child picked through the box, selecting a few things and stuffing them into his mouth. He chewed neither quickly nor slowly, but steadily, his eyes never leaving a corner of the room.

  After he had finished eating, the child returned the box to its place under the bed, dusted himself off, and prepared to sleep. As he was taking his clothes off, his hand brushed against something hard in one of the pockets of his jacket. The child took it out; it was a pair of keys that had been fastened together. He spread the two keys out on the palm of his hand, fiddled with them a while, and then suddenly stood and opened the window.

  The cool midnight air felt extremely refreshing on the child's face. He took a deep breath, drew back, and hurled the keys into the night. He then stuck his head out the window, but down below it was pitch dark and he could see nothing. A moment later he heard a faint ding. Feeling a bit disappointed, the child stared aimlessly out into the dark. In a few apartments in the building across from him the lights were still on, and through the thin window curtains he could still see people walking back and forth.

  A vague smile stretched across the child's face. He climbed onto the windowsill wearing nothing but his underwear and huddled against the chill, hands around his shoulders, and watched the lights of the other building in silence.

  The jurisdictional dispute over the case was quickly resolved. The Jiangbin City police relinquished their jurisdiction, leaving the Changhong City police in charge of overseeing pre-trial arrangements and transferring it to the prosecution. When Fang Mu heard the news, he told Bian Ping he wanted to
follow up on the case. Bian Ping agreed.

  In Fang Mu's view, Luo Jiahai's motive made no sense. The case had three victims in total, of whom Shen Xiang's cause of death appeared very much to have been suicide, while the deaths of Sang Nannan and Qin Yumei had without a doubt been caused by Luo Jiahai. Sang Nannan had been stabbed more than 20 times, and Qin Yumei had met a cruel end, too. On the surface it looked like these two homicides had been done out of hatred. But what had been Luo Jiahai's fundamental motive to murder two different people in two different places? Furthermore, what was this smell Luo Jiahai kept emphasizing? If the basis of this smell was sex, then what was the story behind that?

  Fang Mu had gained access to some of the pre-trial case materials from the precinct. They showed that ever since his arrest, Luo Jiahai had been open and frank about his crimes, but had continued refusing to confess a motive. This in turn was an indication that he was already clinging to a stubborn determination to die, for he would undoubtedly be given the death sentence. However, in accordance with Chinese criminal law, if any fault of the victim had led to a crime of passion, then he could be given a deferred death sentence, which would mean a judicial review after two years of forced labor. So, if Luo Jiahai's killings were indeed found to be excusable, then he was actually abandoning his last chance to be spared the death penalty.

  To get the truth from the mouth of one who was determined with all his heart to die would be very, very difficult, but Fang Mu still planned on giving it a try. Besides, Luo Jiahai really did have a prior appointment with him.

  All the case-related material evidence had been transferred to Changhong City, including the corpses of two of the victims. On the day that Luo Jiahai was asked to identify the bodies, Fang Mu was at the Municipal Bureau also. He stood in the doorway to the morgue, watching distantly as Luo Jiahai was escorted down the hallway by two police officers.

  Luo Jiahai was stumbling because he was trying to walk too fast and his ankles were bound with a pair of heavy cuffs. He had his neck stretched out the whole way, and upon approaching the door to the morgue, his eyes began to tear up.

  He looked at Fang Mu with trembling lips, seeming about to say something by way of gratitude.

  Fang Mu felt rather awkward. He had not actually fulfilled his promise to allow Luo Jiahai to see Shen Xiang one more time; what was happening today was nothing more than a routine procedure to have him identify the bodies. Watching as the two cops pushed him into the morgue, Fang Mu considered this for a moment, and then pulled one of them aside. "After he's finished identifying the bodies, let him stay a while longer on the precondition that he does nothing to mess up the corpses."

  Soon the room had grown quiet apart from the heart-rending sound of weeping. The policeman was quite generous and gave him a full 15 minutes before the red-eyed Luo Jiahai was taken out, his face showing a mixture of lamentation and relief.

  Luo Jiahai wiped his nose with his sleeve, walked straight over to Fang Mu, and said bluntly, "Let's talk."

  Fang Mu stared into his eyes for several seconds. "Okay."

  "But I have one condition."

  Fang Mu nodded. "Tell me."

  "While we're talking, no one else can be present, and no audio or video recordings allowed. And whatever I say, you can tell no one."

  "All right, that's not hard to make happen."

  In order to preclude any unnecessary worry on the part of Luo Jiahai, Fang Mu did not take him to an interview room; instead he arranged for their conversation to take place in a small conference room on the third floor. While waiting for the elevator in the lobby on the ground floor, the doors had just started to open when he heard an urgent set of footsteps rushing up from behind them.

  "Wait!"

  A middle-aged man carrying a briefcase hurried over. Fang Mu, Luo Jiahai, and the accompanying police officer hadn't yet stepped into the elevator when the man called out. Fang Mu thought he wanted to catch the elevator, so he reached out to push the door-open button.

  The middle-aged man took his time getting into the elevator and asked Luo Jiahai eagerly, "Excuse me. Are you Mr. Luo Jiahai?"

  "I am. Who...?" Luo Jiahai looked a bit baffled.

  Exhaling in relief, the middle-aged man wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand and retrieved a certificate of attorney from the briefcase. "I'm Jiang Dexian, attorney at Hengda Law Firm. I heard about your case and would like to be your defense attorney."

  So, a corporate defense lawyer. Fang Mu thought this both curious and ridiculous, but at the same time he felt puzzled. He had heard of this person; Jiang Dexian was a well-known lawyer in the town, and his hands were likely filled with a number of cases already. Why would he take the initiative to come knocking for such an insignificant case like this one?

  There was an unwritten rule in the legal profession: Lawyers who were just starting their careers would take on a few criminal cases, especially cases involving the death penalty, in the hopes that they could make a name for themselves if they won. But Jiang Dexian did not need to make a name for himself through such methods.

  Luo Jiahai laughed bitterly. "Thank you, but don't bother. I have no use for a lawyer."

  "Oh, but you do." Jiang Dexian's tone was firm. "The rules of criminal procedure stipulate that an attorney must be involved in all legal cases involving the death penalty..."

  The words death penalty seemed to sting Luo Jiahai. A gloomy settled over him. "I'm sorry, but I don't need you. Nor do I have money enough to pay you."

  "No; no payment necessary," Jiang Dexian added. "I'll defend you for free. Believe me; I can save your life."

  "I don't need you!"

  "Give yourself a chance, buddy. Think of your family; think of your girlfr—"

  Fang Mu had to doubt Jiang Dexian's professionalism; this probing of his into the family and relationships of a man who was practically doomed to die could be nothing other than rubbing salt in the wound. And thus provoked, Luo Jiahai suddenly lost all reason.

  "Get the hell out of here!"

  He tried to rush at Jiang Dexian, but having forgotten for the moment that his feet were still cuffed, he took one step and immediately fell to the floor. Terrified, Jiang Dexian retreated a couple of steps, all blood drained from his face.

  The policemen in charge of Luo Jiahai's custody snapped into motion, pinning him to the ground. Luo Jiahai continued to struggle and shout abuse. "Get out! Get the hell out! Don't think you can use us to get famous… Get out of here!" His posture suggested that he would not be satisfied until he had bitten a chunk of flesh from Jiang Dexian's leg.

  The commotion brought several more cops over to help. Seeing one of them pulling out a baton, Jiang Dexian jumped forward and shouted, "I warn you all, do not use force against my client. If you do…"

  With one hand Fang Mu waved for the cop to put his baton away while unceremoniously shoving Jiang Dexian backward with the other. "He isn't your client, so shut up!"

  Luo Jiahai was subdued quickly. One of the policemen, with his knees pressing down against Luo Jiahai's shoulder, lifted his head to speak to Fang Mu. "Excuse me, Officer Fang, but I think we need to take him back now."

  That went without saying; Fang Mu knew the day's conversation was now an impossibility. Reluctantly, he nodded and signaled for them to take Luo Jiahai back to the detention center.

  After watching Luo Jiahai get carried out of the main hall by two of the policemen, Fang Mu turned to find that Jiang Dexian, too, was still staring in the direction of the doors. He must have sensed that Fang Mu was looking at him, for he turned his head. As the two of them locked eyes, Fang Mu saw the trace of an emotion that had not yet had time to dissipate. A second later, Jiang Dexian's expression again returned cold, professional detachment.

  He nodded at Fang Mu, turned, and walked off.

  Fang Mu contemplated the situation. He had no reason to stay at the precinct, so he, too, made his way toward the exit.

  No sooner had he walked out of the main entranc
e than he saw a black Audi A6 speed off from the street before him, with Jiang Dexian sitting in the driver's seat. As he watched, the car looked like a supple shark darting into the endless stream of heavy traffic. Sighing, he walked toward his jeep.

  He got in and started the engine, but for a long time he just sat there in park, engine idling. After a moment he discovered that he was thinking of that emotion he had seen in Jiang Dexian's eyes. It was a look that seldom appeared in the eyes of a professional attorney.

  It had been compassion.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Angel Hall

  All smiles, Teacher Zhou picked through the paper bags Fang Mu had brought. "Hey, you bought lots!"

  Fang Mu's face turned a shade of red. "I'm not very good at buying things…" He watched as Teacher Zhou spread out a pair of jeans. "…I hope Yafan likes them."

  "Humph. You were a lot more thoughtful than I would have been." Teacher Zhou folded the articles of clothing and placed them back in the bags. "Yafan has definitely gotten to the age where beauty is all that matters. But in future, you'd better not give her quite so many of these sorts of things; it's best for the children here not to succumb too highly to the vanity bug."