Chapter 63: The Case of the Hammer Demon (Part 32)

When the blade-like sunlight filtered through the blinds of Han Junshan's office, the fax machine was spitting out the eleventh bulletin of assistance in investigation. Three cigarette butts lay in the ashtray, pinched out only after the filter cotton had been burned to scorch marks.

"The 'October 18 Case' has been under investigation for over two months. Was the investigation report taken to Dunhuang to restore mural paintings?" The voice in the earpiece carried the unique sarcasm of electrical current. Han Junshan wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear, drawing a map of the provincial boundary on a memo pad, his pen tip puncturing the location of Pingyu County.

Lei Chen and his team's crime scene investigation report was still spread across the desk, its third-party evidence list stained yellowish-brown by coffee. Han Junshan suddenly laughed: "Do you know what microscope the Second Criminal Investigation Team is currently using? The lens has a crack in it; looking at a hair looks like watching the tail of a shooting star."

The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he crushed the empty cigarette carton. "Yes, the case remains unsolved, and I will shoulder the responsibility, but if you want to touch the members of the special investigation team—"

The miserable screech of a paper jam echoed from the hallway. Qi Wei froze outside the frosted glass door, clutching a stack of crime scene photos, as she watched the sweat on Han Junshan's nape soak through his uniform, leaving a crust of salt. The new gray hairs at his temples looked like a sprinkle of aluminum powder in the oblique light.

While suspicious oil droplets floated in the cafeteria's seaweed soup, Qi Wei poked a piece of braised eggplant with the tip of her chopsticks: "I heard Director Han was flipping tables with Vice Governor Pan this morning."

Wen Rou's spoon clattered against her meal tray: "Flipping tables? His battered desk has three legs propped up with case files; if he flipped it, he'd crash right through the anti-narcotics team's mahjong game downstairs."

Halfway through the uproarious laughter, everyone suddenly fell silent.

Qi Wei stabbed the salted duck egg until it was riddled with holes: "He said the refrigerator in the physical evidence room needs its ammonia replaced, or the victims' organ specimens will soon be cured like a platter of assorted Chinese bacon."

The laughter died completely. Li睿 stared at his own reflection in the soup bowl and fell silent.

"In the blink of an eye, the Spring Festival is almost here," Wen Rou began. "With no progress on this case for so long, Director Han is indeed bearing immense pressure."

At 3:17 PM, administrative officer Xiao Li rushed in and slipped, the papers in her arms scattering like snowflakes. The very moment she bent down to pick them up, Han Junshan walked in.

"Director Han," Wen Rou stood up and said.

"Wen Rou, come with me for a moment!" Han Junshan beckoned.

***

Miaoqian Town on the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month was like a red-hot iron wok, sizzling with the gritty flavor of the underworld from all directions. As Zhao Xinmin stepped onto the streets, crushing red firecracker paper scattered all over the ground, a stray dog bared its teeth at him. He lowered his gaze to his dusty Liberation shoes, the toes still stained with mud from the Chunlan Town bus station.

The festive atmosphere of the upcoming holiday failed to arouse his interest. With a cold expression, he strolled around the town a few times and set his sights on a street vendor's stall.

"This hammer, for cracking walnuts?" The hardware vendor shrank inside his military-style cotton-padded overcoat, the white mist exhaled from his nostrils blurring the price tag.

"For building houses." Zhao Xinmin tapped the octagonal iron hammer with his knuckle, and the metallic hum shattered the icicles hanging under the eaves. He remembered testing the hammer in Sidian Village half a month ago; the cracking sound of that family of three's skulls had been just as crisp.

When the bus dropped him off at Jiangzhai, dusk was creeping up from the wheat fields. He counted the five coins in his pants pocket as he walked south—three were stolen last week in Luocheng, and two were stained with the iron rust of Luxian. Passing the third village entrance, the wanted posters on the utility pole fluttered loudly in the north wind, the red official seal of the Lingquan Branch Bureau glaringly bright.

In the border region between Henan and Anhui, Miaoqian Town was a place of considerable notoriety. Located in the "triangle area" formed by Linquan, Xincai, and Pingyu counties, it spanned two provinces, boasted complex terrain, and was densely populated. Dozens of li northwest of Miaoqian Town lay a small village called Lijiafeng.

Even the village mongrels were asleep. The snow on the low wall of Li Baofa's house still bore cat paw prints from the previous night. When Zhao Xinmin scaled the wall, he scraped off a piece of plaster, resembling the peeling off of a scabbed wound. A squeaking sound came from the bed board as the little girl in the west wing turned over, and he suddenly remembered he needed a new pair of gloves—the pair he bought last week at the Pingyu labor protection store had worn thin at the index finger.

At 3:00 AM, salt particles drifted across the provincial highway toward the direction of Xincai. Zhao Xinmin swung the iron hammer in an arc, and the ice on the pond cracked open into a spiderweb with a sharp sound. As he hung the blood-stained clothes on a sour jujube tree, he compared them against the moonlight; the splash-like bloodstains on the cuffs looked rather like freehand ink plum blossoms.

As the police car crunched over the cracks in the provincial highway, the "Airbag Malfunction" indicator light on the dashboard flashed like a disco strobe light. Li Rui jammed the broken half of a Red Pagoda Mountain cigarette into the windshield wiper control knob, and the ash drifted down with the bumps into the copy of *Postpartum Care for Sows* on the passenger seat—a book he had bought years ago during a debate with Wen Rou over postpartum care for pigs.

"Did forensic doctor Li change careers?" Wen Rou tugged at her seatbelt to adjust her posture, the uniform's shoulder insignia casting flickering silver spots on the windshield. "A veterinarian now?"

Li Rui jerked the steering wheel to avoid a pig transport truck, a blood-soaked half pighead flashing in the rearview mirror. "Forensic medicine and veterinary medicine share the same nature of work; you can't call it changing careers!" He suddenly slammed on the brakes, the front tires kicking up dust in front of the faded banner reading 'Slow Down Ahead': "Damn it, did old Han go back to the provincial capital to drink coffee?"

Wen Rou was wiping the latch of the fingerprint collection kit with a cotton swab, the stainless steel tweezers clattering against the case wall. Across the national highway, a flock of sheep slowly drifted across the road, and the poignant strains of Huangmei Opera drifted from the shepherd's waist radio.

"Old Han told me that night." She suddenly began counting the biological evidence bags in the investigation kit. "This time, his fortune looks grim."

Li Rui rolled down the window to flick his ash, but the north wind whipped the embers right back into his collar. "You know what the provincial bureau's lie detector looks like? Saw it during training last time; looks just like a microwave oven."

He cranked up the police radio, and the static suddenly burst into the impassioned broadcast of a lottery draw. "Old Han definitely slammed his ashtray onto that tin box."

***

Beneath the crooked locust tree at the village entrance, a man wearing long johns was chasing a woman in a floral shirt while wielding a notched aluminum pot.

"Then let's produce some tangible results so Director Han won't be put in too difficult a spot." Li Rui kicked away half a brick as he stepped out of the car, and the brick landed precisely in an abandoned hand-pumped well.

Lei Chen squatted on the ground, flicking his cigarette ash into a rusted enamel jar, his chalk tip punching a hole right through the provincial boundary map.

"Li Baofa, a forty-two-year-old bachelor, buried his sickly wife last year," Lei Chen introduced concisely. "His son Li Xiaolei is 9, and his daughter Li Xiaoli is 13. This family of three was originally so happy."

The koi calendar hanging on the wall was frozen on January 20, with a red circle enclosing the characters for "Greater Cold."

"The perpetrator scaled the low wall into the courtyard, forced the double-bolted door, and entered the house. The murder weapon was a round blunt instrument, and the young girl was sexually assaulted," Xiao Wang reported.

"The bodies weren't discovered until two days after the crime," Lei Chen continued. "According to Li Baofa's mother, Chen Ying, Li Baofa visited her home on the morning of the 20th, and she hadn't seen him since. On the morning of the 21st, Li Baofa's father, Li Jianmin, went to Li Baofa's house and found the hallway door bolted from the inside. Neighbors said they hadn't seen Li Baofa all day and had no idea what the family was up to. On the evening of the 23rd, Chen Ying went to Li Baofa's house and discovered the tragedy."

"Why weren't the bodies transported back to the municipal bureau?" Wen Rou asked.

"The old lady refused." Lei Chen looked toward the doorway. Under the old locust tree, Chen Ying was picking mud out of her grandson's palms.

The little child's fists were clenched so tightly that half a frozen earthworm was embedded beneath his fingernails.

"Did she run out to the threshold of the main room?" she muttered to the corpse. "If she could have run just seven more steps, she would have stepped right into your second uncle's pigsty..."

"We will perform the autopsy at the scene," Li Rui said calmly. "We'll build a tent right here."