Lockdown on Campus
"Which class are you from? Don't you know there's a parents' meeting today?"
Marcus Shaw, bag slung over his shoulder, had just entered the school gate when the guard at the reception booth stopped him. Left with no choice, he flashed his badge, and the guard's expression shifted to something strange.
This was a vocational high school with a large playground paved with yellow sand. When the wind picked up, the dust swirled easily. Weeds choked the edges of the field, and piles of sandbags and construction materials were stacked nearby, as if some facility was still being built.
There was only one classroom building—five stories tall, entirely tiled in white ceramic, though some sections had yellowed or fallen away. Near the left end of the building, a drainage problem at the top had left a rust stain running straight down the wall like a conspicuous wound.
Nearly every classroom had its windows open, and all manner of voices flew out—noisy, but impossible to make out clearly.
Marcus Shaw steadied his breathing and strode quickly into the building.
Inside, over three hundred parents were trapped, like a beehive ready to explode.
Upon reaching the third floor where the incident had occurred, Marcus Shaw asked who had reported the case. A heavyset woman in a floral shirt came over. Though she looked anxious, her tone was hesitant as she studied Marcus Shaw and asked, "Just you?"
"The whole team's out on calls. It's just me for now." Marcus Shaw finished speaking and glanced toward the far end of the corridor, where a crowd had gathered around a doorway.
The heavyset woman hadn't moved much, so Marcus Shaw added, "I'm actually in my mid-thirties, and I've been a detective for seven or eight years. I can handle this—put your mind at ease."
Only then did she trot forward, her flesh jiggling with each step, her sandals slapping the floor.
The room had a faint smell of smoke—acrid, like burning plastic. Dr. Maren Frost was already examining the body. When she saw Marcus Shaw enter, she greeted him and motioned him over. Marcus Shaw gave a slight nod but said nothing. He crouched beside the corpse and studied it carefully.
The victim was a short, slight man. He looked to be in his forties, but his hair was white, long, and disheveled. He lay on his back next to a row of metal filing cabinets, one leg extended with the other foot crossed over its ankle, forming a figure four. A large bruise-purple mark covered his forehead, and blood had run in different directions, obscuring his eyes, nose, and mouth. Several streaks had coursed into his hair, dyeing a small tuft of white red. A pair of glasses lay on the floor, the left lens shattered.
"Repeated impacts caused a skull fracture at the front, likely accompanied by severe concussion. Time of death—less than an hour." Dr. Maren Frost finished speaking and pointed to a bloodstained corner of the filing cabinet.
Marcus Shaw glanced at it, pulled the camera from his bag, and began taking photographs. As he shot, he couldn't help thinking—what was going on lately? The hallway case had gone cold, and they still didn't know what to do next. Now another death. Cases just kept piling up.
The heavyset woman from earlier was craning her neck to peer inside. She alone nearly filled the entire doorway. Her gaze was like an ear pick—finding every gap, advancing inch by inch, scooping out whatever she wanted to see.
After taking about a dozen photos, Marcus Shaw noticed a small black circle on the cement floor near the window. He rubbed it with his finger—black ash. He brought it to his nose and caught an indescribable strange odor.
But no matter how he searched, he couldn't find anything associated with it. He had no idea if it was connected to the deceased. He took a cotton swab, dabbed the meager amount of black ash, and sealed it in an evidence bag.
He took another twenty-plus photographs. Noticing the heavyset woman still peering in, Marcus Shaw had to go over and ask, "Where's the school leadership?"
To his surprise, she replied, "That would be me—I'm the vice principal. The principal is away on business and left me in charge."
Marcus Shaw studied her deliberately for a moment without speaking. She pursed her lips.
"The killer is very likely still in the school—it hasn't been long since the murder."
She immediately said, "I've already issued instructions for the teachers to keep their classes calm. I've also had the school gates sealed—people can come in, but no one goes out."
Marcus Shaw nodded. "Were you the one who discovered the body?"
She shook her head. "One of our teachers." She turned and waved over a young female teacher.
The teacher was young, with shoulder-length straightened hair. Her face was plain—small nose, small eyes, and she wore glasses. She barely dared to meet Marcus Shaw's gaze, keeping her face angled toward the vice principal as she spoke in a soft voice: "Teacher Li and I had both finished speaking on stage, so we came out to get Mr. Hollis, but he was nowhere to be found—not in the office either. Teacher Li said he'd probably gone to the restroom and would be back soon, so she went back into the classroom and said a few words to keep the parents waiting. But he still didn't come, so Teacher Li went into the men's room to look. There was no one except a parent smoking. The two of us split up to search. When I reached this floor, I found this room's door wide open. I called out twice, but no one answered. And then I discovered..."
Her voice began to tremble. She clutched the hem of her shirt, her eyes darting like a rabbit's, seemingly seeking reassurance from the vice principal.
Marcus Shaw jotted down some notes and asked, "When you got here, did you see anyone else? Or notice anything unusual?"
She glanced at the vice principal, then shook her head firmly.
Marcus Shaw fell silent for a moment, then said, "If you discover any leads, you must tell me. Otherwise, you could be charged with obstruction—and that's a crime."
The young teacher looked at the vice principal again. The heavyset woman said nothing, her face remaining stony. Marcus Shaw sensed that she was definitely holding something back—that the vice principal had instructed her not to speak.
He let the teacher go, then turned to the heavyset woman. "Tell the others to disperse too."
Only the vice principal remained at the door. Marcus Shaw stood beside her, his eyes on Dr. Maren Frost as she continued working, while he lowered his voice and said: "A teacher dying on school grounds—no matter the cause—is ultimately the school's responsibility. But deliberately concealing evidence and obstructing a police investigation is a personal crime. Since you're a leader, you must have more foresight than the average person."
That got a reaction. She studied Marcus Shaw's profile for a long time. He didn't look at her directly, just scribbled in his notebook. When he reached the section on the body's condition, he finally heard her speak: "My memory—almost forgot. When that young teacher reported the situation to me, I rushed right over and found this on the desk by the window."
She pulled a small slip of paper from her pants pocket and handed it to him. It bore only one line, but it made his heart sink:
I should not have violated female students. I am unworthy of being a teacher.
Marcus Shaw collected himself and asked, "Is this true?"
The vice principal considered for a moment and said, "Sometimes after school, he would keep students with poor grades behind for extra tutoring. What he did, nobody knows. No student or parent ever reported anything. The leadership team—no, I personally—had no knowledge whatsoever. I only found out today myself. I'm shocked, and I condemn it from the bottom of my heart. For him to do such a thing—he's a disgrace to the teaching profession!"
"Before he died, did anything seem off about his behavior or demeanor?"
The vice principal thought for a moment. "At the morning meeting, he seemed a bit distracted. But he didn't say anything, so nobody paid much attention."
Marcus Shaw stared at the note, his attention tracing the strokes of the handwriting, thinking that something must have happened to jolt the deceased's conscience and push him toward the decision to atone.
Just then, Dr. Maren Frost spoke up, calling him over to look.
"The back and top of the victim's head show extensive scalp damage. Some of the hair comes away at a pull. We also found several strands on the floor, likely his." She paused. "We can essentially confirm it was homicide. Someone grabbed his head and repeatedly slammed it into the corner of the cabinet. His right hand also has bruises and light scrapes, probably from struggling."
With that, Dr. Maren Frost tilted the victim's head to demonstrate and pointed to the injuries on his right hand. Marcus Shaw quickly photographed everything.
The heavyset woman gasped. "Murder? Are you sure?"
Dr. Maren Frost's face was impassive. "Can't be one hundred percent certain, but close enough. I plan to transport the body back for a full examination. We might be able to extract the killer's DNA from under his fingernails."
Just then, two female teachers rushed in from the hallway, panting, and told the heavyset woman, "Vice Principal, a few parents in our classes are getting restless. They're demanding to leave and we can't hold them back. They've already reached the school gate."
Marcus Shaw told Dr. Maren Frost to watch the body and hurried out. The three women followed close behind.
At the gate, Viktor Dunn and Lucas Lutz had already arrived as reinforcements and were clashing with several parents.
One of them—a man with a buzz cut—was tall, carrying a bag under his arm, wearing tight pants with a massive gold logo at the waist. His tone was aggressive as he bellowed at Viktor Dunn: "If you dare lay a hand on me today, I'll make sure you regret it. Just try me."
He spat on the ground and let loose a string of profanity.