Dominic Hale had no listed contact information.
His household registration was almost bare—name, gender, date of birth, photo, ID number, and registered address, nothing else. Even the local police station field was blank.
Marcus Shaw took a deep breath. No matter who you bribed, no matter what powers you have—I'm going to catch you.
With no other option, he hurried back to the unit and submitted another ID trace request.
Captain Reed examined the form for a long time, then set down his pen. "What kind of stunt are you pulling now? How many more of these are you going to file?"
"If you want this case solved, stay out of my way."
The paperwork still needed upper-level approval. Rather than sit around waiting, Marcus Shaw rushed back to the Unicom branch.
The slick-haired manager didn't say a word, just pointed at a young female clerk. She worked glacially, each keystroke taking forever, making Marcus Shaw wonder if her family had paid her way into the job. He grew impatient and asked to take over. She slouched away, draping herself against the chair at an angle that defied gravity.
The search turned up Dominic Hale's phone number. Active for five months, with a balance of 477.20 yuan.
Not wanting to spook his quarry, Marcus Shaw decided against calling. He was about to leave when the clerk produced a bottle of water from nowhere. "It's hot out, aren't you thirsty?" She held it out, biting her lip.
He declined. She chased after him as if he couldn't leave without it.
Marcus Shaw thanked her. "Looks like you need it more—keep it."
Back at headquarters, Marcus Shaw conferred with Zack and drove to the city bureau's 110 Command Center to locate Dominic Hale's phone signal. The technician there said, "We can do it, but we'd need at least three minutes of continuous call time. Otherwise, the signal isn't strong enough for a reliable fix. If we could pinpoint people in one second like in Hollywood movies, the crime rate would drop a few more notches."
"Then I call him, and you trace the signal—simple."
"We can do that, but you have to keep him talking for three full minutes."
Which was the problem.
The target was naturally suspicious. An unexpected call from an unknown number, with demands to stay on the line? It was too risky, too easy to spook him.
Marcus Shaw sat at the computer, hoping Dominic Hale would make a call on his own.
After half an hour with nothing, he went back to the technician. "What if I pose as a Unicom customer service rep and call him with a survey?"
The technician nodded. "That could work, but you have to make him want to participate."
"Tell him we'll give him a free gigabyte of data."
"Let's hope he values one gigabyte."
It was a gamble, but the only hand they had.
Marcus Shaw quickly found a twenty-question customer satisfaction survey online. The technician was ready. "Go whenever."
"Could you find a female colleague? Someone with a nice voice?"
The technician stood and surveyed the dispatch floor, which was as chaotic as ever. His brow furrowed.
"Never mind, I'll do it myself."
The technician thought for a moment, then said, "I've got a voice changer. What kind of voice do you want? I can adjust it."
He dialed it in—sugary, breathy, like a lovestruck teenager.
"Works, but isn't it a bit much? Too obvious, too forced. Might make him suspicious."
The technician agreed and dropped the pitch a few degrees. Now it sounded like a poised, mature woman.
Marcus Shaw said, "That's good. At his age, he probably goes for that type."
Everything ready. Marcus Shaw steadied himself, drew a deep breath, and, using a spoofed customer service number, dialed Dominic Hale's phone.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Each tone struck his chest like a hammer.
Over thirty seconds passed. He was about to hang up when a recorded voice cut in: "The number you've dialed is busy. Please try again later."
Marcus Shaw stared at the phone, then twisted to look at the technician.
"If he's not available, shouldn't it ring the full fifty seconds before going to voicemail? Did he figure us out and reject the call?"
Marcus Shaw sat frozen, his face ashen, heart pounding. After nearly two minutes of agonizing, he said, "Screw it. He's already seen the number. I'll try once more. If it works, it works. If not, we'll figure something else out."
But before he could dial again, the phone lit up—an incoming call from Dominic Hale. Both men jumped in their chairs.
The technician gave a ready signal.
Marcus Shaw steadied his breathing and pressed accept.
"Who's this?" A man's voice, thick and rough, like a habitual smoker and heavy drinker.
Marcus Shaw, pinching his throat, said, "Good afternoon, sir, may I ask if this is Dominic Hale, the registered subscriber? My name is—er, representative number seven-nine-zero-three-three-five, with Unicom customer service."
"What do you want?" The voice hit like a brick.
Afraid the man would hang up, Marcus Shaw accelerated, trying to get the pitch out: "We're conducting a customer satisfaction survey. It will only take two or three minutes. The questions are simple—you just rate your satisfaction from one to five."
Silence on the line. Marcus Shaw barely breathed, sneaking a glance at the technician working furiously.
"This will help us improve our service quality, and as a thank-you, we'll give you one free gigabyte of data."
Still nothing. Just loud music in the background, someone singing an old song.
Marcus Shaw softened his tone. "Sir, my manager gave me a quota to fill before I get off work, and I'm just a few people short. Help me out, and I'll throw in an extra gig, okay?"
Through the voice changer came the sound of a mature woman—low, warm, slightly husky, with a whisper of breath. Marcus Shaw felt a little queasy listening to his own voice.
His heart spiked, missed a beat, then the line finally delivered two lazy syllables: "Fine."
Marcus Shaw read from the survey on the screen, each question stretching out, reciting the one-to-five scale after every prompt. But starting from question four, Dominic Hale grew impatient, cutting in before Marcus Shaw finished: "Five, five, five."
Marcus Shaw had to move on. Thank god they'd prepared plenty of questions, or he would've run out.
By question sixteen, the technician nudged Marcus Shaw's arm. A glance at the computer showed the call had exceeded three minutes. On the technician's screen, a blue map displayed a pulsing red dot.
Green Park District, Jing'an Road, near Changchun Park.
Marcus Shaw wrapped up the survey and offered his thanks.
He drove there immediately, hit two red lights, got stuck in traffic, and arrived at the KTV just as the target was walking out the front door. "Left a couple of minutes ago," the manager told him.
How could he have known I was coming? Marcus Shaw thought, then reconsidered—just a coincidence. He called the command center technician for Dominic Hale's current position.
"Lost him. We can only ping the location during an active call. Unless he calls someone again."
"Keep monitoring the number for me, will you? If he shows up again, let me know right away."
"Will do."
His mind buzzed like a disturbed hornets' nest. Marcus Shaw pulled over and tried to sort through it, then decided he still needed to file the paperwork at the station.
As soon as the ID trace was approved, he submitted a wiretap request.
Captain Reed set down his oversized tea mug with a frown. "First this, then that—what exactly are you up to? What's the connection between this person and the three cases?"
Marcus Shaw said, "I have Vince Conrad's sworn testimony. The old food poisoning case was crooked. Dominic Hale is killing to silence witnesses. Plus, the small black circle on the floor at the vocational school scene—I had the ash tested. It's firework residue, matching the burnt-out sparkler found in the stairwell death. This confirms our theory that the killer performed some kind of ritual after each murder. These cases should be linked and investigated together."
Reed peered at him. "I read the file, but something doesn't add up. First: if Vince Conrad knew about the old case, and Dominic Hale wanted to silence him, why not kill Vince Conrad directly? Instead, he killed the mother. Doesn't he worry Vince Conrad will hate him enough to blow the whistle?"
Marcus Shaw answered, "I asked Vince Conrad the same thing. He recalled that he'd accidentally mentioned the story to his mother. She might have told someone else, and word reached Sledge—now Dominic Hale—so she was silenced. As for Vince Conrad, he was out of town and hard to reach. Even if he figured out why his mother was killed, Dominic Hale figured he was too timid to come forward—a warning shot, essentially."
Reed leaned his elbows on the desk, hands clasped under his chin. He thought for a while. "That's barely plausible, but something still feels off."
Marcus Shaw spread his hands.
Reed continued, "Second point: even if Vince Conrad's mother and Gordon Pike were silenced, what about the math teacher? How do you explain that? Did he also find out about the old case by coincidence?"
"The only explanation I have right now is that."
"Fine. Third point—and I don't think you've considered this—the old case was closed by a provincial leader. It was settled, thoroughly and officially." Reed looked out the window and drank from his mug.
Marcus Shaw moved to sit directly across from him. "The living culprits in that case were guilty—they got what they deserved. The question is whether Shane Mercer was wrongfully convicted. Was he a scapegoat? And is the real mastermind still out there, free as a bird? I had my doubts even then, but the pressure was on, and I didn't push hard enough. Now that more people are dying, whatever you think, I feel responsible. I dropped the ball. So I'll do everything in my power to get it right this time. No innocent person should suffer, and no one guilty should slip through."