Reed was dead. He'd been found in the second-floor restroom.
He was kneeling on the floor, wearing a black ballroom dance outfit that stretched across his large belly, face submerged in a urinal. Clutched between the fingers of his right hand was a spent sparkler firework.
The back of his skull was shattered—blood and brain matter splattered everywhere.
A large wrench was found in the trash can.
Mrs. Reed was also in dance attire—a peach-colored dress. She sat on the filthy, footprint-marked floor by the restroom door, one hand gripping the frame, the other pounding the tiles. Tears streamed down her face; she couldn't speak through her sobs.
The ballroom dance instructor was a tall man, also in black dancewear, with a deep V-neck that showed off his sculpted chest muscles. He moved with the fluid grace of a martial arts master, closing the distance to Marcus Shaw in a flash. "About half an hour ago, he said he needed the restroom. He didn't come back, so I went to check—and found him like this. The sparkler in his hand was still shooting sparks." He pressed a hand to his chest.
Fireworks again, Marcus Shaw thought. Same killer, without a doubt.
"Did you see anyone suspicious?"
The instructor shook his head. The golden tassels on his outfit swayed.
"How long has he been coming here to practice? Does he have a regular schedule?"
"Almost a year. He came every week with his wife—three lessons a week, rarely missed one."
Marcus Shaw said nothing.
Mrs. Reed's crying suddenly broke open, a waterfall that had been building behind a dam, drowning everyone in the room in its fury.
She crawled toward the body. The dance instructor held her back, trying to comfort her. Nora stood nearby, a hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Marcus Shaw wanted to pat her shoulder, but his arm felt like lead—he couldn't lift it.
"You know him?"
Nora's lashes fluttered. After a long while, she whispered, "Uncle Reed was my mother's college classmate. They were first loves. I ran into him in the hallway once—he recognized me by the mole near my eye from a class reunion photo, and we chatted briefly. He asked about my mother."
Marcus Shaw nodded. No wonder the captain had been so reluctant to explain.
He pulled on gloves and examined the bloody wrench. Heavy, old, covered in fine scratches, the handle caked with black grease.
The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed.
Viktor Dunn, Lucas Lutz, and Dr. Maren Frost arrived, trailed by a middle-aged man in a crisply pressed police uniform. All wore complicated expressions as they surveyed the scene.
Dr. Maren Frost helped Mrs. Reed to her feet, exchanged a few words, then quickly donned gloves and a mask. She shared a look with Lucas Lutz and moved in to examine the body.
Viktor Dunn collected himself. "Marcus, word travels fast with you."
Marcus Shaw didn't answer.
The unfamiliar officer spoke up: "I hear you're currently suspended. Please leave immediately and don't compromise the scene or interfere with our investigation."
Marcus Shaw was about to argue when Lucas Lutz introduced him: "After the news broke, the bureau assigned Deputy Captain Harris to lead our unit."
Marcus Shaw swallowed his words, yanked off his gloves, and threw them into the trash can. He turned to leave, but Deputy Captain Harris called after him: "Wait. Please explain to me—how is it you arrived at the scene so quickly?"
Marcus Shaw turned back and pointed at Nora. "I came to pick up my wife from work. It was a coincidence."
The moment the words were out, Dr. Maren Frost straightened up from the body, turned her head, and swept her eyes over Nora from head to toe.
Nora looked like a child caught stealing, her hands uncertain of where to land, her gaze seeking Marcus Shaw.
He grabbed her hand and faced Deputy Captain Harris. "Can I leave now?" Without waiting for an answer, he steered his wife—stiff as a wooden puppet—toward the exit.
Viktor Dunn stood there, caught between two loyalties, calling after him: "Hey, Marcus, hey, Marcus—"
In the car, Marcus Shaw sighed and glanced at Nora. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her eyes vacant.
"Scared?" he asked.
It took her a moment to register, and even then, she said nothing—just shook her head violently and looked down.
Marcus Shaw drove.
Just past an intersection, Nora's phone rang from her bag. She glanced at the screen. "It's Mom."
Marcus Shaw said nothing.
She answered. Helen Shaw's voice came through, thick with tears: "Your father-in-law is missing! He went out this morning and we can't reach him!"
***
When Marcus Shaw burst through his parents' door, Helen Shaw sat on the front steps wearing reading glasses, one hand holding her phone, the other clutching an address book, calling every number she had for her husband's old friends.
Nora ran over and tugged the hem of her mother-in-law's qipao to cover her exposed thighs.
Helen Shaw hung up, her face a portrait of grief, and immediately began punching in the next number. Her hands shook so badly she kept pressing the wrong buttons and had to re-enter them.
"Mom, let's get up—the step is cold," Nora urged.
Helen Shaw seemed not to hear, dialing one number after another, reciting the same plea each time.
Cold wind swept through like a dull blade, scraping at their faces.
Nearly twenty minutes passed before she'd called every number in the book. Only then did she grab Nora's hand and say in a trembling voice, "Nobody knows where he is. What do we do?"
Nora pulled her mother-in-law into her arms and patted her shoulder, but she looked just as lost. She turned to Marcus Shaw: "What do we do?"
The question felt familiar. In an instant, Marcus Shaw thought of Daniel Shaw, who'd always been indecisive, turning to his big brother for every decision, big or small.
Nora asked again. Marcus Shaw snapped back. "What good is crying? Don't jump to the worst conclusion. Maybe his phone died, or he dropped it somewhere."
Nora nodded and repeated this to her mother-in-law.
Helen Shaw shook her head. "Impossible. Then why hasn't he come home?"
"How about this—Dad frequents a few places. Chaoyang Park, the Japanese sake bar, the flower and fish market. Let's split up. It'll be faster."
The three divided into two groups: mother and daughter-in-law to the park, Marcus Shaw to the other two locations.
The Japanese sake bar was sparsely populated. Goose-yellow lighting even in daytime, wooden tables and chairs, distressed flooring, all dark tones, and a shamisen playing softly in the background like ripples spreading across still water. That atmosphere was why his father always sneaked off here—two small plates, solo drinking.
He came often enough that the staff recognized him. Marcus Shaw gave a brief description, and the waitress said, "I know, I know—the gentleman who always wears a tie and an octagonal cap. He hasn't been in today."
"Are you sure? Maybe you didn't notice?" Marcus Shaw rose on his toes to peer upstairs.
"I'm sure. See that corner booth? He always sits there. But it's been empty all day."
Marcus Shaw thanked her, scanned the restaurant anyway, and left.
He drove to the flower and fish market.
The market was bustling—men and women, young and old, strolling leisurely, carrying fishbowls or potted plants. Few walked away empty-handed.
Marcus Shaw headed straight for the ornamental fish section. Before he even arrived, the pond-scum smell hit him.
"Walter, has my dad been by?"
Walter was the owner of the largest shop in the section—fifty-ish, short, slightly paunchy, with white stubble on his head and chin. Marcus Shaw's father was a regular; Marcus Shaw had accompanied him a couple of times.
Walter slapped his palm with a fan. "Oh, don't mention it! Your old man and I had a deal—he was supposed to pick up fish from me first thing this morning, but he stood me up, and I can't reach him."
"My father is missing. I've looked everywhere."
Walter froze, then rearranged his face. "Missing? That can't be right. Don't tell me he went off drinking somewhere again."
"I already checked the sake bar. He wasn't there."
Walter stood there, his fan neither waving nor still.
"I'll check a few more places. If you see him, tell him to come home right away."
As Marcus Shaw turned to leave, Walter called after him: "Hey, hey—since you're here, take the fish for him. White albino stingray—rare specimen, the boss from Tonghua drove it in overnight. Only fifty-five hundred."
Marcus Shaw stopped, glanced back. "Let's talk later. Finding him is more important. And I didn't bring that much cash."
Walter slapped his fan against his leg again. "Your father said he definitely wanted it, so I ordered it! If you don't take it, it's dead weight on my hands. A police family should honor its word!"
Just outside the market, Nora called: "Something's wrong. I just got a text—Dad has been kidnapped! They want one million!"
Marcus Shaw's brain buzzed. "Don't panic. Forward me the message."
Seconds later, a text arrived: "The old man is with me. If you want him alive, have one million ready before dark and await instructions. Do not call. If you go to the police, you'll be collecting a corpse."
Attached was a photo of his father's burgundy tie, cut in two.
Marcus Shaw's blood ignited. He asked Nora for the sender's number and dialed it immediately—four times. Each time, the call was rejected.
Furious, he called the station to report, then composed a text to the kidnapper with careful wording: "Before you kidnap someone, maybe do your homework? I'm a police officer. You dared to target me? Release him now, or you'll regret it."
He talked tough, but his stomach churned. He'd reported it, but he couldn't rely solely on the police. He drove home to gather whatever cash he could.
He didn't expect a reply, but the kidnapper actually responded: "If you're a cop, I'm the Emperor of Heaven."
At his parents' house, Helen Shaw had already unearthed four bank books and some gold jewelry, all wrapped in red cloth.
"Where's Nora?" Marcus Shaw asked.
Helen Shaw was mumbling to herself, hands trembling, and belatedly answered, "She—she went home. To get her own bank books too."
Marcus Shaw had never seen her like this. He pointed at her and then at his own head, reminding her that a strand of hair had come loose.
They went downstairs together, heading for the nearest pawnshop.
"This bracelet—wasn't it your engagement gift? And these earrings—they were my mother's. Don't pawn these. Keep them."
Helen Shaw's voice cracked. "If he's gone, what's the point of keeping things?"
Marcus Shaw let it be after some haggling, they got just over 130,000. They hit two more banks and withdrew everything, totaling about 600,000.
Nora called: she'd withdrawn 95,000 and gotten 50,000 from her parents. How much more was needed?
Marcus Shaw calculated. "My salary card has a bit. Combined, it should be close enough. Bring the money to my parents' place—together."
They'd barely gotten all the cash together when a knock came at the door. "Police, open up."
Both women panicked. Marcus Shaw gestured for calm. "Don't worry—I reported the kidnapping. It should be my colleagues."
He opened the door. Deputy Captain Harris stood there, with two unfamiliar faces behind him.
Before Marcus Shaw could speak, Li produced a detention warrant. "You're under suspicion for the murder of Reed. Come with us."