"I did. They said Tang's been transferred to the provincial forensics center. They'll send a different forensic doctor."
Marcus Shaw acknowledged this and began snapping photos with his phone. While he was shooting, an elderly woman came down the stairs, pulling a shopping cart. She took one look at the scene and her wrinkles bunched together in shock. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she said, "That's Little Xue! She was fine—how did this happen?"
Marcus Shaw asked her about the victim. The old woman's answers were scattered and lacked focus—she kept repeating that Xue had once given her pickled vegetables and was a good person. The only useful detail was that the victim was widowed, had a son who was never home, and every time the son visited, they'd get into a shouting match—yet she'd always go out and buy pork to make him sweet-and-sour pork.
The old woman sighed. "That's how mothers are. Sharp tongue, soft heart. They scrimp and save, giving the best to their children."
Marcus Shaw's gaze dropped to the bloodstains on the floor. He said nothing.
Viktor Dunn chimed in: "Has her son been back recently?"
The old woman was definitive: "No. I live right below her. Every time he comes back, they argue—I can hear it clearly. It's been quiet for at least three months."
Viktor Dunn jotted this down.
Once he'd gathered what he could, Marcus Shaw explained that police needed to protect the scene and tried to persuade the old woman to go home. She said she understood, but then couldn't resist muttering that a nearby supermarket had a sale—last day, ending at noon. Seeing Marcus Shaw's inflexibility, she dragged her squeaky shopping cart away with a sigh.
Just as they'd gotten the old woman moving, there was a shout from outside. Marcus Shaw turned to see a tall woman in a white coat, hat, and mask striding toward them. Viktor Dunn stepped forward with his usual outgoing confidence and insisted on shaking hands.
Marcus Shaw also moved to the entrance to welcome her—but as she approached and pulled down her mask, she called out Marcus Shaw's name.
Marcus Shaw's expression froze. "What are you doing here?"
Viktor Dunn asked, "You two know each other?"
Marcus Shaw said nothing. The female forensic doctor smiled. "We were at the police academy together. I'm a year ahead."
Viktor Dunn's jaw dropped, then slowly closed, shooting Marcus Shaw a strange look.
Marcus Shaw turned away and said, "Let's get to work—we don't want to keep blocking residents' daily lives."
Dr. Maren Frost put her mask back on and, using Marcus Shaw's light, crouched beside the body.
The back of the victim's head had been split open by a sharp weapon—a deep gash. On closer inspection, grayish brain matter was mixed into the blood, congealed into a mass.
Dr. Maren Frost examined the entire body and determined that aside from the fatal wound, there was minor tearing at the vaginal opening and no other injuries. There were no signs of struggle or resistance—she could conclude that the victim was killed with a single blow, then violated post-mortem. Based on lividity and rigor mortis, she estimated the time of death at roughly three to four hours earlier—around 5 a.m.
Viktor Dunn couldn't help interjecting: "This killer is one sick psycho—going after a woman that age."
Both Marcus Shaw and Dr. Maren Frost glared at him. But on reflection, it was indeed puzzling.
After a while, Viktor Dunn got off the phone—he'd confirmed the victim's name and, through household registration records, found that her son was named Vince Conrad, but couldn't locate a working contact number for him.
Marcus Shaw thought for a moment, then checked the victim's pants pocket. Sure enough, he found an old-model phone, quickly located the number in the contacts, and dialed.
It rang until the busy signal disconnected. Nobody answered. He handed the phone to Viktor Dunn to try again later.
Meanwhile, Dr. Maren Frost had collected blood samples from multiple spots, using Luminol reagent and UV light for repeated checks, and adding a few trace blood points. Given that this was a residential thoroughfare, the footprints and clothing fibers were numerous and chaotic—some had been added after the crime.
But to avoid missing any leads, Dr. Maren Frost collected everything systematically.
During the process, she asked Marcus Shaw to assist her. He did, but said nothing.
After nearly an hour of meticulous work, resentment was overflowing in the doorway—several residents were stuck waiting to pass. A crowd still lingered outside. Noise everywhere.
Finally, Marcus Shaw spoke up: "Putting aside potential contamination, our evidence collection is essentially complete. If there are no issues, let's lift the scene restriction now."
Dr. Maren Frost nodded. The three of them worked together to load the body into the vehicle—Dr. Maren Frost would take it back for further examination—while the two men stayed behind to continue investigating.
The moment the vehicle drove off, the victim's phone rang. Viktor Dunn grabbed it and heard a male voice call out "Mom."
Viktor Dunn said, "Your mom is dead."
The voice on the other end said, "Who are you? Your mom's the one who's dead."
Marcus Shaw snatched the phone. "I'm a police officer. Your mother was murdered this morning. You need to come back as soon as possible to assist with the investigation."
The line went silent. Then hung up.
After Entrance 5 was reopened, people flowed in and out. From a distance, the dark doorway looked like a bloody maw—swallowing people and spitting them back out. Marcus Shaw looked up. There was one security camera at the far end of the building—distant, but with a good angle.
He pulled up the local police station's number and walked toward the camera, about to dial, when he looked up and noticed the red indicator light was off. Probably broken.
He called anyway and confirmed the camera was indeed out of order—they said they'd expedite repairs.
So much for surveillance.
The two began canvassing residents for witnesses. They discovered that because the complex was old, most residents were middle-aged or elderly. The few younger ones were home all day and kept to themselves. In Entrance 5, nobody woke up early for work or school—which was why the victim was killed at dawn and lay undiscovered for an hour before someone reported it.
This raised a question: why was the victim up so early? After asking around, they learned she had a habit of visiting the morning market to the east.
During the interviews, Marcus Shaw continued to suffer from his youthful appearance. Many residents saw his round face, thick eyebrows, big eyes, and modest height, and assumed he was a trainee. They were perfunctory in their responses, easily distracted, often impatient.
It was the twenty-something Viktor Dunn who commanded respect—his tall frame and stony expression made people uneasy. He quietly said to Marcus Shaw, "Maybe I should take the lead on questioning."
They swapped roles, with Viktor Dunn driving the questions and Marcus Shaw taking notes. But on the whole, useful leads remained scarce.
Some said the victim was thoughtful and kind. Others said she was reclusive and odd-tempered. Everyone racked their brains, but the details they dredged up were distant and trivial, bearing little connection to the case.
Just as they were losing heart, the victim's phone rang again. Marcus Shaw pulled it from his left pants pocket—it was Vince Conrad, asking only who did it and how fast could they catch the killer. His voice sounded weak.
"We're working on it, but solving a case takes time," Marcus Shaw said. Then, after a pause: "When can you come back?"
"I'm in Ordos. Earliest tomorrow."
After hanging up, Viktor Dunn muttered: "What an unfilial son—gallivanting far from home, doesn't even know his own mother's been killed."
Marcus Shaw didn't respond.
They'd talked to everyone they could find. Marcus Shaw said, "Let's try to find the murder weapon. Judging by the wound, it's probably a hatchet or a large cleaver."
They were about to split up when Marcus Shaw called Viktor Dunn back. "I just thought of something—if she was going to the morning market, why didn't she have a wallet on her? It was likely taken by the killer. He killed her, violated the body, and robbed her too."
Viktor Dunn held up an evidence bag. "But her door key was still on her. The killer probably didn't have time—was afraid of being caught—so he didn't use the key to go upstairs and burglarize her apartment."
Marcus Shaw considered this. "Let's find the weapon and wallet first, then check trash bins for used condoms."
They split up and searched for nearly two more hours. No weapon, no wallet—but they did find a tied-off condom in some bushes. Viktor Dunn used tweezers to bag it for lab analysis.
Then Marcus Shaw's own phone rang—from his right pants pocket. He glanced at the name, answered: "What is it?"
Nora's voice was quiet: "Um, so, my school has a rehearsal today and I'll be back late, I can't go buy the duck..."
Before she finished, Marcus Shaw cut her off with a flat "Got it" and hung up.
He looked up. The sky was crystal clear, not a cloud in sight, the sun bearing down fiercely. The air was thick and sticky—no breeze at all.
They went up to the fourth floor, used the key to open the victim's apartment, and did a walkthrough. Nothing unusual. Marcus Shaw glimpsed the frog-shaped clock on the fridge—it was past noon, and his stomach was growling. "Let's wrap up," he said.
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3. Overt and Covert Investigation