The case of the teddy bear hiding a corpse, part 1.5
Rainwater dripped from the brim of the black fisherman's hat, forming small puddles at Fan Jinci's feet.
He stood on the top floor of the abandoned water tower, his all-black overalls trousers stained with dark red rust, and a face mask concealing all his expressions, revealing only a pair of cold, scalpel-like eyes.
The sirens wailed like distant buzzing from twelve floors below. Yu Yan and the others had been deliberately lured away—the old woman's nursing home was a carefully crafted trap. The real destination lay here, in this forgotten building on the city's edge, where the air reeked of formaldehyde and childhood nightmares.
"You arrived faster than I expected, forensic pathologist."
"Or I should call you."
"teacher."
The sound came from the center of the water tower. Chen Ming stood with his back to him, his white coat fluttering in the draft. In front of him was a teddy bear about half his height, and he was meticulously cutting open the sutures on the bear's abdomen with a scalpel. His movements were as elegant as if he were giving a teaching demonstration.
Fan Jinci didn't move. His gaze swept around—seven glass jars lined the circular wall, each containing specimens of fetuses at different stages of development. The top of the water tower had been converted into a grotesque exhibition hall, and the central operating table was clearly frequently used, its metal edges worn smooth by countless hands.
"How's Lin Meimei?" Chen Ming asked without turning his head, the scalpel precisely making the final incision. "I bet she's still denying that she put those 'collectibles' in the refrigerator?"
Fan Jinci slowly took two steps forward, his right hand in his pocket: "You know those fingerprints are fake."
"Oh?" Chen Ming finally turned around. He was around fifty years old, with slightly graying temples, and his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses held a gentle, professorial smile. "How did you find out?"
"The angle of the fingertip indentation." Fan Jinci stopped three meters away from the operating table. "The left hand fingerprint was formed by vertical pressure, but the wear and tear on the refrigerator handle indicates that the user is right-handed."
Chen Ming smiled and took a clump of tissue wrapped in plastic wrap from the bear's belly: "The prefrontal cortex, that kid's. You know, the boy his father killed twenty years ago in a drunk driving accident—my son—had brain damage in the exact same area." He gently placed the tissue on a tray. "Fate can be so symmetrical sometimes."
Rain began to seep in through the cracks in the rusted ceiling, dripping onto the operating table with a soft "tap-tap" sound. Fan Jinci noticed that Chen Ming's right little finger was missing a section—matching the description of the victim's father in Liu Zhiqiang's car accident record.
How long did you plan this?
"It all started when I saw Liu Xiaoyu's name in the community health records," Chen Ming said, picking up a syringe and drawing out a colorless liquid. "His father changed his name, thinking he could escape the past. But the child's behavior... is practically a carbon copy of his father's."
Fan Jinci's gaze followed the movement of the syringe: "So you used Lin Meimei."
"Used?" Chen Ming shook his head. "She contacted me to consult about 'special cases.' When I found out she was that child's aunt... it was like God himself handing me a scalpel." He suddenly aimed the syringe at the teddy bear's eye and stabbed it in. "She hates that little devil, she just doesn't dare admit it."
A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, instantly illuminating half of Chen Ming's face. In that brief moment of light, Fan Jinci saw how twenty years of hatred had distorted a face.
"What about those teddy bears? The previous victims?"
Chen Ming walked to the specimen cabinet against the wall, his fingers tracing the glass surface: "Works from failed corrections. Each one records a brain mutation caused by childhood trauma." He suddenly turned, the scalpel drawing a silver line in the air. "But that's not what you really want to ask, is it?"
Fan Jinci's gaze fell on the corner of a photo peeking out from the pocket of Chen Mingbai's coat—it was in the direction of the nursing home.
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