Chapter 038: Corpse Rigor and Blood Extraction

I nodded, affirming Luo Feng’s deduction. What Luo Feng meant by “won’t move” was not the immobility of an unconscious person. When someone is unconscious and carried, their joints and body can still bend or shift, because the human body and joints are relatively pliable.

Luo Feng went further, asking if I meant that when those handprints were pressed onto the wall, Lao Jiu and the others were already dead, since only the dead do not move.

Rigor mortis—this word sprang immediately to mind. I told Luo Feng that the handprints were not only made after Lao Jiu and the others died, but also some time after death. Right after death, the body’s stiffness is no different from that of a living person. If, at that moment, someone pressed their hands against the wall, the handprints would not necessarily be identical in shape.

By “identical in shape,” I do not mean the contours of every handprint are exactly the same. Rather, in forensic trace analysis, by examining the handprint edges, connection points, and modes from multiple angles, one concludes the prints are unified. I used Lao Jiu’s handprints as an example: blood dripped from the edges of the prints, which was normal given the wall was vertical and blood naturally flowed downward when the hand was pressed. Apart from this, from a trace analysis perspective, every handprint of Lao Jiu’s was identical.

Rigor mortis generally begins two to three hours after death. After twelve hours, muscular contraction and joint stiffness spread throughout the body, reaching their peak. At that stage, unless considerable external force is applied, the posture of the palm remains the same.

I tried to reconstruct the scene: someone lifted the bodies of Lao Jiu and the others, already stiff with rigor mortis, from the mahjong table, pressed their palms—dipped in fresh blood—against the wall, leaving behind nearly identical handprints for each person.

Luo Feng’s expression involuntarily changed as he listened. I knew what he was thinking: when the killer grabbed the hands of Lao Jiu and the others, because they were dead, the bodies must have been pressed tightly against the killer’s own.

So many handprints could not have been made quickly. The killer, in a confined room, pressed against stiff corpses for a long time, engaging in intimate contact not just with one body, but with several. Even if one didn’t feel afraid, any normal person would be disgusted.

Even forensic doctors and investigators rarely interact with corpses in such a manner.

Luo Feng’s shoulders trembled: “What kind of monster is this killer? Just thinking about his face being so close to a corpse’s, I feel sick.”

“The killer has remarkable psychological resilience. After murdering them, he wasn’t nervous at all and calmly pressed their handprints onto the wall,” I sneered. “If my guess is correct, the reason there are so many bloody handprints on the wall but no bleeding from the corpses is that the blood had already been drawn within three days before their deaths.”

I took out several syringes encrusted with dried blood. Though they hadn’t been tested yet, I was certain the blood inside belonged to Lao Jiu and the others. From the night they disappeared in the port district to the time of death determined by the forensic report, about three days had passed.

During those three days, Lao Jiu and the others were in a rural house. Before death, their skin and muscles could still heal, so the act of drawing blood would leave tiny puncture marks on the skin’s surface. Given three days, those marks would gradually heal and vanish. When the forensic doctor performed the autopsy, the victims had been dead for days, their bodies covered in livor mortis, the skin stiff and dehydrated. If the puncture was in a concealed spot, the doctor would easily overlook it, which was perfectly normal.

Moreover, this case was so bizarre that the forensic doctor focused more on the fresh food found in the victims’ stomachs. Autopsies are highly subjective; forensic doctors are human and often fall into mental ruts.

I observed the bloody handprints on the wall. Their distribution was not particularly regular, but after several darker prints appeared, a lighter one would follow. This time, before I could explain, Luo Feng spoke up. He said it was because when the palm was dipped in blood and pressed several times, the amount of blood decreased, so the color faded.

As the color faded, the killer would dip the corpse’s palm in blood again and make new prints, causing the next prints to be darker.

(End of first page)

“But if our speculation is correct, then what is this killer thinking? Why would he draw blood from Lao Jiu and the others, preserve it for days, then press their handprints one by one onto the wall? It’s so strange,” Luo Feng said.

I pondered, then replied, “Not every criminal method has a reason. Many suspects, when questioned afterward about their motives, can’t even explain themselves.” I glanced at the wall. “Considering the bizarre aspects of this case, perhaps the killer simply wished to create a terrifying atmosphere and push the case toward supernatural explanations.”

Looking back now, if all we’ve experienced recently is connected to the killer, then his attitude toward this case has clearly changed.

At first, the killer succeeded in his aim: the ‘Ghost Banquet’ case became a local legend, residents of the port district spoke of it in fear, most believing it was the work of vengeful spirits. Then, Fei Ji’s pocket mysteriously appeared with paper money for the dead, and he later died bizarrely at home. If we try to analyze the motive for killing Fei Ji, it might have been to further associate the case with the supernatural and warn the police not to investigate further.

But the port district police were not as foolish as the killer expected. With our investigation, perhaps the killer realized the ghost story couldn’t fool everyone, so Yun Qing confessed, and so did the short-haired woman. The killer was seeking scapegoats.

Luo Feng, resting his chin, nodded. “Now that you mention it, it makes sense. Do you think the killer might be a doctor?”

Luo Feng guessed this because of the syringes and preserved blood.

I immediately denied it.

Doctors are not the only people who can draw blood. Medical theory books are widely available in the port district; easily self-taught. Drawing blood does not require advanced professional skills, and storing blood only requires sealing it and keeping it cool.

The strongest counterargument to Luo Feng’s theory was Fei Ji’s death.

The backyard overgrown with weeds at Fei Ji’s house was the first crime scene. Previously, I speculated that the killer must have used some kind of waterproof yet absorbent mat or film, laid it over the weeds, which explained why there was so little blood.

But the killer didn’t anticipate that when the throat was cut, blood could spray as far as two meters, so a trace remained in the weeds. If the killer were a doctor, he would have known exactly what would happen when the throat was sliced.

“Reserved people are not rough in personality. Their profession or hobbies are unusual, innovative,” Luo Feng suddenly said. “You deduced this from that psychological profile stuff. So what do you think the killer does for a living?”

I furrowed my brow, unable to figure it out immediately.

The case was complex and bizarre; there were many points Luo Feng couldn’t understand.

“Fang Han, this killer is really odd. He drew blood, didn’t take the syringes, but left them in the garbage near the house. And that blue car, it’s parked out there. Isn’t he afraid of being found out?” Luo Feng sat at the mahjong table, but quickly stood up again, looking disgusted and brushing his pants.

(End of second page)

That spot was exactly where the bodies of Lao Jiu and the others were found.

“That blue car was parked in the countryside. Lao Jiu and the others were eventually transported back to the city. There must have been another vehicle, and if the killer was smart, he would have taken them back in separate trips,” I replied.

At that time, though no one had died yet, Lao Jiu and the others had already disappeared. The killer would certainly have considered the possibility that acquaintances of Lao Jiu and the others might report their absence to the police. Once a case was opened, the police might check the vehicles that had come and gone. That blue car had already appeared once, so it wouldn’t be used again. This explained why it was left in such a hidden spot in the countryside.

When police investigate vehicles, they focus on cars carrying many people and pay special attention to unlicensed ones. I told Luo Feng that, if I were the killer, I’d use a licensed car to transport them in several trips, making them appear as if they were asleep or drunk to fool the police.

“As for the syringes, I suspect the killer left them deliberately,” I said.

Everything was still just subjective speculation. We could only guess at the killer’s motives.

The killer may have planned two paths: one, to make this case a supernatural mystery without a resolution; if that failed, to find a scapegoat—the short-haired woman.

During her confession, the short-haired woman never mentioned the blood-drawing.

The killer’s attitude was clear: if the police didn’t discover the syringes, the short-haired woman wouldn’t admit to drawing blood, and the bizarre atmosphere of the case would continue. With her confession, the police would be misled, allowing the killer to go free. Disposing of the syringes anywhere would destroy evidence. That garbage pile was actually very well hidden; Luo Feng and I searched for a long time before finding it.

But once the syringes were discovered, the short-haired woman would confess to the blood-drawing, further cementing the “fact” that she was the killer.

“Send the syringes to the station and see what new testimony the short-haired woman gives. Then we’ll know if my theory holds up,” I told Luo Feng.

Just then, the quiet child tugged my hand: “Brother Fang Han, there’s someone outside watching us.”