A Perfect Crime by A. Yi Page A

They took their seats opposite. As if we were all sitting down to aplain old meeting. The old man’s face was like stone, his skin lumpy and his features sunken (especially his nose, which was nothing more than two nostrils). Maybe he’d had leprosy. He was hideous; his cold eyes were pulverising my insides. Just like the first time, I’d tell them everything calmly.
    I looked down, the tea cup gripped in my hands, and examined the links between the handcuffs.
    ‘Head up.’
    I looked up.
    ‘Look at me.’
    The old man was forcing me to look him in the eyes and it felt like I was disappearing. I was a pile of burning firewood, my body crackled, the cup shook and the boiling water splashed out and scalded me.
    It’s hard for me to describe what happened that day. You probably won’t believe me. I felt like I was walking into a tunnel, while the old man retreated, beckoning me towards the light at the other end. I followed in silence, I had no choice. If he asked the same questions as the last time, I would tell him everything. But he only prompted me to go through the incident again. So I started from the beginning. The texts, the whispers, the struggles, the tape, the switchblade, the curtain, the washing machine. He kept nodding, while the man next to him solemnly made notes, his eyes soft and encouraging. But I was fed up. I hate having to repeat things.
    ‘Then what?’ he said.
    ‘Nothing,’ I said.
    I’d done my duty, so I leaned down on the table to sleep. One of the officers grabbed my head and I wrestled free. The old man kept gesturing for me to continue.
    ‘Let’s talk about why. You say you put her upside down in the washing machine. Why did you do that?’
    ‘No reason.’
    ‘OK, then when you let go of her in front of the window, was she already dead?’
    ‘Must have been.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘I can’t be sure, but I think she must have been.’
    ‘So if she was already dead, why did you stab her thirty-seven times?’
    ‘No reason.’
    ‘You know what? Our old medical expert has never vomited at a crime scene. But after seeing what happened to that girl she was such a nervous wreck she went into hospital. The girl lost enough blood to fill the washing machine half full. The medical examiner said she’d never seen anything like it – the murderer must have been completely consumed with hatred.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Why did you hate her so much?’
    ‘I didn’t hate her.’
    ‘That doesn’t seem possible.’
    ‘Really.’
    ‘If that’s the case, why do something so brutal, so ruthless?’
    ‘No reason.’
    He threw his tea cup to the floor, making his colleague jump. He leaned forward and banged on the table. ‘No reason?’ he roared.
    I looked down and said nothing. The direction he was taking and his methods were all wrong. He was making a big mistake.
    ‘Speak,’ he said, thumping the table.
    ‘I have nothing to say.’
    He walked over, grabbed my collar and raised a clenched fist. But I wasn’t scared. If he hit me on the left cheek, I’d give him my right as well. Winners don’t get so easily flustered. His colleague kept telling him to stop, but it took some time for him to calm down. Then he started telling me about his son who was about my age. His tone changed, as if talking to a friend. After having flunked his college entrance exams his son ran away. When the old man found him, he beat him. But beating his son was like beating himself.
    ‘After that I realised there was nothing I could not forgive. There is nothing in life too big that it cannotbe forgiven.’
    He was in a world of his own emotions and, with tears in his eyes, he looked at me.
    ‘We’ll get through this crisis together. Kid, was there really no other way to solve your problems with Kong Jie?’
    ‘We didn’t have any.’
    ‘And yet you stabbed her another thirty-seven times, after she was already dead?’
    ‘You don’t get it.’
    ‘You liked her but she didn’t feel the same