“Real. The neighbors confirmed. And they saw him today at around lunch-time.”
“Have you called all the hospitals and private doctors within a reasonable radius?”
“Not yet. In the Block-Five cell phones don't work. But Tom is doing it tonight from home. Although, he hinted me it's no use.”
“Why?”
“If Victor Chen insisted that there was a dead body, it would be something like your original version. The old man was not really dead, came to his senses and went to see a medic. But now Victor Chen says there is no dead body. At all. As if he is sure that nobody could go to any doctor.”
“Apart from Victor and Te-Sheng, nobody else lives in the shack, right?”
“Right, as usual. How did you guess?”
“Did you see how many buttons Victor Chen had on his shorts?”
“What a wonderful sexual perversion – counting buttons on strangers' shorts! Have you indulged in this for long?”
“Not on purpose. It happens more or less by itself. About the buttons, Watson, he had exactly two. Out of three intended. One button is missing. The two remaining are attached by different threads: one is black, and the other one is white. There is also a patch, attached by a black thread. And if you recall the shorts, they are made from the desert camo kit trousers. The needlework is clearly man-like, but it wasn't done in the Army. How do I know the last thing?”
“In the Army, your sergeant will kick your ass for any white and black threads on a desert camo. Besides, as far as I know, in the war zone they even don't issue soldiers the white thread, unless you are deployed somewhere in Arctic and potentially have something white to fix. This is called logistics rationalization.”
“You are getting familiar with my method, my dear Watson! Judging by his age, Victor Chen got these pants from the Army. But even if he bought them at a flea market, it doesn't matter. It's important that the pants are quite old: about five or six years since their Army days. Buttons fall off, one after another, and Victor re-attached them as needed, and with whatever thread was at hand. This suggests there is no woman in the family: mother, wife, sister, niece – all excluded. And when you say ‘in relative order’ about the things in the shack, plus the massive amount of owners' fingerprints, everything becomes even more likely. Of course, I can be wrong. For instance, three men live in the shack, not two, or Victor Chen is a widower and lives with a three-year old daughter. I simply used the most probable version.”
“You're never wrong, Holmes. But you'd better deduce what happened to Mister Chen Te-Sheng. Is your pipe telling you anything at all?”
He is completely wrong about my pipe. The cigarette does help your thinking. I can share a know-how with you. If you blow the Grass smoke into the mug, the coffee doesn't taste like roasted acorns.
“The Chens. How long did they live here? What do the neighbors say about them?” I ask.
“They are not totally new to the area: have been living in the Patch-Five for just under two years. But the neighbors don't say anything specific. The Chens were extremely quiet and kept for themselves.”
“What did Chen-senior do for living?”
“He spent most of his time tending to his vegetable beds. Once in a while, he helped Victor fixing computers and other electronics.”
“That's what I needed! If you said Chen Te-Sheng was making synthetic drugs right in his shack, that would be a different story. But now I don't believe in the hallucination. For a working version, we may assume that the entire deal was just a stupid joke of Victor Chen. The gut-driver is real, but covered in pig's blood, as in some old Hollywood movies.”
“Yeah! Listen more to our Tan. Who is he: a former cinematographer? In the action movies they used only tomato sauce!”
“To hell with the movies. I'm about the missing body. There is no motive, whatsoever! Victor Chen is long past the age to make such pranks, especially with the Police. You're about the same age with Victor Chen. Would you go and show the Police a gut-driver with some tomato sauce? Or even with the pig blood?”
“I don't use magic mushrooms, as you may know.”
“Version number two. Victor's father had somehow disappeared, so Victor wants to present this disappearance as a murder. Next, he prepares a gut-driver, finds pig's blood, and plays the rest.”
“Much better, Holmes. Suppose Victor Chen wants us to find his missing father. To make the search a top-priority, he presents it to the Police as a possible murder case.”
“The game is not worth the candle. If we fail to find the old man, or if we find him dead, Victor is in on suspicion of murder. If we find the old man alive, Victor is still in – for making a prank with the Police. The tomato sauce will not do. And the pig's blood will not work. Besides the Luminol, there are lab methods. The CSIs can tell the pig's blood, no problems.”
“What if it was a human blood?”
“The rag was covered with it. Would you punch a person to drain so much blood for a stupid prank? Besides, if Victor Chen wanted to portray a nonexistent murder, why would he wipe the blood drops from the floor? By the way, this automatically suggests an accomplice. Tan saw the blood spots, and later they were wiped clean, while Victor was with you at all time. He was at your sight at all time, right?”
“Right. I can account for every second.”
“No, Watson. Version number two does not work. If Victor Chen wanted to find his runaway father, he would simply come to the Beat and declare a missing person. We're not in Los Angeles, thanks God! Texas Police works fine. We diligently search for the registered missing persons, and often find them. No pig's blood needed.”
“As always, you're right, Holmes. More versions? What is your pipe telling you?”
“My pipe is telling me the version number three. If we discard the silly prank and the deliberate deception, it looks like someone is indeed punctured with a quarter-inch screwdriver, right?”
“So?”
“Here you go. Suppose we sit here, at home, at four PM. Nice weather. Sunny. The kids are just back from the school. The women are cooking dinner. And even some men started arriving home from work. Imagined?”
“Easily. Although I don't remember when we're back from the Beat at four o'clock.”
“OK. So I, for no reason at all, get a gut-driver, and make you a quarter-inch hole.”
“You're a dangerous woman!”
“You have not seen me in a rage. Next, we have three options. The first option. You're still alive. Covered in blood, you bail out of our shack and…”
“And stumble upon some neighbor's kids. ‘What's wrong with you, Uncle Kim?’”
“Exactly! So, the first option does not work for us. Discard. Option two. I stab you to death real quiet, no one heard anything. I pop up from our shack with the dead body. Next?”
“What ‘next’?”
“Well, if it's me, specifically: a legless girl on a skateboard, I have no chance at all. So don't you worry: I will not kill you at home. I will come up with something more exiting.”
“No doubt you will. Just smoke a couple of your favorite To-Ma-Gochi.”
“Besides the jokes. Let say, it's not me, but two strong men, and each with two legs. OK, these two men grab your body, leave our shack, and…”
“The same Patch kids! ‘Uncles, who are you? And what's wrong with our Uncle Kim?’”
“Spot-on, Watson! Or if they know one of the persons with the body, the kids run through the Patch and yelclass="underline" ‘Uncle Kim's dead! Auntie Kate stubbed Uncle Kim!’ Do you think I can get very far on my skate? And even the strong men with healthy legs will not be able to get away with the body. They may drop the body and flee, but we will have two hundred witnesses.”
“Yeah. And four hundred very different descriptions…”
“To hell with it if they are all different! In our case, nobody had seen anything at all! And nobody dropped the dead Mister Chen at the Patch. Hence, our second option is also a total dud. More coffee?”