Chapter 291: A Tragic 60th Birthday (1/2)

Director-General Cheng stood up and asked, ”Isn’t he at your table?”

”He sat for a bit but didn't eat a bite,” replied the officer. “I thought he had come around to propose a toast but it’s been more than half an hour since I last saw him and I can’t get through to his phone.”

His words were like a bucket of cold water but I couldn’t resist clinging onto that bit of hope in my heart. With so many policemen here, nothing could happen, right?

Director-General Cheng stopped the festivities and instructed the officers to go around looking for Officer Ouyang. I spoke to the man sitting next to Officer Ouyang and asked if he showed any unusual behavior before leaving the table.

”Not really,” recalled the officer. “He did hold his head all of a sudden. When I asked if he had a headache, he smiled and said it was nothing. I didn’t think much of it at the time!”

”A headache?” An inevitable sense of foreboding grew steadily.

We ran around looking for Officer Ouyang like headless chickens. Dali and Bingxin weren’t privy to Officer Niu’s death so they couldn’t fathom my apparent urgency. I uttered not a single word but underneath my taciturn manner I was desperately praying for the man’s safety in my heart.

The hotel management was soon alerted by the movements of a large group of policemen. He smiled and cautiously asked, ”Officers, is there something wrong with the food? Please inform me if there’s something you’re not pleased with.”

Director-General Cheng explained he was looking for someone and had just finished describing Officer Ouyang’s facial features to the manager when one of the chefs came running in a panic. Eyes squinting with apprehension, he paused as if unsure to speak. From his reaction, I knew something had happened. ”What's wrong?” I asked.

”T-there’s an old man in the kitchen…” he stammered. “It’s got nothing to do with us...”

”What's wrong with him?” I raised my voice.

Perhaps the gravity of my tone frightened the chef. ”He’s dead!” he exclaimed in horror.

By the time we got to the kitchen, a crowd of onlookers had already gathered around, covering their mouths in fright. Officer Ouyang’s body was contorted in a strange posture, his head submerged in a pot of boiling oil. The fire was at maximum; the crackling sounds and the smell of his flesh cooking permeated the air.

I padded my fingers with a handkerchief and quickly turned off the fire, and with the help of others, carefully lifted Officer Ouyang away from the stove and onto the ground.

His close proximity to the fire burned a huge hole in his clothes while his entire head was a deep-fried, disfigured mess.

Director-General Cheng's lips quivered in anger, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He turned to the group of chefs and growled, ”Who was in the kitchen when it happened?!”

The chefs answered falteringly, narrating that they left the kitchen after a long shift that left them tired and hungry. Because the hotel enforced strict rules and regulations, the kitchen was locked whenever it was unoccupied so it was almost impossible for anyone to enter.

Xiaotao examined the lock and reported, ”It was pried open!”

Ever since we entered the kitchen, Bingxin was overcome with grief, covering her mouth to drown out the sobs. I told Dali to take her out for some air but Bingxin stubbornly wiped away her tears and insisted, ”I'm fine!”

The time of death was less than half an hour ago so there was no need for organ echolocation. I examined Officer Ouyang’s body and found no signs of coercion. His hands were stained with oil and his fingerprints were clearly stamped on the top of the stove. Officer Ouyang’s posture was a clear indication of his course of actions at the time–he shoved his own head into the boiling-hot oil.

In other words, he pried open the kitchen lock himself, turned the gas valve and committed suicide!

I ran my hands all over Officer Ouyang’s clothes and felt a cell phone in his pocket. There was an unsent message that read: ”Cui Hao, it's your turn to pay the debt!”

Director-General Cheng did a double-take at those words. ”Officer Cui is also a colleague of ours,” he said.

I proceeded to grab a handful of starch flour and blew it onto the cell phone. But oddly enough, I found no fingerprints on the phone. Daily necessities such as a phone would most definitely be covered in fingerprints. ”Is this Officer Ouyang's cell phone?” I asked Director-General Cheng.

”Yes!” he nodded.

”Call him.”