Free A Perfect Crime by A. Yi Page B

in the car. We drove faster and faster until suddenly we came to a stop. Firecrackers were exploding outside the window and a commanding officer barked some instructions. I was pulled out of the car and made to walk. I heard the
pa-pa-pa
of camera shutters. Everything was sharp, bumping into me, until up ahead the road emptied, where it was like being pushed towards the lonely night.
    They lifted the cloth from my head and I saw walls. A metal door. A window pulled shut. They pushed a piece of paper towards me to sign and then attached me by the hands to the metal loops fastened to the wall. I couldn’t stand properly, only on my tiptoes. I protested and their response was to fetter my feet. I decided not to make any more requests.
    My body kept sinking and I had to fight for the right to rest. Sometimes my poor hands would let my feet take the burden, sometimes the other way round.
    ‘I need a pee!’ I shouted at one point, the response to which was the sound of clanging from outside and then, ‘Go on then.’
    The urine ran down my trousers and thighs and out between my toes, like a bottle of warm, spilt milk. There must have been a camera. I was being watched. I figured I might as well fart a few times, spit on the wall, talk to myself. I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I was starting to feel jealous of people who were free to hang themselves from bridges, or get beaten up.
    As the light disappeared, they came to undo my handcuffs. I flopped to the ground. They dragged me into a dark room, placed me on a low chair and then disappeared. Just as I drifted into sleep a terrifying light shone in my face. It looked like one of those lights photographers use that burn your skin. I squinted. A fluorescent lamp above followed, its dim light falling like a waterfall onto a head of dense silver hair before me. I could only make out an outline of the man, sitting proudly. He was chewing. I could hear the sound of his tongue slurping as he licked his fingers.
    ‘You should always eat chicken wings while they’re still hot, or the fat coagulates as they cool and they lose their taste.’
    I wasn’t unsympathetic to this opinion.
    I felt the heat pulsing through my brain like an electrical current, but I wasn’t sweaty. I just wished I was dead, to be honest. I tried to ask a few times when we could start, but it was no good. That was like a womanasking a thug, ‘When are you going to start raping me?’
    He ate twelve chicken wings in all (he was definitely going to have a case of the runs when he got home). Then, finally, he spoke.
    ‘Name.’
    Then the questions came ringing out one after another.
    Date and place of birth.
    Address.
    Qualifications.
    ‘Date of birth,’ he repeated.
    I told him again.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Yes.’
    I realised that he was checking to be sure I had turned eighteen. He picked his teeth with a toothpick. I was about to collapse when he broke the silence again.
    ‘You must know that resistance is futile.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘So you know why we were looking for you?’
    I’d never heard such a stupid question. They’d called on the general public, arranged planning meetings, brought in experienced cops, investigated my background with the help of psychologists. And, of course, they designed their interrogation. This was the way to do it, apparently. Little did they know, all they had to do was ask.
    ‘I killed Kong Jie,’ I fired back. ‘I killed her ruthlessly, stabbed her over and over until her blood ran like a river.’
    ‘Write it down.’
    Only then did I realise there was another policeman in the corner. I could tell from the rustle of his pen that they were excited beyond their wildest dreams. I was desperate to sleep, so I answered their questions quickly, including how I’d convinced her to come over, how I killed her, what I did with the body and how I ran away. I was like a rich landlord handing out charity parcels to his poor tenants.
    Then I said, ‘Water.’
    ‘Why