“So - anything special happening in our precinct?” This was the first question Mick asked after settling down in the passenger seat of a squad car: “All the detectives looked - well, they seemed quite different. Feels like some kind of big thing happened.”

“Well, yeah, it’s because we just got a pretty nasty update from some case we’re looking into.” Marcus sighed: “Sorry Mick, but I can’t tell you now. It’s on a need to know basis, because it’s involved some sensitive information. If you want you should ask Captain Ko.”

“Well, I - uh, I can’t really. Not right now.” Mick sighed and shook his head: “I don’t think - hmm… I don’t think he likes me.”

“It’s okay newbie. Nobody likes you when you’re new.” Marcus shrugged: “Especially if you’re a transfer from another district.”

“What?” Mick was trying to drink his coffee but coughed and spilled it all over his chest: “... okay! I was not expecting you to be this blunt. But how? How do I fit in? How do I - you know, earn everybody’s trust?”

“Well. Good work, for starters.” Marcus chuckled: “It’s okay. Give it time. And, Captain Ko is an old dude and he’s equally overly perceptive and stubborn, so everybody’s a hard sell for him.”

“Thank you.” Mick looked out the window: “Hope I get to have a win soon.”

“Yeah. You and me both.” Marcus looked at the road ahead and sighed.

They parked a little further from the apartment complex where Tanya Su and Eve Kim were staying. This was not too long since their first visit, nor too short so as to impose unduly pressure on the potential victims.

The first three floors below were in the same condition since last they came - sticky floors, smelly walkways. Homeless residents of this complex lingered on the side of the hallway and small open spaces. Some were drunk on cheap alcohol; some murmuring, staring into different spaces with their emotionless eyes, speaking to themselves, drooling; some were panhandling, trying to gain more cash to scrape by. None of them bothered Marcus and Mick too much, probably due to the fact that even though technically under cover, they still looked like they worked for the city. And for poor folks living in this kind of conditions, they would be wise to avoid anyone like this.

The door to Apartment 403 was ajar, the lock seemed to be generally intact but just not in use. Marcus looked inside the apartment. And found that the entire apartment was empty. There was no movable furniture left, no personal items of value, just some posters that were still hanging on the walls and some broken towels, plastic bags and clothes left on the floor.

“Shit!” Marcus and Mick cursed at the same time and rushed toward Apartment 404.

The door to this apartment was ajar and not locked just like 403. There was no sign of anyone still living there either. All the personal items and things of value were gone. Aside from some discarded bags, useless cardboards and cheap stationery items, there remained a desk that was bolted into the wall, an old metal bunk bed with wooden boards and no mattress, a chunky and weathered sofa that was impossible to move out.

“Fuck! Didn’t we have officers watching this place?” Mick smacked himself on the forehead and asked.

“I thought so. But looks like due to resource limitations they might have been reassigned.” Marcus shook his head and ran his fingers through the surface of the desk: “There’s hardly any dust. They were not gone for long. We should put out a BOLO.”

“Could it be Brooklyn Payne?” Mick tried to take a look under the desk.

“Not very likely. There’s no sign of struggle, and they took everything away, if it was me, I wouldn’t bring everything away just for this.” Marcus thought for a moment: “But keep looking and see if we can find anything. Especially any signs of struggle, or foul play.”

Marcus picked the bedroom, because they usually were where people tended to hide their personal possessions or secrets. The closet in here was made of old and thin looking wood. There were no clothes in it, just a couple of cheap plastic, or metal wire hangers. He knocked on the wood panels and the floor inside. There was no inconsistent sound, and it sounded solid - it seemed that the entire closet was bolted to the ground as well.

He kept on knocking on the ground, for some of the floorboards seemed to be conveniently uneven. And having worked with many cases before, he was quite familiar with different ways people could hide their skeletons: whether it was drugs, illegal firearms, forged IDs, dirty cash or confession diaries.

One particular floorboard appeared to be curiously loose and responded to his knocks with a hollow sound. So Marcus immediately examined its edges to see if there were any easily moveable parts. This floor board was loose but the edges around it were still too small for him to ply, so he just knocked it with his knuckles harder, which was just enough to make it jump out of place.

Underneath this wooden floorboard was a small compartment, the interior of which was covered in dust. There was a small doll made of hay and twigs inside, with its head and limbs all wrapped with red ribbons.

“What is that?” Mick came over just in time for this discovery.

“Looks like a scapegoat doll.” Marcus reached into his pocket trying to find a pair of rubber gloves, but couldn’t find any. So he retreated his right hand back into his sleeve and slowly reached down into the compartment. His Qi concentrated on his eyes, enabling him to see any traces of energy that could bring about unpleasant business. There indeed seemed to be something on it, just not malicious or ominous. With his fingers behind the cloth on his sleeve, Marcus picked the doll up, and put it into a small evidence bag handed over by Mick.

“What is this - scapegoat doll?” Mick seemed both mildly confused and disturbed: “Is it one of those dolls that according to urban legends would take ‘hits’ and ‘misfortune’ in the owner’s stead? Like some kind of reverse voodoo dolls?”

“Yes. Precisely.” Marcus looked at the doll from left to right: “Doesn’t look like it belonged to the girls. Probably a previous renter?”

“Maybe they forgot?” Mick shrugged.

“Maybe. Because you’re supposed to make a new one every few years.” Marcus was about to hand it to Mick, but then decided to keep it to himself: “But there’s always something belonging to the owner inside. Either it’s hair, nail clippings, or a piece of paper with a name on it. But that’s for the forensics folks to decide. Let’s see if there are other …”

Just this moment, a gust of cold air blew into the house through the open door. And with it, the sound of footsteps in wooden flip flops.

“Deep goes the sea. High grows the mountain. My flesh, my bones be gone when I’m drunken. The bridge is narrow and long. I shed all of me to be alone.” A low chant came from the hall outside. The voice was hoarse, but had an ethereal ring to it.

“Did you hear that?” Marcus immediately stood up and asked.

“Hear - hear what?” Mick looked around, confused.

“Seemed like someone was walking by and talking?” Marcus walked to the entrance of the bedroom.

“Umm… no?” Mick stood up and looked around some more: “All I hear is the wind. Did you hear anything?”

Marcus went out of the bedroom, took a quick peek through the gap of the door before closing it slowly but completely: “Ha, I must’ve misheard. No worries.”

What he could not tell Mick right now was that there was a thin man with rugged clothes and sickly pale skin outside. Chanting and walking with a limp. Good thing was that this man did not seem to be hostile, and just appeared to be a passerby.