Chapter 1

NOTE: This story is entirely fictional and intended for entertainment. Its characters, events, locations, and plot do not depict real people or actual occurrences. It does not endorse, encourage, or instruct any of the conduct described. The author accepts no responsibility for applying, imitating, or interpreting its fictional events in real life.

A murder had taken place in our apartment complex. The victim had been dismembered and hidden, but the police had found only her head.

The perpetrator had even taunted them, saying he had concealed the remaining parts in the neighbors’ homes.

Find those parts, and they could find him.

Early that morning, urgent knocking woke me.

When I opened the door, a forceful middle-aged man announced:

“Police investigation. We need to have a serious talk.”

Then he walked straight in.

I did not stop him. I had seen the gun at his waist.

A real policeman.

Seated in my living room, he skipped even introducing himself.

“A neighbor was killed here last night. The remains were found in the pool downstairs. Do you know about it?”

I nodded.

The story had spread everywhere the night before.

The pool was closed at night, but people sometimes sneaked in.

Last night, a young man had slipped in around midnight.

Once in the water, he noticed a girl at the other end.

According to him, her long hair floated beautifully on the surface.

Curious, he swam toward her.

Strangely, she approached him quickly too.

As they were about to collide, he instinctively put out a hand.

What he touched was… a human head, trailing long hair and reeking of blood.

The news exploded through every residents’ chat group.

I knew the police would come sooner or later.

I knew the victim. Her name was Tiểu Vịnh.

Besides, something else strange had happened in my home.

Before I could mention it, the officer asked:

“A neighbor saw you moving around the complex last night. Where were you between eight and midnight?”

That must be the estimated time of death.

Still, I involuntarily asked:

“Are the surveillance cameras broken?”

He looked up sharply.

“That’s practically digging your own grave. How did you know?”

I hurried to explain.

“If there were footage, you wouldn’t be asking me. I was home all evening. Why would a neighbor say I went out? Do you know him?”

He shook his head.

“Of course not. But he knows you. It’s natural he would recognize you.”

“If neither of us knows the other man, isn’t his word worth the same as mine? Why believe him rather than me?”

He paused.

“I can prove my account,” I continued. “Is there anything special about the man accusing me?”

After a moment, he said:

“He’s a victim too. The perpetrator left the dead woman’s arm in his home. He thinks there’s something suspicious about you. How will you prove your story?”

I pointed to the TV cabinet.

“There’s a home camera up there. It can prove I was in all night. And about the remains…”

I looked toward the storage room.

The officer stood, astonished.

“You have some here too?”

That was the other strange thing.

He hurried into the storage room.

I did not follow.

I was busy uploading the camera footage to the cloud.

And taking out the anonymous letter I had received that morning.

Sure enough, he returned furiously.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

I handed him the letter.

“I’d only just woken up. I hadn’t had time. And there was this.”

A few newspaper cuttings formed the words:

“Call the police, and I’ll expose your secret.”

“Did the neighbor who accused me receive one too?” I asked.

He paused and turned away to call.

From the conversation, I learned the neighbor had received one.

He simply had not produced it.

At least one thing was clear.

He wanted to keep his secret.

After the call, the officer said:

“All right. We’ve found the remains. They were in four different households.”

He showed me a photograph on his phone.

Another crumpled sheet, with pasted newspaper words:

“The rest of the body is in the neighbors’ homes. Find it, and you’ll catch me.”

Without thinking, I said:

“He wouldn’t leave part of Tiểu Vịnh’s body in his own home. It’s obviously a trap. He’s using the police to do something he wants.”

As soon as I said it, I realized the police could hardly have missed that.

Perhaps they had run out of leads.

So they were looking for an opening among the people the perpetrator had singled out.

The officer sat and asked seriously:

“Tell me. What’s the relationship between you four and the victim?”

After thinking, I answered:

“I slept with her.”

He looked startled.

“Was she your girlfriend? An ex?”

I shook my head.

“No. We just slept together. I imagine the others did too. The man who accused me is probably married, which is why he hid it.”

“So this arose from the victim’s complicated relationships…”

He considered it, then said:

“Email me the footage proving your alibi.”

I did.

He kept working on his phone.

Now things began to feel very unusual.

If they had found the body parts, why not take us to the station for questioning?

Only one officer had come here, but his constant contact with colleagues suggested many had been mobilized.

Combined with what I knew about Tiểu Vịnh and the deliberate concealment of her dismembered remains in neighboring homes…

This was not simple.

I tried asking:

“Did he leave any threats?”

The officer looked at me.

“Why do you ask?”

I explained my theory.

“If I’ve established my innocence, perhaps I can help.”

At last, he told me.

“There are twenty-eight households in this building. We have people watching all of them, so we’re short-staffed. And yes, there’s a threat.”

He showed me his phone.

“Within one day, I will kill three more people in this building. 834638.”

A murder threat.

But that number…

I recognized it immediately.

A shift cipher.

The officer saw my expression.

“You recognize it too?”

I knew Tiểu Vịnh lived in 501.

So I understood at once.

Shift the first three digits three places to the left, and they became 501.

Her apartment. The dead victim’s.

The final three digits, 637, became 505 after shifting.

Was that the next target?

But I immediately noticed something else.

There were only four apartments on each floor.

505 was not a valid number.

“The important thing isn’t decoding it,” the officer said. “Why encode it when he could say it plainly?”

I understood.

“The number isn’t for you. It’s for someone specific. It supplements the first note. He’s being careful not to expose his plan.”

He nodded.

“Exactly. But we don’t know what 505 means. Do you?”

I shook my head and fell silent.

Because I might have guessed.

But I could not tell him yet.

I knew more of Tiểu Vịnh’s secrets than simply having slept with her.

What frightened me was that I might be killed next.

Yet there was a contradiction.

How had he put her remains in my storage room?

If he could slip in while I slept to do that, killing me would have been easy too.

Logically, I should not be in danger.

The officer had not mentioned that crucial point at all.

Had they already discovered something?

After thinking, I asked:

“The neighbor who falsely accused me is the man in 803, isn’t he?”

The officer looked surprised again.

“How do you know?”

“Do you have a grudge against each other?”