Log 01
Silent Residue
After midnight, Meilin Road feels more like a stage than it ever does in daylight.
The lights never fully go out. Neon still flickers. Wind slips between the high-rises, carrying the damp heat of air conditioners and the burnt sweetness of the last batch of oil from a roadside doughnut stall.
Time: September 18, 2021.
01:58 a.m.
When I got the call, I was still in the precinct conference room, staring at an unfinished report.
“Loke sir, this is Corporal Chan from Bayshore Precinct. A body’s been found outside Taka Square. Female. Young. About eighteen or nineteen.”
The duty officer from New City Bayshore Precinct spoke quickly, but kept his voice low—like he was afraid of waking something.
I was silent for two seconds.
“Five minutes,” I said.
When I arrived, the entire plaza was sealed off with yellow police tape. The night wind snapped the plastic ribbon sharply in the air—like a warning. Or a mockery.
Uniformed officers stood at fixed points around the perimeter. Forensic technicians crouched on the ground collecting samples. Camera flashes burst intermittently, bleaching the girl’s face white for a split second.
She sat on the steps, back resting against a round pillar. Hands hanging loosely by her knees. Calm. As if she were waiting for someone.
I stepped closer and saw her clearly. Pale skin. Delicate features. The corners of her lips slightly raised—almost like a smile.
But it wasn’t a smile.
It was the look of someone who had let go.
“No obvious external injuries,” the medical examiner reported. “Body temperature dropping. Estimated time of death between 12:30 and 1:00 a.m.”
“Toxicology?” I asked.
“Pending. But… this kind of stillness doesn’t feel like poisoning or suffocation.”
I crouched beside her.
Her hair had been lightly disturbed by the wind. Her clothes were neat. No broken fingernails. No defensive marks.
I turned her wrist over. No ligature marks.
On the knuckle of her right index finger—faint pink powder. Not blood. Not makeup.
“What about CCTV?”
An officer replied, “Sir, all systems functioning normally. No suspicious individuals entering or leaving. Around 1:00 a.m., only a few cleaners.”
I looked up at the glass façades surrounding us. Every angle reflected another version of the world.
This city has too many eyes.
None of them see clearly.
I turned and saw Lee Wai Hing approaching, cigarette in hand.
“Still haven’t quit?” I frowned.
He smiled. “You can quit anything these days. Except that first breath of night air.”
He was the colleague I trusted most in the force. Criminal Investigation background. Unconventional mind. Always finding clues in places others never look.
He studied the body in silence for three seconds.
“This isn’t a simple homicide.”
“Why?”
“Too clean. She died like it was arranged.”
At 3:00 a.m., forensics packed up.
The body was sent to the morgue. I stayed behind, sitting on the plaza steps. Wind drifted in from the direction of Ngee Ann City, carrying hints of coffee and rain.
I closed my eyes. The girl’s face replayed in my mind.
Quiet. Unmarked.
Later that morning. Bayshore Precinct conference room.
Superintendent Lau Kwok Fan looked at me, brows drawn tight.
“Loke sir, this case is complicated.”
“I know.”
“No weapon. No suspect. No motive.” He paused. “Worse—media’s picked up the scent. Reporters are already asking questions.”
“Then we don’t have much time,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “I’m forming a unit. You’ll lead it. Major Crime Special Unit. MCS. This kind of case—that’s yours.”
MCS.
Small team. But each one capable of finding direction inside chaos.
That afternoon, I met them in the conference room for the first time.
Lee Wai Hing—I knew him well.
Chan Chee Yan. Thirty-six. Computer genius. Looks steady. Often reckless.
Lee Mun Tseng. Criminal psychology specialist. Soft exterior. Steel core.
Cheung Man Man. My right hand. Former Vice Division. Precise. Unshakeable.
They sat around the long table, each wearing a look of measured doubt.
I didn’t waste words. I pinned a photo to the whiteboard—the girl sitting on the steps outside Taka Square.
“Her name is Lam Chi Ying. Eighteen. Student at Starlight Institute of Technology. Died last night. Cause unknown.”
I picked up a marker and drew three lines.
“Timeline. She was last seen at 10 p.m., in the campus library.
Connection line. Parents. Classmates. Teachers.
Scene line. Taka Square. No witnesses. No anomalies.”
I capped the pen and looked at them.
“Whichever line connects first—that’s our truth.”
Wai Hing smirked. “Same old face, Lok. Still looks like you’re attending your own funeral.”
I ignored him.
“Starting now, we split into two teams. Man Man with me—to the morgue. Chee Yan and Mun Tseng—check the school. Any findings, report immediately.”
That evening, the morgue lights were harsh white. Cold as a freezer.
Lam Chi Ying lay motionless. No fear on her face. Almost peaceful.
Preliminary autopsy report: sudden cardiac arrest. Unknown cause.
“No external force. No toxins. No suicide indicators,” the medical examiner frowned. “I’ve seen thousands of bodies. This clean? Only two possibilities. Heart failure. Or she was… controlled.”
“Controlled?” I asked.
“Yes. Psychologically or physiologically. Her pupils were dilated—but there was no fear response. As if she died in her sleep.”
I stared at her face.
And remembered the pink powder.
“The residue on her hand—tested?”
“In progress.” He paused. “But you know what’s strange? It carries a scent.”
“Scent?”
“Like jasmine. Or sandalwood.”
I froze.
The night wind had carried a faint fragrance.
Sweet. With bitterness beneath it.
I remembered clearly.
Outside the morgue, darkness had settled again. Rain tapped softly against the glass.
Every case has a smell.
Blood has a smell. Lies have a smell.
This one—
Had perfume.
The kind that makes you lose your way.
I took out my phone and opened the group chat.
Lok: Full team meeting tomorrow, 9 a.m.
Wai Hing: Copy.
Zhi Ren: Sir, she left the library at 10 p.m. After 11, she vanished.
Man Tseng: Her counseling records mention recurring dreams—of “the steps outside Taka Square.”
I stared at the words.
The steps in her dreams.
She died where she dreamed.
Some cases don’t begin with death.
They begin the moment someone wakes—
And destiny is already sealed.