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Duan GUOCHENG
obberies
Footprints at the scene of four murders carried out in Wuhan between May
and June this year matched the shoes in the hotel room where Duan was
captured, the paper said.
The suspected murderer was also wanted by Hubei police for the 1999
murders of nine young women and some 50 robberies in the province's
Qiuyang region, where Duan was born. Duan was sent to a juvenile
corrections institute for seven years at the age of 13 and was also
subsequently sentenced to five years in prison in the mid-1990s for
robbery, the paper said.
In the summer of 2001, six other women in Wuhan were
attacked by a man with a knife, four of them fatally. The city's
newspapers didn't cover the cases—they almost never write about unsolved
crimes. But word spread rapidly through the local grapevine, and a rumor
arose that the killer targeted his victims because they were dressed in
red. "Everybody was so terrified of the Red Dress Killer," recalls a
woman selling tomatoes in Wang's neighborhood, "that we started wearing
a lot of blue."
They were right to be scared. The night after Wang's
murder, a 20-year-old woman from neighboring Hunan province, who had
been lured to Wuhan by its employment possibilities only three weeks
earlier, headed home at 3 a.m. from a night market where she had a job
washing dishes. At dawn, a neighbor discovered her corpse on the
building's stairs. "She had just started climbing when he stabbed her,"
says the neighbor. She had 38 stab wounds. The Red Dress Killer had
struck again.
When China was under the ultra-rigid control of Chairman Mao—with every
adult reporting to a work unit or a nosy neighborhood committee—people
could barely get away with bicycle theft. That overly restrained but
safe China is now long gone. Big Brother isn't watching so carefully
anymore (unless you're a political dissident) and tens of millions of
Chinese are on the move, wandering to different parts of the country in
search of jobs. Society is all shook up, and anonymity is now possible
for the first time, especially in immigrant magnets like Wuhan. One of
the darker results is a phenomenon once thought to exist only in the
decadent West. "We've reached the age of serial killing in China," says
Wang Dazhong, a famed criminal investigator who trains cops at the
Chinese Peoples' Public Security University in Beijing.
China's police claim to solve 85% of the
country's regular murder cases. But they're way behind when it
comes to serial killings, a seemingly universal form of evil that
flourishes most in societies under stress. The inexperience of
Chinese investigators in this field was vividly exposed by a gang
of four murderers in the central province of Henan who evaded
capture for months in 2000. Their modus operandi was to break into
homes using battering rams. Once inside, they killed the
inhabitants, frequently castrating male victims with cleavers.
They left behind calling cards: cloth masks with eye holes burned
out by cigarettes. But the gang's deadly spree was province-wide,
and there was insufficient coordination between police forces of
the various towns and districts. In addition, the gang confused
the police with a surprisingly simple ruse. "The killers changed
shoes for each crime," says criminal investigator Wang. "The
treads police collected didn't match." By the time the cops
connected the dots, the gang had murdered 77 people.
One night in February 2001 in nearby Hunan province,
six police officers in the city of Yueyang—200 kilometers southwest of
Wuhan—paid a call on the cramped, three-bedroom apartment of Duan
Guocheng, a 29-year-old security guard who lived with his parents. The
officers wouldn't tell Duan's mother, Hu Yunxiang, why they were there,
but they stayed all night, sitting in her living room where the only
decoration is a poster of Chairman Mao. Next morning, Duan came home,
peeked in through the window—and took flight. The officers chased him
into a vegetable market, but Duan escaped.
The police then broke the news to Duan's family that
they suspected him of murdering nine women—most of them dressed in red
at the time of death.
Duan was a bit of a dandy, fond of neatly pressed
Western-style suits. But he had led a troubled life. He had twice been
sentenced to jail for robbery, and he was estranged from his father,
Duan Shengqing, a trash collector whom he blamed for the family's
poverty. "He'd say other people's dads earned money, but that I can't
read and can't do anything," recalls his father.
Duan's mother, however, had doted on him—her fourth
and final child—and he used to confide in her about his frustrations
over women. "We'd talk about this often," Hu says. But only once did he
bring a woman home. "She saw we had no money, so she left him."
Convinced that Duan had fled the city, the police in
Yueyang locked his mother in a cell with prostitutes and drug addicts
for a week in hopes that she would tell them his whereabouts. She didn't.
So they sent a bulletin on the nationwide police-computer network with
Duan's particulars. Wuhan's police received the notice, but since they
routinely ignored bulletins from other provinces, "they didn't pay much
attention," says a source who has seen the Wuhan police reports. "They
lost their best chance to crack the case early."
On the run, Duan checked into a series of $5-a-night
hotels in Wuhan using his mother's surname.
On May 7 a young woman was stabbed to death after
midnight on her way home from work. By early June three women, including
Wang Guiyu, had been killed and another three survived nearly identical
attacks, all within a few kilometers of one another. Then, a few hours
after midnight on June 4, a waitress at a Sichuan restaurant was
attacked after entering the front gate of her apartment building. She
was just meters from her door, on which she had tacked a poster
featuring the Chinese character for fortune. The assailant stabbed her
repeatedly in the chest, stripped her and sliced off her breasts, say
neighbors who saw police photos.
In early May, Wuhan's police formed a special
investigation team, which eventually grew to more than a thousand cops.
The cases were such a high priority that the team members were made to
work overtime and cancel their vacations. Young female officers walked
the empty streets at night as bait.
But the Red Dress Killer continued to strike, thanks
in part to police slip-ups and lost opportunities. Despite the rising
body count, Wuhan's police didn't check with neighboring cities,
including Yueyang, for similar cases.
The summer murders took place in a district crammed
with migrants, but Inspector Zhang Dehua admits that his officers didn't
check the cheap hotels in his area. Local reporters covering the cases
had their stories spiked, but the reports were distributed internally to
city officials. The news blackout choked off possible leads from
ordinary citizens—and kept potential victims clueless as to the dangers
of walking home from work at night. "If we'd known there was a killer
around, we would have been more careful," says Yao Ping, the truck-driver
husband of victim Wang Guiyu. "But nobody told us."
On Aug. 10, three months after the killings in their
city began, Wuhan's police finally sent a bulletin to nearby cities,
including Yueyang, describing the cases. Yueyang's police immediately
responded with information on Duan Guocheng, including his alias Hu
Cheng.
Three days later, Wuhan's police found a Hu Cheng
registered at the 719 Aerospace Institute Inn, a military-run guesthouse
minutes from Zhang's police station. Zhang and two other officers burst
through Duan's door and found him standing in the room in his
underclothes. Duan attacked them, says Zhang, and "it took all three of
us to hold him down." They asked Duan if he knew why they had come. "I
robbed people," he replied.
In a drawer they discovered bloodstained shorts and a
pair of shoes that matched a print taken from the last murder. Police
say he confessed to the killings a few hours later. They charged him
with the "Red Dress Murders."
At present, Duan is confined in the Wuhan No. 2
Detention Center, a quiet prison surrounded by two-story walls. His
trial began on Dec. 16 and is expected to end sometime in February. In
all likelihood he will be convicted and swiftly executed. On Christmas
Eve, Duan's mother went to the prison to bring him some clothes. She
received a receipt signed by her son—the only form of contact they have
been permitted. The family doesn't even know if he has a lawyer.
The day after Duan's capture, the news blackout was
lifted and the front page of Wuhan's main newspaper hailed the nabbing
of the "Psycho Killer" accused of murdering 13 women. It showed Hubei's
top cop, Chen Xunqiu, handing $20,000 in reward money to Inspector Zhang
and a handful of colleagues involved in the investigation. "This is a
typical example," Chen said, "of successfully breaking a case using high-tech
methods and strategies." It was deft p.r., but the reality is more
chilling: monsters are on the prowl in today's China—and someone's got
to learn how to stop them.