Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo was dreaming when his phone rang.

In his dream, he stood by the riverbank. The water had receded, revealing a skirt in the reeds. He wanted to walk over, but his legs wouldn't move; the mud held them in place. The river slowly rose, past his knees, past his waist, almost reaching his chest—

The bell rang.

Jiang Bo opened his eyes, fumbled for his phone on the bedside table in the darkness; the screen was blindingly bright. He squinted at it for a second, then answered.

"Police Officer, Riverside Park, below Zhongjiang Tower." Zhou Xiao's voice was low, but he couldn't hide his excitement. "Another incident has occurred, just like last year."

Jiang Bo didn't say anything and hung up the phone.

He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for three seconds, then threw back the covers and sat up. It was still raining outside, and the streetlights shone through the slightly ajar curtains, casting a blurry yellow light on the wall. Jiang Bo glanced at the time: 4:23 AM.

Twenty minutes later, his car stopped in the Binjiang Park parking lot. The rain had lessened, turning into a sticky drizzle that felt cold on his face. Jiang Bo didn't use an umbrella and waded through the puddles towards the riverbank.

The dark silhouette of Zhongjiang Pagoda looms over the riverbank, standing there for over four hundred years. The observation deck at the foot of the pagoda is surrounded by police tape, and several policemen stand outside the tape smoking, the red glow of their cigarettes flickering in the rain and mist. Jiang Bo walks over, and the policemen automatically make way for him.

Zhou Xiao was squatting in the middle of the observation deck, taking pictures of something. Hearing footsteps, he looked up, revealing a young face—twenty-six years old, three years out of police academy, still carrying the warmth that hadn't been worn down by cases.

"Polish Sir, over here."

Jiang Bo walked over and looked down.

A pair of sneakers lay on the ground. Pink, Nike, the heels badly worn. The shoes were arranged neatly, toes pointing towards the river, each stuffed with a sock. An ID card was pressed down on top of the socks, the plastic wrap covered in raindrops.

Jiang Bo didn't touch the shoe; he squatted down and looked at it for half a minute.

"Who discovered it?"

"The old man who does morning exercises comes to practice Tai Chi at five o'clock every day," Zhou Xiao pointed to an old man wrapped in a raincoat next to him. "The old man said that as soon as he arrived, he saw these shoes placed here, and there was no one around. He waited for a while and still didn't see anyone, so he called 110."

"Has it been touched?"

"Nothing was touched. The old man is quite knowledgeable; he said he saw it on TV and it's about preserving the scene."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the railing, and looked down. Below were reefs, and beyond that, the river. The Yangtze River's water level was low at this time of year, and large patches of reefs were exposed above the water, covered in dark moss. He looked down at the railing—rusty iron railings with fresh scratches, revealing the slate underneath. The scratches were positioned at a height just high enough for one person to climb over.

"What about the surveillance footage?"

Zhou Xiao put away his phone and walked over: "It's broken."

"broken?"

"Lightning strike. Last week's torrential rain burned all the surveillance cameras along the riverbank; they're being repaired now." Zhou Xiao lowered his voice. "Officer, what a coincidence! Last year, the same camera broke down, also by the river, and it was also during a night run."

Jiang Bo didn't reply. He went back to the shoes and squatted down again.

The woman in the ID photo was in her thirties, with short hair and a round face, forcing a smile in the photo. Her name was Fang Min, thirty-six years old, from Jiangcheng, and lived in a residential area in Jinghu District. Jiang Bo stared at that face, the details of last year's case flashing through his mind.

Last July, also in Binjiang Park, a woman went missing while jogging at night. After a week of searching, her body was found floating in the middle of the river. The initial autopsy concluded it was an accidental drowning, and the family didn't cause any trouble, so the case was closed. But Jiang Bo remembers one detail—when the woman was found, she was also wearing sportswear, but her shoes were missing.

Forensic pathologist Su Min said at the time, "It's normal for a drowning person's shoes to be washed away, but it's normal for one shoe to be washed away, but it's rare for both to be washed away."

Jiang Bo stood up and glanced at Zhou Xiao: "What was the name of that guy from last year?"

"Li Hongmei, 34 years old, an insurance agent." Zhou Xiao had the information saved on his phone and recited it off the top of his head. "She lived in Yijiang District, had a two-year habit of jogging at night, went out at 8 p.m. on the night she went missing, and the last time she was captured on CCTV was at the entrance of Binjiang Park. When her body was found, she was wearing sportswear and barefoot."

Jiang Bo pointed to the shoes on the ground: "What about these?"

Zhou Xiao understood what he meant, and squatted down to take a closer look: "The shoelaces are tied quite neatly, they don't look like they were washed away by water. And the socks are stuffed inside the shoes, they were deliberately placed there after being taken off."

"Have the family members been notified?"

"I've notified her; her husband is on his way." Zhou Xiao glanced at his phone. "He said he'll be there in twenty minutes."

Jiang Bo nodded, walked to the side, and lit a cigarette. The rain was still falling. He held the cigarette in his hand and smoked, watching the river. It was still dark; the river and sky merged into one, indistinguishable. Only the navigation light in the middle of the river flickered red, like some kind of signal.

Several images flashed through his mind: a woman jogging here at night, taking off her shoes, arranging them neatly, and then climbing over the railing. Below, there was no beach, only rocks and river water. What would she be doing jumping in? Swimming? Suicide?

Last year's case also involved a night run, a disappearance, and a trip to the riverside.

Jiang Bo took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the rain. Too many coincidences are no longer coincidences.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Zhou Xiao walked over, lowering his voice: "Her husband is here."

Jiang Bo turned around and saw a middle-aged man walking across the police line. He was around forty years old, slightly overweight, wearing pajamas with a windbreaker over them, his hair disheveled, and his expression a mixture of panic and confusion. He walked to the edge of the observation deck, saw the pair of shoes on the ground, and stopped.

"These are...these are my wife's shoes." His voice trembled. "Where is she?"

Jiang Bo walked over and flashed his badge: "Jiang Bo, Major Crimes Unit. Are you Fang Min's husband?"

"Yes, my surname is Chen, Chen Zhiming." The man stared at the shoes. "Where is she? What happened?"

When was the last time you saw Fang Min?

"Last night, around 7 p.m.," Chen Zhiming said, "she said she was going for a night run. I told her not to go because it was raining, but she said it was just a light drizzle and it was fine, so she went out. I thought she would be back soon, but she didn't come back until after 10 p.m., so I called her, but her phone was off. I thought she had gone to her best friend's house, so I didn't think much of it. This morning—"

He couldn't continue, staring at the shoes, his eyes reddening.

Jiang Bo waited a few seconds for him to calm down before asking, "Does she often come here for a night run?"

"Often. She has a running group that meets here every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday." Chen Zhiming suddenly remembered something, "Right, the running group had an activity last night, she must have come to participate."

Zhou Xiao quickly took notes.

Jiang Bo then asked, "Has she been acting strangely lately? In a bad mood? Has she had a falling out with someone?"

Chen Zhiming shook his head: "No, she's pretty normal. It's just—" He paused, as if recalling something, "that she's been saying she's tired lately, but she still insists on participating in the running group activities."

"Tired? How so?"

"She keeps saying she's listless when she comes home at night, and she doesn't even want to eat." Chen Zhiming looked at the shoes on the ground. "Officer, did she... fall into the river?"

Jiang Bo didn't answer. He looked at Chen Zhiming's hand—there were several fresh scratches on the back of his right hand, scabbed over, like scratches from fingernails. Chen Zhiming followed his gaze and subconsciously pulled his hand into his sleeve.

"What is that?" Jiang Bo asked.

Chen Zhiming paused for a moment, then looked down at his hand: "Oh, this was scratched by the cat at home."

"Get a cat?"

"I have one, an orange cat." Chen Zhiming held out his hand to show him. "This cat isn't friendly. It scratches me whenever I try to hold it."

Jiang Bo nodded and didn't ask any more questions. He turned and walked to the railing, looking down. Zhou Xiao followed him and whispered, "Jiang Bo, what do you think?"

Jiang Bo didn't speak. He bent down and touched the scratches on the railing. Rust powder clung to his fingers, fresh, left from last night. He looked down again—the rocks were clean, without a trace of anyone lying down. If someone had jumped, there would have been a way to leave no trace.

Unless someone threw it down.

Jiang Bo straightened up and returned to the shoes. He squatted down, hesitated for a second, and then reached out and grasped the shoe.

—In that instant, a scene exploded in his mind.

The sound of rain. Gasping for breath. A woman's hand gripped the rusty railing tightly, her knuckles white. A dark shadow pressed down from behind, its face obscured, only two hands visible reaching out from behind, gripping the woman's neck. The woman tried to scream, but no sound came out; her mouth gaped open, rain pouring in. The hand was pried open, one by one, from the railing. Then her body fell backward, into the darkness, plummeting, plummeting—

Jiang Bo released his grip.

The headache arrived as expected, like a nail driven into the back of his head. He stood there, leaning on the railing, taking deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside. Zhou Xiao whispered beside him, "Bo Sir?"

"It's nothing," Jiang Bo said with his eyes closed.

The woman in the picture isn't Fang Min. She has short hair, a round face, and doesn't look like the photo on her ID card. Who is she then?

Jiang Bo opened his eyes and looked at Zhou Xiao: "Do you have a photo of Li Hongmei from last year?"

Zhou Xiao paused for a moment, then took out his phone and scrolled through it: "Yes, there are photos of the scene taken at the time." He handed the phone over.

Jiang Bo took it and glanced at it.

The woman in the photo is lying on the dissection table, her eyes closed, her face pale from being soaked in water. But the outline is still there—round face, short hair, the same woman in the previous image.

Jiang Bo returned the phone to Zhou Xiao, then glanced at the shoes on the ground. Fang Min, thirty-six years old, had been jogging last night, and now she was gone. Last year, there was another woman jogging nearby, and she was gone too.

Two cases, one year apart, at the same location. The first case was closed as an accidental drowning.

Jiang Bo glanced at the river. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the river water was turning from black to grayish-blue. He remembered a sentence in his master's notebook: "The river can carry away evidence."

But you can't take your sins with you.

Chen Zhiming was still standing there, looking at them helplessly. Jiang Bo walked over and said, "Mr. Chen, please go back first. We'll contact you anytime if anything happens. Zhou Xiao, see him out."

Chen Zhiming nodded blankly and followed Zhou Xiao outside. After a few steps, he turned back and asked, "Officer, is my wife... still alive?"

Jiang Bo looked at him without saying a word.

He couldn't answer that question. The cell phone signal was last detected in the middle of the river, but it's impossible for someone to swim to the middle of the river with their phone without calling for help. Either someone took her phone to the middle of the river, or—

Jiang Bo didn't think any further.

After Chen Zhiming left, Jiang Bo stood there for a while longer. The rain stopped, and a sliver of red appeared on the horizon; the sun was about to rise. People doing their morning exercise gradually arrived at the park, kept outside by the police tape, craning their necks to look inside. Some people took photos with their phones, but were stopped by the police.

After Zhou Xiao returned from dropping off the person, he stood next to him and said, "Boss, Liu Tong checked the cell phone signal, and the last location he was seen at was—Jiang Xin."

"Where is 'Jiangxin'?"

"It's right opposite Zhongjiang Tower, about 500 meters from the shore," Zhou Xiao said. "Liu Tong said the signal stayed there for about ten minutes, and then disappeared."

Jiang Bo looked at the river. Five hundred meters in, the water was about ten meters deep. The current was swift and there were many whirlpools at that spot; everyone in the area knew this. If someone fell in there, their body would float downstream.

However, if the person died after being submerged in water, that's not necessarily the case.

"Let's go." Jiang Bo turned and walked out.

"Where to?"

"Find Su Min," Jiang Bo said. "Tell her to get ready; there might be work today."

Reaching the parking lot, Jiang Bo opened the car door and suddenly stopped. He glanced back at the observation deck—the pink sneakers were still there, glaringly bright in the post-rain sunlight.

He remembered the woman in that scene. Li Hongmei, the one who drowned last year. But that scene wasn't about drowning; it was about someone choking her, prying open her fingers, and pushing her off the railing.

Were the two cases committed by the same person?

Jiang Bo got into the car and started the engine. His head was still throbbing, just like every time he used that "ability." He never wrote about it in his reports, nor did he ever explain to anyone how he "senses" those things. Zhou Xiao thought it was his intuition, his master thought it was his keen observation, but only he knew the truth.

He touched the back of his head and looked at his face in the rearview mirror. Thirty-four years old, fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, and his eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't slept all night, another damn long day.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Jiang Bo glanced at the rearview mirror. The shadow of Zhongjiang Pagoda grew smaller and smaller, slowly disappearing into the morning light. A thought suddenly popped into his mind:

If that nameless girl from twenty years ago were still alive, she would be thirty-six years old now.