Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo returned to the Municipal Bureau from Jinghu Park; it was almost dawn. The corridor lights were still on, the fluorescent lights humming softly, the sound echoing in the empty corridor like countless flies buzzing in his ears, impossible to shake off. His footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, one beat after another, like a heartbeat, like a countdown. Tangyuan followed behind him, its paws lightly tapping the ground, making no sound. It knew something had happened again. Its ears drooped, its tail stopped wagging, and even its eyes had lost their usual brightness.

The lights in the tech department were still on. Xiao Zhou sat in front of the computer, Wang Xiaochen's phone lying in front of him. The screen was cracked, like a spiderweb; the motherboard had been removed and was soaking in alcohol for cleaning. His fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of code jumping across the screen, green characters flashing against the black background like some mysterious code, or fireflies in the dead of night. Several cups of cold coffee sat on the table, brown stains clinging to the sides, along with an opened packet of biscuits, half-eaten, the rest soggy and damp. His eyes were red, his lips chapped, and his hair a tangled mess, like a clump of withered grass. He had been sitting there all night.

Jiang Bo stood behind him, looking at the screen. "What did you find? Even just a clue will do."

Xiao Zhou took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and didn't wipe away the eye discharge. "Brother Bo, we've recovered most of Wang Xiaochen's chat history. The other party was very careful, using a virtual number, a proxy IP, and several layers of VPNs, but we still managed to get the IP address. The old pontoon bridge. That little house. The one where the husband stayed. Login time: 8:45 PM. She arrived at Jinghu Park at 9 PM. Fifteen minutes from the old pontoon bridge to Jinghu Park, just enough time by car or by electric scooter. After the murderer sent that message, he went out. He went to Jinghu Park, killed her, and then came back. He probably left in a hurry, he didn't even turn off his computer. When we logged in, his account was still online, and his profile picture was still that sunset photo of Zhongjiang Pagoda. But when we arrived at the little house, he was already gone. There were footprints on the ground, new, size 42, sneakers, deep treads, like shoes he had just bought recently. The computer on the table was warm, it had just been used, the screen was still lit, and the WeChat interface was still open. He ran away right under our noses. Just a few minutes short."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched tightly. His nails dug into his flesh, but he felt no pain. "It's 'Jiang Shui' again. It's the old pontoon bridge again. It's that little house again. That person is still here. He's still using that name. He's still waiting. He's still killing. He killed Fang Min, Li Hongmei, Xu Yanran, Lin Xiaoxue, Zhao Xiaoyun. And now he's killed Wang Xiaochen. He's killed so many people. Who is he? How does he know those details? How can he imitate them so perfectly? How can he always avoid the surveillance cameras? How can he always find those women? Is he right beside us? Is he always watching? Is he also standing at the door watching? Is he also powerless to do anything? Did he also say sorry? Is he also waiting?"

Liu Tong came in from outside, holding a document in his hand, his expression even more grave than before. His eyes were red, the tip of his nose was red, and there were red marks from the keyboard on his face, running from his forehead to his cheeks. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt collar was wrinkled. "Officer Bo, we checked the surveillance footage over the old pontoon bridge area again. There are no cameras in that area, but we found some useful footage at an intersection on the outskirts. We spotted a person. At one o'clock in the morning, he came out of that small house and walked towards the river. He walked very slowly, his right leg was slightly lame, and he dragged his feet step by step. He was wearing a dark coat and a hat, the brim pulled low, and his head was down, so we couldn't see his face. He walked towards the river and then disappeared. The surveillance footage showed him reaching the riverbank and then disappearing. He might have boarded a boat from there, or jumped into the river, or took another route. We checked the nearby river surface, but we didn't find any bodies or boats. He might still be alive, or he might still be in those ruins."

Jiang Bo took the document and looked at the surveillance screenshot. A blurry black-and-white photo showed a figure, only the outline discernible. Thin, tall, slightly hunched, with uneven shoulders. He wore a dark overcoat and a hat, his head bowed, the shadow of the hat obscuring most of his face. When he walked, his right foot dragged on the ground, one step at a time, as if measuring something. A limp. Again, a limp. Like Dong Jian'an, like Dong Zhenhua, like Sun Jianguo, like Zhang Jianjun. They were all limp. But none of them were him. He was someone else. Someone they had never seen before.

"He walked towards the river and then disappeared? Are there any boats on the river? Are there any docks? Are there any other roads? Are there any sewers? Are there any secret passages?"

Liu Tong shook his head, opened his notebook, and saw a simple map drawn on it. "There's no dock in the demolition area. There's only a dirt road leading to the river, with weeds and reeds on both sides. But there's nothing on the riverbank, just reeds, stones, and a few abandoned wooden stakes. He might have gone into the water from there, or a boat might have picked him up. We checked the nearby surveillance footage, two kilometers upstream and downstream, but we didn't see him come ashore. He might still be on the riverbank, or he might still be in that ruin. He might not have gone far. He might be right under our noses, hiding in some corner we haven't found."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Dawn broke, and sunlight streamed through the clouds, illuminating the river like shimmering gold. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood watching at the door were also in his heart. They had returned; the murderer was still there. He was still killing. He had to find him.

"Liu Tong, call Zhang Yuhang, take the equipment, and go to the old pontoon bridge. We'll search. Search every inch of it. That ruin, that little house, that riverbank. He must still be there. He must still be watching. He must be waiting for us to come find him. He's waited so many years, he won't leave easily. He can't bear to part with that lamp."

By the time the car reached the old pontoon bridge, it was already broad daylight. Sunlight shone on the ruins, on the small house, on the lamp. The lamp was still on, dim and warm, its light faint in the sunlight, yet it still shone, like a star that refused to go out, like an eye that refused to close. The bulldozer was still there, rusted and worn, like a giant skeleton in the sunlight, its tracks stuck in the mud, motionless. The withered grass swayed in the wind, yellow and dry, rustling like countless hands whispering, or countless mouths sighing.

Jiang Bo got out of the car, with Tang Yuan following behind. Liu Tong and Zhang Yuhang also got out, carrying a survey kit, camera, and two police dogs. The police dogs were Tang Yuan's companions, one named Black Panther and the other Lightning, both German Shepherds with shiny coats and alert eyes. As soon as they got out of the car, they started sniffing, their noses close to the ground, sniffing here and there, their tails held straight up. Tang Yuan followed suit, sniffing ahead.

They walked to the small house. The door was open, and the light was on. No one was inside. On the table lay the notebooks, the photos, and the letters. The computer was still on, the screen lit, displaying a WeChat login page. The name was "Jiang Shui" (River Water). The profile picture was a photo of the Zhongjiang Pagoda by the river, the setting sun casting a golden glow on the water. Jiang Bo walked over and looked at the profile picture. He recognized the photo. It was taken by his father. His father had an identical one in his camera. His father was standing by the river, taking a picture of the Zhongjiang Pagoda at sunset. He had seen that photo before. It was tucked in his teacher's notebook. His teacher said it was a gift from his father. His father had said, "Teacher, this is the best photo I've ever taken. Keep it." His teacher had kept it for over thirty years.

"Brother Bo, there are footprints here." Zhang Yuhang squatted by the door, pointing to the ground. There was a clear footprint in the soil, size 42, from a sneaker. The tread was deep, like a new shoe, and the sole's pattern was still sharp. He took a few pictures, measured it with a ruler, and wrote down the data in his notebook. "The footprint is pointing towards the river. He walked towards the river."

Jiang Bo walked over and looked at the footprints. The footprints pointed towards the riverbank, deep and heavy, as if trodden with great force. He followed the footprints, Tangyuan following behind, and Black Panther and Lightning catching up. The footprints were intermittent, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, sometimes covered by weeds, sometimes broken by pebbles. They led through ruins, through weeds, all the way to the riverbank. There was a patch of reeds by the river, withered and yellow, swaying in the wind, rustling softly. The footprints disappeared into the reeds.

Jiang Bo stood by the riverbank, gazing at the water. The river shimmered in the sunlight, flowing slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. A narrow path, barely wide enough for one person, was hidden by the reeds and almost invisible unless one looked closely. He parted the reeds and stepped inside. The reeds were tall, towering above his head, like a wall. Tangyuan followed behind, followed by Black Panther and Lightning. The winding path led to a place. After walking for a few minutes, a small hut appeared before him.

It was small and dilapidated, even smaller than the gentleman's room. The walls were made of adobe, cracked and covered with moss. The roof was thatched, the thatch blackened and rotten, some sections collapsed, revealing dark holes. The door was wooden, the paint peeled away, revealing the grayish-white wood grain; the frame was crooked, the door panel warped, and it wouldn't close properly. The door was closed, the window was dark, a piece of glass was broken and covered with plastic sheeting. There were no footprints in the doorway, but a sliver of light shone through the crack.

Jiang Bo walked over and stood at the door. He knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. Still no one. He pushed the door open. The hinges creaked loudly, especially clear in the quiet morning.

The room was dark, without a lamp. Only light streamed in from the doorway, casting a narrow strip of light on the floor. Dust motes danced in the beam of light, like countless tiny stars. A man sat on the edge of the bed, his back to him. He wore a dark overcoat, his long, completely white hair cascading over his shoulders like reeds in winter. His back was hunched, like a withered old tree, his hands resting on his knees, his fingers slightly curled. He heard the door open and slowly turned around. His movements were slow, like a slow-motion scene in a movie, like a withered leaf in the wind. A very old face, wrinkles as deep as if carved by a knife. His eyes were sunken, his cheekbones prominent, his face hollow, like a skeleton covered in skin. But his eyes were bright, like the cold, deep waters of a winter river.

"You've come. I've been waiting for you for a long time. I've been waiting since the day you started investigating those cases. I knew you would come to me. You're just like your father. Stubborn. Once you've made up your mind, you don't look back."

Jiang Bo walked in. "Who are you? What's your name? Why do you live here? Why did you kill those people?"

The old man looked at him. Tears streamed down his face, cutting into the wrinkles that resembled dried-up riverbeds. "Who am I? I don't know who I am. What's my name? I've forgotten. I only remember that I've waited for you for a long time. From the day you started investigating those cases, I've been waiting. I knew you would come to me. You're like your father. Stubborn. Once you've made up your mind, you don't look back."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "You killed those people? Fang Min, Li Hongmei, Xu Yanran, Lin Xiaoxue, Zhao Xiaoyun, Wang Xiaochen? You killed them all? You killed them all by yourself?"

The old man nodded. The nod was slow and soft, as if a thousand pounds were pressing down on his neck. "Yes. I killed them all. I waited so many years, waiting for you to come and arrest me. You didn't come. I couldn't wait any longer. I killed them. I stood at the door watching. I couldn't go in. I couldn't do anything. I owe them a life. I owe my wife a life. I owe this city a life. I've owed it for so many years, I can never repay it. You've come. Arrest me. Sentence me. Kill me."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. "Why did you kill them? What did they do to you? Did they even know you? Had they offended you? They didn't even know who you were. They were just going for a run, just passing by, just unlucky. Why did you kill them?"

The old man lowered his head. Tears dripped onto the ground, one drop at a time. "They don't know me. I don't know them either. They look like someone. Like her. She's dead. I couldn't save her. I hated. I hated for so many years. I killed so many people. Now I don't hate anymore. I've waited for you for so many years, and I don't hate anymore. Her name was Xiulan. She was my wife. She died by the river. Someone pushed her into the river. I saw it. I stood at the door watching. I didn't save her. I couldn't do anything. I owed her a life. I waited for so many years, waiting for you to come and arrest me. You didn't come. I couldn't wait any longer. I killed those who looked like her. I went mad. I went mad for so many years. Now I'm not mad anymore. I've waited for you for so many years, and I'm not mad anymore."

Jiang Bo handcuffed him. The handcuffs clicked shut, the sound particularly loud in the quiet little house. The old man stood up and followed him out of the house. His legs were trembling, his hands were trembling, and he looked like a lamp about to go out. Sunlight shone on him, casting his long, thin shadow on the ground, like a withered old tree.

They walked to the car, and the old man stopped, glancing back at the small house. The lamp was still on, dim and warm, shining through the window like an eye that refused to close.

"I'm leaving. Let that light stay lit. People will come back. Mr. will come back, Dong Zhenhua will come back. They will still write those names, and they will still say those apologies. That light cannot be extinguished. If it's extinguished, those names will be lost. If it's extinguished, no one will say those apologies."

Jiang Bo helped him into the car. Tangyuan, perched on the back seat, looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. The car started and drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the little house grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but it was still there. The light was still on. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time.