Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

After returning from Qingshan Town, Jiang Bo went directly to the forensic center.

Su Min said on the phone that there were new findings in the autopsy reports of Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin. When he arrived, Su Min was standing in front of the autopsy table, holding a magnifying glass.

"Look here." She pointed to an enlarged photo of the pressure marks on Yang Tianzhen's neck. "The spacing between these two pressure marks is exactly the same as in Fang Min's case, but there are subtle differences from the method described by Ding Laosan."

Jiang Bo leaned closer to look. The indentation in the photo was clearly visible, two purplish-black marks about twelve centimeters apart.

"When Ding Laosan strangled someone, his hands were spread out quite far, about fifteen centimeters apart," Su Min said, pulling up simulation data from Ding Laosan's crime. "But this person's hands were spread out narrower. It could be because his hands are small, or it could be—intentional."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

"Intentional?"

Su Min nodded: "If the murderer wanted to imitate Ding Laosan, he would deliberately widen his hand spacing. But this person's spacing is different from Ding Laosan's. This suggests that he may not be imitating, but rather that this spacing is his natural habit."

Jiang Bo looked at the data, his mind racing.

The murderer in Fang Min's case is Chen Zhiming, who has already confessed. The murderers in Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin's cases have not yet been found. If the murderers in these two cases use different methods than Ding Laosan, what does that mean?

Does this mean they are not the same person?

No. The depth, angle, and location of the indentations are consistent with those in the Fang Min case. It must be the same person.

But the spacing is different?

He thought of Chen Zhiming's hands. Chen Zhiming wasn't tall, and his hands weren't big either. The width of his palms was exactly twelve centimeters.

Could it be that Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin were also killed by Chen Zhiming?

"When Chen Zhiming confessed, did he explain how he killed Fang Min?" Jiang Bo asked.

Su Min shook her head: "He said he doesn't remember. He only remembers pinching me, and that's it."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"Retrieve Chen Zhiming's palm data and compare it."

Su Min quickly retrieved Chen Zhiming's file. Hand width: 12.3 centimeters.

The spacing between the indentations on Yang Tianzhen's neck and the indentations match perfectly.

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Chen Zhiming killed not only Fang Min, but also Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin.

Then why doesn't he admit it?

He recalled Chen Zhiming's demeanor in the detention center. That man was very shrewd and spoke with utmost care. If he denied it, he must have his reasons.

Unless—he's protecting someone.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out.

"Where to?" Su Min asked.

"Detention center."

When Chen Zhiming was brought into the interrogation room, his expression was calm. He had gained a little weight and looked better than when he first came in. He even smiled when he saw Jiang Bo.

"Officer Jiang, you're here again?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him and pushed the indentation comparison report in front of him.

Chen Zhiming looked down. He looked for a long time.

Then he looked up.

"so what?"

Jiang Bo stared at him.

"You also killed Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin."

Chen Zhiming remained silent for a few seconds.

Then he laughed.

"It wasn't me."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

"The indentation data matches your palm perfectly."

Chen Zhiming shook his head.

"That only means the killer's hand is the same size as mine. It doesn't mean it's me."

Jiang Bo stared into his eyes. Those eyes were calm, without guilt or fear, only a strange composure.

Do you know Yang Tianzhen?

Chen Zhiming thought for a moment.

"I don't know him."

Where is Huang Binbin?

"I don't know them either."

Jiang Bo pushed their information over.

"They're all investigating Ah Zhen's case. Just like Fang Min."

Chen Zhiming's eyes flickered slightly. It was very subtle, but Jiang Bo noticed it.

"Is Fang Min also investigating that case?"

Jiang Bo nodded.

"you do not know?"

Chen Zhiming remained silent for a while.

"I don't know. She never said."

Jiang Bo stared at him.

"You killed Fang Min because she cheated on you?"

Chen Zhiming nodded.

"Yes."

"What about Yang Tianzhen and Huang Binbin? They had no grudge against you, so why did you kill them?"

Chen Zhiming shook his head.

"It wasn't me."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to his side.

"Chen Zhiming, you can't hide it anymore. The evidence is right here; your hand and the pressure marks match perfectly. Whether you killed one person or three, it's still murder. Confessing to two more won't get you a heavier sentence. Confessing to two fewer won't reduce your sentence either."

Chen Zhiming looked up at him.

"Officer Jiang, I really didn't kill them. I admit to killing Fang Min. But I didn't know those two women. Why would I kill them?"

Jiang Bo stared at him.

"Because they're investigating the case Fang Min was investigating. You're afraid they'll find out something."

Chen Zhiming smiled.

"I don't even know what that case is. What am I afraid of?"

Jiang Bo remained silent for a few seconds.

"Then how do you explain the indentation?"

Chen Zhiming looked at his hands.

"I don't know. But I do know I'm not the murderer."

It was already dark when Jiang Bo came out of the detention center. He stood at the door and lit a cigarette.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

Zhang Yuhang walked over and said softly, "Officer Bo, do you believe him?"

Jiang Bo took a drag of his cigarette but didn't answer.

He didn't believe it. But he didn't completely disbelieve it either.

The indentation data did match, but Chen Zhiming's reaction was too natural. If he were truly the murderer, he should have panicked, dodged, and been afraid. But he didn't. He simply denied it calmly.

That calmness was either feigned or genuine.

If he's faking it, then he's a master.

If true, then the killer is someone else—a person whose hands are the same size as Chen Zhiming's.

Who is that person?

My phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling.

"Officer, we've found a lead. Before Yang Tianzhen died, the last person she contacted was a man named Jiang Wu'an."

Jiang Bo paused for a moment.

Jiang Wu'an?

The name that Lao He mentioned?

Who is Jiang Wu'an?

Liu Tong said, "I don't know. I can't find any information. This name only appeared once in Yang Tianzhen's chat history, and the other party replied with an address—the old pontoon bridge demolition area."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

An old pontoon bridge. Another old pontoon bridge.

"Where exactly is that address?"

"An old house at the east end of the old pontoon bridge, near the river. It has been demolished."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and looked at the night sky.

The river has no banks.

His surname is Jiang.

They share the same surname.

He recalled Lao He's words: "Some people say his name is Jiang Wu'an. Others say it's just a code name. No one has ever seen his real face."

Is this person connected to the J organization?

Is it related to Yang Tianzhen's death?

Is it related to him?

He stubbed out his cigarette and threw it into the trash can.

"Go to the old pontoon bridge."

The demolition area of ​​the old floating bridge was pitch black. Bulldozers stood there, like sleeping giants. The moonlight shone on the ruins, a ghastly white, with shadows of bricks and rubble everywhere, like crouching ghosts.

Jiang Bo, flashlight in hand, found the old house according to the address. It had been mostly demolished, with only half a wall remaining. The wall was covered with faded and white New Year pictures from the 1990s, depicting a chubby baby holding a fish and smiling eerily.

Tangyuan sniffed around in the ruins, then suddenly stopped and barked at the wall.

Jiang Bo walked over and shone his flashlight. There was a crack in the wall, and something was stuck inside.

He reached inside and pulled out a plastic bag. Inside the bag was a notebook, damp and moldy, but still operable.

Turning to the first page, three words were written on it: Jiang Wu'an.

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

He continued flipping through the pages. Inside were names of people, times, and places recorded. It was like a tracking log.

Turn to the last page, there is a passage:

"December 20, 1998. Today I met someone. He said he was from J. He said they were looking for a child, a boy born on March 9, 1993, who had been taken away by a policeman. He said the child was very important and had to be found. I asked why, and he said the child had special abilities. I didn't believe him. But he gave me an address and told me to check. I went and found that the child really existed. His name is Jiang Bo, he's five years old now, lives in Jiangcheng, and his adoptive parents are factory workers. I didn't tell that person. I hid him."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

Is the owner of this notebook Dong Zhenhua?

Or someone else?

He continued scrolling down.

"March 1999. The child was six years old. I secretly went to see him. He was playing in the yard, laughing happily. He didn't know about his origins. I hope he never will."

"In 2000, I went to see him again. He was in elementary school, carrying his schoolbag, walking with his classmates. A very ordinary child. But his eyes were just like his mother's."

"In 2005, he was twelve years old. He had grown taller and thinner. His mother left home at the same age. Looking at him, my heart ached."

"In 2010, he was seventeen years old. He was admitted to the police academy. He wanted to be a policeman, just like his mentor."

"In 2015, he graduated and joined the police force. He looked just like his mentor in his police uniform."

"In 2018, he solved a major case and made the newspapers. I saw his photo; he was smiling and looked exactly like his mother back then."

The last page is what I wrote recently:

"2024. He started investigating Ah Zhen's case. I knew he would eventually find J. I left him a letter in my old house. If he finds it there, he'll know everything. If he doesn't, then so be it. Maybe it's better not to know."

Signed: Dong Zhenhua.

Jiang Bo held the notebook, his hands trembling.

Dong Zhenhua has been watching him. From the age of five until now, for more than twenty years, he has been secretly watching him.

Why did he do that?

Because he knew that Organization J was looking for him.

He was protecting him.

Jiang Bo closed his notebook and stood in the ruins.

The moonlight shone on his face, cool and refreshing.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg.

He squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, someone has always been protecting me."

Tangyuan, of course, didn't answer. It simply licked his hand.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out.

As he walked to the car, he glanced back at the ruins.

The old pontoon bridge. So many stories have unfolded here, so many secrets are buried here.

Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Xiu Ying, Ding Lao San, Dong Jianguo, Dong Jianping, Dong Zhenhua.

And himself.

The car started and drove away from the old pontoon bridge.

In the rearview mirror, the ruins receded further and further away, finally disappearing into the night.

But Jiang Bo knew he wouldn't forget.

Those names, those faces, those stories will all be in his heart.

My phone rang. It was Zhang Yuhang calling.

"Bro, I've made a new discovery. Yang Tianzhen's last message was to someone named 'Jiang Wu'an.' It read: 'I know who you are. I want to see you.'"

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Has the other party replied?

"Replied. An address. Old pontoon bridge."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a few seconds.

"That address, is it the house we just saw?"

Zhang Yuhang said, "Yes. That's the one."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and looked out the window.

Yang Tianzhen arranged to meet Jiang Wu'an at the old pontoon bridge. Then she died.

Who is Jiang Wu'an?

Is it Dong Zhenhua?

Impossible. Dong Zhenhua disappeared in 1998.

Who is that?

He parked his car on the side of the road, took out the notebook, and turned to the last page.

Dong Zhenhua's last words were: "If he finds there, he will know everything. If he doesn't, then so be it. Perhaps it's better not to know."

Know everything?

What do you know?

He put the notebook away and started the car.

The car drove back into the city. The streets were deserted late at night, with only a few taxis occasionally passing by. The traffic lights were still flashing, like some meaningless ritual.

Jiang Bo parked the car in front of the Municipal Bureau and got out.

Tangyuan followed behind, and the two of them, one human and one dog, entered the building.

The elevator reached the sixth floor, and the corridor was deserted. Only the emergency lights cast a dim yellow glow.

He pushed open the office door and turned on the light.

There was a document on the table. It was left by Zhang Yuhang, the investigation results about Jiang Wu'an.

He picked it up and looked at it.

Jiang Wu'an: No such person exists. There are no household registration records, no social connections, and no activity history. This name seems to have appeared out of thin air.

But it appeared in Yang Tianzhen's chat history.

It also appeared in Dong Zhenhua's notebook.

It must exist.

It's just that it's hidden too well.

Jiang Bo sat in the chair and closed his eyes.

The fragments in my mind started to piece together again.

Jiang Wu'an. J Organization. Dong Zhenhua. Yang Tianzhen. Old Floating Bridge.

These fragments, like a net, wrapped him up inside.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

Outside the window, it was almost dawn.

Grayish-white light shone through the clouds and onto the river.

Jiang Bo opened his eyes and stood up.

He walked to the window and looked at the Zhongjiang Pagoda in the distance.

That tower, over four hundred years old, has stood there by the river. How much evil it has witnessed, how much death it has seen, how many secrets it has seen sink to the bottom of the river.

Now, those secrets are about to surface.

He turned around, picked up the phone, and called Zhang Yuhang.

"After dawn, go to Wuwei, Dong Zhenhua's hometown. I need to check it again."

Zhang Yuhang responded.

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and looked out the window.

Tangyuan stood up, walked to his side, and looked outside.

It cried out.

That shout echoed in the empty office.

Jiang Bo squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, tell me, who is Jiang Wu'an?"

Tangyuan, of course, wouldn't answer.

But it licked his hand.

That warm tongue felt like a kind of comfort.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out of the office.

In the corridor, sunlight streamed in through the windows and shone on the floor.

A new day begins.