Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

It rained all night.

Jiang Bo stood by the window, watching the rain outside. Rainwater streamed down the glass, leaving streaks like tears. The distant Yangtze River was blurred into a grayish-white haze by the rain and mist, making it impossible to see anything clearly. Only the occasional, deep, and drawn-out sound of a ship's horn reminded him that the river was still there.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. It disliked rain and would become listless on rainy days. At this moment, it rested its head on its front paws, its eyes half-open and half-closed, blinking occasionally, and letting out a low whimper. Its tail occasionally twitched, sweeping across the floor with a soft rustling sound.

Jiang Bo's phone rang. It was Liu Tong. It was 2 a.m., and he was still working overtime.

"Officer, we found it. In that month of 1992, besides Tung Chee-hwa, another policeman took sick leave."

Jiang Bo gripped his phone tightly. The phone was pressed against his ear, getting a little hot.

"Who?"

"His name was Zheng Jianguo. He was the one who committed suicide in 1998."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

Zheng Jianguo?

The retired policeman who "committed suicide" in 1998? The person Wang Xiulan said was "not sick at all"? The person who appeared in Tung Chee-hwa's diary?

"What kind of leave did he request?"

Liu Tong flipped through the documents, and the sound of paper rubbing could be heard over the phone.

"Sick leave. December 5th to December 25th, 1992. Reason: high fever, requiring hospitalization for observation. The leave slip is still there; it's handwritten and has a supervisor's signature."

Jiang Bo's heart started racing.

From December 5th to 25th. A full twenty days. That was the period when Jiang Yizhou was being followed.

江一舟12月10日写信说被人跟蹤。12月15日写信说看见那个跛脚的人。12月20日失蹤。

Zheng Jianguo's sick leave perfectly covered this period.

Does he have a history of limping?

Liu Tong said, "No. There's no record of him being lame in his file. He's an investigator, always in field duty, and there's no record of him being transferred due to injury. But—"

He paused.

"But when he died in 1998, he had injuries. The autopsy report stated: old fracture of the right ankle, poor healing, and signs of arthritis. It is estimated that the fracture occurred five to ten years ago."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

Five to ten years ago. That is, between 1988 and 1993.

1992 falls right within this range.

"Can you find out when that fracture occurred?"

Liu Tong said, "It wasn't mentioned in the report. It only said 'many years ago,' without specifying a time. The forensic doctor was just conducting a routine examination and didn't pay special attention to this. After all, it was suicide, not murder."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

What is the relationship between Zheng Jianguo and Tung Chee-hwa?

Liu Tong checked. The keyboard clattered loudly.

"Those who joined the police force at the same time were all from the 1978 cohort. We had a good relationship, and our families kept in touch. After Zheng Jianguo retired, Dong Jianhua visited him a few times. Zheng Jianguo's wife, Wang Xiulan, mentioned in her testimony that Old Dong had come."

Jiang Bo began to piece together the fragments in his mind.

Zheng Jianguo. Dong Jianhua. Jiang Yizhou.

We joined the police force in 1978 at the same time. We've been colleagues for over a decade.

In December 1992, Zheng Jianguo took twenty days of sick leave. He said it was because of a high fever, but perhaps it wasn't.

Perhaps he broke his leg at that time.

Perhaps he was tracking Jiang Yizhou when he broke his bone.

Perhaps he fell accidentally, or perhaps he was injured when Jiang Yizhou fought back.

Maybe……

Then Jiang Yizhou disappeared.

Zheng Jianguo's injuries have healed. He went back to work, continued to be a policeman, and continued to be a good person.

Then in 1995, he retired early, citing "illness" as the reason.

What illness? Nobody knows.

Then in 1998, he "committed suicide".

Why did they commit suicide?

Because Tung Chee-hwa found out about him? Because someone wanted to silence him? Or because his own conscience bothered him?

Jiang Bo recalled Tung Chee-hwa's words in his letter: "I know I was wrong, but it's too late."

Is his statement about wrongdoing an attempt to cover up for Zheng Jianguo?

Was the person he helped Zheng Jianguo?

"Liu Tong, check Zheng Jianguo's file. The more detailed the better. Also, bring out the file on his 1998 'suicide' and take a look at it again. Especially that suicide note, do a handwriting analysis."

Liu Tong responded.

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

The rain was still falling. The sky was overcast, making it hard to tell if it was morning or evening. Raindrops pattered against the glass, like countless hands knocking.

Tangyuan stood up, walked to his side, and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was a little damp, probably from the moisture it had picked up by the window. Its eyes were bright and sparkling as it looked at him, as if asking: What's wrong?

"Tangyuan, that guy pretending to be lame might be Zheng Jianguo."

Tangyuan called out.

That shout echoed in the quiet room.

The rain subsided at 10 a.m.

Jiang Bo went out to the Municipal Bureau. The road was flooded, and the wheels splashed water as they drove over it. There weren't many people on the streets, only a few buses driving slowly. The sky was still gray, but a patch of cloud in the east brightened up, as if the sun was about to rise.

At the municipal bureau, Liu Tong had already retrieved Zheng Jianguo's file. A thick stack, piled on the table, was about half a foot high. Next to it were several file folders, the case files from 1998.

"Officer Bo, Zheng Jianguo's file is all here. There's also the case file from 1998. The original suicide note is in the evidence department; I went to retrieve it, and it should be delivered this afternoon."

Jiang Bo sat down and began to flip through the pages.

Zheng Jianguo, born in 1956, joined the police force in 1978. He was in the same cohort as Jiang Yizhou, Dong Jianhua, and He Wuan. He retired early in 1995 due to illness. Before retirement, he was an investigator in the Criminal Investigation Detachment, mainly handling fieldwork and responsible for many cases. His file contains records of meritorious service and awards, suggesting he was a good policeman.

The file states that the person retired due to illness, but it doesn't specify what illness. There's only a retirement approval form that says "unable to continue working due to illness," without a specific diagnosis.

Jiang Bo frowned. This wasn't in accordance with regulations. Retirement due to illness required a hospital diagnosis certificate. But there wasn't one in the personnel file.

He continued flipping through the pages. On May 12, 1998, Zheng Jianguo was found dead at home. Suicide. He used his own service pistol. There was a suicide note.

Jiang Bo picked up the photocopy of the suicide note. The handwriting was messy, but legible:

"I have a terminal illness and don't have much time left. I don't want to be a burden on my family, so I'm leaving now. I'm sorry."

Signed by: Zheng Jianguo. Date: May 12, 1998.

Jiang Bo stared at it for a long time.

The handwriting is somewhat similar to Tung Chee-hwa's, but it's more illegible and messy, as if the hand was trembling.

He recalled what Wang Xiulan had said: "He wrote the suicide note, but he was forced to write it."

I was forced to write it.

Who forced you to do this?

The person pretending to be lame? Or someone else entirely?

He continued flipping through the pages. The autopsy report was very detailed, more than a dozen pages long. The forensic doctor was Su Min's predecessor, surnamed Hu, who had already retired. The report described the state of the body, the location of the gunshot wound, the trajectory of the bullet, and the condition of various parts of the body.

The right ankle was indeed mentioned in the "old injuries" section:

"Old fracture of the right ankle joint, poor healing, with signs of arthritis. Limited ankle joint movement, and significant bone hyperplasia. The fracture is estimated to have occurred five to ten years ago."

Five to ten years ago. That is, between 1988 and 1993.

1992 falls right within this range.

Jiang Bo picked up a photo of Zheng Jianguo when he was young and looked at it carefully. It was taken when he first joined the police force, in his early twenties, wearing an old-fashioned police uniform, standing at the entrance of the police station, smiling brightly. He had a square face, thick eyebrows, and bright eyes; he looked very upright and honest.

This person might be the murderer who killed his father.

Or an accomplice.

He put down the photo and picked up another document.

These are Zheng Jianguo's social connections. His friends, colleagues, and relatives. A dense list of names, some checked off, some circled.

The list included Tung Chee-hwa's name. It also included Tung Chun-hua's name. There was another name that stunned him.

He Wu'an.

Do Zheng Jianguo and He Wu'an know each other?

He looked at it carefully. The document stated: He Wu'an, Zheng Jianguo's classmate, their relationship was so-so. A note followed: According to Zheng Jianguo's wife, the two had some contact, but later drifted apart.

Classmates from the same period.

Are He Wu'an and Zheng Jianguo classmates at the police academy?

Jiang Bo had never thought of this. Zheng Jianguo was never mentioned in He Wu'an's file. Old He had never spoken of him either.

He picked up the phone and called Lao He.

The phone rang for a long time before being answered. Old He's voice sounded tired and a little nasal, as if he had a cold.

"Xiao Jiang?"

"Uncle He, do you know Zheng Jianguo?"

Old He was silent for a few seconds. His breathing could be heard on the phone; it was a bit heavy.

"Yes, I know him. He's my classmate."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

"How's your relationship?"

Lao He remained silent for a few more seconds.

"So-so. We didn't keep in touch much after that. He's not a talkative person, but he's reliable in his work. I don't really like him, I can't explain why, it's just a gut feeling."

"Did you know that he fractured his foot in 1992?"

Old He was stunned for a moment.

"A broken leg? I don't know. What happened to him that year?"

Jiang Bo briefly explained the situation: Zheng Jianguo's sick leave, his foot injury, and the timeline of Jiang Yizhou being followed.

After listening, Lao He remained silent for a long time.

The silence was long, so long that Jiang Bo thought the call had been disconnected.

Then he spoke. His voice was very soft, as if it were drifting from a great distance.

"Xiao Jiang, there's something I've been keeping from you."

Jiang Bo waited. His heart was pounding.

"Before Wu'an disappeared, he came to see me. It was at the end of December 1992, a few days after Yizhou's accident. He looked very haggard, with red eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days. He said he had found someone who was connected to the J organization. That person was Zheng Jianguo."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

"What did he say?"

"He said that Zheng Jianguo appeared to be a good person, but in reality, he did a lot of things for the J organization. He had followed Yizhou and others. Wu'an said that he personally saw Zheng Jianguo meet with a mysterious person over the old pontoon bridge. That person walked with a slight limp."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

He also said that Zheng Jianguo and the lame man might be the same person. Or, he might be that person's accomplice.

"Uncle He, why didn't you call the police back then?"

Old He sighed. The sigh was soft, yet it seemed to carry a thousand pounds of weight.

"I wanted to report it, but Wu'an wouldn't let me. He said he had no evidence and it would be useless to say anything. He said he would continue to investigate and told me to mind my own business. Then he disappeared."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"Zheng Jianguo died in 1998. He committed suicide."

Old He sighed again.

"I know. But did he really commit suicide?"

Jiang Bo did not answer.

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Bo sat in a chair and looked out the window.

The rain stopped. The sky was still overcast, but a ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds, shining on the distant river. The sunlight was so bright that it turned the river water a golden-red.

He stood up.

"Liu Tong, check Zheng Jianguo's grave. I need to go take a look."

Zheng Jianguo was buried in Jiangcheng Cemetery, a very ordinary cemetery.

The cemetery is located on a small hill on the outskirts of the city, with rows of tombstones stretching from the foot of the hill to the top. Pine and cypress trees line both sides of the road, neatly trimmed, but they lack vitality, their dark green color creating a somewhat oppressive atmosphere.

Zheng Jianguo's tomb is located halfway up the mountain, in a good location with a view of the Yangtze River in the distance. The tombstone is made of black marble and is inscribed with: Tomb of Zheng Jianguo, born in 1956, died in 1998, erected by his wife Wang Xiulan.

The grave is old, neglected for over twenty years. Moss grows on the tombstone, and the inscription is somewhat blurred. A bunch of flowers sits in front of the tombstone, now withered, petals scattered on the ground; it's unclear who placed them there. Perhaps it was Wang Xiulan, or perhaps someone else entirely.

Jiang Bo stood in front of the grave, looking at the tombstone.

The photo on the tombstone is of Zheng Jianguo in his youth. It's a faded black-and-white photo, but you can still make out his face—a square face, thick eyebrows, and bright eyes. It's the same photo in his file.

It's that face—smiling, upright, and honest.

But this very person might be the murderer who killed his father.

Or an accomplice.

Tangyuan stood beside him, quietly keeping him company. It didn't bark or sniff around; it just stood there, looking at the tombstone.

Jiang Bo squatted down and touched the tombstone.

It was icy cold. The stones were covered in moss, and felt slippery and damp to the touch.

"Zheng Jianguo, who exactly are you? Why did you kill my father?"

No one answered.

Only the sound of the wind blowing through the cemetery, a mournful wail, like someone crying. The pines and cypresses swayed in the wind, rustling softly. In the distance, crows cawed, their calls desolate and mournful.

He stood up, turned and left.

After taking a few steps, he looked back again.

The tombstones stood in rows, like silent soldiers. Zheng Jianguo was in one. Dong Jianhua was in one too. And many others. Those who had died were all waiting.

Waiting for the truth.

As he approached the cemetery entrance, he encountered someone.

It was an old man, over seventy years old, with gray hair, wearing an old cotton-padded jacket, carrying a basket in his hand. The basket contained incense, candles, and paper money.

The old man was stunned when he saw Jiang Bo.

"Whom are you here to see?"

Jiang Bo thought for a moment.

"Zheng Jianguo".

The old man's eyes changed.

"Zheng Jianguo? You know him?"

"His case is under investigation."

The old man remained silent for a while.

"I've come to see him too. I've been coming every year for over twenty years."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

"Who are you to him?"

The old man shook his head.

"They're not relatives. I just owe him a favor."

Jiang Bo looked at him.

"What favor?"

The old man sighed.

"Thirty years ago, my son went missing. He helped me find him. I owe him a lifetime of gratitude."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"Is he a good person?"

The old man nodded.

"A good person. At least to me, a good person."

Jiang Bo looked at the tomb, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn't quite describe.

Good people. Bad people. Sometimes, it's really hard to tell.

He bid farewell to the old man and went down the mountain.

He walked to the car and looked back one last time.

The old man had reached Zheng Jianguo's grave, squatted down, lit incense and candles, and burned paper money. Wisps of smoke rose and drifted in the wind.

Tangyuan rubbed against his leg.

He squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, tell me, who exactly is Zheng Jianguo?"

Tangyuan, of course, wouldn't answer.

But it cried out.

That cry echoed through the empty cemetery.

Jiang Bo stood up and got into the car.

The car started and drove down the mountain.

In the rearview mirror, the tomb grew farther and farther away.

But he knew he wouldn't forget.

Zheng Jianguo's name will always be in his heart.