Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo stared at the names on the whiteboard for the entire morning.

Nine names, nine lives. From August 1992 to March 1993, over a period of seven months, nine people disappeared near the old pontoon bridge. They vanished silently, like drops of water falling into the river, leaving no trace. In the archives, dusty files, a few thin sheets of paper, a hastily signed signature, and then the words "No results found."

It's not that no traces were left. It's that no one looked for those traces.

Jiang Bo picked up Gao Deming's file and looked at it again. This thug said he knew a secret, that he was going to get rich, and then he disappeared. What secret did he know? Whose secret was it? The lame man's? Or the J organization's? Did he hear it or see it at the old pontoon bridge? That room, that wall, that New Year's picture, those photos—did he also see something he shouldn't have seen?

He put down the file and picked up the photograph. The profile of the limping man was exceptionally clear in the morning light. A square face, thick eyebrows, downturned lips, and deep, knife-like nasolabial folds. He looked at that face, and something stirred within him. It was an intuition, the kind of intuition only a veteran detective possessed—he had seen this face somewhere before. Not in Tung Chee-hwa's file, not in those old photographs, but somewhere closer, somewhere he passed by every day.

"Liu Tong," he called out.

Liu Tong came in from outside, holding a half-eaten steamed bun in his hand. His lips were greasy, his hair was messy, and there were fingerprints on his glasses. He hadn't swallowed yet, and mumbled a reply, "Yes."

Who handled Gao Deming's case back then?

Liu Tong swallowed the steamed bun and flipped through the files on the table. His fingers traced the yellowed pages, stopping at one.

"Tung Chee-hwa".

Jiang Bo clenched his fist. It was Tung Chee-hwa again.

"And what about the cases of others? Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiuying, Liu Xiaoqin, Sun Xiaomei, Jiang Yizhou. Who handled these cases?"

Liu Tong flipped through the files one by one, checking the signatures of the responsible persons. His movements became slower and slower, and his brows furrowed more and more deeply.

"Zhang Jianguo's case is Tung Chee-hwa's. Li Mei's case is also Tung Chee-hwa's. Chen Fang's case is still Tung Chee-hwa's. Wang Li, Zhao Xiuying, Liu Xiaoqin, Sun Xiaomei..." He raised his head, looking at Jiang Bo, with something indescribable in his eyes, "They're all Tung Chee-hwa's."

Jiang Bo stood there, motionless.

All nine cases were handled by Tung Chee-hwa. He single-handedly handled nine missing persons cases. And then all nine cases were left unresolved.

Jiang Bo recalled Tung Chee-hwa's photograph. The man standing by the river, his back to the camera, a picture of loneliness. The man who left behind evidence, who wrote a letter of repentance. The man who said, "I know I was wrong, but it's too late." The man who wrote in his letter, "That person is the real ghost."

What did he do? What did he see? What did he know?

"Liu Tong, retrieve Dong Jianhua's file. His work records, his case handling records, every single case he handled, retrieve them all."

Liu Tong nodded and went out.

Jiang Bo walked back to the whiteboard and looked at the names.

Nine people. All organized by Tung Chee-hwa. Then he died. He died in 1998.

Why did he die? Because of guilt? Because he was silenced? Or because he knew too much?

He recalled Tung Chee-hwa's words in his letter: "That person is the real ghost."

Who was that person? Was it the lame man? Or the "sir"? Or someone else entirely?

Tangyuan came over and rubbed against his leg. It was hungry, nudging his hand with its head and making low whimpering sounds. Jiang Bo looked down at it; its eyes were bright and sparkling, like two pieces of amber.

He squatted down and patted its head.

"Wait a moment, I'll take you to eat right away."

Tangyuan meowed and lay down at his feet. It was very obedient; although it was hungry, it didn't make a fuss and just lay there, occasionally raising its head to glance at him.

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Liu Tong returned carrying a box of files. The box was heavy, and he struggled to carry it, making a dull thud when he placed it on the table.

"All the cases that Tung Chee-hwa handled from joining the police force in 1980 until his death in the line of duty in 1998 are here. There are a total of 347 cases. Old Sun in the archives said that this is all he could find; some may have been lost."

Jiang Bo looked at the box of files and fell silent.

347 cases. Eighteen years. An average of 19 cases per year. One and a half cases per month. One case to be processed every 20 days.

How many of them are missing persons cases? How many are simply unsolved? How many people, like his father, have died within those few thin pages?

He opened the box and began to rummage through it. The files were arranged by year, with the top one from 1980. The paper was brittle, and the edges crumbled at the slightest touch. He carefully turned the pages, examining each one. Theft, robbery, brawls, fraud—these were all common cases. Dong Jianhua's handwriting was still very youthful then, each stroke deliberate and earnest.

He turned to 1992 and stopped.

In 1992, Tung Chee-hwa handled 23 cases, eight of which were missing persons cases.

Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiuying, Liu Xiaoqin, Sun Xiaomei, Jiang Yizhou.

The names of all eight people are listed above.

Jiang Bo looked at the case files, flipping through them page by page. Each file was thin, only a few pages long. Interrogation records, crime scene investigations, case closure reports. Every case had the same conclusion: accidental drowning, running away from home, or no results found. The handwriting grew increasingly illegible, as if in a hurry, or perhaps trying to escape something.

He picked up Jiang Yizhou's case file. This was the first time he had seen the original files of his father's case. His hands were trembling, and the paper rustled between his fingers.

The case file was very thin, only five pages long. The first page was the police report, filed by Xiuying on December 21, 1992.

"Xiuying, female, 12 years old, reported to the police that her husband, Jiang Yizhou, went out on the evening of December 20, 1992, and has not returned home. Please assist the police in locating him."

Jiang Bo's eyes welled up with tears as he looked at those lines. Those were his mother's words. Back then, she was pregnant with him, heavily pregnant, and came to report him missing alone. Standing at the police station counter, she told a stranger, "My husband is missing." She didn't know his father was dead. She thought he would come back. She waited for many years.

He continued flipping through the pages. The second page contained the interrogation record; the person being interrogated was Xiuying. The handwriting was neat and precise, each stroke carefully written.

Q: When was the last time your husband saw you?

A: On the morning of December 20th. He said he was going to work and would be back in the evening. He didn't come back.

Q: Did he say where he was going?

A: No. He only said he was going to work.

Q: Has he shown any unusual behavior recently?

A: No. But he seems to be investigating some case, sometimes coming home very late. He's very serious about it, staying up all night studying materials under the lamp. I asked him what he was investigating, but he wouldn't say, only that it was very important.

Q: Did he mention anyone's name?

A: Yes, I mentioned one. His name was something like Yao'an. There was also one surnamed Dong.

Jiang Bo's hand stopped.

His surname is Dong. His father found out that someone with the surname Dong.

Who? Tung Chee-hwa? Tung Chee-ping? Tung Chun-hua?

He continued reading.

Page three is the on-site investigation record. The location is the old pontoon bridge. Jiang Yizhou's clothing and bloodstains were found. The clothing was a police uniform with knife wounds. The bloodstains were on the stones and had already dried. There were signs of a struggle nearby, the soil had been turned upside down, and the grass had been trampled.

Page four is the case closing report. Conclusion: Jiang Yizhou may have fallen into the water while on duty. After a search yielded no results, he was determined to have died in the line of duty.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 15, 1993.

Jiang Bo put down the file and closed his eyes.

His father's case was closed just like that. Five pages, a few words, a life. No autopsy, no in-depth investigation, no pursuit of the killer. Just like that, it was over.

He opened his eyes and continued rummaging through the box.

Turning to the back, he saw a different file. The cover read: He Wu'an, died in the line of duty.

Jiang Bo's hand stopped.

Ho Wu-an? Was Ho Wu-an involved in any of the cases handled by Tung Chee-hwa?

He pulled out the file.

The inscription reads: He Wu'an, male, born in 1962, joined the police force in 1983, went missing on December 20, 1992, while on duty, and after an unsuccessful search, he was determined to have died in the line of duty.

December 20, 1992. The same day as his father.

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

He Wu'an disappeared on the same day as his father. They were both recognized as having died in the line of duty on the same day.

He recalled Lao He's words: "Wu An saved you, partly to save an innocent child, and partly to leave a legacy for his comrades."

My comrade-in-arms is Jiang Yizhou.

They went together that night. His father told He Wu'an to run first while he distracted the pursuers. He Wu'an escaped, but his father didn't return.

However, the file states that He Wu'an has also disappeared.

Why?

He recalled He Wu'an's words in his letter: "I need to hide and not let the J organization find me."

He was hiding. He made everyone believe he was dead. He became a person who didn't exist. No ID card, no household registration, no job, no home. He lived like a shadow in the darkness of this city.

Tung Chee-hwa did it for him.

Tung Chee-hwa helped him disappear, erased his files, and made him a dead man. A file, a few pages, a signature—and He Wu'an vanished from the world.

Jiang Bo stared at the file in silence for a long time.

Tung Chee-hwa helped He Wu'an. He also helped that person. He helped the lame man. He helped the man who stood at the door watching Ding Laosan kill someone.

He helped many people. Good and bad, both.

Then he died. Taking all the secrets with him.

Tangyuan rubbed against his leg again and meowed. It had been hungry all day, and its stomach was growling loudly, the sound particularly loud in the quiet office.

Jiang Bo stood up and patted its head.

"Come on, let me take you to eat."

He walked to the door and glanced back at the box of files. Three hundred and forty-seven cases, eighteen years, one man's life. That man had done good and bad things. He had helped people and harmed people. Then he died, taking all the secrets with him.

There weren't many people in the canteen. Only a few police officers on duty were eating noodles, slurping them down. Jiang Bo got two meals, one for himself and one for Tangyuan. Tangyuan ate very quickly, swallowing it in a few bites, licking the bowl loudly with her tongue, then looked up at him, her eyes bright, her tail wagging like a windmill.

Jiang Bo got it another serving. After it finished eating, it lay down contentedly, resting its head on its front paws and squinting its eyes.

Jiang Bo barely ate anything. He held his rice bowl, staring blankly at the sky outside the window. It was getting dark; the clouds were thick, blocking out all light.

Back in the office, Liu Tong was still there. The box of files lay before him, and he was going through them one by one. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, his eyes were squinting, and his lips were moving silently, as if he were reciting something.

"Polish Sir, I've made a discovery." He looked up, his expression somewhat grave.

"explain."

Liu Tong took out a file and opened it. His finger touched a page that was yellowed and had some curled edges.

"This is a case from March 10, 1993. The person who reported it was named Ding Laosan. The report stated that bloodstains were found in a house near the old pontoon bridge."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

Did Ding Laosan report the case? Did he report it himself?

"What's going on?"

Liu Tong handed him the case file.

Jiang Bo took the file and opened it.

The first page is the police report. Reporter: Ding Laosan. Date: 8:3 AM, March 10, 1993.

"Ding Laosan, male, 36 years old, fisherman. He came to report that he found bloodstains in an abandoned house near the old pontoon bridge and suspected that someone had been injured."

Jiang Bo continued flipping through the pages. The second page contained the crime scene investigation report. The location was the house near the old pontoon bridge. There was a large amount of blood on the floor and on the walls, splattered in a pattern, as if someone had been stabbed with a sharp weapon. But there was no body, no injured person, nothing at all.

Page three is the interrogation record. The person being interrogated: Ding Laosan.

Q: How did you discover the bloodstains?

A: I passed by that house, saw the door was open, peeked inside, and that's when I saw it.

Q: When did you discover it?

A: This morning, around 7 a.m.

Q: Did you go there last night?

A: No. I'm sleeping at home.

Q: Does anyone have proof?

A: My wife can vouch for that. She was home all night.

Q: Do you know the people who live in that house?

A: Yes, I know her. She lives with Ah Zhen. She works at a restaurant by the river.

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. Ding Laosan said he passed by the house, saw the door open, and glanced inside. He was lying. He didn't just pass by; he had just come out of there. He didn't see it; he did it himself.

Page four is the case closure report. Conclusion: Someone may have been injured, but the victim has not been found. Bloodstains have been sent for testing, but DNA could not be extracted due to the limitations of the technology at the time. Continued monitoring is recommended.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 15, 1993.

As Jiang Bo looked at the file, the fragments in his mind began to piece together.

On the evening of March 9, 1993, Ding Laosan killed Azhen. The next morning, he went to report the crime himself, saying he had found bloodstains. What was he trying to do? Clear himself of suspicion? Or did he want Azhen's body to be discovered? If it was the former, he was incredibly foolish. If it was the latter, he was incredibly clever.

He recalled Ah Zhen's words in her suicide note: "That person stood at the door, watching."

Was that person Tung Chee-hwa? Or the lame man? If it was Tung Chee-hwa, why didn't he save Ah Zhen? He stood there watching a pregnant woman being strangled to death, then turned and left. If it was the lame man, why was he standing there? What was his relationship with Ding Laosan?

Jiang Bo put down the file and walked to the window.

Outside the window, it was getting dark. The setting sun dyed the river surface a golden-red, like blood. The light danced on the river, like countless eyes blinking.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur shimmered softly under the lamplight, and its eyes looked at him as if asking: "Did you find it?"

"Tangyuan, that person is among these files."

Tangyuan called out.

That shout echoed in the empty office.

Jiang Bo stood up, turned around, and walked back to the table.

He'll keep searching. Until he finds that person.