Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

After returning from the old pontoon bridge, Jiang Bo went straight to the Municipal Public Security Bureau. He didn't go back to his office; he went to the Technical Section first. Liu Tong was still there, asleep on the table, his face pressed against a file, a small patch of drool dripping from his nose. His glasses were askew, and a red mark was pressed onto his nose. Jiang Bo didn't wake him. He gently placed the notebooks, photos, and letters on the table, stacked high like a small mountain. Then he left, quietly closing the door.

The corridor was quiet, the fluorescent lights humming softly. He walked to his office, pushed open the door, and Tangyuan followed him in, leaning against the sofa. He sat down, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag. The smoke drifted in the lamplight, like those names, like those apologies, like those people who would never return. He remembered his husband's last words: "I'll write in here. I'll write until I die." He remembered Dong Jian'an reaching out and saying, "Cuff me." He remembered Old Liu, head bowed, tears dripping to the floor. They were all leaving. They were all going to pay their debts. But those debts could never be repaid. Those apologies could never be finished. Those names could never be written.

As dawn broke, Liu Tong pushed open the door and came in. His eyes were red, and there were red marks on his face from the keyboard. He was holding the notebook in his hand, the one his teacher owned. His fingers gently touched the cover, as if he were touching something very precious.

"Officer, should we hand over this evidence? If we do, they'll all be in jail. Sir is so old; once he's in, he might not come out. Dong Jian'an and Lao Liu are definitely sentenced to death. The others will also be sentenced. Although they didn't kill anyone, they knew about it but didn't report it and covered it up, so they'll also go to jail."

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette, stubbing the butt out several times in the ashtray. "Hand it over. Hand it all over. Arrest those who should be arrested, sentence those who should be sentenced. The law won't let them off just because they're old, regretful, or have said sorry. They did bad things, and they must be punished. But I won't let them suffer in vain. I will plead for them. They did bad things, but they also did good things. They stood at the door watching, remembering for over thirty years. They killed people, and they wrote 'I'm sorry' for over thirty years. They are bad people, but they are also good people. I don't know how to sentence them; let the law decide."

Zhang Yuhang came in from outside, carrying a document. He was wearing an old jacket, his hair was a little messy, and his eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept all night. He placed the document on the table. "Officer, this is a summary of those cases. The time, place, victims, perpetrators, and evidence are all clearly listed. Mr.'s notebook, Dong Zhenhua's file, Dong Zhiqiang's USB drive, and Lao Liu's confession are all in here. The case, which has lasted for more than thirty years, is finally closed."

Jiang Bo picked up the document and opened it. The first page was Ah Zhen, the second page was Xiao Mei, the third page was Chen Fang, and the fourth page was Wang Li. He remembered all those names, dates, and locations. He read through more than thirty pages until he reached the last page, which was Gao Deming's. He closed the document, stood up, and walked to the window.

Sunlight shone on the river, shattering into countless pieces of gold. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood watching at the door were also in his heart. They would soon be gone. They would be arrested, tried, and imprisoned. They would continue writing those names there, continue saying those apologies. But those who died would never return. Those who waited their whole lives would never see the light of day again.

He picked up the phone and dialed Dong Jianjun. The phone rang a few times before being answered. Dong Jianjun's voice sounded tired, as if he had just woken up, or as if he hadn't slept at all.

"Xiao Jiang, so early? Any results on your case?"

"Director Dong, those cases have been investigated. The murderers have been found. The evidence is all there. We're going to make arrests. Dong Jian'an killed those people, and Lao Liu killed those women who were jogging at night. The sirs and the others knew about it but didn't report it, they were covering it up. They all need to be arrested. I've prepared the lists and evidence."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Dong Jianjun's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a stone. "I understand. I'll arrange for people. You lead the way. Xiao Jiang, are you sure? They're all old. The gentleman is over eighty, and Dong Zhenhua is over seventy. If they're arrested, they might not get out."

Jiang Bo gripped the phone, his fingers clenching tightly. "Confirmed. They did wrong, and they must be punished. The law won't let them off just because they're old. I'll plead for them, but those who should be arrested will still be arrested. Director Dong, please arrange for someone. I'll wait here."

Dong Jianjun sighed. "Okay. I'll make the arrangements. We'll leave at nine. You lead the way."

At nine o'clock in the morning, three police cars drove into the old pontoon bridge. Jiang Bo sat in the first car, with Tangyuan lying on the passenger side. The cars stopped in front of the ruins, and the police officers got out and stood in a row beside the cars. They were wearing uniforms and peaked caps, their expressions serious. The sunlight shone on them, and the shadows under the brims of their caps obscured half their faces. Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked to the small house. The door was open, and the man sat in the doorway, a notebook on his lap. He saw the police cars and the police officers, but he didn't panic. He just looked at Jiang Bo, his eyes bright.

"They're here? So many cars. Are they all here to arrest us?"

Jiang Bo walked over and stood in front of him. "You've come. Sir, I'm sorry. You must come with us. The law won't let you off just because you're old, regretful, or have said sorry. You've done wrong, and you must be punished."

The man stood up, leaning against the doorframe. His movements were slow, his knees creaking like rusted iron. He straightened up and let out a long breath. "I know. I've waited a long time for this day. Let's go. It's time to go. I've written 'I'm sorry' for so many years, it's time to pay my debt. I've remembered names for so many years, it's time to face judgment."

Dong Jian'an came out of the house and stood beside the man. He was wearing that dark overcoat, his hair completely white, fluttering in the morning breeze. He looked at the police officers and smiled. The smile was faint and gentle, but Jiang Bo saw tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"I've waited so many years for you to come and arrest me. You've finally come. I've killed so many people, I deserve to die. I should have died long ago. I should have died from the day I killed the first person. I've lived for over thirty years too long. That's enough."

Dong Zhenhua also came out and stood beside Dong Jian'an. He lowered his head and didn't speak. His hands were trembling, and his lips were trembling too. He glanced at Jiang Bo, then lowered his head again. Sun Jianguo followed behind, his legs and hands shaking. His face was pale, as white as paper. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times. Zhang Jianjun came out from the small house next door, and Old Liu also came out. They stood in a row in front of that small house, on that pile of ruins. The sunlight shone on them, warm and comforting. Their shadows were cast on the ground, long and thin, like six withered old trees.

Jiang Bo walked over and stood in front of them. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket—an arrest warrant. He read it aloud, his voice calm, but every word heavy.

"Dong Jian'an, you are suspected of intentional homicide, you are arrested. Lao Liu, you are also suspected of intentional homicide, you are arrested. Zhou Yuanshan, Dong Zhenhua, Sun Jianguo, and Zhang Jianjun, you are suspected of harboring a criminal, you must also come with us."

Dong Jian'an stretched out his hand. His hand was thin, with bulging veins, and his fingers were slightly curled. "Cuff me. I should wear them. I should experience the feeling of being handcuffed. I've handcuffed so many people, it's finally my turn."

The police officer stepped forward and handcuffed Dong Jian'an. The handcuffs clicked shut, the sound particularly loud in the quiet ruins. Dong Jian'an lowered his head, looking at the handcuffs on his wrists. Tears streamed down his face.

Old Liu extended his hand, and the handcuffs snapped shut. He didn't speak, just stared at Jiang Bo for a long time. Then he smiled. It was a bitter, faint smile. "I've waited for you all these years, and now you've caught me. I've paid my debt.

The man didn't reach out. He looked at Jiang Bo. "Jiang, take those notebooks with you. I still need to write. I haven't finished writing those names, I haven't finished saying those 'I'm sorry's. I need to write in them too. Have someone bring me paper and pens. I need to write every day. Until I can't write anymore."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely. "Sir, I'll take these for you. Write your essay carefully inside. I'll wait for you to come out. When you do, I'll bring you dumplings. My mom made them, pork and cabbage filling."

The man smiled. "I can't get out. I'm too old to walk. I'll just stay inside and write. I'll write until I die. Just bring me dumplings once a year. Bring them on my birthday. My birthday is the third day of the third lunar month. Remember that."

Jiang Bo nodded. "I remember. March 3rd. I come every year. I bring dumplings. Dumplings made by my mom."

They were taken to the police car. The man sat inside, clutching the notebook tightly, like a baby. Dong Jian'an sat beside him, head down, looking at the handcuffs on his wrists. Dong Zhenhua sat in the back, looking out the window at the ruins, the small house, and the New Year's picture. Sun Jianguo huddled in a corner, crying. He cried silently, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders trembling. Zhang Jianjun and Lao Liu sat in another car, silent. They simply sat, looking out the window at the river.

The police car started and drove off the old pontoon bridge. Jiang Bo stood on the ruins, watching the cars grow smaller and smaller in the distance. The door of the small house was still open, the light still on, dim and warm. But no one was inside. They were gone. They had been arrested. They were going to pay off their debts. The light was still on, but no one lived there. Would it stay on, or would it go out? He didn't know.

Tangyuan came over and rubbed against his leg. He squatted down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, shimmering golden in the sunlight. Its eyes were bright and sparkling as it looked at him, as if asking: They're all gone, what will we do?

"Tangyuan, they're all gone. They've gone to pay off their debts. We still have to keep investigating. There are so many names, so many apologies, so many people standing at the door watching. They're gone, but we're still here. We still have to remember them. We still have to write for them. We still have to say sorry for them."

Tangyuan cried out. That cry echoed across the empty ruins, carrying far, far away, reaching the river, reaching under the bridge, reaching that little house. The lamp flickered, then lit up again. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time. It was still there. It wouldn't go out. It would keep shining. Waiting for someone to return, waiting for someone to remember those names, waiting for someone to say those apologies.

Jiang Bo turned and got into the car. He started the engine and drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the small house grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but it was still there. The light was still on. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge and looked at the river. The river shimmered in the sunlight, flowing slowly. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. They wouldn't leave. They weren't going anywhere. They were right here. He wouldn't leave either. He was here too. By this river, in this city, on this land. He would go in. He would.