Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

It was already dark when Chen Weiguo's twin brother was brought into the interrogation room. The corridor lights were out, except for one at the far end, its dim yellow light casting a long, hunched shadow on the wall, making him look like a hunched ghost. He walked slowly, his handcuffs jingling in front of him, each step steady and unhurried, as if he had walked this path many times before. He wore that dark overcoat, his hair completely white, his back hunched. He looked down at his hands, which rested on his knees, his fingers slightly curled. He didn't look up, didn't look at anyone, just sat there, like a statue, like a withered tree branch.

The interrogation room lights were bright, a stark white, making the wrinkles on his face appear as if etched by a knife. His skin was thin, almost translucent, revealing the veins beneath, meandering like rivers. His lips were chapped, peeling with a layer of white skin, and his chin had unshaven stubble, white and stiff, like withered winter grass. His handcuffs had been removed, leaving two red, purplish-red marks on his wrists, like two scars, or two thin snakes. He placed his hands on the table, palms down, fingers spread. Those hands were thin, veins bulging, knuckles thick, nails short. They hadn't killed anyone, but they had pointed the way. They had pointed in the direction of those women.

Jiang Bo sat opposite him, a notebook spread out in front of him. Liu Tong sat beside him, fingers on the keyboard, waiting. Tangyuan lay by the door, head resting on his paws, eyes half-open, occasionally twitching his ears. The interrogation room was quiet, save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, like countless flies swarming around one's ears. The sound was annoying, but no one turned it off. They were used to it. A clock hung on the wall of the interrogation room, the second hand ticking away, like a heartbeat, like a countdown.

"Chen Weiguo, do you know why I brought you here?"

The old man looked up at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still a light. That kind of light—the kind that only those who have waited a long time possess, the kind that only those who have finally waited for something possess. His lips trembled, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times, as if he were swallowing something. "I know. I killed those people. I used my brother's name, his computer, his cabin. I waited all these years, waiting for you to come and arrest me. You came. I waited. I've said everything I needed to say, and I've paid the debts I needed to pay."

Jiang Bo gripped the pen tightly, until the ink turned white. "Who did you kill? When did you kill them? How did you kill them? Why did you kill them? Tell me one by one. Don't miss a single one. Start with the first one."

The old man lowered his head. Tears streamed down his face, running down his wrinkles that resembled dried-up riverbeds, dripping onto his coat, onto the table, onto the floor. "Zhao Xiaoyun. I killed her. And the ones before her, Fang Min, Li Hongmei, Xu Yanran, Lin Xiaoxue. I killed them all. My brother took the blame for me. He confessed for me. He died for me. He's still alive, in the detention center. He lives for me. I deserve to die. He died for me. The first one I killed was Fang Min. I observed her for a long time, I knew her routes, her schedule, when she was alone. I invited her to Binjiang Park, and she came. She recognized me, thinking I was a friend from the night running group. She smiled and talked to me, and we walked together. I grabbed her by the neck from behind. She struggled a few times, then stopped moving. I positioned her, her hands clasped over her chest. I stood at the door watching. Then I left."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Your brother confessed to the crime for you? He admitted to those cases? He knew you killed them? Why did he do that? Why did he take the blame for you? Why didn't he expose you? He's a policeman, he knows the law, he knows murder is punishable by death. Why would he die for you?"

The old man looked up at him. His eyes were bright, like a river in winter, like an undercurrent beneath the ice. "Because he owed me. He owed me a life. My wife died, and he stood at the door watching, not saving her. He owed me. He took the blame for me, repaying me with a life. He waited his turn. He died for me. I should die now. We grew up together, became policemen together, investigated cases together. He was smarter than me, braver than me, more upright than me. But he owed me. He owed me a life. He repaid it. I can die now."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the night was pitch black, the streetlights casting a dim, yellowish glow on the wet streets, reflecting a cold light. In the distance, the Yangtze River Bridge saw sparse traffic, with only a few headlights flashing by like shooting stars. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Now, there was another name: Chen Weiguo's twin brother. He, too, was standing at the door watching. He couldn't do anything. He, too, had said sorry. But he had killed. He had killed so many people. He deserved to die. His brother had taken the blame for him, his brother had died for him. They were even now. Could they finally rest in peace?

He turned around. "Who is your wife? How did she die? What was her name? What was your relationship with her? Why do you hate so much? You've hated her for so many years, you've killed so many people, who do you hate? Is it those women, or yourself? Or the person who killed your wife? Answer me. Look me in the eyes and answer me."

The old man's tears flowed even more fiercely. He raised his hand to wipe them, but the tears wouldn't stop; the more he wiped, the more they flowed, like a river bursting its banks. "Her name was Xiulan. 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 found Zhang Jianjun, told him about those women, and asked him to kill them. He went. He killed them. I stood at the door watching. I couldn't go in. My brother took the blame for me. He died for me. I'm still alive. I should die. I hate myself. I hate that I stood at the door watching. I hate that I couldn't save her. I hate that I couldn't kill that murderer. I hate that I couldn't kill myself. I can only kill women 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 walked back to the table and sat down. His legs were a little weak, and his voice trembled slightly. "Do you know Mr. Zhou? Do you know him? He remembered those names for over thirty years. He wrote so many 'I'm sorry.' Did you go to see him? What did you ask him? What did he say to you? Did the person he was waiting for come? Did he wait for him?"

The old man nodded. The nod was slow and gentle, as if a thousand pounds were pressing down on his neck. "I know him. He was my former colleague. He was a policeman too. He investigated those cases. He knew everything. His wife died too, by the river. He, like me, stood at the door watching, unable to do anything. I went to him and asked, 'How long are you going to keep remembering?' He said, 'Until I die.' I laughed. I said, 'You've kept remembering for so many years, written for so many years. Has the person you've been waiting for come?' He said no. I said, 'The one I've been waiting for hasn't come either. I've waited so many years, and he hasn't come. If you've waited for him, tell me. Let me know. Let me close my eyes in peace.' He asked me, 'Who are you waiting for?' I said, 'I'm waiting for someone who can arrest me. I'm waiting for someone who can end my life. I've waited so many years, and he hasn't come. If you've waited for him, tell me.'"

Jiang Bo looked at him. "Who are you waiting for? You've waited all these years, who are you waiting for? Is it your wife? Or the person who killed your wife? Or those people who resemble your wife? Or me? You've waited all these years, who exactly are you waiting for?"

The old man looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. That light was like the last candle flame in the darkness. "I've been waiting for you. I knew you would come. Your father investigated those cases, and he died. You will continue investigating. You will find me. You will come to arrest me. I've waited for you for so many years. You've come. You asked me. I answered. You can leave now. I've waited. I've said everything I needed to say. I've paid my debts. My brother died for me. I deserve to die. Arrest me. Sentence me. Kill me. I won't appeal. I've waited for so many years for this day."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out of the interrogation room. Tang Yuan followed behind. He stood in the corridor and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted under the light, like those names, like those apologies, like those people who would never come back. He remembered what his husband had said: "Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they are truly gone." He remembered. He remembered everyone. Chen Weiguo's twin brother was one of them. He was also one of those standing at the door watching. He couldn't do anything either. He also said sorry. But he killed people. He killed so many people. He deserved to die. His fingers trembled, and the cigarette butt trembled with them. He took a deep drag and coughed twice, choking on the smoke.

Liu Tong came out and stood beside him. His eyes were red, and so was the tip of his nose. "Officer, he confessed everything. He killed Zhao Xiaoyun, and he killed all the other women. He used his brother's name, his brother's computer, and his brother's cabin. He stood at the door watching. He's the murderer. His brother is the scapegoat. The case is truly closed. He killed all those women who went for a run at night. He killed them. He stood at the door watching. He waited all these years, and now it's finally over. He deserves to die. Let's write the case report. This time it's for real. There are no more criminals."

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette, pressing the butt several times in the ashtray until he was sure it was completely extinguished before letting go. "That's it. Write the case report. Arrest those who should be arrested, sentence those who should be sentenced. He'll be sentenced to death. His brother's sentence should be commuted. He's a scapegoat; he didn't kill anyone. He can't die in his place. He can't live in his place. He should live. He should get out. He should continue writing those names, continue writing those apologies. He's remembered for so many years, written for so many years; he can't stop. If he stops, those names will be gone. If he stops, no one will say those apologies."

Liu Tong nodded and walked into the interrogation room.

Jiang Bo stood in the corridor, looking at the sky outside the window. Dawn broke, and sunlight pierced through the clouds, scattering across the river like golden fragments. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They were gone, but he remained. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.

In the afternoon, Jiang Bo went to visit his husband in the detention center. He wanted to tell him that Chen Weiguo's twin brother had been caught. He had confessed. He was the murderer. His brother was a scapegoat. His brother didn't kill anyone. His brother should be released. He should continue writing those names, continue writing those apologies. He wanted to tell his husband this good news. His husband had waited so many years, and finally, it was over.

The detention center gate was still the same color, iron gray, with peeling paint. The guard recognized him, glanced at his ID, and let him through. He parked his car in the yard and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, not getting out immediately. He looked at the gray-white building, at the windows sealed with iron bars, at the rings of barbed wire on the walls. Sunlight shone on it, gleaming coldly. He remembered his husband's words: "Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're truly gone." He remembered. He remembered everyone. He would also remember his husband.

The meeting room was on the first floor, in a long corridor with the fluorescent lights humming softly. Jiang Bo's footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, each beat like a heartbeat. Tangyuan followed behind, its paws tapping lightly on the floor, making no sound. The police officer on duty saw him, nodded, and pointed to the second room. He pushed open the door and went inside.

The gentleman was already seated inside. He was wearing that orange vest, his hair completely white, even whiter than before, as white as snow, as white as paper. He had lost a lot of weight, his cheekbones high and prominent, his eye sockets deep-set. The vest hung loosely on him, like it was on a clothes hanger. But he sat very straight; although his back was hunched, his spine was still strong. On the table in front of him lay the notebook, its blue cover worn and the edges curled, revealing the gray cardboard inside. He had filled most of it, the handwriting neat and tidy, each stroke like an engraving. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. The smile was light and faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart.

"You're here? The case's closed? You look better, and your eyes aren't red anymore."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "It's over. Chen Weiguo's twin brother has been caught. He confessed. He's the murderer. His brother is the scapegoat. His brother didn't kill anyone. He should come out. He should continue writing those names, continue writing those apologies. He's waited so many years, and he's finally here. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go."

The man paused. His hand hovered in the air, pen tip pointing at the notebook, not falling. His fingers trembled slightly. "He waited. He waited for you. He should die now. Those who died can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go. His brother can come out now. He can let go now. He's remembered for so many years, written for so many years, it's time to rest."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Sir, what about you? Did you wait? What did you wait for? You waited for so many years, wrote for so many years. What did you wait for? You waited for me, you waited for the truth, you waited for those 'I'm sorry's' to be said. You waited."

The man looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "I've waited for you. You've come. You asked me. I answered. I've written what I needed to write, said what I needed to say. I've waited. I can let go now. Those names, those 'I'm sorry,' someone remembers. You remember. You remember for me. You remember for all of us. Even when I die, you must remember. When you're old, let your children remember. Keep remembering, never let it stop."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back. The gentleman sat there, holding the notebook, looking at him. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter. He waved. Jiang Bo waved back. Then he turned and walked out of the meeting room. Tangyuan was waiting for him outside, lying on the floor of the corridor, its head resting on its paws. Hearing the door open, it raised its head, stood up, and wagged its tail.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, gleaming gently in the dim light of the corridor. "Tangyuan, the case is closed. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go. And the gentleman can let go too." Tangyuan called out, its voice echoing in the detention center corridor.