Chapter 35: Changing Strategies—The Ninth Brother's Betrayal

I fixed my gaze on the short-haired woman, the lock clattering as I threw it before her. Her hands, still cuffed, trembled, and she was speechless for a long while. I sneered, asking her which tool she needed—wire or a fine needle—I could prepare either for her. Yet she remained motionless, hesitating for quite some time before she tried to speak, but I cut her off.

I asked if she was about to claim she’d hired an unqualified locksmith, a laughable excuse—I knew perfectly well she wouldn’t say that. Still, there are always countless reasons one can conjure; the short-haired woman would always manage to offer some barely plausible pretext. If she and Yun Qing insisted on sticking to their story, no one could do anything about it.

When I left the interview room, the lunch break was already over, and the officers at the station were busying themselves once more. The little ghost had, as expected, caused no trouble. Leading her out of the station, I noticed her complexion had improved after two days of expelling the parasites. She held my hand, asking if I was unhappy.

I stared at her, unsure what to say. The little ghost was too unusual, her mysteries yet unsolved. Logically, a child raised almost like a wild animal learning to speak was not too strange—Xuan Yi had taught her from a young age—but for a child with little contact with people to possess a mind more mature than most of her peers was odd.

But clearly, she couldn’t answer these questions for me herself.

Chen Fan handed me a cigarette, his face troubled. He asked again what we would do next. The harbor district police station was not somewhere you could just come and go; if Chen Fan hadn’t previously gained their trust by following my advice, I wouldn’t have been able to see Yun Qing and the short-haired woman alone. Now that the police had fixed on Yun Qing and her companion as suspects, they no longer needed Chen Fan as much. That meant it would be harder for me to act through him. Chen Fan said this might be the last time he could help me see them.

After all, during his casual chat with one of the officers, the latter was already growing impatient. The central police were urging him to return, and if not for his utility to the harbor police, he would have been ordered back long ago. He was frustrated—just days ago, he’d proved his worth, and if he cracked this case, a promotion back in the capital would be certain.

He still held out hope that the harbor police would not close the case hastily without a thorough interrogation. I only gave a cold laugh, asking if wrongful convictions were really so rare. He had no answer—he, too, was a policeman and knew better.

“The harbor police might be a little better than those on the mainland, but in this imperfect legal system, don’t get your hopes up,” I said, pulling out my phone. “If Yun Gao stirs up the media, the pressure on the harbor police will only grow.”

He looked at me in surprise. “Han, why does it seem like you know the investigative system so well? You sound like a cop yourself.”

Only then did I realize my words didn’t match the persona I usually displayed. I smiled and brushed it off.

Turning to him, I told him I was ready to change tactics. Lighting my cigarette, I took a deep drag. The sun was high; winter in the harbor was nearly over. When I told Yun Qing and the short-haired woman I could find the truth, it was not an empty boast.

After their indirect collusion, I noticed something alarming: it felt as though an unseen hand was deliberately steering me in the wrong direction. I’d been investigating the “Ghost Banquet” case all this time, but with each passing day, strange events kept happening—each one seeming to target me directly.

First, Yun Qing claimed I was haunted; I saw a ghostly face, and encountered terrifying things in the hotel. Then came the hair-raising events at Sansong Temple, and now, Xiao Mei and the little ghost had appeared. Thinking back, I realized my attention had been diverted, and I was drifting away from the core cases of “Ghost Banquet” and Fei Ji’s death.

Chen Fan was taken aback when I explained this. He asked if someone was deliberately interfering with our investigation. I shook my head, unsure—but I was certain I had to refocus on the basics of the case. That was the strategy I intended to change.

I found Luo Feng, who brought a sedan. After Chen Fan confirmed the address where the short-haired woman said she’d hidden Old Nine and the others, I sent Chen Fan back to the station while Luo Feng and I headed there. She’d confessed to drugging Old Nine and bringing them to an old house in the countryside—that’s where we were headed.

Her confession wasn’t overly detailed, but not lacking either. When the police asked where the vehicle used to transport Old Nine and his crew was, she said it was parked by the rural house. By the time we left the station, the car had already been brought in. It was an unlicensed blue sedan. The police were collecting hair, fingerprints, and other evidence for DNA and print comparison.

Luo Feng asked if the police would find anything.

After some thought, I replied, “DNA was first used to solve cases in 1987; the harbor police probably adopted it even earlier. If they find hair or similar evidence, they might identify the suspect. The trouble is if they find Yun Qing’s hair or prints in the car.”

After all, Yun Qing’s fingerprints were found on the spirit money stuffed in Fei Ji’s pocket and mouth, so it wouldn’t be surprising if her traces were found in the car, too. We were sure someone was framing Yun Qing, and her willingness to confess was what really troubled us.

Luo Feng, driving, reminded me, “I think Chen Fan’s starting to suspect you. You know too much to hide it.”

I smiled, glancing at the little ghost sleeping in the back seat through the rearview mirror. “It’s not hard for him to learn I attended police academy. That’s no absolute secret. Some things can be known; others, never.”

Luo Feng rolled down the window and nodded. “I get it. I just wonder if this case is really connected to the person you’re looking for.”

We fell silent. Soon, Luo Feng parked outside the apartment complex where Old Nine and his group had died, before heading to the rural house. The landlord said Old Nine himself had fetched the keys the night he arrived in the harbor.

At that time, Old Nine and his group had already been drugged and taken from an entertainment venue.

Both Luo Feng and I suspected Old Nine, so we came to ask some questions. Failing to get answers before didn’t mean we wouldn’t now. We memorized the unlicensed car’s appearance and started asking around the neighborhood. Whatever Old Nine’s motives for getting the keys alone, someone meeting or controlling him must have been nearby.

In other words, that blue unlicensed car was likely parked close.

This district was rundown, with few cars—making our investigation easier. After more than an hour of inquiries, we finally got some leads. Sure enough, someone recalled seeing a blue car parked nearby that evening for about ten minutes.

I reconstructed the scene: after the car parked, Old Nine went to meet the landlord for the keys, then returned to the car. From what I’d learned of Old Nine’s character, I concluded he’d betrayed me. As I’d told Luo Feng, his ties to the other three weren’t deep.

Besides, Old Nine wouldn’t be foolish enough to risk himself for friendship. If all four were under control, there’d be no escape. So, Old Nine wasn’t forced back because the others were controlled. As for remote control, it was either by gun or poison.

But the place the car parked was some distance from where Old Nine met the landlord, not a straight line. A gun couldn’t threaten him enough to force him back. Poison? Old Nine could have fled to a hospital for rescue.

Luo Feng and I thought it through carefully—this was too important for carelessness.

“Old Nine is really suspicious,” Luo Feng said.

I nodded. “Two days after the coroner’s estimated time of death, Old Nine came to warn me. I still haven’t figured out why.”

“Were the police forensics wrong?” Luo Feng asked.

I wasn’t sure. “Postmortem lividity can be affected by various factors, but that’s superficial. The forensics department estimated time of death mainly using the theory of gastric emptying, which might have errors, but not by as much as two days. I’ve thought about it for days, but can’t make sense of it.”

“When did the food in their stomachs get eaten? Isn’t that still unclear? Is the gastric emptying theory really accurate?” Luo Feng wondered.

“I read the autopsy report,” I explained. “They used the gastric theory mainly, but also factored in supervital reactions, nucleic acid breakdown, tissue decomposition, and DNA content changes. Some methods are less developed, but combined, the error shouldn’t be large.”

Luo Feng waved a hand. “Alright, I don’t get it. Let’s go check out that rural house.”