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墨書 Inktalez
The handwriting analysis has now been categorized into nine major types, including general characteristics, local features, writing style, and proportion of combinations. I am not an expert in this field, just someone with a basic understanding. However, Captain Lu confirmed that Wang Guihua indeed writes with her left hand. Ironically, it was precisely because Wang Guihua had only attended school for a few years that she was never corrected by her teachers for this "bad habit." Otherwise, we might not have discovered that she is left-handed.
Upon hearing this, everyone began to realize the gravity of the situation. The case had previously been stagnant, but recently it had progressed rapidly, like a waterfall cascading down. Everyone's mindset became somewhat restless, forgetting some of the most basic details. I asked Yang Xiaojuan, "The report on the pressure marks on Li Tang's body shows..."
Hearing my question, Yang Xiaojuan seemed enlightened and understood my point. After a moment of thought, she said, "The marks on the right side are deeper than those on the left; the Killer should not be left-handed!" Wang Gang scoffed at this: "What if the Killer is deliberately faking it?"
Yang Xiaojuan shook her head and firmly replied, "You must understand that it's very difficult for a person to change their dominant hand. To strangle someone from behind requires immense strength; no Killer could be that precise! However, there is indeed a scenario where a left-handed person could leave deeper marks on the right side."
As she spoke, Yang Xiaojuan demonstrated using my neck. She took off her work badge and bent it into a loop to place around my neck. Grasping the makeshift rope with both hands, she turned around so we were back to back. Yang Xiaojuan explained, "Using the strength of your back to kill would increase speed. In this case, even though they are left-handed, it could still result in deeper marks on the right side."
"Wang Guihua didn't say anything like that during her interrogation!" I couldn't help but continue questioning while still being 'controlled' by Yang Xiaojuan. "If someone is left-handed, they would hold the knife in their left hand when killing. Zhang Fushun was stabbed seven times; there must be fingerprints on the knife—were they left-hand prints?"
I fired off several questions in succession, and everyone present began to grasp the seriousness of the issue. Deputy Director Li shouted, "Captain Lu, bring Wang Guihua back immediately! It's not time to hand over yet!" Upon hearing this, Captain Lu dashed out of the conference room with remarkable speed.
Wang Mi, standing next to Deputy Director Li, remarked, "Director, the materials have already been prepared and submitted above. If we reopen this case now, it would be even more embarrassing than if the Special Investigation Team were sent down!" Although Wang Mi's voice was low, we all clearly heard it. Indeed, this would be a hundredfold or even a thousandfold more embarrassing than having the Special Investigation Team come down.
Deputy Director Li understood Wang Mi's implication: solving one case brings credit for another case. Moreover, since Wang Guihua had already confessed to her crime, why complicate matters further? Wouldn't closing this case be beneficial for everyone? Deputy Director Li sneered and said, "Wang Mi, I hope this is the last time you say something like that."
With that said, Deputy Director Li stood up and bowed earnestly to me, making me feel somewhat shy as he stated, "Nothing is more important than capturing the real Killer. As police officers, our principle is to not wrongfully accuse an innocent person while ensuring that no guilty party escapes justice. Don't let my middle-aged paunch fool you; there's more than just liquor inside."
I have always remembered Deputy Director Li's words; they represent my bottom line as a police officer: never wrongfully accuse an innocent person and never let a guilty one go free. Everyone silently watched Deputy Director Li as he pulled out his phone and dialed the director's number in a somewhat obsequious tone: "Director..."
The subsequent conversation was beyond what someone of my rank could hear; Deputy Director Li was busy trying to mend his reputation. We didn’t dare slack off and hurriedly took action. Captain Lu was responsible for continuing the interrogation of Wang Guihua while we went to find the dagger. The bloodstains on it had already dried and formed a palm print—specifically from a right hand.
When we arrived outside the interrogation room again, Wang Guihua reiterated her confession about her crime. However, this time Captain Lu focused his questioning on Li Tang's case and asked her again how she killed him.
Wang Guihua seemed numb; her eyes were hollow as if she had completely lost faith in humanity. She gestured vaguely with her hands: "I did it like this and then killed him." Through the one-way glass, we all noticed that her movements were directed toward where the victim would have been rather than away from him.
Captain Lu visibly perked up; if that were true then Wang Guihua could not be the Killer—she was left-handed while the Killer was not. It seemed that Wang Guihua herself had never considered this distinction which would fundamentally change the direction of the case. Captain Shi entered and whispered something to Captain Lu before donning gloves to retrieve the murder weapon. Captain Lu held Wang Guihua's hand for comparison; her fingers were shorter than average—if she had wielded the weapon during the attack, then logically speaking, those blood prints should have been longer.
Captain Shi sat down and said, "Now tell us who the Killer is; you are left-handed while the Killer is not."
I turned to Wang Gang beside me and said, "Go apply for an arrest warrant. There's no one else but Killer." Wang Gang looked puzzled and turned to ask me, "An arrest warrant? For whom?"
This question hardly needed to be asked. If a suspect who hasn't killed anyone admits to murder and leaves behind the murder weapon and clothes, it indicates that she is prepared to confess once the police suspect her. The knife used for the murder was discarded by someone else, and she didn't find it, so she left it behind. Why would she do this? I thought that first and foremost, she was a mother, and only secondarily a suspect.
Yang Xiaojuan next to me glanced at me and softly said, "It's that stone..."
Captain Shi continued, "That person is your son, Zhang Dongcheng."
Wang Guihua's vacant eyes suddenly widened in fear. She tried hard to conceal her emotions, but a mother's instinct to protect her child couldn't be hidden. She shouted, "I killed him! I killed Zhang Fushun! I also killed Li Tang! I admit it all; what more do you want from me?"
Wang Guihua spoke rapidly, revealing her inner anxiety. "The jump rope is with me; you found the dagger too. There are bloodstains from Zhang Fushun on my clothes. What else do you want me to do?"
Captain Shi sighed and said, "I am also a father; I understand. Zhang Dongcheng has already confessed."
After Captain Shi said this, he didn't look back and walked straight out of the interrogation room. Upon hearing his words, Wang Guihua froze in place, falling silent as tears welled up in her eyes and eventually streamed down her face. Yang Xiaojuan also discreetly wiped away her tears. I patted her shoulder, and she said to me, "No matter how strong a woman is, she is still just a woman."
Wang Gang understood who was to be arrested and had already gone to apply for it.
Zhang Dongcheng had been under surveillance all along. We arrived at Zhang Dongcheng's home, which was also the home of Zhang Fushun and Wang Guihua. The summer days were long; although it was considered evening, the sky was still bright. As we pushed open the gate of Zhang Dongcheng's house, we saw him sitting in the middle of the yard on a small stool, looking up at the sky with an expression that seemed lost in thought.
He sat motionless like a statue or a scarecrow in a wheat field. The sunset light bathed the yard while cicadas chirped in the trees. In the distance, faint voices of villagers could be heard. It seemed as if Zhang Dongcheng existed in a different time and space from everything around him. He hadn't even taken off his shoulder bag; it hung down on the ground beside him. A book lay on the ground, and I could see its full title: "Niuniu: A Father's Notes," by Zhou Guoping.
Wang Gang also noticed the book and sneered, "A patricide reading about fatherhood?"
Upon hearing Wang Gang's words, Zhang Dongcheng cracked a smile—a smile so tragic it resembled a winter melon with its skin split open. Zhang Dongcheng was several years younger than me, at an age when one should be achieving great things; yet he would spend his prime years in prison.
Captain Shi stepped forward and handcuffed Zhang Dongcheng before saying, "You know why we're here."
Zhang Dongcheng nodded.
"You really aren't a man!" Wang Gang said dismissively without even looking at Zhang Dongcheng. "You let your mother take the blame for your actions! If this were a few years ago, your teeth would already be scattered on the ground!" I heard Wang Gang's fists clenching tightly as they made cracking sounds; I had previously heard Captain Shi mention that Wang Gang came from a single-parent family and was raised by his mother alone.
"Tomorrow we will start the interrogation of Zhang Dongcheng. You must be tired tonight, so get some good rest," Captain Shi said as he brought Zhang Dongcheng back to the station.
That night, I couldn't fall asleep at all. This was my first criminal case, and while I had been filled with excitement beforehand, I realized that behind every criminal case lies a tragedy, a tragedy woven together with blood and tears. I simply couldn't feel excited anymore.
I called home, completely unaware that it was already past eleven at night.
My father answered the phone and asked, "Why are you calling home so late? Is something wrong? Don't be afraid; just take your time and tell me..." Even though I was twenty-four, in front of my father, I still felt like a child who hadn't grown up. His tone was somewhat anxious, filled with concern.
"Nothing's wrong," I replied with a smile. "I just missed you and wanted to call. How's Mom?"
"Hey!" my father said. "Your mom is right here. As soon as she saw it was your call, she got up. Son's calling us! Here, talk to her; I don't want to say much more. I'm going to sleep!"
My mother took the phone, and a barrage of questions hit me like a machine gun, catching me off guard: "Son, how's work? Is anyone bullying you? What's the weather like there? Have you found a girlfriend? Weren't you going to sleep? Why are you bothering me instead of sleeping..."
By the time I hung up the phone, it was already one o'clock. In the quiet of the night, a warm current surged from my heart, lingering for a long time. This is what home feels like.
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