Interrogation

“Zhao Yu—!”

The high-pitched scream cut through the air above the tube building. From the washroom window, a lean silhouette vaulted outward, leaping from the third floor without a moment’s hesitation.

Before the operation, Zhao Yu had scouted the exterior. She had mapped out over a dozen potential escape routes for the suspect and calculated pursuit paths for emergencies. Adjacent to Jiang Feng’s room was the washroom; outside its window, a three-meter-long iron drying rack extended over the void. It was rusted and old, but it was iron—sturdy enough to bear the weight of a person for a fleeting second.

As Jiang Feng smashed the gasoline bottle he’d smuggled from the factory, lit the floor, and threw himself out the window, Zhao Yu had already anticipated the move and sprinted for the washroom.

Jiang Feng hit an awning on the way down. It cushioned his fall at the second floor; a vendor’s sunshade at the first floor broke his momentum again. He landed hard but relatively unharmed. Gritting his teeth against the shock in his knees, he scrambled up, spotted Zhao Yu sliding down the drying rack behind him, and bolted.

He tore through twisted alleys, knocking over pedestrians and flipping street stalls, leaving a trail of chaos behind him as he fled the town toward the desolate tidal flats by the sea.

The area was a graveyard of jagged reefs. In some places, the rocks piled high into miniature cliffs, sixty or seventy feet above the churning tide. Below lay the vast, dark ocean.

“Stop!”

Zhao Yu was a relentless shadow behind him. A hundred meters back, the rest of the Major Crimes Unit, led by Qin Song, followed the sound of the chase.

Scritch—

Jiang Feng’s soles skidded to a halt at the very edge. Small pebbles tumbled forward, plummeting into the abyss below. He didn’t think twice. He drew a breath and threw himself into the sea. A heavy splash of white foam erupted on the surface; he surfaced quickly and began swimming away from the shore.

Without a pause, Zhao Yu followed him. She leaped into the dark air, adjusting her posture mid-fall into a perfect head-first dive, cutting into the water like an Olympic swimmer.

“Captain Zhao!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

The team arriving at the cliff edge gasped in horror. Qin Song pushed his pace, shouting orders as he ran:

“Xiaofei, find a motorboat! Doudou, get lifebuoys! Everyone else, give me your flashlights and come with me to backup the Captain!”

Liu Huisheng lacked the athletic grace of the others. By the time she managed to catch up through the rugged terrain, Jiang Feng had already been hauled in.

There were no streetlights on the flats. The only light came from the crisscrossing beams of police flashlights and the headlights of Brother Zhong’s patrol car. In the flickering glare, Jiang Feng’s arms were twisted behind his back, cuffed as Qin Song and Han Bing shoved him into the back of a police cruiser. Chen Doudou was on the phone reporting to the bureau, while Zhong took Xiaofei and Xiaoyu back to the tube building to secure the scene.

Wail—Wail—

The sirens shrieked, tearing through the silence of the night. In the flashing red and blue strobes, the people looked like flickering ink bottles, moving busily across the vast, dark expanse of the beach.

Amidst the shifting light, Zhao Yu sat on the hood of another car.

Though she was little more than a dark silhouette, Liu Huisheng recognized her instantly. Against the symphony of sirens and crashing waves, Zhao Yu sat with her legs crossed, her spine slightly curved. One hand braced against the hood, the other forearm resting on her knee. Between her fingers, a cigarette glowed like a single, angry ember.

“How are you?”

Liu Huisheng approached over the uneven rocks. Zhao Yu was soaked to the bone. Her jacket hung over the open car door; her damp hair clung to her neck, parted by the tracks of her own fingers where she’d pushed it back. Two buttons of her black shirt were undone, and water droplets trickled steadily from her collar.

“I’m fine.”

The ember between her fingers twitched. She lifted it to her lips, took a long drag, and let the smoke swirl through her lungs before slowly exhaling.

In that moment, she looked like a general who had just breached a fortress. Sitting atop the ramparts with her spear leaned against the wall, she watched the distant hearth-fires of the common folk—appreciating the life she had protected through her own battle-worn merit.

***************************************

The Interrogation Room

Jiang Feng was caught, but the interrogation was a nightmare. He seemed to have flipped a mental switch. He sat in the chair, neck retracted, shoulders hunched, spine curved—a shell of a human. He said nothing. Even Brother Zhong and Qin Song, with decades of experience between them, couldn’t pry a single syllable from him.

“Damn it.” Qin Song chain-smoked his second cigarette. “Did we get the wrong guy? Maybe he didn’t set the fire?”

“No way. Huisheng’s profile matched him perfectly. Besides, we found the gas and the boots under his floorboards.”

“It’s him, no doubt. But if he won’t talk or confess, we can’t close the case.”

“Is the kid autistic or something? We’ve talked until our throats are raw and he hasn’t made a sound.”

As they spoke, Zhao Yu entered the office. She had gone home to wash off the stench of the sea and changed into a crisp white shirt and a light-colored trench coat.

“Captain.”

“Captain Zhao, what are you doing here? The Deputy Chief told you to go to the hospital for a check-up.”

“Exactly. You need to dress those scrapes. That seawater is filthy.”

Zhao Yu set a bag of late-night snacks on the table and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

“They’re just surface wounds; I’ve already cleaned them. I figured Jiang Feng would be a tough nut to crack. I came to see for myself.”

Chen Doudou worried, “But you need to rest. Catching him today was exhausting.”

Liu Huisheng stepped in behind her, placing Zhao Yu’s car keys on the desk and finishing her thought:

“The Captain won’t rest until this case is closed.”

She had gone back with Zhao Yu. While Zhao Yu washed away the salt, Liu Huisheng had washed away the grime of District Nine, changing into a soft, apricot-colored maxi skirt and scrubbing off the heavy, provocative makeup.

Zhao Yu opened the bag of snacks. “Eat something, all of you.”

“Thanks, Boss!”

“Ugh, my head hurts. That Jiang Feng is like a mute.”

“Maybe he really is mentally ill. I’ve seen it before—the ones who don’t talk often have the highest criminal index.”

“What do we do? We can’t get a motive or a method. Getting the man is useless if we can’t get the truth.”

The atmosphere, briefly lifted by the food, sank again.

Slurp—slurp—

The sound of a straw hitting the bottom of a cup broke the gloom. They turned to see Liu Huisheng finishing a milk tea. She tossed the empty cup into the bin and spoke:

“For a serial arsonist, the fire is his way of communicating with the world. Jiang Feng chose that method because he has a barrier preventing him from communicating with normal people. Therefore, you cannot use conventional interrogation methods.”

She used her ring finger to smudge her lipstick into a smooth line, then looked at Qin Song.

“Vice-Captain, how long have you been at it?”

“Two hours,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“Want to make a bet? I can make him talk in two minutes.”

“Two minutes? Impossible.”

“Only the impossible is worth betting on. How about a milk tea?”

Qin Song wavered, turning to Zhao Yu. “Captain, what do you think?“