The police investigated Jiang Baiyan's car and finally fished out a scrap car from the river.
In the gap of the car seat, there is a piece of silk organza, which is embellished with Van Cleef & Arpels gemstones. This is an extremely expensive material, which is not used in ordinary dresses. But it is a coincidence that each haute couture dress is unique, so there is no possibility of wearing the same dress twice.
After identification by the designer, it was confirmed that the material was fragments of Jian Jing's dress.
Jiang Baiyan couldn't explain this.
"My car was stolen more than a week ago," he said, "and I asked my assistant to call the police."
But the police were honest with him and reasoned with him: "Calling the police doesn't prove that the car is really missing. You didn't go there, but the invitation letter was swiped, and there is evidence in the car. You are involved in the whole thing."
Jiang Baiyan said: "Someone framed me."
"who?"
He was silent for a while, and seemed to have understood the whole story: "My psychiatrist, Wang, is my friend and occasionally borrows my car."
The police immediately launched an investigation, and the result was not surprising.
"Dr. Wang went abroad half a month ago," the police said. "We found his exit records and found that he is still abroad and has not returned yet."
Jiang Baiyan was shocked and angry: "How could this happen! It really wasn't me!"
Unfortunately, verbal sophistry is of no use.
The police continued their investigation, checking his vehicle and finally, through surveillance, they were able to locate the last place the car had been before it fell into the river.
Abandoned warehouse in the suburbs.
When it was opened, there was an iron barrel inside, which contained some charcoal ashes and a lot of white powder.
After identification, it was found to be ashes.
At the same time, a burnt metal pearl hairpin and the remains of a high-heeled shoe were found in the tin barrel. Comparing them with what Jian Jing was wearing that day, they were determined to be her belongings.
In other words, the one who was burned to ashes was most likely her.
Jiang Baiyan was extremely shocked and refused to accept the fact: "This is impossible!"
However, the facts are there, and the evidence currently investigated has formed a complete chain of evidence. Even if the suspect's confession cannot be obtained, he can be prosecuted.
Jiang Baiyan was immediately detained by the police.
Only Ji Feng didn't believe it.
He said: "Jiang Baiyan's evidence is too comprehensive. It is obvious that he was framed. If we continue to investigate like this, the real murderer will go unpunished."
Lao Gao said: "Investigating a case cannot be based on feelings, you have to look at the evidence. All the evidence points to him. Do you think the people in the procuratorate believe you, or the judge?"
Ji Feng: "If you don't check, I will."
He was just about to continue investigating along the clues of the Xue family when suddenly good news came: the person was caught.
Upon hearing the news, Ji Feng's scalp immediately went numb, knowing that he was in trouble. As expected, the person caught was a drug addict, and he was related to Xue Jun, but his father married into the family, so he took his mother's surname.
His DNA sample was exactly the same as the one found by Ji Feng.
The blood is not the king's at all.
This is a pit.
Ji Xian almost vomited blood and said the truth: "This is the first time I've been fooled like this."
Lao Gao consoled him: "Who hasn't encountered a few bastards when they were young?"
he:"… "
In short, within a week, the suspect was identified and all the original clues were lost.
At this point, the ending seems to be foreseeable.
Wang - it's hard to say whether this is her real name, let's just call her that - watched through the glass as she slowly fell into coma under the cover of the mist.
The dosage must be controlled very well. Any more and you will completely lose consciousness, and any less and the effect will not be achieved.
The shallow sleep here is just right.
She could hear him say, "Today is August 2, 2014, Chinese Valentine's Day, and you are in your own home."
"Home." Her mumbling in her sleep was as light as a mosquito.
"Yes, your home." His voice was like hot chocolate coming out of the pot, a slightly scalding warm current flowing through the eardrum, silky and sticky.
Under the guidance of this, Jian Jing's consciousness slowly sank and returned to the night of Chinese Valentine's Day.
That day, the night was very dark and the weather was gloomy, as if it was going to rain the next day. Her parents had just moved and were in a hurry to find jobs, so she, a student who hadn't started school yet, had the most free time, so she stayed at home drinking soda and eating popsicles.
Of course, as a fledgling amateur writer, little Jian Jing is very hardworking.
She is working on the draft of White Cat Volume.
Alas, stories are not easy to write, and detective techniques are even harder to conceive. I have already written about pinhole imaging, Morse code, fingerprint extraction with tape, and acid-base test paper. What technique should I write about next
trouble.
The knowledge taught in junior high school science classes is limited. Should I buy two more interesting tutorial books
She bit her pen in annoyance when she heard footsteps and the sound of a lock being unlocked at the door.
The parents are back.
They bought some stewed vegetables, the mother rolled up her sleeves to prepare some fresh fruits and vegetables, and the father went to the balcony to collect clothes. The house, which had been quiet all day, suddenly became lively.
She heard her mother complain: "Oh, what a pity for that roast chicken. I thought we should pick it up and wash it so it's bigger."
"It's all fallen on the ground, why pick it up?" muttered the father.
The mother put her hands on her hips and said, "It's only thirty yuan. You've had a good life for two days, so you're too proud to care about this little money?"
Jian Jing closed the door silently.
Every family has its own troubles, and every couple has their own way of getting along. Her parents usually like to bicker at home, arguing over trivial matters. The winner feels happy, while the loser feels depressed.
Of course, this does not affect the relationship between the couple. After the quarrel, they can watch TV together affectionately.
This is probably for people's... uh... fun.
So Jian Jing didn't act as a boss and didn't express her opinion on the roast chicken that fell on the ground. She sat back at the table and continued to concentrate on writing the outline.
I don’t know how long it was before I heard the door open again and my parents were talking, chatting excitedly.
Like most children, Jian Jing hated dealing with guests, and the most dreaded thing was having relatives come to visit during festivals. She was afraid that once she went out, her parents would not be able to control their desire to show off, and would brag about her writing to the neighbors and guests.
Whenever this happened, she wished she could dig a hole and crawl into it.
The previous sense of crisis had subsided with the move. She hesitated for a moment, not thinking too deeply about the dangers of the world, and decided to shrink into the room and pretend not to hear anything.
But outside the window, a figure said: "If you come out now, maybe your parents won't die."
Jian Jing stood still.
"Unfortunately, you are only half-baked. You aroused my curiosity, but you are not vigilant enough." A figure flashed and appeared behind her.
When the door opened, she saw her parents collapsed in the living room, unconscious.
"You killed them." The little girl screamed, "Help..."
The man covered her mouth and held her arms and legs tightly. He took out a small canister similar to an oxygen inhaler and put the mask over her mouth and nose.
She held her breath and her face turned red.
But an adult woman is not strong enough to resist an adult man, let alone her, an underage junior high school student.
His strength was draining away, his chest felt stuffy, and the pain of suffocation caused his body to collapse. He was forced to gasp for air and naturally inhaled the anesthetic mist.
The girl lost consciousness.
But seven years later, Jian Jing's consciousness is still there.
She watched "herself" fall onto the sofa and watched him begin the performance he had carefully planned.
Murder performance.
He moved the Jian couple to the bed, let them nestle in the familiar place, crossed their legs on their abdomen, and opened the syringe, drew up the medicine, and slowly injected it into their veins.
The movements were skillful, as if he had done it many times.
"I have no interest in killing." The man explained, "The result of death is the most important. An overly complicated process will only get me into trouble."
Jian Jing looked at him expressionlessly.
He said: "Maybe you will thank me. After all, I didn't let them suffer."
"I understand." She said.
He raised his eyebrows: "Understand what?"
"How can you escape the police's pursuit?" She looked at the figures sweeping the scene and said pertinently, "If you are only pursuing results, the simpler the process, the better. You are very rational."
Most serial killers have their own set of procedures.
Some people carefully select their targets, some like to die in a specific way, some insist on creating a death scene that matches their imagination, and some are even more daring and directly leave passwords.
The more you do, the more flaws you will find. This is an eternal truth.
The most crucial point that enabled him to escape time and time again was that he did not do anything unnecessary.
Do not mistreat the dead, do not leave behind any symbolic signs, and do not perform any fancy rituals.
The simpler and clearer the killing process is, the better; the cleaner the scene is, the better.
The police got very few clues, which is why they were unable to catch him.
"Is that a compliment?" he asked.
Jian Jing ignored him and said to herself, "But there is an exception, Guo Yifang."
She carefully observed the expression on his face, but he was well prepared and showed no abnormality on his face. He just asked with interest, "Are you sure? Think about it carefully."
"I'm sure." Jian Jing said without hesitation, "You put a lot of effort into Guo Yifang. If it was a trap, it would be a pity if it wasn't discovered. But the police haven't discovered it yet, which proves that you don't want them to find out at all."
This seemed like a compliment, and he did not deny it for the moment.
She asked, "What's so special about her to you?"
A proud smile appeared on his lips. "I just wanted to try and see if anyone could discover this little secret. It's a pity that my efforts were in vain. Now it's your turn, so I have to make it more obvious."
To enhance his persuasiveness, he added: "If you perform a one-man show for too long without an audience, something will be missing."
Jian Jing stared at his eyes and said, "You are lying."
He said calmly: "What do you have that is worthy of my deceiving you?"
"You're afraid of being found out," she said, "that you're having an affair with your mother."
After uttering the last few words, his face twitched fiercely: "If you keep speaking without restraint, I will teach you a lesson."
"You're scared." Jian Jing smiled.
In the exchange of consciousness, there is no deadly poison gas, no blocking glass, it is purely a collision of minds and a spiritual hand-to-hand combat.
"Tell me, do you love her or hate her? Do you regret not killing her or not saving her?" She kept asking. Her tone was not aggressive but full of curiosity, like an arrogant student who had to compete with her teacher.
This was the kind of provocation he could tolerate, so he softened his expression and said, "You are very curious about my story."
"I destroyed my life and rewrote it," she said. "It's not fair that you know everything about me and I know nothing about you."
He said, "I don't suggest you take a peek into my past."
"But I'm really curious," she said, looking him in the face, "what are you afraid of?"
Time stopped, memories stopped.
In her field of vision, his downward gaze and her upward gaze changed rapidly, forming a line of eye level. Her consciousness suddenly returned, and she became more aggressive.
"Let me see." She reached out and grabbed his collar. "It's my turn."
“Enough is enough!” Wang Xi’s face turned pale and he waved his hand to break free from her entanglement.
Too late.
The space twisted, the vortex reversed, and a strange scene appeared.
This is - his memory.