Shadow 380,000 Level 17 Suspended Spirit Hurricane Arrives

Chapter 3

"What are you thinking about? Over here!" The guard grabbed the back of my shirt.

"What, aren't we going back?" I remember the direction of the detention room; I didn't go to the wrong place.

"Who told you to go back now? I'm interrogating you." He shoved me, making me go in another direction.

"Are the police from Beijing here?" I asked as I walked.

"Just because you didn't come doesn't mean we can't interrogate you?" he replied impatiently.

I really don't understand. I'm just a suspect, I haven't been convicted yet. Is it really necessary to do this when I ask a question? Besides, he even accepted a small bribe from me, although the amount wasn't large.

Waiting for me in the interrogation room was a middle-aged policeman with a stern face and a gloomy expression.

Last year in Shanghai, I was also "wrongfully interrogated," but the misunderstanding was cleared up after half a day, and I didn't suffer any hardship. Guo Dong helped me that time, but what will happen this time? Looking at the serious face of the middle-aged man in the police uniform in front of me, I had no idea what to expect.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said to him first.

"Name?"

"Officer, you may find what I'm about to say hard to believe, but..."

"Name?" the middle-aged policeman repeated the previous question in the same tone.

Second, brothers and sisters charge together (2)

“That’s much,” I replied with a sigh.

"Your real name?"

"Yes, you can easily find that out."

"gender?"

"male."

As I answered, I thought to myself, if he then asked, "Is it true?", I would reply, "It hasn't changed since I was born, and it's easier to verify."

Even in this situation, I still had the mood to entertain myself, and the phone call with Liang Yingwu really relieved my stress.

The person opposite him clearly lacked such a sense of humor; he asked again, "Profession?"

"Reporter. Reporter from Shanghai Morning Star News."

I thought he was about to get down to business and ask me about the case. Unexpectedly, the middle-aged policeman's expression softened, and he even smiled slightly, asking, "What are you on the run for?"

"I don't have a fixed job. I'm a reporter in the mobile department, covering breaking news or receiving tips from readers by phone."

"It means you have to be on call at any time, which is quite tiring."

"It's quite tiring, but I've gotten used to it after a few years," I answered cautiously, wondering why he had made the interrogation sound like a casual chat.

"You look quite young. How many years have you been a reporter?"

"I became a journalist in 2001, and this is my sixth year."

"Oh, it's not that long."

“My newspaper doesn’t have a long history and has a high turnover rate. As a reporter who has been there for five years, I’m considered quite senior.” As I said this, I had a strange feeling that this wasn’t a police officer interrogating a suspect, but rather like I was having a conversation with an interviewee.

"Really? Looks like you're quite highly regarded." The middle-aged police officer smiled slightly and asked casually and gently, "Where did you buy that knife? It's of good quality."

I opened my mouth, speechless for a moment, and after a second or two, my heart belatedly began to clench violently.

This guy is trying to trick me into telling him something!

He asked me these questions casually, and the first few were ones I could answer easily. Out of habit, I subconsciously prepared to answer his key question, only to realize I had no idea the answer. If the dagger really was mine, I probably would have blurted it out.

This veteran criminal investigator is incredibly skilled.

The middle-aged policeman saw that I opened my mouth but didn't speak, probably thinking that I had taken back what I was saying at the last minute. He wasn't in a hurry, smiled, and said, "Seeing so much blood, aren't you panicked?"

"Seeing that scene made me a little panicked, but anyone would feel that way."

The police officer nodded: "Generally speaking, this is how it is for a first-time murder. You're alright, but many people would vomit."

"I mean, anyone who sees a murder scene like this would feel very uncomfortable. I was the first eyewitness, not the murderer," I quickly explained.

Did you know the deceased, Yang Hongmin, before?

"I don't know him."

"So it was all a coincidence? You discovered a murder, but neither the murderer nor the victim had anything to do with you?"

"That's true."

The middle-aged policeman smiled again, this time his eyes narrowed, like a hunter who had already targeted his prey.

"Are you so sure you have no connection to the deceased and don't know him? Then was the person who almost got into a fight with Yang Hongmin in the swimming pool of the Pacific Emerald, which many people witnessed, another Na Duo?"

I stood up angrily and shouted at him, “You’re playing word games, officer. I mean, I’ve never met Yang Hongmin before this trip, I’ve never even heard of him. And on the second question, you’ve set a verbal trap by taking advantage of my eagerness to prove my innocence. Are you planning to convict me with such tricks?”

The policeman raised an eyebrow, seemingly slightly surprised by my reaction.

“Of course not,” he replied. “Please sit down.”

I glared at him and sat down again.

“Mr. Nado, in my opinion, your futile defense is meaningless. I believe you have never done anything like this before, to the point that you were stunned at the scene after committing murder, and you didn’t even know to wear gloves or do any basic cover-up.” He said calmly, as if he had me completely under his thumb.

"What? What gloves?" I didn't understand what he meant.

"The fingerprint analysis on the dagger was completed this morning, and your fingerprints are clearly imprinted on it."

"Of course. I don't know how the dagger ended up in my hands. I don't deny that I handled the dagger, so it's not strange that it has my fingerprints on it."

"You didn't understand what I meant. There are only your fingerprints on it. The murder weapon only has the fingerprints of a reporter named Na Duo, and there are no fingerprints of the other murderer you claimed to have. There is only one murderer, and that is you, Na Duo!" By the end, the middle-aged policeman's voice had become fierce. He slammed his fist on the table, making the teacup on it bounce.

“Only…my fingerprints? Then the real killer must have been wearing gloves. Just as you said, a murderer who intends to kill would at least try to cover their tracks.” I composed myself and said. I had actually expected this outcome.

"Oh?" The middle-aged policeman said with a sneer, "So, it was just a coincidence that you went up to the deck alone when everyone else was in the banquet hall? What were you doing there? Did you suddenly want to enjoy the sea breeze, or did you go there specifically to discover a murder scene?"

"Someone gave me a note and told me to go up to the deck, saying that something would change my fate. It seems that someone is planning to frame me."

"Who gave you the note?"

Second, brothers and sisters charge together (3)

"I don't know, it just suddenly appeared in my empty wine glass."

"Like a dagger suddenly appearing in your hand?" the policeman asked me sarcastically.

"Yes..." I found it incredibly difficult to answer.

"Then where's the note?"

I was speechless for a long time before sadly replying, "It's gone."

It definitely fell. I can't remember whether I held it in my palm or casually put it in my pocket after reading the note. Either way, it's no longer on me; it must have fallen onto the deck when security rushed over. It's probably been swept into the sea by now.

But this real answer, spoken now, sounds so weak and powerless that if I were the police officer on the other side, I would never believe it.

"If I were really the murderer, why would I shout for help? Wouldn't that be walking right into a trap?"

The middle-aged policeman looked at me with pity and said, “Because you panicked. You just admitted it yourself, you panicked then. There’s nothing strange about that. Many people choose to turn themselves in after committing murder. The shock of killing someone with your own hands is something you can never imagine beforehand. In your shock and panic, you shouted for the crew. You chose to do that then, so why are you desperately denying it now and making up these absurd excuses?”

“You’re very convincing.” I said with a wry smile, “If I really had killed someone, I might have said it by now. Unfortunately, I didn’t do it. The murderer is someone else.”

“I have already taken statements from the two crew members this morning. They saw you pull the dagger from the victim’s chest. I’m telling you again, your denial is completely meaningless because the evidence is conclusive!”

"This is a visual misdirection. They only saw Yang Hongmin's blood splatter on my clothes and the dagger fall from my hand. They thought they saw me pull out the dagger, but they didn't. Their brains misled them. I hope you can hire some good hypnotists to conduct a subconscious re-enactment for them, recreating the scene. If you don't know any, I can recommend some in Shanghai..."

"That's enough!" the middle-aged policeman glared at me and stopped me.

"Do you think there's a difference? Even if they saw you holding a dagger, that's enough to convict you. What dagger appearing out of thin air in your hand? And what note? If you're going to make something up, at least make it believable. You're supposed to be an educated person, don't be so childish!"

He stared at me, shook his head, and said, “You were very uncooperative today. Luckily, this case isn’t under our jurisdiction; we’re just doing a preliminary explanation. Otherwise… if you still have this attitude when you’re formally tried in Beijing, you’ll be in big trouble. I advise you to think this through. You need to know that your statements are useless. You have a motive for the murder—the conflict with Yang Hongmin at the swimming pool; there are two eyewitnesses; and you have evidence—your fingerprints on the murder weapon. That’s enough to sentence you! Honestly plead guilty, and let your friends find a good lawyer to try and get you a life sentence.”

At this point, he shook his head again: "To be honest, Yang Hongmin is a very famous scientist. It would be difficult for him to sentence you to life imprisonment. But with your attitude now, hmph!"

He tidied up the transcript, got up and left the interrogation room. A while later, the guard came in and took me out.

The middle-aged policeman was standing in the corridor holding documents, as if he was waiting for me to come out. As I passed by him, he suddenly smiled at me.

That was a smile devoid of any goodwill.

I soon realized the meaning behind that laughter: the detention cell where I was held had changed.

I was originally in a small, private room, probably because I was a serious murder suspect and would soon be transferred to Beijing. But now, I was led into a room not much larger than the one I had been in before, but with four other people locked up inside—five of us in total. As soon as the door opened, a foul odor hit me—a mixture of sweat, foot odor, and some other unidentifiable smell. I rushed inside, and the iron door slammed shut behind me.

Three men sat and one stood; the four men, with eight eyes, all looked at me at the same time.

The man sitting in the corner opposite the cell door was thin, with a sharply curved nose that formed a fierce hook, and his eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze filled with malice.

The person sitting next to him had a square face, a broad forehead, thick eyebrows, and big eyes. When he saw me looking over, he nodded and smiled at me, looking very friendly.

I ignored him and turned to look at another person sitting there. The middle-aged policeman had obviously thrown me here to teach me a lesson. None of the people locked up here were good people. I'd observe them first and then think about how to deal with them.

As for this square-faced guy who was showing me goodwill, if it were me a few years ago, when I was just starting out, I might have given him a high score just because he looked like a protagonist. But now…

If he were truly as he seemed, why would he be sitting with that thin man with the cold, sinister gaze? His smile only made me more wary; people who are used to disguising themselves are usually in there because of scams or something similar.

The other man was actually squatting, leaning against the wall, about a meter away from the man with the hooked nose and square face. He was short, and his head, which should have been shaved, had grown a very thin layer after he'd been in the detention center for who knows how many days; it would probably grow into a buzz cut if he stayed a while longer. Normally, this kind of attire would be considered quite sharp among thugs, but his eyes darted around, and when our eyes met, he turned away, losing three points of his imposing presence and gaining two points of cunning.

The one standing was the most burly of the four, taller than me, nearly 1.9 meters, his body bulging with muscles. He wasn't leaning against the wall; his two hands, hanging down, had large, bony knuckles that he repeatedly opened and closed. When he clenched his fists, the four knuckles protruded, as if he were wearing bone boxing gloves; when he opened them, thick calluses were visible on his palms. With each movement of his hands, the muscles in his forearms bulged, and the thick, dark hairs on them stood on end, again and again, as if he had inexhaustible energy.

The big man had a cleft lip. He grinned at me, revealing his sharp white teeth behind the gap.

Taking in the scene inside the cell quickly, I felt a little relieved.

The square-faced man and the hook-nosed man probably knew each other beforehand and seemed to have a good relationship. The bald man probably didn't know them very well, so he sat a little further away, but not too far. The three of them were subtly huddled together to counter the fierce pressure from the cleft-lipped giant.

Since we're not a monolithic entity, I have room to maneuver. I'll handle things well and try not to suffer too much.

Fortunately, this was a detention center, not a real prison cell. These people hadn't known each other for long and knew they'd either be released or transferred to another cell, so there was no need for conflict. They were relatively restrained. If it were a real prison cell, the more aggressive the people were locked together, the more likely a leader would emerge who had the final say, and newcomers would never have an easy time.

"Brother, what did you do wrong?" the square-faced man asked me with a smile.

I knew I couldn't show weakness at this moment, but I also couldn't say that I had killed someone to get in. Who knows if there were cameras here? If the police heard me say that, it would be an admission of guilt.

I stared at him coldly, raised my right palm like a knife, and held it across my neck. I slowly cut from left to right, and when I was halfway across, I suddenly increased the speed. With a whoosh, a white mark appeared on my neck, which slowly turned red.