Chapter Thirty-One: The Eerie Cry!

I stored the body in the morgue, and Old Lin immediately called an emergency meeting with all members of the Major Crimes Unit.

We were all perplexed: how had the injury occurred? It wasn’t serious, certainly not fatal.

When I described the location and nature of the wound to everyone, confusion only deepened. Tang Jingjing, that girl, even picked up a broom and mimed jabbing her chest, suggesting perhaps the victim had accidentally struck his own chin while wielding a broom.

I dismissed the idea outright. Where would a broom even be found on a bus? And if there had been a broom, how could we explain the wounds on his fingers?

Old Lin agreed it was impossible.

He insisted we should recreate the scene, taking into account the victim’s circumstances at the time.

Suddenly, Li Hong sprang to his feet and urged us all to stand. He lined up the chairs, then lay across them, moving his body up and down.

Li Xingchen gaped, dumbfounded, “Li Hong, in broad daylight… This is the police station, you know.”

“Possessed! He’s possessed!” Mouse shouted, ready to dash out.

But Tang Jingjing and I, as if struck by the same thought, slapped our thighs and exclaimed in unison, “That’s it!”

Li Xingchen and Mouse still looked puzzled, unable to grasp our meaning.

I quickly explained, “Li Hong is reenacting what happened. The victim, Liu Juncheng, was likely drunk and collapsed onto the edge of the seat, falling asleep. That red mark was made by pressure against the seat.”

“But what about the wound on his chin?” Li Xingchen asked.

Without a word, Li Hong forcefully knocked his own chin against the chair.

Li Xingchen suddenly understood, rubbing his head, “I get it now.”

“And the wounds on his fingers? Was he flying a plane?” Mouse joked.

Indeed, how had those finger wounds come about?

Li Hong started experimenting, propping his hand under his chin—wrong. Only three fingers were injured: the thumb, ring finger, and middle finger.

He tried tucking his hand under his stomach, making several attempts, but nothing matched.

Li Xingchen wondered if perhaps his hand had been pinched, but I doubted it. If the seat had pinched him, there would have been surface injuries, but these were only faint pressure marks.

Unable to solve the puzzle, we had to put it aside for the moment, but Old Lin carefully noted it in his book.

The next task was to wait patiently for Bus Route Eight to run again.

This time, Li Hong accompanied me, which made me feel a bit safer.

I figured even if the whole bus’s passengers turned on me, I’d be fine.

Still, I worried about Tang Jingjing—having her wait alone at such a remote stop in the middle of the night could be dangerous.

So I found a moment to speak with her alone and gave her all the bullets I had on me.

She asked, bemused, what I was doing. I told her I was worried and wanted her to carry them for protection.

She was immediately displeased. “Do you think I’m not capable? You’re just a trainee forensic doctor and you’re not afraid—do you think I, the head of the detective squad, would be?”

Knowing her pride was at stake, I offered a few words of comfort, and she finally accepted a few bullets.

Since solving the last case, Section Chief Wang had officially allocated bullets to me—only three, but it showed his trust.

Still, having bullets but no gun left me a bit disheartened.

Once again, Mouse was responsible for dropping us at our designated stop. After ten o’clock, he notified us that the bus had set out.

I kept my eyes wide open, not daring to blink, afraid I’d miss Bus Eight.

Li Hong and I boarded the bus and, as expected, Tang Jingjing wasn’t there. It seemed the bus hadn’t stopped at her station again.

For safety, I texted her to ask if she’d missed the bus.

She replied that she hadn’t boarded—the damn driver seemed about to stop, but then accelerated away for some reason, so she was riding in Mouse’s car instead.

Relieved that she was safe, I settled in.

Tonight, for some reason, there was a persistent clattering from the rear seats as the bus moved.

To avoid arousing the driver’s suspicion, I didn’t sit at the back, but took the seat just behind where I'd sat yesterday—making it easier to observe what was happening behind me.

Glancing back, I noticed a screw in one of the hard seats had come loose. Every time the bus jolted, the seat would bang up and down, making a sharp noise.

Initially, I thought little of it, but after a while, something clicked in my mind.

I quietly slipped my hand under the seat and twisted the screw hard. Looking up, I noticed three of my fingers had developed reddish-purple marks from the effort—and suddenly, I understood.

That explained the three marks on Liu Juncheng’s fingers.

He must have been lying face-down, reaching under the seat to twist the screw. But why? Was he trying to dismantle the seat? Was something hidden beneath it? Or was he putting something there?

Excitement surged within me.

But then, a new thought struck me.

Yesterday, I hadn’t heard any banging from the seats, but tonight, it was there.

Assuming no one from the bus company tampered with it, only one person was suspicious—the drunk man sprawled on the back row yesterday.

Damn, it had to be him! I immediately texted my theory to Li Hong and had him forward it to Old Lin.

Meanwhile, I waited, hoping to spot the burly man from the day before.

I remembered the stop clearly—Zigou Station. But when we arrived, I saw neither the drunk man nor anyone else boarding.

Why hadn’t he come? It must mean he’d accomplished his goal.

Had he taken something from beneath the seat?

The thought chilled me. What exactly was hidden down there?

As the bus approached the city center, more and more passengers boarded. I glanced around and saw that, besides the group from the previous night, no new faces had appeared.

The bus continued on, and I noticed this time it wasn’t following its usual route.

Just as the military knife had said, perhaps the upcoming stops were slated for demolition, and that’s why the bus wasn’t following the usual path. But I couldn’t be certain.

We were nearing the stop where I’d alighted yesterday, so I prepared to get off.

At that moment, the driver turned on the radio, and a melodious song played.

This old bus was only equipped with a radio, no television, and the signal was terrible—static often interrupted the music.

As we neared the stop, a strange sound suddenly emerged from the radio. I listened closely and realized it was the sound of a girl crying.

At first, I thought I’d misheard, so I strained to listen.

As the bus drove on, the crying grew clearer, until finally, the song faded out entirely and all that remained was the weeping of a girl.

Panic spread among the passengers. This bus already had a reputation for ill omen, and now, with a girl's desperate cries coming from the radio, even the bravest could not withstand it. I saw someone stand up in fear and urge the driver to switch stations.

The driver hastily changed the station, but no matter which one he chose, all that came through was the sound of a girl crying.