Love Born of Mutual Suspicion (Part 1)
Less than a year after my mentor left the force, the squad handled a kidnapping case that would stay with me forever.
The missing child was named Xiao Xu—full name: Xu Zhang. His father was Victor Zhang, a well-known young entrepreneur. His mother was Elena, a former dance student—a classic rich, beautiful woman. The family lived in a villa in the new district, purchased years ago when property values were still reasonable.
To attract homebuyers, the developer had built a high-end sports complex exclusively for residents and their guests. Entry was limited.
Yet it was in this sports complex that Xiao Xu vanished without a trace.
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By the time we were called in, the child had been missing for over five hours.
From the moment I walked through the door, something felt off about the Zhang household.
The three-story villa was warmly decorated, but there wasn't a single family photo on the walls. Victor sat on the couch, smoking cigarette after cigarette, his arms and neck covered in scratch marks. Elena sat as far from him as possible, the left side of her face swollen, staring blankly at her phone, which displayed a photo of Xiao Xu at the dinosaur exhibit. The family's nanny, Ms. Chen, huddled in a corner, clutching a glass of herbal tea, her face pale, her eyes darting.
The only one who seemed remotely composed was Victor.
He explained that two months ago, Elena had enrolled Xiao Xu in swimming lessons at the complex's pool—Saturday sessions from 3 to 4 PM, with Ms. Chen accompanying the child while Elena went to the city center for beauty treatments.
Today was no different.
But at around 4 PM, Ms. Chen had a sudden stomachache. She went to the restroom for less than ten minutes, and when she came back, Xiao Xu was gone.
Ms. Chen insisted she'd searched everywhere—the pool, the changing rooms, the showers, the rest area, even the cleaning carts and linen bins. Every hiding spot, checked. Nothing.
Xiao Xu had evaporated.
At 4:47 PM, Elena received a mysterious call. An AI voice read a message: "Xiao Xu is with me. Prepare three million. If you call the police, he dies."
She panicked, skipped her beauty appointment, and rushed home. When she confirmed the child was truly missing, she contacted Victor immediately.
But Victor had been on a flight. It took two hours for him to get the message, and by the time he arrived, he wanted to call the police. Elena snatched his phone away.
"You can't! He said he'd kill our baby if we go to the police! Three million—we can afford it! Just give him the money!"
Ms. Chen echoed her: "Sir, don't call the police! If the kidnapper finds out, Xiao Xu is dead for sure!"
Both women were convinced the kidnapper would keep his word. Call the police, and the child would die.
Victor refused to gamble his son's life. He pushed Ms. Chen aside and tried to grab the phone back from Elena.
But Elena fought him hysterically, even accusing him of wanting to kill their child by involving the police.
In a rage, Victor slapped her. Ms. Chen jumped into the fray. Outnumbered, he smashed a flower vase out the window, startling a neighbor walking a dog.
The neighbor called building security, and security called us.
Victor looked haggard as he explained: "I understand my wife. Since our older boy died, Xiao Xu is everything to her. She won't take any risks. But she doesn't realize—kidnappers' promises mean nothing. They only want money, and they don't care whether the child lives or dies. Only the police can save him!"
After getting the full story, Hal immediately set up surveillance. I, meanwhile, focused on Ms. Chen.
Elena's emotional state—panic, irrationality, willingness to pay—made sense. But Ms. Chen was a nanny. Not only had she lost the child in a crowded, heavily monitored sports complex, she was also actively discouraging the family from calling the police. That was deeply suspicious.
Ms. Chen answered every question, but she kept unscrewing and rescrewing the lid of her glass tumbler, sipping chrysanthemum tea between answers. The unconscious gesture was a classic tell—someone under extreme stress, experiencing dry mouth and mental blanks.
I pulled her aside for a private conversation.
"Where did you lose the child?"
"Where did I lose the child," Ms. Chen repeated. "At the pool, in the sports complex. The complex has a pool."
"What time?"
"Four o'clock."
"What were you doing?"
"Using the restroom." She suddenly straightened, chin raised. "The restroom in the sports complex. I told the boy to wait by the door. Just a few minutes, and he was gone!"
My heart sank. She was lying.
Ms. Chen was unconsciously gripping the tumbler—a hard object—seeking security through physical contact. Her body language suggested she was trying to appear confident, but the drinking-and-screwing ritual betrayed acute anxiety.
---
Love Born of Mutual Suspicion (Part 2)
After leaving Ms. Chen, I rejoined Hal and the team. The lead from the sports complex was frustrating—every janitor, lifeguard, and staff member had been interviewed, and no one had seen anything unusual.
But I couldn't stop thinking about Ms. Chen's behavior.
"Have you checked the water filtration system?" I asked the security guard.
"The filtration room?" He looked confused. "We don't have a separate filtration system. The pool equipment is in the pump room."
"Not the pump room. The filtration system storage room."
"The storage room!" The guard's face lit up. "Wait, I didn't think of that. The key to the storage room is with the boss, and he left at 2:30."
The boss confirmed he'd given the key to a technician from the filtration company who'd come to replace a sand filter. He'd been in a hurry to catch a train and left before the job was done.
The security guard, however, insisted that the technician hadn't returned the key.
I knew we needed to check that storage room. I had the guard pull up the surveillance footage and look for the technician.
At 4:13 PM, a tall man with a flat top and a dinosaur-patterned fanny pack left the sports complex.
At 5:32 PM, the same man rode a three-wheeled motorcycle through a side gate, carrying a cardboard box.
Half an hour later, he left again—with the old filter and the same cardboard box on his vehicle. When the motorcycle hit a speed bump, the box jostled but didn't tip. Clearly, it still contained something heavy.
With our suspect identified, we moved on three fronts: Hal had the Zhangs identify the man on screen; we traced the filtration company to verify the technician's identity; and I called in backup to track the motorcycle through traffic cameras.
Soon, Hal delivered the news.
Ms. Chen recognized the technician—the man called himself Wesley Xu. He'd previously worked as Victor's assistant. Two years ago, he'd been imprisoned for financial fraud. After early release for good behavior, he'd retrained as a filtration technician and been back in society for five months.
The detective beside me added: "You've probably figured it out by now. The person who reported Wesley was Elena."
That bastard—he was getting revenge on the Zhangs!
---
Tracking Wesley was the easy part. Finding him was another matter.
What I didn't expect was that while we were hunting Wesley, Victor was poisoned.
It happened two days later.
Wesley was smart and had some counter-surveillance instincts. After kidnapping Xiao Xu, he'd cut all social ties, changed his SIM card, avoided traffic cameras, and headed west into the suburbs—where the cameras were sparse, the roads were maze-like, and traffic monitoring lost his trail.
Meanwhile, Victor's condition deteriorated. The initial symptoms looked like food poisoning—nausea, vomiting, dizziness—but his liver enzymes were elevated.
It was subtle. Almost impossible to detect without a full panel.
The doctor, upon learning that both Mr. and Mrs. Zhang had been present during the onset of symptoms, quietly ordered a broader toxicology screen.
Elena, who'd seemed inconsolable over Xiao Xu's disappearance, suddenly became aggressively attentive to Victor—too attentive, hovering at his bedside, refusing to leave even when the nurses asked her to.
When Victor was stabilized, I waited until Elena stepped out to make a phone call, then slipped into his room.
Victor grabbed my arm with surprising strength. "Arrest that pair of adulterers!"
He was referring to Elena and Wesley. He claimed they were conspiring to extort three million from him.
He also claimed that Xiao Xu was Wesley's son.
---
Love Born of Mutual Suspicion (Part 3)
Victor had loved Elena—loved her so much that he'd rather humiliate her, reduce her, transform her from a pampered heiress into a servant, just to keep her bound to him. When he discovered that Elena and Wesley were still in contact, his love curdled into hatred. A married woman who could still attract other men!
But Victor couldn't let go. He wanted Wesley to know that Elena was his. So he hired the man—who was struggling to find work—as his personal assistant, parading his wealth and beautiful wife while treating Wesley like a servant.
Victor thought he'd won. He didn't expect Wesley to use his position to start sleeping with Elena again.
Two years ago, their older son had fallen seriously ill. During routine testing, Victor discovered that the child's blood type didn't match his—a paternity test confirmed he wasn't the father.
Victor remembered the week Elena got pregnant: he'd been in Shenzhen at a business conference, while Wesley, recovering from an appendectomy, had stayed in the city to handle company affairs. They'd had plenty of opportunities.
He'd confronted Elena in a rage. The first time he ever hit her. Despite ironclad proof, Elena insisted the child was his, crying day after day, playing the victim, making a fool of him.
Victor finally realized Elena was a slut. The college rumors he'd tried so hard to forget took root and grew. The more he'd loved her, the more he hated her now. And he hated Wesley even more.
"She knew I couldn't leave her," Victor said, his words bleeding. "That vicious woman... she used my love for her, ate my food, spent my money, and made me raise another man's bastard!"
I frowned. "So you deliberately let Wesley find out about the kidnapping—so he'd kill your own child?"
Victor went silent, his breathing ragged.
"Are you insane? That's a five-year-old boy! Your own son!"
Victor yanked free of my grasp, his eyes blazing. "Conscience? Elena has no conscience! She and her two bastards deserve to die! And Wesley—I gave that man a job, and he repays me by sleeping with my wife!"
Victor claimed he'd been unable to endure the betrayal any longer. He'd arranged for the kidnapping to expose Elena's affair and use Wesley as a pawn.
But the evidence told a different story.
Victor had known about Wesley and Elena's relationship long before the kidnapping. He'd been monitoring their communications, tracking their movements, and biding his time.
He'd chosen the day of the swimming lesson because he knew Elena would be away and Ms. Chen would be the only one watching Xiao Xu. He'd given Wesley the key to the filtration room and arranged for him to be at the complex.
Victor had set the stage, lit the fuse, and stepped back to watch.
But he hadn't expected Wesley to actually harm the child. He'd assumed Wesley would hold Xiao Xu for ransom and Elena would pay up—and in the chaos, the affair would come to light, Elena would be discredited, and Victor would emerge as the wronged party.
He certainly hadn't expected Elena to poison him.
The toxicology report confirmed it: Victor had been given a slow-acting liver toxin, likely mixed into his food or drink over several days. The symptoms only appeared when the concentration reached a critical threshold.
Elena had been poisoning him.
When confronted, Elena broke down.
"He was going to kill our son," she sobbed. "He told Wesley where Xiao Xu was. He wanted Wesley to... to get rid of him. So he could get rid of me too."
Victor, from his hospital bed, shouted that she was lying.
But the evidence was clear. Victor had provided Wesley with the key to the filtration room. Victor had known about the kidnapping before Elena called the police. Victor had suggested they not call the police—not out of concern for Xiao Xu, but because he'd wanted Wesley to carry out the plan.
Elena had found out. She'd discovered the text messages Victor had exchanged with Wesley—"accidentally" leaked by Wesley himself, who'd been playing both sides for his own gain.
In a desperate attempt to stop Victor, Elena had begun poisoning him, hoping to weaken him enough to prevent him from destroying their family.
She'd been too late.
Wesley, meanwhile, had disappeared with Xiao Xu and the three million ransom. The manhunt continued for weeks before he was finally apprehended at a remote farmhouse in the western suburbs.
Xiao Xu was found alive—traumatized, malnourished, but alive.
The case went to trial. Victor was charged with conspiracy to commit kidnapping and child endangerment. Elena was charged with attempted murder. Wesley faced kidnapping, extortion, and a litany of other charges.
Three people, bound by love and suspicion, had destroyed each other. And a five-year-old boy was left to pick up the pieces.
I visited Xiao Xu in the hospital. He was sitting up in bed, clutching a stuffed dinosaur—the only toy Wesley had allowed him to bring.
When he saw me, he asked, "Is Mommy coming back?"
I didn't have an answer.
---
Silent Bones (Part 1)
The first time I met my mentor, I thought he was a little "weird."
And the case that followed was even weirder—a crime spanning five years, where every victim had endured profound loneliness and despair. The case was horrifying, absurd, yet considered "logical" by those who knew the details.
When confronted during interrogation, the suspect said, "If you'd experienced what I've experienced, you'd understand."
Five years ago, my district received a call. A river dredging project had unearthed a rusted iron barrel filled with cement—and the unmistakable stench of decay.
Workers thought it was debris until a scavenger tried to crack it open and discovered human bones.
The phone didn't stop ringing after that.
My colleagues and I rushed to the scene, secured the area, and began the investigation. The city bureau's homicide team took over the forensics.
I stood with my notebook, briefing the visiting brass.
"The construction crew started at 8 AM and found the barrel about ninety minutes later. Around noon, a worker on break discovered the bones. Due to water erosion and unprofessional extraction, the remains were partially damaged. We've collected and marked all bone fragments."
When the leader asked about the project timeline, I pointed to the riverbank. "Three years ago, the government invested over four billion in a comprehensive river restoration project, dredging from upstream to here. Crews have rotated, so we can't confirm whether the barrel was visible before. As for the surrounding area, four years ago the city installed cameras at selected points along the waterfront for a walking path, but full surveillance coverage along both banks was only completed last year."
Before I could finish, someone behind me asked, "What's your take?"
I startled and turned. A man in his thirties, messy hair, dark jacket, unremarkable—except for his eyes. Black, bright, and unsettling.
I'd been on the force for less than a year—I handled community disputes fine, but murders were out of my depth. This felt like a pop quiz with the teacher calling on me.
"Uh... I think... the cameras probably didn't catch the perpetrator."
"Reason?"
I organized my thoughts. "A body in water takes about two years to skeletonize, but encased in cement, the timeline would be longer. That means the cameras installed last year couldn't have captured the dumping."
He nodded, signaling me to continue.
"Based on the weight of the cement barrel, the killer needed a vehicle—and likely an accomplice. Two adult males would struggle to lift it even together. The waterfront path has guardrails and heavy foot traffic, making it an unlikely dump site. So the cameras might not be much use."
I was sweating. My reasoning seemed logical but was ultimately speculative. I was performing in front of a master, hoping not to embarrass myself.
To my surprise, he merely glanced at me, said, "Thanks for your cooperation," and walked away.
I stood frozen, my ears burning.
The leader patted my shoulder. "Don't mind Young Yang—he's always like that. Come help with the neighborhood canvas."
After the initial investigation, the case was transferred to the city bureau. I returned to my local station, still fuming, and went back to mediating neighbor disputes.
A week later, my grandmother called. The police had been to see her.
They'd broken through the cement and extracted a curled-up skeleton.
The autopsy showed the victim was female, in her sixties, dead for approximately three years. Multiple healed fractures—none fatal. Without internal organs, the exact cause of death couldn't be determined.
The body wore an old undershirt and shorts, and clutched a small embroidered pouch with a pattern resembling the character for "rice"—though it wasn't rice. It was a spider. Inside the pouch was a waterlogged wooden charm.
No identification. No match in the missing persons database for the past two to three years.
The city bureau issued a public appeal for information.
Soon, someone reported recognizing the pouch. The victim might be "Grandma Zhou."
Grandma Zhou was from the Yao ethnic minority. Her villages had a tradition of embroidering spider-web patterns on clothing to honor spiders that had saved their ancestors. Decades earlier, Grandma Zhou's husband had died, and she'd sold her land in the village, moving to the city to live with her son, Justin Zhou, and his wife, Maya. She'd embroidered matching spider-web pouches for herself and her son as protective charms.
And Justin Zhou's family had once been our neighbors.