“He held his ticket upside down just now and stared at it for a long while without noticing the error. A literate man would not have made such an obvious mistake.” Shi Ting’s gaze carried a weight of quiet pressure. “Tell us. Where did the clothes come from?”
The old man, hearing this, immediately looked aggrieved. “My lord, I’ve been wronged. You’re right — these clothes aren’t mine. But I didn’t steal them or take them by force. What you said is true: I’m an old sailor. I’m heading to Taishan County to look for odd jobs on a fishing boat along the Bohai coast.”
He thought for a moment. “About an hour ago, a man suddenly approached me and asked to exchange clothes. He even threw in a wicker trunk. I’ve never worn anything so fine in my life — naturally I was happy to agree.”
“Can you describe what this man looked like?”
“He wore glasses. Scholarly-looking. About the same as that teacher from just now.”
“And what were you originally wearing?”
The old man answered plainly, “A grey cross-collar cotton jacket, black tapered trousers, and a cloth sash tied at the waist. If he hasn’t thrown it away, the sash should still be with him.”
Shi Ting glanced at Bai Jin, who immediately looked stricken. “Don’t tell me we have to search through fifteen carriages all over again. There’s no shortage of common folk on this train dressed exactly like that — you’d find dozens of them in one go. And with the train about to pull into the station, there’s no time to search.”
“The shoes.” Shi Ting said it simply, his gaze sharp and clear. “Understand?”
Bai Jin paused — then his face lit up. “I’ve got it.”
The old man was dressed in fine new clothes, but beneath them, wholly at odds with the outfit, were a pair of worn black cloth shoes, their sides scuffed with mud.
After murdering the victim, the killer had panicked and feared discovery. He took everything that might identify him. But guilt made him paranoid; wherever he moved, he felt eyes on him. So he arranged the clothing swap with the old sailor, seeking the comfort of anonymity. In his rushed state of mind, however, he had forgotten to swap the shoes — which meant the killer was still wearing a pair of new leather shoes.
Coarse clothes paired with new shoes: a combination that immediately shrank the search considerably.
Before long, Bai Jin had pulled a bespectacled, scholarly-looking man from Carriage 8 — dressed in rough common clothing but wearing unmistakably new leather shoes. When the cloth bag he was carrying was opened, it held clothing as well as two finely made boxes; inside the boxes were gold and silver jewelry of considerable value. When his right hand was examined, the fingers were heavily stained with ink — stains of long standing, already resistant to washing.
“The fox has shown its tail.” Bai Jin’s smile was cold. “Come with me.”
The man’s face had gone white, yet he was still protesting vigorously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an ordinary passenger. Do you think you can just seize people at will? Is there no rule of law?”
“That’s exactly the question I ought to be asking you.” Bai Jin yanked the man to his feet. “Killing someone in broad daylight for her belongings — do you believe in the rule of law? You’ll have your chance to speak at the Military Police Division. Whether you were wronged or not, the evidence will decide.”
At that moment, the train, already decelerating, shuddered to a stop. Miaodong Station had been reached.
The moment the train halted, passengers preparing to disembark rose and reached for their things. Using the press of the crowd that surged into the aisle, the man suddenly seized Bai Jin’s arm and bit down hard. The moment Bai Jin’s grip loosened, he bolted without a second glance toward the carriage door.
—