Chapter 44: Ex-Boyfriends

For two consecutive days, Jiang Yuan focused entirely on processing the fingerprints in the Ding Lan case.

Because he had solved several cases, including one that drew nationwide attention, Jiang Yuan’s “newcomer” label had almost completely vanished—or rather, it now shone brightly.

Now, at least within the Ningtai County Bureau, most people had heard the name “Jiang Yuan.”

The most direct consequence was that no one asked Jiang Yuan to do menial tasks anymore.

Even Wu Jun, seeing Jiang Yuan busy with Ding Lan’s missing person case fingerprints, no longer ordered him to run errands. “Solving cases” was still a highly valued trait at the grassroots county level; ordinary police officers willingly worked overtime to solve cases, and none would encroach on Jiang Yuan’s time.

To be honest, only Jiang Yuan could handle the fingerprints in the Ding Lan missing person case.

There were too many difficult fingerprints; the county’s two trace evidence technicians couldn’t finish them all. Requesting help from provincial or municipal trace evidence units was impossible—the case didn’t qualify as serious enough for such assistance.

In a way, this was a kind of culinary oddity—unappetizing yet hard to discard.

Fortunately, Jiang Yuan carried no pressure, unlike Wei Zhenguo or Wang Zhong, who always had daily tasks assigned, leaving them little spare time they couldn’t fully devote to cases.

Most humans still prefer leisure when they can. If everyone were constantly squeezing in study and work, where would the sweat-drenched nights in red-light districts, pink hair salons, neon nightclubs, and dimly lit clubs come from? And if everyone were constantly squeezing in study and work, where would the sweat-drenched nights in red-light districts, pink hair salons, neon nightclubs, and dimly lit clubs come from?

Of course, the forensic system’s role cannot be ignored. Even without skill enhancement, its mere presence made Jiang Yuan more focused.

Even Wu Jun, watching Jiang Yuan’s work state, couldn’t help remarking: “When I was young, if I’d been as single-minded about dissecting corpses as you are, I’d have been transferred to the city long ago.”

“Is being a city bureau forensic technician better?” Jiang Yuan sipped tea, giving his eyes a rest.

Wu Jun paused to think, then said: “Salary’s a few hundred higher, at least.”

Jiang Yuan didn’t even blink: “Then it makes no difference.”

“When housing is allocated, the county bureau’s housing is in the county, the city bureau’s is in the city,” Wu Jun said, glancing at Jiang Yuan, suddenly losing interest, and waved his hand: “But for people from Jiang Village, maybe it doesn’t matter either.”

“My family doesn’t own much property in the city,” Jiang Yuan explained.

Wu Jun chuckled, finding the conversation dull, and pointed at the computer screen: “How are the fingerprints coming? If you find a lead, let Lao Wei check it out. Evidence isn’t better just because there’s more of it.”

“One more day, and all the identifiable fingerprints should be done. Timing-wise, it seems about right.” Jiang Yuan glanced again at his notebook, then pulled out his phone and called Wei Zhenguo.

Soon after, Wei Zhenguo ran up.

He climbed four flights of stairs in one go, breathless but beaming: “Any results?”

“Most of them. A few I haven’t matched yet—I’ll keep working; maybe tomorrow I’ll get a few more matches.” Jiang Yuan stapled the freshly printed pages and handed them to Wei Zhenguo.

The first name on the list was a convicted prisoner.

“Provoking trouble, brawling… damn, we matched this guy? Why haven’t you called yet?” Wei Zhenguo stopped dead at the first entry, eager to act.

“Dead,” Jiang Yuan gave an unanswerable reply.

Wei Zhenguo thought differently—he looked at Jiang Yuan’s notes, frowned, and said: “He wasn’t dead when he left his fingerprints. Ding Lan disappeared on March 26; he’d just been released from prison. If he was the one behind this… it might be a dead end.”

At this moment, Wei Zhenguo regretted asking Jiang Yuan—he’d wasted so much of his time, and if this path led nowhere, he’d feel guilty.

Jiang Yuan had no experience and didn’t think ahead—he simply said: “Look further down.”

“Hmm… provoking trouble, assault… another one?” Wei Zhenguo now noticed the second match a few entries later.

“Also dead,” Jiang Yuan added.

“That doesn’t make sense!” Wei Zhenguo hissed. “Two dead men’s fingerprints on a broken bicycle—and both are career criminals?”

As a detective, Wei Zhenguo’s mind already flashed through a string of cases: gang crimes, disputes over loot, murder to silence witnesses…

“This one died of cancer. Acute pancreatic cancer—he had surgery, underwent chemotherapy, spent six months in the hospital, suffered terribly,” Jiang Yuan said. “I called his mother personally.”

Jiang Yuan wasn’t entirely insensitive; his detailed explanation aimed to prove that, at least for the second man, death posed no suspicious circumstances.

Wei Zhenguo sighed, sharing the same concern—if this man caused Ding Lan’s disappearance, it could still be a dead end.

The third match was relatively normal: a young man with only administrative penalties on his record, still alive.

Seeing this, Wei Zhenguo shook his head: “How did a little girl like her get to know these people?”

“Social apps,” Jiang Yuan replied, far more adapted to this than Wei Zhenguo: “I reviewed your earlier interviews. Several of Ding Lan’s ex-boyfriends met her through social apps.”

“This…” Wei Zhenguo felt as if he’d been thrown back to the case’s early days—ex-boyfriend after ex-boyfriend emerging, making the case instantly murky.

A single bicycle dumped in the greenbelt was far too little to trace so many leads.

More worrying was that if a crime had occurred, the suspect might not have left any fingerprints on the bicycle at all.

As for social apps—they did keep records, but extracting them was more troublesome than ordinary people imagined. Getting data via network or phone calls was manageable, but many companies didn’t offer such convenience; officers had to travel to their jurisdiction, apply through local police, and due to queues, each trip often took one or two weeks.

If you tried checking every major social app, a police squad wouldn’t have time for any other cases that month.

Starting from the fourth match, all fingerprint owners were ordinary—none had criminal records.

Jiang Yuan extracted every piece of information accessible through the police system. His clearance level was low; some data he obtained through Wu Jun’s phone. But the problem remained: seeing conclusions from such basic data was possible for Sherlock Holmes, but not for Jiang Yuan.

Wei Zhenguo’s head throbbed from reading—he sighed helplessly: “When I opened this case, there were no leads, so I shelved it. Now there are too many leads, and I don’t know where to start. They say fortune turns—today’s the day it stuck.”

“If there’s no standout lead, just check them one by one,” Jiang Yuan said—he’d processed the fingerprints exactly that way. In fact, criminal investigation techniques were generally crude; few were brilliant enough to inspire awe.

Many criminal investigation techniques were third- or fourth-hand, even fifth-hand—only after they’d traveled from scientific laboratories to university labs, then to private enterprises and industry-wide adoption, did they finally enter criminal investigation.

There were many reasons for this, one being the high trust cost in criminal investigation—it demanded mature, stable technology.

Overall, being slow didn’t matter. The techniques criminal investigation favored were those that could reliably get the job done.

Wei Zhenguo had initially accepted Jiang Yuan’s methods after experiencing his direct approach to suspects; now, hearing Jiang Yuan suggest “checking them one by one,” he felt momentarily dazed.

“Investigating leads is our old trade,” Wei Zhenguo chuckled, rubbing his greasy head, his eyes turning fierce: “Fine. I’ll go talk to these ex-boyfriends.”