Chapter 961: Stirring the Grass to Startle the Snake

Wei Changxue was slightly comforted by a few words, calmed down, and began describing the events of that day to Jiang Yuan.

Xiao Si occasionally added a remark.

There was nothing particularly unusual about it—at least to a police officer, it was just a routine all-night interrogation.

The reason for the all-night interrogation was simple: the suspect had been caught in the afternoon, and they wanted to press while the iron was hot—just like an ordinary office worker pulling an all-nighter during a heavy workload. The difference was that detectives often needed suspects’ cooperation.

The interrogation room issue wasn’t anything special either. The Zhengguang Bureau had been conducting many operations recently, and the well-equipped interrogation center was reserved for special case teams—so even if Jiang Yuan, an expert like him, arrested a petty thief, they’d still be sent to the interrogation center.

As a result, the small burglary suspects captured by Xiao Si and Wei Changxue either had to be temporarily held at a local police station or forced to use the old facility in the old building. Even if there were empty interrogation rooms in the center, they couldn’t be used without a special application—within the past two weeks, none were available.

Judicial matters weigh nothing until placed on the scale; once on, they exceed a thousand jin.

The key problem was that the suspect had escaped.

If the suspect wasn’t caught, many things would become impossible to clarify.

Only because Cui Qishan was willing to stand up for Xiao Si and Wei Changxue, and Tao Lu had agreed out of respect for Cui Qishan, did the two men still have a chance to discuss whether they could recover—otherwise, they’d have already taken a massive fall before even getting to the question of rising again.

After listening to their account, Jiang Yuan paused briefly, then asked: “How much time do we have?”

Cui Qishan understood his meaning: “Tao Zhi can give you 24 hours. If there’s hope, you can stretch it to 36 hours—after that, you must report upward.”

“Still fairly generous. But we might not find him.” Jiang Yuan spoke with emotional intelligence.

“If we don’t find him, it’s their own fault,” Cui Qishan said bluntly, taking responsibility for the two: “24 hours gets them a reprimand, 36 hours a major reprimand. If we still don’t find him after that, it’s up to their luck.”

“What about the budget?” Jiang Yuan asked practical questions. Solving cases is an extremely expensive endeavor—budget determines the methods.

For example, in this case, theoretically, if the case were large enough and deemed sufficiently critical, the entire city could be mobilized: checkpoints added, technical surveillance deployed, cyber and image analysis teams working overtime, police dogs brought in, big data analysis activated, and orders issued to major internet companies—if urgent enough, Xu Taining could even be summoned.

But without money, it’s simple: just register the suspect online as a fugitive and wait for news. If lucky, another city’s detectives might find him, and two officers could be sent to retrieve him for a few thousand yuan in travel expenses.

Cui Qishan cleared his throat twice: “Tao Zhi’s position is that it depends entirely on your needs. If under a million, just sign the form directly. If not enough, I’ll apply to him again.”

With a budget of several hundred thousand yuan, the main costs would be travel and various testing fees. Personnel salaries and fixed assets like vehicles aren’t counted—just sending one car with two officers means accommodation and allowances alone exceed a thousand yuan; DNA and trace evidence tests cost hundreds per test. When you add it all up, several hundred thousand yuan doesn’t go far.

But since we need to resolve this within 24 or even 36 hours, this level of spending is already generous.

“Call Liu Chu,” Jiang Yuan said, glancing at Cui Qishan, then at Xiao Si and Wei Changxue. “I don’t have experience chasing fugitives. I haven’t done a detailed crime scene inspection yet, but from my initial observation, I think we’ll get very few clues from the bathroom.”

“Alright,” Cui Qishan said. He’d hoped Jiang Yuan would use Zhengguang Bureau’s detectives, but since Jiang Yuan had already suggested it, he said no more.

Liu Jinghui’s abilities were recognized by Cui Qishan and others, and with his rapport with Jiang Yuan, the Jiang-Liu team clearly had a higher chance of success.

As for Zhengguang Bureau’s own detectives, while some might surpass Liu Jinghui in background and talent, their experience was far inferior.

This was a common divide between the capital bureau and local bureaus. The capital bureau never lacked smart, bold, capable people—but precisely because there were so many, they often lacked case-solving experience, especially opportunities to handle cases alone. Many even refused to go to the front lines.

Liu Jinghui had spent years traveling across Shannan Province, taking on cases under constant pressure, which built his current strength—opportunities that highly educated, brilliant people in the capital bureau rarely got.

“I’ll call Liu Chu… hmm… or better yet, a conference call—no need for him to come to the scene.” Jiang Yuan thought for a moment; flying in would take several hours.

“If it’s a conference call, I need to report to Tao Zhi,” Cui Qishan said, naturally worried about leaks—but unlike when he first invited Jiang Yuan, he now had more confidence they could find the man—or rather, he trusted Jiang Yuan could bring him back.

If they found the suspect, the disciplinary action would be softened. Also, Jiang Yuan’s first round of scene inspection was crucial. One had to admit—even officers like Cui Qishan never lacked suspicion.

Cui Qishan didn’t call—he walked straight to report, then returned and nodded to Jiang Yuan for confirmation.

During that time, Jiang Yuan had already conducted on-site inspections of the interrogation room, the bathroom, and the wall-climbing point.

The traces were all simple, consistent with the ordinary actions of an average thief. Since the suspect’s identity was confirmed and the modus operandi documented, the main takeaway from the inspection was that there was no accomplice and the crime was likely unplanned.

Jiang Yuan, of course, was dissatisfied with this conclusion, but Cui Qishan was pleased: “Unplanned is good—it means the disciplinary inspection won’t rush to a conclusion.”

Cui Qishan then arranged the conference call.

Soon, Tao Lu arrived, and Cui Qishan dialed Liu Jinghui’s number, which he had just contacted.

“Liu Chu, thank you for your hard work, troubling you in the midst of your busy schedule…” After a round of formalities, Cui Qishan added: “Shall I brief you on the case?”

“Alright,” Liu Jinghui replied.

Cui Qishan quickly summarized the case.

Liu Jinghui interjected a few questions, then listened in silence.

“That’s all, Liu Chu,” Cui Qishan said, voice hoarse.

“Hmm…” Liu Jinghui paused several seconds before replying, cleared his throat, then spoke slowly: “I was out on a case today, so I’ll be brief. Based on what I’ve heard, finding the suspect within 24 or 36 hours depends on luck. If unlucky, it could take months—normal.”

“We know,” Cui Qishan hurried to say.

“You’ve already used standard fugitive-tracking methods. Since they’ve yielded no results, the rest will still depend on luck,” Liu Jinghui said bluntly to his colleague.

The earliest fugitive-tracking method was checking relatives and friends—and it still works well. Humans are social creatures; even while on the run, many still try to contact loved ones. Many uneducated fugitives, thinking they’ve found clever tricks, often get caught here.

Modern fugitive-tracking methods are more varied: technical surveillance, internet data, facial recognition, big data comparisons. But all of these are essentially passive approaches.

If the suspect can endure solitude, Xiao Si and the others will face full disciplinary penalties.

Liu Jinghui understood the situation well. He listed the difficulties first: “Under normal circumstances, the suspect isn’t carrying a phone, has left video surveillance zones, no facial recognition alerts have been triggered, he has no immediate family, and most importantly—he may have over a million yuan in hidden assets. Under normal conditions, your best bet right now is pure luck.”

Cui Qishan sighed: “That’s right. That million yuan in stolen goods is a big problem—and it includes cash.”

Fugitive chases mostly target the poor. Once someone has money, escape options multiply. That’s why in movies, a spy’s escape kit always includes documents, weapons—and above all, cash.

Liu Jinghui grunted: “Normally, yes. But fortunately… you’ve brought Jiang Yuan.”

“I can’t do anything either,” Jiang Yuan said, sitting beside him, stunned. His toolkit had its limits—he couldn’t summon clues out of thin air.

Liu Jinghui chuckled softly: “My suggestion? Use Jiang Yuan to stir up the grass and scare the snake.”

“What does that mean?”

“Find some confidential informants, spread the word that Jiang Yuan is hunting this man, and see what feedback comes back.” Liu Jinghui’s faint chuckle was audible to all.