Chapter Fifty-Seven: Adidas!

“There’s a cigarette butt here,” Tang Jingjing said as she crouched down, brushing aside an empty instant noodle wrapper. Beneath it, indeed, was a cigarette butt. I put on gloves and carefully picked it up, astonished to find the saliva on it was still moist.

I was taken aback. “Mr. Lin, I think the suspect returned here within the past hour—perhaps to relive the thrill of the crime.”

Mr. Lin nodded at once. “Go and ask if anyone’s been here in the last hour.”

I hurried outside to inquire, only to be told that no one had been here—not just in the past hour, but since this morning. Without delay, I handed the cigarette butt over for examination and requested tests to determine whether the instant noodles retrieved from the boy’s stomach contained any substances that could induce muteness.

The officers nodded and rushed out with the evidence. During the autopsy, we hadn’t found any signs that the boy’s mouth had been forced open—meaning it wasn’t due to external force, but likely something he’d ingested that caused temporary loss of speech.

Mr. Lin analyzed, “Only our officers and the boy’s family could have entered the scene. We must immediately compare the DNA of all officers and the boy’s family with the saliva on this cigarette butt.”

I called the station chief and told him to begin this work at once. He replied that a forensic team had already been dispatched with a large truck to assist us, which would save us much trouble.

Tang Jingjing interjected, “Mr. Lin, I think there’s another possible source for that cigarette butt.”

Mr. Lin looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Could someone have deliberately thrown it in from outside the wall?”

Mr. Lin frowned. “That seems unlikely, unless the person was a fool. Why would anyone do that? To taunt us?”

Tang Jingjing nodded. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

I walked back to where the body had been hung and checked the opposite wall. It was remarkably clean—clearly, the killer was meticulous and had cleaned it more thoroughly than the other walls. Still, no matter how well someone tidies up, forensic methods can reveal footprints unless they’ve used particularly unusual means.

Ancient forensic texts mention that when no trace is visible, one can use charcoal fire and strong sunlight; the heat brings out latent prints. Nowadays, with forensic science, all it takes is a high-intensity flash or ultraviolet light to capture clear images of footprints.

I told the officers to get a powerful camera; if the station lacked the right equipment, they were to find one at a photography shop. One way or another, we had to get it done.

Soon, an officer returned with a woman carrying a portable exposure board and camera—she looked like a professional. The space inside was too cramped for the board, so they set it up by the window. The photographs were quickly taken, and the woman left to develop them. To avoid any mishaps, I sent an officer to accompany her.

We searched the scene again but found nothing else, so we sealed it off. Just as we were about to leave, Tang Jingjing suddenly said she smelled a faint trace of blood.

I was puzzled. “Impossible—the boy died of asphyxiation. There wasn’t any blood. Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

But Tang Jingjing was adamant. “No, there’s definitely blood.”

I searched the scene again but found nothing. Then Li Hong ran out from the kitchen, saying there was a slaughtered chicken in there. Tang Jingjing, disappointed, guessed it must have been chicken blood.

We went straight to the station, where a medical van was collecting blood samples from the officers. The DNA analysis equipment couldn’t be brought here, so samples would be sent to the hospital for testing.

Not long after, the owner of the photo shop brought us several photos. The images showed messy footprints—not clear, but the outlines were visible.

Suddenly, I remembered something and asked the chief, “From the footprints, it looks like the victim was wearing shoes when he died. Did you find any shoes at the scene?”

The chief shook his head. “No. The scene you saw is exactly how we found it.”

“That’s strange. Where did the boy’s shoes go? Did the killer take them? But why?”

I looked at Mr. Lin.

Mr. Lin mused, “From a psychological perspective, perhaps the perpetrator has a foot fetish.”

I nodded thoughtfully.

“Judging by the prints, they were sneakers,” I said. “And look—this mark resembles the Adidas logo. Those shoes must cost several hundred yuan. Maybe the killer took them for their value?”

Mr. Lin considered. “That’s possible. In that case, chief, we have a new task: check the village and see which children have Adidas sneakers. Record it discreetly; we don’t want to alert anyone and risk scaring off the suspect.”

The chief nodded. “I’ll send people out right away. By the way, I think we should also search Lai San’s place and the abandoned house. Who knows—maybe Lai San hid the shoes?”

Mr. Lin replied, “We’ll handle the abandoned house. You focus on the local children.”

The chief agreed and left with his team. Mr. Lin led us back to the abandoned house.

As we walked, Mr. Lin confided that he had little hope—no killer would let their own child wear shoes taken from a victim, that would be too obvious. Nor did he expect to find the shoes in the abandoned house, but he wanted us to check it ourselves, fearing the chief might inadvertently disturb potential clues. With his decades of experience, he suspected the place was closely linked to the murder.

We combed through the site but, as expected, found nothing. Our visit was more for show than out of real expectation.

When we returned, the chief had also just come back, looking dispirited—the search had turned up nothing. He said he could only hope his subordinates had had better luck.

One by one, his officers returned, all empty-handed—until finally, Xiao Li showed up, leading a boy and carrying a pair of sneakers.

The chief was astonished. “What happened, Xiao Li?”

Xiao Li grinned. “At first, the boy denied having such shoes, but he seemed nervous, so I pretended to leave. As soon as I did, he slipped out of the house with something under his arm. I figured it must be the shoes—checked, and sure enough, they were Adidas.”

“Well done,” the chief said.

He handed the shoes to me. They were almost new and had just been cleaned—their owner clearly cherished them.

Before we could speak, the boy said stubbornly, “I didn’t steal these shoes.”

“We know you didn’t,” Xiao Li sneered. “Did you rob someone for them?”

I immediately ordered Xiao Li to stop talking.

Mr. Lin stepped forward, smiling as he patted the boy’s head. “Listen, kid. We know you didn’t steal them. We just want to ask you some questions. Answer us honestly, and we’ll take you to KFC afterward.”

The boy, around twelve or thirteen—the age when appetite rules—immediately brightened. “Okay, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Mr. Lin asked, “How did you get these shoes?”