The case of the teddy bear hiding a corpse, Part 1.6
"Ms. Zhang Shufen is seventy-six years old this year," Chen Ming suddenly said. "She has late-stage Alzheimer's disease. But she occasionally becomes lucid, crying and asking why no one has punished the person who hit and killed her grandson."
Another raindrop landed on Fan Jinci's eyelashes. He blinked. "Your mother."
"Smart." Chen Ming smiled. "Do you know why I chose to meet you today? Twenty years ago today, the court acquitted Liu Zhiqiang—insufficient evidence."
He pulled an old, worn-out teddy bear from his pocket, so dirty its original color was unrecognizable: "This was my son's favorite toy. Now, it can finally rest in peace."
Suddenly, Chen Ming strode to the edge of the water tower. The strong wind whipped his white coat around his neck, making him look like a dying bird spreading its wings. Police cars on the twelfth floor had already formed a circle, their red flashing lights blurring in the rain.
"Don't come any closer!" Chen Ming held up the tattered teddy bear. "The final step must be completed by me personally—the eyes of the witnesses will record everything."
Fan Jinci remained standing, his voice as calm as if he were reading an autopsy report: "If you had jumped, the impact would have completely destroyed your son's brain tissue. You will never be able to prove that your son's prefrontal cortex injury is consistent with Liu Xiaoyu's."
Chen Ming's hand trembled slightly.
"Furthermore," Fan Jinci slowly removed his mask, "Ms. Zhang Shufen passed away this morning. The nurses at the nursing home said her last words were 'Let yourself go.'"
The wind and rain suddenly intensified, and Chen Ming's gold-rimmed glasses were covered in water droplets. He froze on the edge like a sculpture, his white coat completely soaked, clinging to his body and revealing his thin silhouette.
"You're lying." But his voice was already wavering.
Fan Jinci took out his phone from his pocket. On the screen was a photo of a hospital bed: "The timestamp is 6:23 this morning. She's holding this in her hand." The image zoomed in, revealing a faded plaster cast of a baby's handprint.
Chen Ming's knees visibly buckled. Fan Jinci seized the opportunity to take two steps forward: "Do you know what forensic pathologists are best at? It's not dissecting corpses, but deciphering the final messages left by death. Your mother died of a myocardial infarction—but her expression was calm."
A drop of rain slid down Chen Ming's cheek, indistinguishable between rain and tears. His right hand loosened slightly, and the old teddy bear dangled precariously a hundred meters in the air.
"You've become him," Fan Jinci said softly, "The same eyes, the same hatred. Only your scalpel is more precise."
The wind suddenly shifted, scattering Chen Ming's meticulously combed hair. In that instant, he looked ten years older.
"Precise?" He gave a wry smile. "Then why do I still hear my son crying every night?"
Fan Jinci had already walked to within two meters of him: "Because neuroscience can't explain the soul. You know better than anyone that the organs in those specimen jars can never answer 'why.'"
Yu Yan's voice came from downstairs through a loudspeaker, but it was muffled by the wind and rain. Chen Ming looked down at the tattered teddy bear in his hand and suddenly let out a choked sob that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
"You know what," his voice suddenly became unusually clear, "I had planned to leave the last teddy bear to you."
Fan Jinci's pupils contracted slightly.
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