Qin Guan was confused.
Old He was clearly not joking; he was seriously digging into that past incident, digging very, very deep—though Qin Guan still couldn't grasp Old He's real purpose at this moment.
Was he trying to prove something?
Prove that Qin Guan had a prior murder conviction? So that in Qi Min's case, despite the numerous doubts, they could still "conclude" it was Qin Guan's doing?
Using such a flimsy argument to pin him as the killer?
Qin Guan's mind was a mess. He stared suspiciously at Old He's stern, stubborn face—this man, though not particularly capable, was certainly not naive or ignorant enough for this. Forget the lack of evidence for those two incidents years ago; even if there was evidence, it had nothing to do with the current case and couldn't be lumped together by analogy.
It simply wouldn't hold up in court.
But was this man just wasting his effort?
Qin Guan couldn't understand.
Of course, he wouldn't answer Old He's question either.
"It's fine if you don't say anything. I'll tell you!"
Old He flipped to the next page of the file. There were printed case photos, the first one showing the corpse.
The body floated face down in the fishpond, covered by a thin layer of snow, like a bundle of messy black weeds, or like a bloated dead dog.
"The night your father died, there was a light snowfall. His body was found floating on the water early the next morning. After reporting it, the police immediately photographed the scene nearby,"
Old He pushed the photo forward so Qin Guan could see.
Around the fishpond, near the railing where the incident occurred, there were also some chaotic footprints.
"On this snowy ground, the fresh footprints belong to the two eyewitnesses who found the body. Your father's footprints were nearly filled in by the snow, but not completely. The snow almost stopped after midnight, so the footprints were preserved,"
"Look, here they are. Below are the shoe prints, and above are partial footprints in the thin snow—all your father's. The tread pattern perfectly matches the shoes on your father's feet,"
"These footprints prove that your father, after drinking that night, went home first, and then came out again,"
Old He stared at Qin Guan.
Qin Guan remained silent—the police had told him this back then and had questioned him about it.
"My dad often did that. If he hadn't drunk enough, he'd come home and throw a tantrum, then go out again to find someone to drink with. Sometimes he'd just take liquor out with him. He didn't like drinking at home, always been like that. I couldn't control him." That's how he had answered back then.
"He did take liquor out with him, hidden in his coat. But as he passed the fishpond, he plunged headfirst into it and drowned. The reason wasn't that bottle of liquor,"
Old He leaned forward a few inches, closer to Qin Guan. "He fell into the fishpond because you drugged him."
Qin Guan's eyelids trembled faintly.
Immediately after, his eyelids relaxed and dropped quickly.
Impossible.
His experience told him this couldn't be known—back when it happened, no one had suspected him. The police hadn't even performed an autopsy on his drunkard father. Now, seventeen years later, how could they prove it?
A new autopsy?
That bastard's bones were probably gone by now.
Even if the bones remained, whatever he'd ingested back then would be absolutely impossible to detect.
"Your thinking is correct. Today, it's certainly impossible to detect any issues from the body," Old He sneered, watching the shifting emotions in Qin Guan's micro-expressions. "It was detected from that bottle of liquor."
"You must remember signing the papers when the police returned your father's body that day,"
Yes, Qin Guan had signed.
After the body was recovered, the police did a brief examination and pretty much figured out what happened—a notorious drunk, thoroughly intoxicated on a winter night, consciousness blurred, the snowy ground slippery, plunging headfirst into the water. His padded clothes soaked up water, becoming heavy and cold. He couldn't struggle free, and with no one around to rescue him, he lost his life.
An accident.
An entirely expected accident.
The villagers gathered around spoke with absolute certainty, all claiming they had accurately predicted this man's fate. "Ah, Shigui was always like that. When he got his hands on liquor, he wouldn't even recognize his own father. Drunk and senseless day after day. I said long ago, drinking like this wouldn't do, he was bound to have an accident sooner or later!"
"It's normal for a man to drink, but Shigui had no restraint. Which day out of three hundred and sixty-five did he not drink? When he drank, he had to drink his fill. If you didn't give him any, he'd get mad, like his life depended on it. Well now, liquor took his life!"
…
And of course, no one suspected Qin Guan.
The body was delivered home. Several officers, seeing the small boy standing there alone and stunned, shed sympathetic tears. The female officer handing Qin Guan the pen was so choked up she could barely form a complete sentence. "Child, child, you... you need to sign here. Your dad... your dad isn't coming back…"
Qin Guan signed, received the body, and accepted the tears shed for him by the villagers.
"Poor child. So smart, yet born into a family like this. I told Shigui long ago to quit that liquor, but he wouldn't. Pitiful, harming the child…"
"Exactly. No matter how bad parents are, they're still parents. Now, he's a child without father or mother, an orphan…"
"All alone, just a little thing, how will he survive…"
No one knew the panic churning inside Qin Guan at that moment—he had been staring fixedly at the liquor bottle in the officer's hand. The bottle his drunkard father had tucked into his coat, still half-full.
"Uncle, can I have this bottle? My dad loved drinking. I... I want to put this with him, so he... so he can keep drinking down below…"
Back then, Qin Guan had mustered his courage to step forward and plead with that visibly soft-hearted, kind female officer.
But she hadn't given it to him.
"They said they needed to take it back first, that they'd bring it to you next time, right? But they never did,"
Old He sneered. "Must have kept you on edge for a long time, huh? After all, you wanted that bottle back. Of course, the liquor inside wasn't the problem. You couldn't have drugged the liquor itself because your father was a drunk. A drunk's tongue is the sharpest. The slightest change in the taste of the liquor, and he'd notice immediately,"
"You were afraid the bottle itself would betray you,"
"Thinking back, you were already in middle school then. Academically, you were exceptionally bright and diligent. By junior high, you were already self-studying physics and chemistry. I suspect it was from books that you learned that the liquor bottle—which you hadn't drugged—could, through the act of him drinking, cause his saliva to flow back into it, potentially carrying traces of the drug residue from his mouth into the bottle!"
Qin Guan fought to stay calm, but his eyes still gave a startled flicker.
He guessed right.
The interrogation room was sealed, but Old He felt as if a cool breeze had swept through, instantly clearing every channel in his body.
His conviction grew stronger, yet his tone became even firmer. "That case was closed as an accident. But that experienced old officer always felt uneasy inside. So, after closing the case, he thought it over and decided to take that bottle of liquor to be tested! You didn't know that part, did you?"
Qin Guan's Adam's apple bobbed soundlessly.
He stared at Old He, disbelief etched on his face.
He truly hadn't known that.