Forensic experts can be found in many detective novels. They investigate the scene and get clues, then rush to confront the suspect. The character positioning is quite versatile.
But a real forensic expert is not like that.
Today is another story that forensic expert Liu Wenjie himself has experienced, saying: "Most of the time, I'm waiting."
In his 16-year career as a forensic expert, he made a list and added a name to each unsolved case. Now, the list records the names of 49 victims.
That day he took over a body that had no family members, no clues, no limbs, and another unsolved case.
He signed hundreds of death certificates every year, but this time he didn't put pen to paper.
He doesn't want the 50th name on the list.
Case Name: Sinking Case
Event Number: Friends 12
Witness: Liu Wenjie
Event time: November 2015 - December 2016
Record time: January 2019
Sunk case
By Liu Wenjie
I couldn't sleep the night I came back from the scene.
The office is getting quieter and quieter. Only an induction cooker not far away kept making a "gurgling" sound. Wisps of white steam rose up, full of unease.
A woman's bone was boiling in the pot.
In front of the computer are today's scene photos and a half-written analysis report of the crime scene.
First, boil a small piece of muscle and soft tissue from the pelvis of the body in water with laundry detergent, then observe the surface grooves and ridges - this is the method I often use to determine the age of the deceased.
All around is black, with only the photo on the screen glowing.
She curled up in the suitcase. No head, no limbs.
The white vapor continued to rise and spread.
This is my conversation time with the headless female corpse.
Holding the No. 24 silver scalpel, the moment the tip touched her skin, my hand paused.
I felt the remaining softness of her skin.
The stainless steel dissection table was cold. I stand with my feet apart. A circle of intense cold light above my head.
A peculiar smell filled my nostrils, chilly and growing stronger, as if it were about to get into my head. Water and disinfectant couldn't stop her -- she was decaying little by little.
The scalpel cut right in the middle of her neck, its tip slowly slicing down the dark green skin.
The first rib has not yet ossified.
The tip of the knife continues downward. Cut the chest and abdomen in a straight line, with little fat, no stretch marks and no surgical scar.
The deceased was not very old.
The exhaust fan in the room kept making a "whooshing" sound, like a wailing.
Where her limbs were broken, her long bones protruded unevenly from the black muscles, strangely out of place.
The dismemberment was rather rough.
This kind of wound indicates that the murderer had neither experience nor patience.
It might have been due to a lack of time, or a limited space, or anxiety.
The first scene might be a shabby rental house. I thought to myself.
The headless female body was found on the riverbank eight hours ago.
By the time I got there, a long cordon had blocked the entire riverbank road.
Outside the cordon, there was a crowd of onlookers who crossed the cordon and focused their eyes on the riverbank 30 meters away - where several police officers and a solitary suitcase were standing.
Actually, I can't remember how many times I've been here this year.
The huge bridge piers not far away always seem to be helping us. Many floating corpses that float upstream are blocked by them and stranded on this riverbank.
Taking the box off the survey vehicle, I made my way through the crowd, nodded to the security guards who raised the cordon, slightly bent my upper body, and crawled into the cordon and into the new case.
A black suitcase was upside down. The 24-inch box, with the zipper open, reveals a human torso at the bottom.
"Has anyone else touched a corpse?" I asked while wearing gloves.
A gust of wind blew along the shore, carrying the peculiar smell of the corpse. A few policemen couldn't help covering their noses.
"No. The person who reported the case was curious and unzipped the zipper. No one else touched it." Judging from how uncomfortable he looks, he must be a new policeman. I casually handed over my mask.
Bending down, I carefully moved the box open and waved my hand.
The flies were scattered.
The deceased was naked on the lower body and wore a tattered dark blue coat on the upper body.
I noticed that there were some pieces of clothing in the box, and I took a few pieces and pieced them together on the tear on the upper arm of the deceased to compare. Fit.
I crouched down, pulled out my clothes and pressed her abdomen with my hand. Hard, that was the putrid gas in her gut.
More than five days. I've circled the approximate time of death, and given the weather, it wouldn't have been this kind of clothing any earlier.
Some basic judgments made by the forensic experts at the crime scene often affect the initial direction of the investigation, which always reminds me of exams in class.
I don't know the girl's name, her appearance, or her past. The only thing that can tell me everything now is this incomplete body.
A group of people, carrying stretchers, came towards the scene.
The way down to the riverbank was steep. Looking at them, it suddenly occurred to me that the murderer was carrying such a heavy box and it wouldn't be easy to come down the riverbank slope.
Yes, this is not the crime scene, nor should it be the first dumping site.
I wrapped up the torso and helped everyone carefully put it into the black body bag.
Seeing us carrying the black bag up the embankment, the onlookers quickly moved to both sides to make way for an exceptionally wide passage.
The survey vehicle, with its police lights flashing, plunged into the traffic flow. Outside the window, the crowd was bustling and everything was as usual.
No one spoke in the car.