Chapter 9: The Nacity Case (Part Two)

How would I know that? I’ve never even been to her place!

The neighbor’s tone was decisive, as if afraid that any hesitation might lead his wife beside him to misunderstand. Yet, his last deliberate emphasis did not seem particularly clever.

Whether he had ever frequented a prostitute was not something the police wanted to inquire about. But at this moment, drawing from their past investigative experience, a sudden question arose unanimously:

Where did that fallen woman move to?

Generally speaking, women in that line of work rent apartments and “move after every client.” It’s not about fear of police raids but rather the nature of the trade—men always crave novelty and tire quickly—which creates a high degree of mobility.

A tree withers if it doesn’t move; a person thrives by relocating. After exhausting their client base, the ladies inevitably have to change locations to find new customers.

From this perspective, the neighbor’s words may not be entirely unfounded.

But where did she go after moving?

It is well-known that prostitution is a trade of youth; as age advances, business becomes increasingly difficult. Therefore, their moving patterns generally extend from the city to the suburbs, then to the countryside. With this in mind, the police expanded their search to a few outlying villages.

Yet, before progress could be made on that front, the forensic team made a significant discovery—

In the corner of the cellar, they found a battered LV handbag!

Undoubtedly, this luxury item belonged to one of the bodies in the cellar. The criminal investigation unit compared photos online and confirmed it was an LV Croonie handbag in the classic monogram with a rose-red color, quite expensive and not sold domestically, only available via overseas purchase. This indicated the owner was certainly wealthy.

Moreover, she was young and fashion-conscious.

The deputy director, smoking a cigarette, posed a thought-provoking question:

Why would the family of a wealthy young lady who went missing not report it to the police?

The chief of the investigation team responded without hesitation:

Perhaps they did report it, but she’s not from here.

At that time, the national police system was not yet interconnected. If the handbag’s owner was from another region, her family might have reported her missing elsewhere, while she appeared in the remote border town of Nacheng, leaving the local police with no leads.

Hearing this, the enthusiastic deputy director stubbed out his cigarette and decisively ordered:

Issue a missing person notice and publish the handbag’s photo online!

This was indeed a feasible approach. As soon as the family saw the photo, they would surely contact the police, potentially breaking the deadlock.

Discussion buzzed around whether to first seek approval from the bureau chief.

This case had already become a major investigation directly overseen by the Harbin Municipal Bureau, carrying significant weight and requiring caution.

Yet the deputy director, eager to make a mark, deemed a missing person notice insignificant enough to be issued without fuss.

Unexpectedly, just four hours later, a group of officials stormed into the Nacheng sub-bureau director’s office.

The municipal bureau chief, political commissar, deputy director in charge of criminal investigations, and the secretary of the Nacheng Political and Legal Affairs Committee were all present, their faces grave, as if to reprimand.

Half an hour later, the sub-bureau director convened an emergency meeting and disclosed the case details: three years ago, a wealthy heiress from Nanguang City ran away from home and lost contact. After her family reported her missing, the police searched extensively but failed to find her, eventually listing her as a missing person.

The heiress’s name was Liu Meixin. Her father, Liu Huaqiang, was the CEO of the South China Shipbuilding Group, with assets worth tens of billions and numerous investments in Hong Kong and Macau. He was also a returned overseas Chinese.

The secretary of the Political and Legal Affairs Committee remarked: Chairman Liu’s wealth could buy the entire city of Nacheng without issue.

The sub-bureau director added: But the chairman’s daughter, born late in life, has disappeared right here in Nacheng—neither alive nor dead, no trace.

The deputy director, proud of his own cleverness and envisioning imminent promotion, was suddenly interrupted when the sub-bureau director stood solemnly and said:

Deputy Director Jin unilaterally posted the missing person notice online. Liu’s family has already come knocking! The municipal bureau leadership was unaware—there’s no room even for an explanation.

At these words, the deputy director’s face turned ashen.

The director continued: The pressure we face is not just great, but overwhelming. The mayor has already called to personally inquire. The municipal bureau chief, political commissar, and deputy director are now leading this special investigation. You can imagine how severe this is! To be honest, even I am barely holding on. If any of you slip up, don’t expect me to be lenient!

No one had anticipated that Deputy Director Jin’s snap decision would backfire so spectacularly.

Everyone in the bureau was silently sweating on his behalf.

For now, it was not the time to assign blame but to solve the case quickly and provide answers to the Liu family.

All police forces in Nacheng were mobilized, with substantial reinforcements from the municipal bureau, aiming to scour the entire city within 48 hours. The mission had only two objectives:

First, find the prostitute who had lived in the crime scene apartment.

Second, track down anyone who had contact with Liu Meixin.

Yet this needle-in-a-haystack style search yielded scant results. After 24 hours, the case remained stagnant, with only one worthless lead from the long-distance bus station:

The last person to see Liu Meixin was a taxi driver. It was snowing heavily in Nacheng, and he was about to finish his shift when a stylishly dressed passenger hailed him. The driver initially wanted to refuse the ride, but the passenger offered double fare. Their exchange went like this:

Driver: Sorry, I’m off work now!

Liu Meixin: What do you mean? Don’t you drive a taxi to pick up passengers? Don’t you want to earn money?

The driver sensed she was in a bad mood and said: It’s snowing; there aren’t many passengers.

Liu Meixin: I’m not a passenger!

Driver: But...

Liu Meixin: I get it. You want to charge me extra, right? I’ll pay double if you take me to the best hotel here!

The driver, tempted by her appearance—she looked like a wealthy woman—agreed.

Along the way, he sneaked glances through the rearview mirror. She was indeed a beauty. Even in a thick down jacket, her graceful figure was easy to imagine. Her fair oval face bore a slight frown, but compared to her noble and exceptional aura, it was negligible.

What impressed him most was her LV handbag. His wife loved fashion magazines and dreamed of owning one like that, which was unattainable for their ordinary family.

Finally, the driver dropped Liu Meixin off at the Nacheng Hotel, watching her stride charmingly through the entrance.

However, police records revealed no check-in under her name.

Hotel staff recalled the guest vaguely—she had requested the presidential suite, which the small-town hotel could not provide. They offered the best room available, but she refused disdainfully and left.

Where she went afterward remained a mystery.