National Forensic Doctor-Chapter 1081 - 1012: Visiting

Nighttime.

Xu Juan couldn’t sleep either. She turned on all the lights in the house, got down on the floor, and kept scrubbing the bedroom floor, trying to clean out the blood stains from between the floor tiles.

Splash...

The bucket used for rinsing was already filled with crimson-colored water, foaming with white suds.

Xu Juan carelessly threw the rag into the bucket, swished it around, wrung it out, then rinsed it in another pink bucket next to her, wrung it out again, took it out, added detergent, and resumed scrubbing the floor.

She worked tirelessly, not knowing how late she worked, until she was utterly exhausted and naturally fell asleep.

She didn’t even bother to sleep on the bed—the mattress was soaked with blood too, and she hadn’t figured out how to deal with it.

Bzzz...

Bzzz bzzz...

The phone vibrated twice, instantly startling Xu Juan awake.

Xu Juan broke into a cold sweat, curled up in the corner for a long while, then finally took a deep breath, grabbed her phone, glanced at the caller ID, hesitated for a few seconds, and called back: "Hello..."

"Xu Juan, are you not coming to work today? The boss is going to be pissed." The call was from her fake friend at work, a colleague she didn’t have particularly good relations with but maintained mutual contact for lunch companionship and sharing gossip.

Xu Juan dully glanced at the date on her phone and replied, "I’m feeling a bit unwell and don’t want to go."

"Do you need to see a doctor? If not, maybe I can check on you during lunch?" the fake friend immediately offered, sounding concerned.

"No need." Xu Juan lazily replied, "It’s my own problem. Nothing serious. I just need a couple of days to rest."

"Alright, recover well. Remember to call the boss and officially ask for leave. He’s such a stickler about respect. Claims everything will miraculously work out if people treat him with respect..."

Xu Juan muttered a few "Uh-huh" responses, put down her phone, curled back up in the corner, smelling the thick stench of blood, her eyes fixed on the bedroom—redder now than it was at her wedding. Fear and irritation gripped her heart.

She was afraid of being caught and executed, but annoyed by the grueling chores. She hadn’t anticipated the murder would leave so much blood, nor imagined dissecting a person would make the room so filthy that not even two or three days of cleaning could restore order.

Xu Juan found herself suddenly missing her cowardly husband. If this mess were handed to him, he might have tidied it completely over the weekend.

"Lucky I killed him first." Xu Juan shuddered, thinking that had he found out about this, he might have killed her instead.

It’s still better to be alive.

That thought gave Xu Juan renewed energy. She resumed scrubbing with determination.

Knock knock knock.

When the knocking on the door came, Xu Juan assumed it was just the food delivery. As she walked to open the door, she remembered to glance through the peephole—and that single glance drenched her in sweat.

"Police!" The officers outside weren’t amateurs. They saw the light in the peephole flicker and immediately showed their badges: "Please open the door. We have a few questions we’d like to ask."

Xu Juan’s legs trembled with fear. She couldn’t fathom what prison life was like for female criminals, nor whether she might face the death penalty. She worried opening the door would release the bloody smell. Conversely, she fretted that even without opening, the officers might still catch a whiff.

Most critical of all, why were the police knocking on her door? What did they know?

Xu Juan had lived in this unit for three or four years and had never encountered police at her door. Now, her husband’s death had brought them here—what else could be the reason?

Xu Juan pressed herself against the door, shaking her head vehemently, refusing to open it.

"Hello. We’re the police. We know there’s someone inside—we saw you check the peephole. Please open the door. We just want to ask a few questions, and we’ll leave afterward," the officers called out loudly again.

Xu Juan shook her head once more, her wit gradually returning as she replied, "Ask whatever questions you have directly. I’m not opening the door."

"We’re the police!"

"Being police doesn’t mean you can force me to open the door!"

The officers outside hesitated. Legally, they had the authority to compel a suspect in a major case to open the door, but in routine interactions—not involving criminal suspects—they generally avoided breaking in.

As such, police often came across locked doors during house visits, just like court bailiffs who sometimes knocked for hours during enforcement actions.

Xu Juan was adamantly against opening her door. The smell inside had become unbearable. Despite running ventilation and air conditioning, she could still sense it. That sturdy security door was her last line of defense.

Xu Juan gauged the officers’ demeanor. "Ask your questions directly. I won’t open the door. I’m scared."

"We’re the police. What are you afraid of?"

"What if you’re fake police?"

"Here’s our badge."

"I don’t know how to verify badges. If they’re fake, how would I tell?" Xu Juan’s sarcasm flowed more smoothly, and her tone grew defiant.

The officers were no strangers to such situations. One suggested, "Call 110. They’ll confirm our identities."

"I won’t call. Nowadays telecom interception and AI impersonations are rampant."

"You’re exaggerating!"

"Are you going to ask or not? If not, I’m going back to sleep!" Xu Juan turned the tables.

The officers hesitated briefly. "Is there anyone else in your home?"

Xu Juan hesitated, then replied, "I’m alone at home right now."

"What’s your name?"

"I’m not telling you." Xu Juan was fully committed now.

One of the officers frowned and jotted notes in his booklet.

Xu Juan couldn’t care less about that now—her only thought was surviving the moment.

The back-and-forth questioning lasted five or six minutes. The officers finally pulled out a sketch and asked, "Do you recognize this person?"

One glance and Xu Juan knew—it was her husband.

Her heart felt clawed by a vice. She gasped sharply twice before replying venomously, "I don’t recognize him."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"Never!"

Xu Juan refused to respond further.

The officers shouted a few more times but eventually gave up. Strange encounters like this weren’t uncommon during such visits, nor peculiar enough to warrant breaking in.

The reason for canvassing the neighborhood was that QingShi Bureau had identified the place where the body was found—a riverside spot about 200 meters away—and was interviewing all residents within a 1,000-meter radius.

This task was immense, demanding significant effort and strategy from field officers. The main objective wasn’t to catch the killer—an unrealistic expectation—but to ascertain the identity of the deceased.

Hence, this sort of canvassing required neither carelessness nor excessive meticulousness; it fell squarely into the realm of experienced legwork.

Given the diversity within any neighborhood—ranging from those with medical mental illness to those with neurotic tendencies; from paranoid seniors to socially anxious youth; to disgruntled partners in midlife crises, genuine criminals, traditional antisocial individuals, chronic nitpickers, sudden obsessives, and cynics whose adult breakdowns happen in the blink of an eye—officers faced significant challenges identifying anomalies among the populace.

Xu Juan bore immense psychological pressure as she watched the officers leave her doorway and start chatting with the neighbor opposite, who had opened their door to observe the commotion.

Xu Juan anxiously eyed the sketch in the officer’s hands. To her relief, the neighbor remained clueless and shook their head.

At that moment, Xu Juan exhaled deeply in relief. Thank goodness her husband was always out working long hours, even on weekends. If not, her situation would’ve been perilous.