ebookslot Chapter 70 Special Investigation Team
Chapter 70 Special Investigation Team
Zhou Xing glanced at his pocket watch; it was 8:30. Time to report for duty.
I hailed a rickshaw, and in less than fifteen minutes, I arrived at the entrance of the Central Police Station.
It was a gray, three-story Western-style building with a granite base, heavy and imposing. Two armed Annamese policemen stood at the entrance, their backs ramrod straight, their sharp eyes scanning every passerby.
Zhou Xing got off the bus, paid the fare, and walked inside.
As soon as he entered, an Annamese servant came over with a spray bottle, expressionless, and sprayed Zhou Xing a few times.
The smell of lime water mixed with disinfectant permeated the air.
Chinese people were required to undergo disinfection before entering certain indoor areas of the concessions.
A French police officer happened to walk by, and the handyman immediately lowered his head and stepped aside.
Zhou Xing didn't stop walking, and went straight through the ground floor hall, with low snickers coming from behind him.
The Chinese police officers' office area was crowded, with constant phone calls and shouts. On the other side, the French police officers' area was quiet and spacious, with dark red carpets.
He went up to the second floor according to the room number given by Li Wenyong and walked to a dark wooden door at the end.
The sign on the door reads: Special Investigation Team - Équipe d'Enquête Spéciale.
Faint voices could be heard coming from inside. Zhou Xing raised his hand and gently knocked on the door.
"Come in."
It was Renault's voice, but you couldn't discern any emotion in it.
Zhou Xing pushed open the door and entered.
The room was large, like a small conference room. About ten people were already seated around a long table.
The air was filled with smoke. As soon as Zhou Xing entered, his voice dropped eight octaves, and more than a dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Near the door sat several Chinese police officers. Judging from their demeanor and different uniform styles, they were sent from outside the concession to coordinate.
Their gazes as they scrutinized Zhou Xing contained a mixture of examination, curiosity, and a hint of the inherent aloofness towards the Chinese police in the foreign concessions.
On the other side of the long table were several French and Annamese police officers, dressed in smart and crisp uniforms, and in a more relaxed posture.
Their gazes toward Zhou Xing were much more direct, indifferent, and condescending.
In the seat near the head of the table sat a Chinese constable, about thirty years old, with a fair complexion, slicked-back hair, and an ironed uniform without a single wrinkle.
He was turning his head and whispering something to a French police officer next to him, a smile plastered on his face.
Upon catching sight of Zhou Xing, the smile vanished, and the gaze swept over Zhou Xing's clothes and face. The corners of the mouth immediately turned down, revealing undisguised disdain.
The group glanced at each other, then turned back to whisper among themselves.
"It seems everyone knows each other and has their own social circles. Only I was transferred from the concession area."
Zhou Xing did not respond to any gazes. His gaze swept calmly across the table and landed on an empty seat at the end of the long table, next to the head of the table.
Renault sat in the main seat, dressed in a formal dark blue uniform with gleaming epaulettes, his gray-green vertical pupils fixed on his pocket watch.
The empty seat next to him seemed particularly out of place.
Zhou Xing stepped forward.
They had only gone halfway when the Chinese constable near the head seat suddenly straightened his back and lurched backward, chair and all!
"Squeak!"
The sharp scraping of the metal chair legs against the concrete floor was particularly jarring. All whispers, giggles, and the sounds of turning pages abruptly ceased.
A dozen pairs of eyes instantly fixed on Zhou Xing's face, as if waiting for the intruder's embarrassment.
The constable had already turned back, as if he were merely adjusting his posture, picking up his coffee cup, and blowing on non-existent steam.
Zhou Xing raised an eyebrow and turned to look at Hua Bu.
Judging by his appearance, he must be a Chinese detective from the Central Police Station. Judging by his posture, he probably already considers himself a Frenchman.
"New here?"
At this moment, the French vice-captain spoke. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and spoke Chinese with a heavy accent. He glanced at his pocket watch.
"8:50, very punctual. But here, arriving half an hour early to discuss the case and have a coffee is considered polite."
A few low laughs echoed in the room.
The pale-faced constable immediately chimed in, putting down his cup and speaking in a tone of "a senior instructing a junior":
"Are you guys from the branch office? You might not be used to the pace of the headquarters yet. It's okay if you don't know the rules, we're all civilized people. Watch carefully and learn from us."
All eyes turned to them, filled with amusement, disdain, and scrutiny.
Zhou Xing looked at the lonely figure.
"A veteran, huh?"
Zhou Xing sneered inwardly.
He hadn't done anything yet, and these people didn't need to know what he had done. It was simply his composure, neither humble nor arrogant, that seemed to offend them.
A low-ranking Chinese police officer from a branch office, who didn't grovel or fawn over the locals, already felt out of place.
Zhou Xing remained expressionless and deaf to the noise, taking a step forward to the chair blocking his way:
"What's your name?"
"Zhong Ding, detective of the Central Police Station."
Zhong Ding took a sip of coffee and said.
Excuse me.
Zhou Xing nodded, reached out, and grasped the back of Zhong Ding's chair.
With a slight sinking of the waist and hips, the force is released and released through the fingertips.
Zhong Ding felt his body lighten, as if he and his chair had been lifted into the air and then casually placed aside to clear a path.
The whole process was swift and silent. By the time Zhong Ding reacted, Zhou Xing had already slipped through the gap, leaving only a whispered message:
"Detective Chung, your position is precarious. Let me do you a favor. You're welcome."
He stepped across the aisle, put down his chair, and went straight to the front of the long table, to the empty seat right next to Renault.
The Chinese detective's face turned bright red.
The air in the room was even quieter than before; you could hear a pin drop.
Zhou walked to the empty seat, pulled out a chair, and sat down. His back was naturally straight, his hands were on the table, and his eyes were looking straight ahead.
Only then did Reno raise his eyes from his pocket watch.
His gaze swept over the various expressions on the faces of the people, finally settling on Zhou Xing's face beside him, where he paused for about two seconds.
Then he spoke, his voice steady and cold, without any pleasantries, getting straight to the point:
"Everyone's here. Let's begin."
"This is Detective Zhou Xing, joining the Special Investigations Team from today onwards. His expertise..."
Renault's grey-green vertical pupils flickered slightly. "It's about understanding the underworld of this city, understanding those unconventional opponents. That's exactly what we need right now."
The room fell completely silent.
The French and Annamese police officers exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of surprise, confusion, and, more than anything, a sense of being offended and displeased.
Why should a Chinese person be valued so highly by the inspector? Even if it's just as a tool.
Zhong Ding's expression was the most unpleasant.
Why should a Chinese police officer be allowed to sit next to the captain? I've been in the Central Police Station for so many years, yet I've only ever sat next to the French deputy captain.
He stared at Zhou Xing's profile, his eyes filled with a sinister mix of jealousy, humiliation, and intense hostility.
Among the police officers from outside the concession, a young man with glasses and a respectable appearance raised his eyebrows slightly.
He had a book called "Criminal Investigation" open in front of him. When Zhong Ding moved the chair earlier, he subconsciously slammed the book shut.
At this moment, the gaze directed at Zhou Xing held a more serious scrutiny and a hint of barely perceptible sympathy.
"Our mission is to act as the 'Judges of Tianjin.' But this person, or this group of people, has no fixed pattern of behavior, and they leave almost no trace at the scene. Conventional criminal investigation methods have limited effectiveness."
He raised his eyes, his pupils gleaming with a ghostly light.
"The higher-ups have given me a deadline to solve the case. I won't hide it from you, but as a newcomer to Tianjin, my first priority is to do it well and flawlessly. Therefore, I won't hesitate to take action against anyone who hinders my efforts to solve the case."
"From today onward, everyone will follow my orders. What I need are clues, evidence, and results."
Renault pulled a stack of documents from beside his desk and slammed them onto the table with a "thud".
He continued:
"At present, my preliminary investigation has yielded several portraits of individuals."
"First, the identity is convenient, allowing for natural movement between Chinese and foreign territories without arousing suspicion."
"Secondly, the intelligence network is deep, enabling long-term and detailed observation of targets, with information sources covering both inside and outside the concession."
"Third, young martial arts masters lack a deep foundation and have little connection with the old school."
Fourth, its activity center...
Renault pulled out a map and drew a circle on it with a pencil.
"It's within this area."
Zhou Xing looked at the map and his heart tightened. That circle covered the Guo Family Boxing Gym and that attic.
That circle, like a noose on a gallows, was slowly tightening.