Chapter 453: The Third Vehicle at Chengxi Station

The light over the station entrance was still on. Before the sky fully brightened, the breakfast carts were already setting up. The moment a steamer lid came off, white steam blew toward the iron railing. The station loudspeaker hadn't come on yet.

August 28, 6:20 a.m., Chengxi Bus Station. The first scheduled bus hadn't pulled in yet. A row of vehicles sat on the concrete in front of the station, noses pointed outward, drivers crouched in front of their bumpers with cups of soy milk in hand.

Ma Jianjun stood by the iron railing, a pack of cigarettes clutched in his hand. When he saw her coming, he shoved the pack halfway into his pocket. "Attorney Shen, you're early."

"What time did you get here?"

"Six." He nodded toward the row of vehicles. "Long-haul and town runs mixed together. Morning bus hasn't come in, so everyone's crouching out front. I'll go one by one."

"You start," she said. "I'll stand back."

"Stand farther off." He pulled the cigarettes back out. "Offer a cigarette, the talking comes easier."

She retreated to the far end of the railing, her canvas bag at her feet, watching him work down the line.

The first driver was in his forties. He took a cigarette, tucked it behind his ear, and said his vehicle had been laid up in a Chengbei garage that night, under repair for three days, only rolled out on the eleventh.

The second driver took one too and said he'd been running the Qingshi Ridge side that night, hauling half a load of vegetables, home by ten, never went farther up. Then he added, "If you're asking about vehicles going up the mountain at night, ask the charter drivers, not the scheduled buses. Buses stop running as soon as it's dark."

"Thanks," Ma Jianjun said.

The third vehicle was parked farthest in—white, with a patch of paint scraped off the front end and a strip of cloth tied to the rearview mirror. The window was rolled halfway down, a towel hanging inside. The driver, in his fifties, was eating a steamed bun with his head down. He glanced up at them.

"Driver, I wanted to ask about something." Ma Jianjun held out a cigarette.

"Don't smoke." The man set the bun on the dashboard. "Which depot are you from?"

"Building materials market. Hauling freight." Ma Jianjun crouched down level with the window. "On the night of August 10, I was coming down the road from Baixi Village. At the bottom of the slope I saw a vehicle going up. Couldn't make out the plate, only the headlights. It looked like yours."

The driver studied him for a moment, then looked past him toward the other end of the railing.

"I did make a run up there that night," he said.

"To Baixi Village?"

"Baixi Village."

Ma Jianjun didn't respond right away. He glanced back at her.

"Driver, I'll be straight with you." He lowered his voice. "The person standing back there is a lawyer. We're looking for someone. Been looking a month. All we know is a vehicle went up the mountain that night—nothing else."

"Looking for who?"

"An old man." Ma Jianjun said. "I still don't even know his surname."

"He in trouble?"

"No. He's got something that needs to be said in court."

The driver shifted back into his seat and pushed the passenger door open. "Get in. Talk out here and the whole station'll gather around."

"What's your name, driver?"

"Surname Jiao."

The cab smelled of diesel, the seats covered in plastic sheeting. She sat in the back; Ma Jianjun took the passenger seat and rolled the window halfway up.

"August 10, a little after 7 p.m.," Master Jiao said, "a man called me wanting to charter. Said wait at the station at 7:30. I asked where to. He said just get to the station first."

"I got there at 7:20. At 7:30, the man was standing under the route sign, clutching an envelope."

"What did he look like?" Ma Jianjun asked.

"Early forties, square face, short hair, light gray short-sleeve shirt." Master Jiao said. "Said he was in charge of things at a factory."

"Which factory?" she asked.

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask. Charter passengers—I don't ask." Master Jiao said. "He paid up front. Eight hundred, round trip, cash, counted it twice in front of me and handed it over. He said he was picking up an old man to take him to see a doctor. Said the road was long and not to waste time."

"Eight hundred for round trip?" Ma Jianjun asked.

"Round trip. Drop the passenger off, drive back—same road." Master Jiao said. "That road's steep at night. A run like that eats fuel."

"11:10 p.m., we reached Baixi Village." He said. "The row behind the village committee's back wall, third house from the east end. Front of the vehicle facing the courtyard gate, headlights shining right onto the neighbor's wall."

"What happened when you got there?" she said.

"I got out and opened the back door, stood by the side of the vehicle." Master Jiao said. "They didn't call me into the yard, so I didn't go in. That's how charter drivers work."

"How long did you wait?"

"Ten-some minutes." He said. "The younger one came out supporting the older one with one hand, a bag in the other. The old man walked on his own, grabbing at the vehicle as he went. Started coughing the moment he got in, and it was bad. I let the engine warm up a while before driving off."

"Not until he was inside did he say where we were going." Master Jiao said. "Old Machinery Plant dormitory area in Chengbei—that row of one-story houses in the back. I was a little puzzled then. He said seeing a doctor, but there's no hospital around there. I figured they'd want Municipal No. 2."

"Which route did you take?"

"Down from the village, the road through the town, then into the city from there." Master Jiao said. "I know that area well. Empty at night. I parked in front of the last room at the very back. I checked the time—around 2:30."

"The younger one got out first, carried the bag, then turned back to help the old man. First floor. Door opened with a push. I sat in the cab until the door closed, then backed out."

"You didn't go in."

"Didn't go in." Master Jiao said. "My job was hauling people. They reached the door, that was the end of it."

"That manager-type—did he follow the whole way?"

"No. He paid, said where to go, then left." Master Jiao said. "He never got in the vehicle himself."

Ma Jianjun asked, "Is this run on the station's shift schedule?"

"Charter work doesn't go on the schedule. The board only lists scheduled buses." Master Jiao said. "Whoever takes a job keeps it in his own head."

"Don't you keep your own records?"

"No. A run's a run. Once it's done, it's done."

"His number—do you still have it?"

"Never saved it." Master Jiao said. "First time it rang I didn't answer. Second time I did. Answered and left."

"What time did you get back to the city?"

"It was nearly daybreak." Master Jiao said. "I dozed at the station for an hour before the first morning bus went out."

The cab went quiet. Outside, a bus pulled into the station, its horn sounding once before cutting off.

She took her phone out of her pocket. "Master Jiao, say one more line, and I'll write it down."

"Go ahead."

"If a court asks you, you'll tell it just like this—yes?"

Master Jiao glanced at her in the rearview mirror and hung the towel back up. "Court asks, I'll tell it straight."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. I hauled a person. Never hauled anything else."

He gave her his phone number. She read it back; he nodded. She saved it and recited the last digit back once more to double-check.

"If the court needs to ask, I'll call you first," she said. "No one will be sent to your door."

"Fine." Master Jiao said. "Ask if they ask. My vehicle's here every day. Can't run off."

Ma Jianjun asked one last question. "That man—if you saw him again, would you recognize him?"

"I would." Master Jiao said. "Square face, thick eyebrows."

She didn't ask anything more. At 7:10, the two of them got out.

Two hundred paces east of the station was the bus stop. The morning rush hadn't built yet, and the bus was half empty. They sat in the back row, Ma Jianjun resting his helmet on his knees.

"Attorney Shen. What we got today—does it count as evidence?"

"No."

"No?"

"What he was willing to say today doesn't mean he'll be willing to say it again when it matters," she said. "The day it really counts is when he stands in a courtroom and says it line by line. Then it counts."

"He'll do it." Ma Jianjun said. "I could see he would."

"I want to believe he would too." She said. "But the words have to come out of his own mouth, and he has to sign the paper himself."

The bus crossed an intersection. Red light. He shifted the helmet to his other hand. "Starting today, I'm taking Chengbei deliveries."

"Why."

"Chengbei orders are dense, one after another. I'll pass through that area seven or eight times a day." He said. "I won't get off, won't knock. I'll just ride through every day."

"Luo Cheng runs Chengbei."

"I won't step on his turf. I'll take nights; he stays days." Ma Jianjun said. "Nobody wants night orders. That area's perfect for it."

"Take your deliveries." She said. "Nothing else. If you run into him, deliver to the door, give one knock. When someone comes out to get it, you leave."

"Don't look, don't ask."

"Don't look. Don't ask." She said. "Don't tell anyone who you've delivered to, either. The order in your hand is just a meal someone ordered."

"After all these years on the job, I've never told anyone where a customer lives." Ma Jianjun said. "The rules you set last year—I remember them."

Green light. The bus moved.

August 29, 8 p.m. She spread her notebook open on the desk and turned to a fresh page. A sliver of light showed beneath the inner room's door. Zhi'an wasn't asleep yet.

At the top she wrote: August 28, Chengxi Bus Station, per Master Jiao.

Below, she copied his words down just as he'd said them:

August 10, a little after 7 p.m., a man called to book a vehicle, said wait at the station at 7:30.

Early forties, square face, short hair, light gray short sleeve. Said he managed things at a factory.

Eight hundred, round trip, cash, paid up front.

Picking up an old man to take him to see a doctor.

11:10 p.m., arrived at Baixi Village. Row behind the village committee's back wall, third house from the east end. Front of vehicle facing the courtyard gate, headlights on the neighbor's wall.

I got out and opened the back door, stood by the vehicle. Didn't go into the yard.

The younger one helped the older one out, one bag. The old man coughed as soon as he got in.

Around 2:30, Old Machinery Plant dormitory area in Chengbei, the back row of one-story houses, a room on the first floor.

I didn't go in. My job was hauling people.

When she reached the line "picking up an old man to take him to see a doctor," her pen stopped.

August 14, 1:50 p.m. His son's phone call had the same line—"going out to see a doctor."

She didn't add a word and didn't cross anything out. She lifted the pen and copied the next line.

At the end she wrote: Not a formal record. He didn't sign. His phone number is written below.

When she finished, she checked the page line by line from the top. Not a word added. The inner room's door creaked; Zhi'an came out to get water, glanced at the desk as he passed. "Still writing this late?"

"Almost done."

"Found him?"

"Found someone who knows something." She capped the pen. "Still don't know where he is."

"Should I put word out?"

"No need." She said. "Let the court make the first move."

Zhi'an stood with his cup for a while, looked at the page on the desk, didn't ask what was written, then went back to his room, leaving the door not quite shut.

She closed the notebook and pressed her finger down on the edge of the paper.

On this page, there wasn't a single sentence that was hers.