The process goes like this: first, the local clerks select a group of old ruffians who frequently commit crimes of debauchery, write their names on slips of paper, fold them up, and the official picks one at random.

Whoever gets picked becomes the scapegoat.

That’s why it’s called “fishing for a scapegoat.”

Once the unlucky person is chosen, the clerks go to arrest him and bring him back to the yamen, where he’s put through a streamlined process called “extracting a confession through torture.” No matter how tough he is, he’ll confess in the end.

The superiors are satisfied, the officials in the middle get recognition, the clerks get rewarded—everyone’s happy.

And the scapegoat can’t really complain; after all, he’s a rotten person. Sending him off to reincarnation a bit early is considered a blessing for the people around him.

There are plenty more shady tricks like this in officialdom.

Walker nodded: “That’s the only way. Little John, you handle this. Pick a few of the more notorious ones, preferably older.”

Little John was just about to nod when Andrew Bennett frowned and said, “Wait! Boss, there are a lot of suspicious points in this case—it’s not a dead end.”

Andrew Bennett didn’t buy into this logic.

Even though he hadn’t been a cop for years, the values he’d built back then were still alive and well.

Sure, those guys are ruffians who commit debauchery, but their crimes aren’t punishable by death.

Even if they deserved to die, that’s a separate matter.

If you find someone to take the fall here, aren’t you just letting the real culprit get away?

Walker’s face darkened. He didn’t say a word, just shot him an unhappy look.

Everyone started to persuade him:

“Charles Bennett, don’t meddle.”

“The boss gets chewed out every day—there’s nothing he can do. Besides, it’s just a repeat offender.”

Those with closer ties said, “Boss, Charles Bennett’s family just went through a disaster. It’s understandable he’s sensitive about this kind of thing.”

Walker ignored them, staring at Andrew Bennett, clearly displeased, his face stern: “You tell me, how should we investigate!”

“Give me the case file!” Andrew Bennett said bluntly.

Chapter Twelve: A Flurry of Operations, Fierce as a Tiger

Walker sat at the head seat, face grim, silent.

These days, the first thing Edward Harris did upon waking was ask about the case progress. Walker couldn’t provide anything useful, so he got a tongue-lashing.

All the pressure fell on him as the head constable. His subordinates hid under his umbrella, sheltering from the storm, not only failing to share his burdens but even arguing with him!

Walker had every reason to be angry. He felt he was bearing a load no one his age should have to carry.

With the case file in hand, Andrew Bennett sat at the table, reading intently, surrounded by colleagues exchanging silent glances.

Andrew Bennett’s thinking was very pragmatic: the best way to appease Old Wang was to solve the case.

If that didn’t work, he could always invite Old Wang to Peach Blossom Spring for some fun. After all, they’d known each other for years—their friendship was solid.

Besides, Andrew Bennett’s objection to scapegoating wasn’t just about his principles; he also wanted to help Old Wang out.

[The deceased was named Zhang Yourui, 51 years old, a wealthy dog owner living on Kangping Street. He owned over a dozen acres of farmland on the outskirts of Changle County and three shops in the capital, selling silk, rouge, and sundries.

His first wife died early, and he remarried a respectable woman twenty years his junior. Zhang Yourui had a single son, left by his late wife, and no other children.]

A twenty-year age gap—an old stick in a new sheath, a pear blossom pressing down on a crabapple... Andrew Bennett couldn’t help but snark internally.

Is this what they mean by, “If you work hard enough, your future wife is still in kindergarten”?

[Four days ago, Zhang Yourui went to the countryside to collect rent and returned home around 3 a.m. His sleeping wife suddenly heard a scream, went out to check, and found Zhang Yourui dead in the courtyard. She saw a dark figure vaulting over the wall and fleeing...]

That’s how it happened.

When Andrew Bennett read the coroner’s autopsy report, he noticed another suspicious point.

He forced himself to keep reading, finished the testimonies of the deceased’s family and servants, then closed his eyes to organize his thoughts.

Walker snorted coldly and mocked, “So, Bennett, who’s the killer, and where are they?”

“Don’t rush, boss.” Andrew Bennett opened his eyes. “I saw in the case file that there were footprints left on the outer wall of the Zhang residence, right? You deduced from this that the thief escaped over the wall, so the young wife’s story checks out.”

Walker grunted in agreement.

“The footprints point outward, so they were left while escaping,” Andrew Bennett said.

“What’s the problem?” Walker frowned.

“Why were there footprints?”

“Because there was mud on the soles.”

“Why was there mud?”

“Because there’s a flowerbed by the wall.”

Andrew Bennett nodded. “Then why aren’t there any footprints showing someone entered the courtyard in the case file?”

Walker was stunned.

In the silence, the other constables, seeing he’d lost face, tried to help: “Maybe the thief was careful when coming in and didn’t leave any traces.”

Another added, “But after the murder, in the rush to escape, he left footprints.”

Andrew Bennett glanced at them. “That’s possible. But if there’s a flowerbed under the wall, were there any footprints from when the thief snuck in? Logically, if the thief could leap over the wall from outside and clear the flowerbed without leaving footprints—such lightness skill... then when escaping, he wouldn’t need to step on the wall for leverage at all.”

Everyone looked at each other, unable to answer.

But Andrew Bennett didn’t need their answer. He already knew it wasn’t a matter of “yes” or “no”—it was that they didn’t know.

The constables hadn’t checked.