<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Police on Evil Genius</title><link>https://www.evilgenius.blog/tags/police/</link><description>Recent content in Police on Evil Genius</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><copyright>© Evil Genius | In darkness, all things have spirit</copyright><lastBuildDate>Thu, 03 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.evilgenius.blog/tags/police/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>House No. 37 | The Disappearance of the Lin Family</title><link>https://www.evilgenius.blog/2025/07/house-no.-37-the-disappearance-of-the-lin-family/</link><pubDate>Thu, 03 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://www.evilgenius.blog/2025/07/house-no.-37-the-disappearance-of-the-lin-family/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;The case file is classified SH-3764. I was given access to it in 2009, forty-seven years after the events.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;The document is thin. It contains: a single-page incident report dated October 17, 1962. A floor plan of the residence. Three witness statements taken from neighbors. A follow-up report from a psychiatric hospital, dated December 1962. And a missing persons ledger entry that was never closed.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I am writing this account from memory. The file was taken back after I read it. The officer who showed it to me—a retired captain named Ye, who had been present at the original investigation—watched me read it from across the table and did not speak. When I finished, he took the folder, placed it in a cardboard box, and told me to leave.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>