When Sheriff Smith heard Wang Bo’s words he first nodded casually, then snapped back to attention and asked excitedly, “What useful information did you get?”

Wang Bo shrugged. “First, there was a cattle epidemic on the South Island earlier this spring — a highly contagious hoof disease. It spreads fast and can leave cows paralyzed from the waist down or even kill them.”

“Next, from what we learned, Antison’s dairy farm was once hit by that virus; in his anger he sacked a large number of his cowhands.”

“Also, not long ago some smuggling ships left the port of Dunedin for Africa carrying cattle that couldn’t be legally sold or slaughtered in New Zealand because they were sick.”

“Finally, Antison’s farm was certainly hard-hit by the outbreak, and to save money he hadn’t insured his herd, so his losses were severe. How could he recoup that loss? From my experience there are two good ways.”

“First: dispose of the diseased cattle for cash — for example, sell them cheaply to a smuggling ship bound for Africa. Second: team up with other insured farms, buy their cows at a low price, then file theft claims with the insurance company saying those cows were stolen — win-win.”

After getting that information from the two cattle thieves, he and Uncle Bing ran through the logic, exchanged ideas, and came to that conclusion.

But there was a big problem: they had no proof — only conjecture.

Sheriff Smith pondered, then said, “So there are no actual cattle thieves? That would leave no sign of a break-in. If the diseased cows were all sold off to Africa, and he bought a cheap batch of cows and reported them stolen to minimize losses, then why is there a five-hundred-cow gap?”

Wang Bo said, “In my experience it’s because he could no longer buy more cows. Insurance companies aren’t stupid — they have investigation thresholds for claims. Below a certain line, their own staff handle the inquiry; above it they hire a detective agency.”

That would explain why the other three farms only lost two hundred cows between them.

If that’s how it went, the worst off wouldn’t be Antison but the other three farms. A false theft report isn’t the worst thing — maybe a fine or short detention — but insurance fraud in New Zealand is serious.

Sheriff Smith asked how Wang Bo had come by this information. Wang Bo recounted what they’d done that afternoon. Sheriff Smith couldn’t be certain, but he thought the possibility was strong.

The next day they continued the investigation as usual. Sheriff Smith contacted local customs and put police undercovers to start collecting evidence. In this case the crucial piece was the smuggling ships.

The Dunedin police hadn’t received that tip; they’d been focused on finding the live cattle and hadn’t thought the animals could be slaughtered and then loaded onto ships.

Because they missed that connection, the local police were looking in the wrong direction — they never suspected the case might be a thief-crying-wolf scheme.

Reasoning without evidence is worthless, so Sheriff Smith set out to find hard proof while Wang Bo visited the farms to sound out the owners.

He went to Antison’s farm first. It was one of the South Island’s largest dairy operations: 1,400 adult cows, 500 calves, plus bulls — over two thousand head in total.

When the car drove into the farm a few border collies came bounding over barking excitedly.

Wang Bo wound down the window. Zhuang Ding in the car glared fiercely at the collies; border collies are extremely smart and have keener instincts than most dogs.

Startled by the glare, the dogs were frightened but didn’t back off — they stopped barking and trailed behind the car, a little put-out but still doing their job.

Antison, a portly white man, came out from the calf shed and called, “Hey, officers — any news on the case?”

Wang Bo got out and smiled. “Mate — it’s me, Wang. Remember me?”

They’d drunk together at the bull-wrangling club’s carnival; Antison naturally remembered him — after all, Wang was the only Chinese guy in the club.

They embraced briefly. Antison welcomed him warmly into the house and had his wife brew coffee.

Wang Bo praised the farm a little and then cut to the chase. “The police department is taking this seriously. They formed a special task force and will get to the bottom of it.”

Antison sighed with relief. “Thank God. Five hundred cows — that’s over a million New Zealand dollars gone! Damn it — those cow thieves should rot in hell!”

Seeing him grinding his teeth, Wang Bo’s confidence in his own suspicions wavered — this guy didn’t look like the mastermind behind it all.

So he probed cautiously. “You’ve really been wronged this time. The spring epidemic was just over and now the cows have been stolen — that’s a heavy hit, isn’t it?”

Antison scratched his disheveled hair and made a pained face. “Yes, yes. I’ve raised cows my whole life and I’ve never suffered a blow like this.”

Wang Bo said, “We have a saying in China: learn from a fall. From now on you’d better insure your cattle, otherwise how would you cope if something like this happens again?”

Antison sighed. “Wang, you’re a farmer too — did you insure all your cows?”

Wang Bo hadn’t. He felt like a true farmer and didn’t want to buy insurance for his stock; it was a sizeable expense after all.

A thousand cows’ annual premium would be at least fifty to sixty thousand dollars; for two thousand cows it’d be around a hundred thousand — not a small sum.

“After this happened I got insurance. It costs money, but at least there’s protection,” Wang Bo said. “What about you?”

Antison fell silent and replied, “I don’t know, mate. I need time to think. Losing five hundred cows — I can’t really bear it right now.”

Because of different spending habits, Kiwis don’t tend to hoard money like the Chinese do. Many farmers operate on bank loans; a million NZD in savings is too much for most.

Wang Bo asked, “Even if it wasn’t theft, insurance helps with disease losses, right? By the way, did the hoof disease this year affect your farm?”

Antison swallowed and said, “God be praised — some of the cows were infected, but we treated them in time and managed to save them.”

“I’d rather they’d died from disease than been stolen by those bastards!” his wife said angrily as she came over with the coffee.

Watching the couple, Wang Bo felt even less certain of his theory — Antison and his wife didn’t look like they were hiding anything; they seemed genuinely unaware.