Chapter 7

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The next day, early in the morning.

There was still no movement from Wei Xiaoming’s side; he refused to confess anything. However, while investigating Wu Guojiang’s family background, they discovered that his mother back in Wu Family Village in the neighboring province had suddenly received fifty thousand yuan in her account half a month ago—perfectly matching Wei Xiaoming’s earlier testimony.

Wu Guojiang was a black-market drifter with a fake name and ID number from top to bottom. Only the surname offered any clue, as he had taken his mother’s family name. There was no trace of his whereabouts over the past few years—no record of where he had been or what he had done. Clearly, someone had gone to great lengths to erase his history.

His mother appeared to be his sole genuine tie to the world. They sent two officers to Wu Family Village to verify the details with the old woman, while Zhou Hui and Han Wei headed first to Guangming Real Estate Company. Even though Yu Bai had hinted at Yan Mingchang’s impure motives, they could not deny that this remained their only lead so far.

They met Yan Mingchang in the office at Guangming Real Estate Company. He was a man in his early forties, of average build, dressed in a suit and tie—likely just back from a meeting. His secretary had informed him they were police, and he showed neither resistance nor panic. Whether that stemmed from a truly clear conscience or masterful concealment was anyone’s guess.

In a mild tone, he asked, “What can I help you officers with?”

Han Wei said, “Wu Guojiang worked for you.”

Yan Mingchang paused to think, then smiled as he flipped open the employee roster. “Let me check. With so many people on my payroll, I can’t remember them all… Wu Guojiang, right? He only lasted two months here—quit halfway through last month. Such a short stint; I don’t know much about him.”

Han Wei flipped through his file and countered, “That’s not right, Mr. Yan. Witnesses saw the two of you coming and going from the Red Club together just this month, looking quite chummy.”

He slid a photo across the desk: Yan Mingchang with his arm slung around Wu Guojiang’s shoulders as they exited the Red Club. The timestamp at the bottom read May 2nd, 1:30 a.m.—a printout from surveillance footage.

Yan Mingchang’s expression tightened. “Where’d you get that photo? The Red Club? It has to be Yu Bai—what lies did she feed you? Last month, I, your father, snatched a plot of land out from under her in the bidding, and now she’s gunning for me every day with those threatening letters, one a day for a whole month. But officers, that land was mine fair and square—everything by the book.”

Han Wei refused to be sidetracked. He reminded Yan Mingchang, “I didn’t ask about your feud with her. I asked about your relationship with Wu Guojiang.”

Yan Mingchang doubled down shamelessly. “Just boss and employee. He worked two months—I’m telling the truth, officers. Check the records if you don’t believe me. I never shorted my workers; paychecks went out on time every month, no delays.”

Yan Mingchang kept blabbering, veering further off-topic. Zhou Hui looked up from her notes and warned him, “Mr. Yan Mingchang, if you’re not going to tell us the truth, we may need to take this conversation somewhere else. I’m sure you haven’t had the pleasure of the City Bureau interrogation room yet.”

Rather than back down, Yan Mingchang got belligerent. “Which bureau are you from? I’m a big taxpayer—even your City Bureau brass wouldn’t talk to me like this.”

Zhou Hui had never encountered a suspect trying to launder his image with tax contributions. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Mr. Yan might not know this, but your rival Yu Bai only arrived in Pingling City a little over a month ago. She visits the tax office more often than you do, and she still ended up in a City Bureau interrogation room. What if you paid a little more?”

Yan Mingchang: “…”

Getting serious, Zhou Hui pressed, “Can you tell us now about your relationship with Wu Guojiang, Mr. Yan?”

Yan Mingchang finally dropped the evasions. “Fine. Yeah, we were close. We’re from the same hometown—we just clicked when we talked.”

“If you’re from the same hometown, why hide the relationship earlier?”

Yan Mingchang let out a sigh, his expression turning helpless. “Last month, he came to me for a loan—said his mom was sick. I didn’t overthink it; fifty thousand isn’t a fortune, so I lent it. I knew his money troubles and never expected it back. Then at the start of this month—that night we left the Red Club—he suddenly repaid me in full. I asked where he’d gotten it; he clammed up. Haven’t seen him since.

“I started suspecting he’d pulled a robbery. There was that unsolved Bank Robbery Case going around. The stack of bills he gave me had consecutive serial numbers. The guy’s always stirring up trouble; robbing a bank wouldn’t shock me. Now you show up asking questions—how could I risk admitting I knew him? Besides, I haven’t laid eyes on the kid in over ten days. God knows where he’s holed up. If he really did the robbery, I’d be sitting on hot stolen goods, wouldn’t I?”

Zhou Hui and Han Wei exchanged a glance. Neither of them had any interest in listening to Yan Mingchang spin out his long-winded tale. Regardless of how riveting the story might have been, not a single word he said was backed by any evidence, leaving no way for anyone to separate fact from fiction. When the truth of a matter hinged entirely on a suspect’s bare word, it simply wasn’t compelling.

Zhou Hui ignored his rambling and cut straight to the point. “Where were you on the evening of May 10th, between seven and nine o’clock?”

“May 10th? Let me think… At home? Yeah, I was sleeping at home.”

“Who can confirm that?”

Yan Mingchang looked troubled. “My son’s studying abroad, and my wife’s gone with him. It’s just me at home most of the time. How am I supposed to prove it? Did something happen to Wu Guojiang? Was that bank robbery really his doing?”

Zhou Hui replied, “The bank robber was someone else. Wu Guojiang is dead. So Mr. Yan had better be able to prove where he was that evening between seven and nine. Otherwise, you’re looking at serious trouble.”

“Dead?!” Yan Mingchang let out a piercing shriek, the raw emotion in it far more convincing than anything in his earlier ramble.

The scream startled Zhou Hui and Han Wei both. At this point, she would have believed Wu Guojiang was Yan Mingchang’s kept boy toy far more readily than their claim of a simple employer-employee relationship bolstered by hometown camaraderie.

Yan Mingchang stammered, “Our neighborhood… it should… should have surveillance footage. You can check it. It ought to show what time I entered the complex on the tenth and whether I left again…”

Zhou Hui nodded. “We’ll look into it. Once it’s verified, we’ll clear your name right away. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Yan. In the meantime, please don’t leave Pingling City. It will make it easier for us to follow up if anything comes up.”

The neighborhood surveillance footage confirmed it: Yan Mingchang had arrived home shortly after six-thirty on the evening of the tenth and hadn’t left the complex afterward.

Zhou Hui and Han Wei had just returned to the City Bureau when Yang Pingfan came rushing out of an office, clutching a cup of water as he bolted toward the detention room.

Han Wei grabbed him by the arm. “What’s going on?”

Water sloshed perilously close to spilling from Yang Pingfan’s cup. Spotting the two of them, he blurted out in a panic, “Captain Zhou, Deputy Han, you’re back! Hurry… hurry to the detention room! Wei Xiaoming’s on the verge of collapse!”

What?!

In the detention room, Wei Xiaoming lay curled up on the floor, his entire body wracked with tremors. His eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears, and a puddle of vomit stained the ground nearby. Indistinct words tumbled from his lips: “Give me… just a little… white powder… give me…”

“What did he say? Give him… what?”

“Couldn’t make it out.”

Zhou Hui stepped in and immediately tensed at the sight of Wei Xiaoming’s condition. “Did you call a doctor?”

“He’s on the way. He was perfectly fine this morning, and then all of a sudden…” The new intern’s voice cracked with distress. No one at the Provincial Police University had taught her what to do in a situation like this!

Han Wei tried to calm her. “Don’t worry. Take it slow. What did he eat this morning?”

“Just some soup noodles from the place across the street. We had some too, and we’re fine…”

“Holy crap! Captain Zhou, you’re… too damn hardcore…” The intern had only gotten halfway through her sentence when Han Wei suddenly swore.

Zhou Hui, who had been standing right there a moment ago, was now crouched down, deftly unbuttoning Wei Xiaoming’s shirt. She leaned in close to his neck, inspecting the left side before moving to the right. Then, with the same lightning speed, she rolled up his sleeve.

“Captain Zhou, that’s not…” Zhou Hui shot to her feet, and Han Wei’s half-formed protest died in his throat.

Zhou Hui paused for a beat, then tilted her head. “Get in touch with the Narcotics Squad. Have them authorize a dose of heroin.”

“Ah!” Requesting controlled substances from Narcotics was no small matter—only done as an absolute last resort.

“Wei Xiaoming has fresh needle marks on his neck and arms, big ones. He’s almost certainly a heroin addict, and a heavy user at that.”

Han Wei drew a deep breath. It was classic heroin withdrawal, all right—he just hadn’t put it together right away. But Zhou Hui’s expression had changed the instant she laid eyes on Wei Xiaoming…

“Captain Zhou, are you all right?” Han Wei asked.

Zhou Hui had always been hypersensitive when it came to drugs. Even before joining the detective squad, Han Wei had heard the stories: after graduating from the Provincial Police University, she’d set her sights on the Narcotics Squad, but her father, Zhou Boyan, had refused to let her and instead pulled strings to place her with Zhang Yunan at the Pingling City Police Bureau as a beat cop.

Zhou Hui headed for the detention room door. “I’m fine. Interrogate Wei Xiaoming one more time. If nothing else turns up, hand him over to the Drug Rehabilitation Center. The reason he waited a full week after Wu Guojiang’s death to go ransacking his place for money? Drugs. His habit outstripped his income, and theft and robbery were the quickest fixes.”

Han Wei said, “You don’t think Wei Xiaoming is the killer?”

Captain Zhou glanced at him and replied, “Criminal psychology theories can serve as a shortcut in investigations, but in the end, we have to rely on evidence. Wei Xiaoming’s neighbors reported that he orders takeout every evening around eight or nine o’clock, and the night Wu Guojiang was killed was no exception. This has been confirmed by the delivery guy who brought food to his place that night—Wei Xiaoming was indeed at home.”

Captain Zhou paused before continuing, “The delivery guy remembers it so clearly because he had to call several times before getting through. When Wei Xiaoming opened the door, he could barely stand, reeking of sour stench, and he even spilled soup all over himself while taking the food. That’s from the report Nancheng Sub-bureau sent this morning.”

Han Wei nodded. “That explains it. Wei Xiaoming was reluctant to reveal his whereabouts on the tenth because he was afraid the police would find out he was using drugs.”

Captain Zhou leaned against the corridor wall, hands in her pockets, and jerked her chin toward the detention room. “And given Wei Xiaoming’s condition that night, he could hardly walk, let alone commit murder.”

The doctor arrived soon after and had Wei Xiaoming loaded onto a stretcher. Captain Zhou spent the entire afternoon coordinating with the Narcotics Control team on Wei Xiaoming’s case, wrapping things up just as the workday ended.

The officers sent to check on things in Wu Family Village still hadn’t returned. The village was up in the mountains where cell signals died the moment you entered, making it impossible to reach them. For the first time in over ten days, the entire criminal investigation team clocked out on time. A cheer went up from the group.

A young cop who’d only been on the job for half a year exclaimed dramatically, “Long live Captain Zhou! If we keep pulling these daily overtimes, my girlfriend of three years is gonna end up with someone else.”

Sun Ye slung an arm around his neck with a look of mock pity. “Work a couple more years, and your girl will definitely be someone else’s anyway… Hey! Don’t hit me—I’m just speaking the truth, brother. Look around the bureau. Who’s not in their thirties and still single? Some haven’t even dated… like our…” He furtively pointed at Captain Zhou.

Captain Zhou gave a mild smile and rolled her eyes at Sun Ye. “Sun Ye, the bureau’s toilets are yours to clean for a week.”

Sun Ye grinned awkwardly. “Captain Zhou… I just did them.”

Captain Zhou held up two fingers. “Two weeks. Congrats—you’ve won yourself a two-week deluxe package of quality time with the ammonia fumes. No need to thank me. Alright, everyone, clock out and get on with your evenings.”

Sun Ye looked on the verge of tears. “Come on! Captain Zhou, that’s just too harsh.”

A colleague patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Hang in there, Grandson… Take care of yourself.”

Yang Pingfan drifted past Sun Ye, cradling his precious laptop. “Don’t be too down about it…”

Sun Ye’s eyes lit up. “You’ll help me clean?”

“No,” Yang Pingfan said solemnly. “I just meant, don’t worry. Given the bureau’s usual sanitary conditions, two weeks won’t kill you. You’ll just… lose your appetite a bit.”

Sun Ye: “…”

“Hahaha!” Someone flashed Yang Pingfan a thumbs-up. “Fanfan, I love how you just say it like it is.”

Yang Pingfan nodded, hugged his laptop tighter, and said, “Thanks,” before heading out on time.

Sun Ye watched his retreating back, thinking to himself that this “Little Glasses” must have tallied up every single toilet in the place. Terrifying!

Captain Zhou quietly slipped out of the office amid the commotion she’d started. The moment she stepped out of the bureau, a car pulled up to the entrance. The window rolled down, and Yu Bai removed her sunglasses, flashing her a smile.