Attending ex-girlfriend's wedding, arresting the groom's officer on the spot

This answer made Zhang Hui frown—surveillance footage from the vegetable market showed that she and Zhang Kaiqi had shopped for groceries together last week. At that time, Zhang Kaiqi was carrying a black canvas bag, which was covered in the same kind of dust as the one in the warehouse.

During the search of the bedroom, Zhang Hui found a locked metal box deep in the bedside table drawer. Su Wanjun's face instantly turned deathly pale, as if all the color had been drained from her: "That's...that's my jewelry box, nothing to see." When Xiao Li pried open the lock, the contents inside made everyone gasp—three ST brand capacitors, the same model as the three missing from the warehouse, with fresh solder still clinging to their metal leads.

"What's with these parts?" Zhang Hui picked up one of the capacitors, his fingertips still feeling the residual warmth, as if it had just been touched. Su Wanjun suddenly slumped to the ground, tears welling up without warning: "It was him, he delivered them last week, saying he'd leave them with me temporarily... I don't know what they are." Her gaze drifted to the underside of the bed, where there was something covered by a cloth, its outline resembling a toolbox.

When Zhang Hui lifted the canvas, the contents inside shocked him—a set of professional electronic repair tools, the soldering iron tip still bearing traces of black solder, and a notebook next to it with the words "Capacitor Replacement Solution" written in Zhang Kaiqi's handwriting, dated the day before his disappearance. Even more suspicious was a note hidden in a compartment of the toolbox, which read "Warehouse No. 17, 3:00 AM," the handwriting messy, as if hastily written.

"Have you been to Beishan Logistics Park?" Zhang Hui's voice suddenly turned stern, and Su Wanjun's shoulders trembled violently. A crumpled logistics park pass fell out of her pajamas pocket, the number matching perfectly with the one shown by the man in the baseball cap in the surveillance footage. She suddenly covered her face and sobbed, her cries interspersed with broken explanations: "I just... I just helped him deliver some documents... The fog was too thick that night, I couldn't see anything."

News from the technical department arrived at that moment: Su Wanjun's DNA matched perfectly with the dark blue fibers found in the warehouse ventilation vents, and the elastic band on her work clothes cuffs matched the silicone residue left at the scene. Zhang Hui stared at the hickey on her collarbone and suddenly remembered the scratches on Li Mei's neck—the marks on the two women seemed to be remnants of the same fierce argument.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” Zhang Hui squatted down in front of her, his eyes piercing, “Where were you the night Zhang Kaiqi died?” Su Wanjun’s sobs stopped abruptly, her pupils contracting sharply under the light, like a startled rabbit. The sky outside the window gradually darkened, and the motion-sensor lights in the corridor flickered with the footsteps, illuminating her panicked face, like a silent play without dialogue.

As Xiao Li prepared to take Su Wanjun back to the police station for further questioning, she suddenly grabbed the door frame and refused to let go, her fingernails digging into the wood grain: "I didn't kill her! It really wasn't me!" Her gaze was fixed on the photo frame on the bedside table, where the group photo by the sea was faintly glowing in the twilight. "It was Zheng Biao who did it," she said, but her words were drowned out by sobs.

As Zhang Hui escorted Su Wanjun downstairs, he glanced back at the window of apartment 302. The living room light was still on, and the two mugs on the coffee table remained upside down, like two secrets that refused to be spoken.

The incandescent light in the interrogation room cast Su Wanjun's shadow on the wall. Her fingernails dug shallow marks into the edge of the table, and the coffee stains on her gray loungewear were blurred into dark clouds by her tears. Zhang Hui pushed a photo of a logistics park warehouse in front of her. The cement floor in the photo gleamed coldly, reflecting her trembling pupils.

“Speak,” Zhang Hui tapped his pen on the notepad, the ink spreading in small circles on the paper, “What exactly did you see that night in Warehouse 17?” Su Wanjun’s shoulders hunched over as if burned by his words. As she covered her face with her hands, her pearl earring fell to the ground, rolling to the side of the table leg with a soft clatter.

A silence lingered in the interrogation room for a full forty minutes, until Xiao Li posted Zheng Biao's household registration photo on the opposite wall. The man in the photo had prominent brow bones and a scar at the end of his left eyebrow, the silhouette of which overlapped with the figure wearing a baseball cap in the logistics park's surveillance footage. Su Wanjun's breathing suddenly quickened, a whimpering sound escaping her throat, as if someone were choking her. "Who is Zheng Biao to you?" Zhang Hui's voice pierced the silence. Su Wanjun's nails dug deeply into her palms, drops of blood dripping onto the table. "Does he often come to your house? Did he stay overnight at your place last Wednesday night?"

These words were like a key that unlocked Su Wanjun's taut nerves. She suddenly raised her head, shaking her head with tears streaming down her face: "No... he just... just gave me a ride home on his way." But when her gaze fell on the photo, the fear in her pupils was unmistakable—that scar had flashed coldly in the infrared mode of the warehouse surveillance camera.

The technical department's call log came in at that moment: Su Wanjun and Zheng Biao's numbers had three calls on the night of the incident, the last one ending at 2:40 AM, the very time Zhang Kaiqi was presumed dead. Zhang Hui slammed the call log on the table, the edge of the paper fluttering: "What did he say to you during that last call?"

Su Wanjun's defenses completely crumbled, her sobs mingling with broken explanations: "He said... he said he was going to catch them cheating... I couldn't stop him..." Her fingers twisted her collar, the stain there suddenly becoming glaringly obvious. "Cage and I... we're truly in love... Zheng Biao is a madman, his controlling nature is terrifying..."

The truth gradually became clear through her incoherent narration. Zheng Biao was Su Wanjun's secret lover, a truck driver in a logistics park, with a volatile temper and an extremely possessive nature. On the night of the incident, Zheng Biao finished work early and went home, intending to surprise Su Wanjun, but he heard her laughing and joking with Zhang Kaiqi outside the door.

“When he kicked the door open, Cage was fixing my necklace,” Su Wanjun’s voice trembled, her fingernails drawing messy lines on the table. “Zheng Biao was holding a wrench, his eyes were bloodshot like he wanted to eat me alive… I was so scared that I hid in the closet and heard Cage say, ‘Let’s break up,’ and then there was the sound of tables and chairs overturning…”

She suddenly covered her ears and shook violently: "Later, Zheng Biao dragged Kaiqi out and told me to shut up... He said if I dared to call the police, he would tell my husband about me and Kaiqi..." The bloodstain test report from deep inside the wardrobe was then delivered to Zhang Hui. It showed AB blood type, consistent with Zhang Kaiqi, mixed with a small amount of skin tissue fragments, and the DNA was a perfect match for Zheng Biao.

That night.

The truck parking area in the northwest corner of the logistics park reeked of a mixture of diesel and rust. Zheng Biao's blue truck lay silently in the corner like a slumbering beast. Moist red mud still clung to the tires; rubbing it between his fingers revealed clear traces of gravel mixed in, a composition perfectly matching that of the soil near the Beishan warehouse. (End of Chapter)