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

Zhang Hui stared at the bouncing atomic model in the screensaver and suddenly remembered what the forensic doctor had said about "skin tissue fragments under the fingernails." "Get all the 45-year-old men with recent records of fighting," he tapped the table, "regardless of whether they are missing persons or not, as long as they fit the height and weight range, list them all."

Xiao Li's fingers glided across the keyboard, bringing up only 37 entries. "Zhao Lei, 44 years old, got into a fight over a parking space dispute," he clicked on a photo; the man had a bruise on his right cheek. "But he's still in detention, so it's impossible for him to have committed the crime." He eliminated them one by one until only a blank screen remained.

The sky outside the window began to lighten, and the fluorescent lights in the information center finally stabilized, ceasing their hissing. Zhang Hui stood up, his back cracking. He looked at the mountain of waste paper piled up beside the printer, each sheet covered with exclusion symbols. "That's enough for today," his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping, "Organize the information on these similar individuals, and tomorrow have Wang Shuai conduct on-site visits to see if any have slipped through the net."

Xiao Li and Xiao Zhang dragged their feet away, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. Zhang Hui glanced at the screen one last time; the name "Zhao Jianguo" was still in the search box, the words "Not Matched" next to it like a thorn embedded in the dense information. As he shut down the computer, his bloodshot eyes were reflected on the screen, and he suddenly felt that the dead in the garage, like these names lost in the sea of ​​data, harbored untold secrets but could not find their way home.

Morning light streamed through the windows of the information center, falling on the search query "45-year-old male." Zhang Hui picked up the deceased's photo; the dark red stains on the collar of his gray pajamas gleamed eerily in the sunlight. He knew this tedious comparison would continue; perhaps the next name, or the one after that, would lead to the identity that matched the deceased. But for now, only the scrolling information on the screen silently testified to the difficulty of the search.

The next day, the blinds in the brigade's meeting room were only slightly ajar, letting in the slanting morning light that cast a bright line on the files in front of Lu Chuan. His fingers, gripping the enamel mug, were white, and the tea stains at the bottom resembled a blurry map. "Everyone's here," he said, glancing at the crowd, the bloodshot veins in his eyes particularly clear in the shadows. "Start with Yang Lin. Report on the new findings from the on-site investigation."

Yang Lin laid out the photos of the scene on the whiteboard, pointing to the cement ground next to the body: "The size 42 rubber shoe print extracted from the garage floor, after enhanced processing in the laboratory, revealed a 0.5-centimeter triangular notch at the heel, which matches the style of the work shoes worn by the construction team outside the west gate of the community." He pulled up a detailed photo of the Passat, "The silver-white powder in the trunk lock cylinder of the vehicle was tested and found to be titanium-containing architectural coating. The community is currently undergoing exterior wall renovation, and they are using the same type of coating."

"Any progress on fibers and fingerprints?" Lu Chuan pressed, tapping his knuckles lightly on the table.

"The dark blue fibers on the deceased's pajamas, according to infrared spectroscopy analysis, are made of polyester, a material commonly used in construction site safety nets," Yang Lin turned a page of the report. "Two valid samples were separated from the overlapping fingerprints on the Passat's steering wheel. One matches the archived fingerprint of the car owner, Zhao Jianguo, while the other is blurry and requires secondary enhancement. Most importantly, a platinum ring was found under the rear seat floor mat, with 'LW' engraved on the inner band, weighing 5.2 grams, which does not belong to Zhao Jianguo."

Zhang Kai adjusted his glasses and spread out the autopsy report: "The cause of death is confirmed as mechanical asphyxiation. Subperiosteal hemorrhage of the hyoid bone and tear of the thyroglossal membrane caused by strangulation are typical characteristics." He circled the anatomical diagram of the neck muscles with a red pen: "The deep hemorrhage area of ​​the sternocleidomastoid muscle is 4×5 cm, and the direction of the muscle fiber tear is radial, which is consistent with the force characteristics of strangulation by both hands."

"Can the time of death be made more precise?" Lu Chuan leaned forward slightly.

“The final stage of digestion of the stomach contents shows,” Zhang Kai pulled up a microscope image, “that the starch granules in the rice grains have a 65% disintegration rate, and the transverse striations of the meat fibers are blurred. Combined with the second correction of the Henssge formula based on rectal temperature, the time of death should be between 0:30 and 1:15 a.m..” He paused, “The deceased’s left ring finger has an old fracture at the second joint with a unique healing mark, which may be a key feature for identification.”

Wang Shuai opened his visit logbook, the pages frayed and curled: "Property security guard Lao Liu provided a new clue. Last Thursday night at 10 pm, he saw a white van parked downstairs at Building 12. The driver was wearing a baseball cap and kept looking at Zhao Jianguo's parking space." He drew a circle on the community map: "The garage surveillance footage showed a figure wearing a dark hoodie coming out of the elevator at 0:47 am. The person was walking with a slight limp, which matched the gait of a size 42 shoe."

"How's the investigation into the social connections of car owner Zhao Jianguo going?" Lu Chuan asked.

“Zhao Jianguo’s Shengda Trading Company owes money to three suppliers, totaling about 8 million yuan,” Wang Shuai’s pen swept across the list. “Li Wei, the boss of Hengtong Building Materials, even brought people to cause trouble at the company last week. The two argued in the garage. Li Wei does walk with a limp—his left knee was injured.” He looked up. “But Li Wei has an alibi. He was drinking at a bar from midnight to 2 a.m., and there are surveillance cameras and witnesses.”

Zhang Hui rubbed his aching temples and pushed a stack of exclusion lists to the center of the table: "We compared 4127 missing persons records, and the seven people who met the criteria were all ruled out." He pointed to the photo of "Wu Weidong," "Although the address and clothing matched, his social security records show that he was on a business trip in a neighboring city last Wednesday, which can be confirmed by hotel surveillance footage." He pulled up the fingerprint database comparison results, "The unfamiliar fingerprints on the steering wheel did not match the criminal record database."

A brief silence fell over the meeting room, broken only by the hum of the air conditioner unit vibrating against the windowpane. Yang Lin suddenly spoke up: "The red particles on the Passat's rear bumper have been tested and found to be iron oxide, consistent with the composition of the red warning posts from the construction team outside the community. They're likely from a scratch." He pulled up photos of the damaged vehicle. "The height and angle of the scratches match the characteristics of a collision with an upright pillar."

"Could it be an inside job?" Wang Shuai speculated. "The murderer knows Zhao Jianguo's schedule and may even have the garage key. Otherwise, how could they have gotten in at dawn?" He tapped the table. "That ring with 'LW' engraved on it might have been dropped by the murderer and is related to Zhao Jianguo's debt dispute."

Zhang Kai shook his head: "If it were someone you knew, there would be no need to fake ligature marks on the ankle." He pointed to the autopsy photos, "The skin around the ligature marks is very superficially peeled off, and there's no sign of life. It's clearly a post-mortem faking; the murderer wanted to cover up the truth of strangulation." (End of Chapter)