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

Team leader Lao Ma, a cigarette dangling from his lips, poked Li Jianfeng's name on the attendance sheet with his finger. Ash fell onto the date "July 17th," burning a small, blackened hole. "That kid's a reliable worker, but too stubborn," he said, his smoke rings dispersing in the sunlight. "Last month, he got into a fight with Wang Baokai, almost coming to blows. I was the one who pulled them apart. Wang Baokai's face turned a deep purplish-red, like a wild boar ready to devour someone."

"What did they argue about?" Zhang Hui's notebook lay open on the tea-stained desk, the nib of his pen hovering above the three characters "Wang Baokai." Fine bits of cigarette ash were embedded in the scratches on the surface. Old Ma refilled the enamel mug with hot water, the tea leaves swirling on the surface. The tea stains at the bottom of the mug were so thick that the patterns were visible. "That green channel trip to Xi'an was carrying fresh kiwis. It was originally assigned to Wang Baokai, but Li Jianfeng said he knew the cargo owner and could get an extra two hundred yuan in freight, so he asked the dispatcher to switch it." He suddenly lowered his voice, spittle flying onto the desk. "Wang Baokai exploded on the spot, pointing his finger at Li Jianfeng and yelling, 'You wait, I'll ruin you sooner or later!' Spit all over Li Jianfeng's face. Li Jianfeng wiped his face and only said, 'Follow the rules,' a tone that could choke a person to death."

While visiting the other drivers in the same fleet, Zhang Hui found Lao Zhao next to the tanker truck in the parking lot. He was wiping the rearview mirror with a rag, the reflection of the distant repair shop in the lens, and ants crawling on the pile of old tires in the corner. "That fight was fierce," Lao Zhao said, the rag tracing an arc on the mirror, leaving a watermark. "Wang Baokai grabbed a wrench and was about to smash Li Jianfeng's truck. He had the wrench above his head, but the three of us grabbed him and prevented him from hitting it. He was still struggling and shouting, 'You stole my job, I'll make sure you don't leave here alive!' The veins on his neck were bulging like ropes about to snap." He suddenly remembered something and pulled a crumpled cigarette pack from the cab, the foil inside gleaming silver. "The next day, Li Jianfeng's left rear tire had three punctures, all the same size, clearly done with professional tools. He suspected Wang Baokai did it, but since they didn't catch him in the act, the fleet didn't investigate further and just deducted two hundred yuan from Wang Baokai's pay."

When investigating Wang Baokai's basic information, Zhang Hui discovered that he was five years younger than Li Jianfeng and lived in an old residential area in the south of the city. The walls of that building were almost completely peeling off, and the stairwells were piled with scrap from each household. He drove a second-hand Jiefang truck with the license plate number Yu A59327. A rusty steel pipe was welded to the sideboard of the truck bed, supposedly used to secure oversized cargo. "His tires are Triangle brand, 245 millimeters wide," technician Xiao Zhou compared the tire treads on the computer. The grid lines on the screen framed the two treads together. "The match with the tire tracks on the firebreak is 80%, especially the wear characteristics in the grooves. There is a 0.5-centimeter gap on the left front tire, left from rubbing against the curb last month. There is also an identical gap in the same position on the tire tracks at the scene, and even the direction of the cracks at the edge of the gap is consistent."

When they found Wang Baokai's place, a dark blue work uniform was hanging to dry on the third-floor balcony. Diesel stains on the cuffs glistened in the sunlight, like solidified amber. The landlady, carrying a vegetable basket filled with bright red tomatoes, came downstairs. Her eyes lit up when she saw the police car, revealing a gap-toothed gum: "You're looking for Wang Baokai? That kid's really something else," she spat on the ground. "He went out around 3 PM on the 18th, wearing that blue work uniform and carrying a heavy black bag. He didn't come back until almost midnight. He kept turning the motion-activated lights in the hallway on and off, and he smelled of mud and pine needles. I knew he'd been there since I first saw him." Looking at him, his trousers were still dripping wet; he'd probably been off somewhere. Zhang Hui looked up at the work clothes; the hem fell three centimeters below the knee, a perfect match for the figure flashing by in the security camera footage. A tiny blade of grass clung to the worn edge of the hem. "What size shoes does he usually wear?" the landlady asked, gesturing with her hand. "Size 44, I guess. Last time the pipes were fixed, I saw him change shoes; the shoebox was in the trash heap in the hallway. The number on it was clearly visible: 44, no doubt about it."

When visiting the repair shop that Wang Baokai frequents, the owner is changing the oil in a truck. The oil sludge in the drain has hardened into clumps, making a crunching sound when stepped on. Various sizes of wrenches are displayed on an iron rack in the corner, the largest of which has an opening ten centimeters wide. “Kai came in on the afternoon of the 17th to have his left front tire replaced,” the shopkeeper said, tapping the oil pan with a wrench, making a dull sound. “He said the tire was a bit unevenly worn, and the steering wheel kept veering to the right when driving. I adjusted the toe-in and replaced the brake pads. He also bought a bottle of diesel additive, saying he was going to do a heavy job and needed more engine power. The one I recommended was 320 yuan a bottle, and he bought it without even blinking.” Zhang Hui’s gaze fell on the black backpack in the corner, the strap worn shiny, a dark blue thread wrapped around the metal buckle: “Is this bag Wang Baokai’s?” The shopkeeper nodded, pointing to the side pocket with his greasy fingers: “He left it behind, saying he’d pick it up next time. There’s also a trekking pole inside. I don’t know what a truck driver would buy that for. Is he going hiking?” Zhang Hui unzipped the bag, revealing the trekking pole with anti-slip tape wrapped around the handle, the texture of which was embedded with dark brown dirt.

When reviewing Wang Baokai's call records, they found a missed call at 2:58 PM on July 18th from Li Jianfeng's number. The call lasted 0 seconds, presumably from Li Jianfeng who didn't answer. Three minutes later, he called a number ending in 6789, which lasted 1 minute and 23 seconds. This number wasn't registered under his real name, but cell tower location data showed it was near the southern suburbs, less than three kilometers from the entrance to the firebreak road. "This number ending in 6789 also called Li Jianfeng on July 17th," Zhang Hui pointed to the timestamps in the call records. "At 7:7 PM, the call lasted 47 seconds. That was exactly the day after Wang Baokai and Li Jianfeng's argument at the convoy. It's very likely that Wang Baokai used an anonymous number to probe Li Jianfeng's whereabouts."

When questioned about Wang Baokai's whereabouts at the time of the incident, he was loading goods at the logistics park. The veins on his bronze arms bulged as he lifted heavy cardboard boxes onto a truck. Sweat streamed down his face, dripping onto the cement floor and instantly spreading into a small, dark stain. "I was hauling goods on the afternoon of the 18th, from Yangluo to Dongzhou," he said, his eyes darting away, avoiding Zhang Hui's gaze. One hand's fingers dug into the cracks of the steering wheel, black grease embedded under his fingernails. "I have toll receipts and logistics park surveillance footage as proof. Don't wrong an innocent person." Zhang Hui demanded to see the receipts. (End of Chapter)