Chapter 319

Meng Chengbiao spent the entire morning organizing theft case files, and at noon, he secretly went to take a nap.

Working on homicide cases is extremely exhausting; whenever you get a chance, sleep—it's an essential skill for staying alive without collapsing or going bald.

Meng Chengbiao mainly thought Jiang Yuan's plan would take several days to complete, so he immediately began preparing for a prolonged campaign.

When he woke up, he specifically went to take a shower, thoroughly cleaning his hair, scalp, and skin folds, and when he came out, his phone had several missed calls.

Instantly, Meng Chengbiao's heart skipped a beat, and he snapped awake—he immediately called back, pulling on his clothes as he asked: "Wang Chuanxing? What's wrong?"

"Jiang's team matched a lock impression to a petty thief—well, now he's an old hand. We're heading out to arrest him," Wang Chuanxing shouted, also dressing in his gear.

"So fast?" Meng Chengbiao quickly got up and put on his clothes.

"Nine months before the incident, he committed over four break-ins, but we never caught him. One of those cases left half a fingerprint—Jiang's team matched it, and that's how we locked onto this old thief."

"So he's been self-sufficient the whole time," Meng Chengbiao muttered, stunned. In other words, Jiang Yuan used lock impressions from theft cases over the past nine months to link four cases, then used evidence from those thefts to identify the suspect.

He could already imagine why only four theft cases were matched—it must be because the evidence from the first three couldn't directly link to any suspect.

In other words, Jiang Yuan found one case, combed through all its evidence, and if that failed, moved on to the next case.

By the time he'd slept, Jiang Yuan had already gone through four or five cases from start to finish. At least.

Meng Chengbiao didn't know how to describe the feeling, but a cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Where are you now?" Meng Chengbiao, fully dressed, sprinted out the door.

Wang Chuanxing said: "Wait for us at Guishui Intersection—if you can't make it, wait for our return."

"Got it." Meng Chengbiao ran while asking: "What's the suspect like? What's his name?"

"Wang Kedian. He was 23 when the case happened, now he's 31. He's been imprisoned twice—once for a year, once for a year and a half. After release, he opened a guesthouse by the river on the city's outskirts…" Wang Chuanxing explained.

Meng Chengbiao grunted, planning to look it up himself later.

He was the team's interrogation expert; his presence during major arrests was essential.

At this moment, Wang Chuanxing and the others had donned stab-proof vests, gloves, and police gear, fully armed, and were speeding off in the patrol car, sirens blaring.

Police in the provincial capital were far better equipped than those in county towns.

For example, the criminal investigation unit of Ningtai County usually operated in the same gear day to day, with no second set to switch into during arrests.

Changyang City's police were different—on any moderately serious arrest operation, they'd wear stab-proof vests and other gear.

In urban, small-scale arrests or confrontations, stab-proof vests were practically magical. They were just vests—slightly hindering movement, but capable of withstanding knife slashes, spikes, and even triangular blades. A single vest protected nearly every vital organ except the head and genitals—yet somehow, that made them feel almost useless.

Imagine if those old-school gangsters from back then had worn stab-proof vests: a row of a dozen tough kids charging forward, their blades clashing against the vests—only tearing fabric, not skin—and they'd win every brawl instantly.

The police simply put on their gear: ten or so officers burst through the guesthouse door, swarmed in, and pinned the owner against the wall on the spot.

The guesthouse owner was fat, with long, jet-black braids tied into a thick knot, adorned with beads like a bracelet.

Despite possible resistance, the officers shoved everyone else out of the courtyard.

"It's fine, it's fine—they probably got the wrong person. These cops are obsessed with drug busts now, jumping at shadows. Maybe it's a rival's false report…" the owner reassured his guests.

"Wang Kedian, you're under arrest. Come with us," Wang Chuanxing recognized the man—his photo looked nothing like the man in front of him, but for police, this was basic stuff.

Hearing his real name, the guesthouse owner froze, panicked, and whispered: "You've got the wrong guy."

"No mistake," Wang Chuanxing grabbed his hair, pulled out the photo, held it up, and said: "Look for yourself—is it the same or not?"

Years had passed—Wang Kedian had grown fatter, older, and uglier; even from the photo alone, you might barely argue that they looked like brothers.

But Wang Kedian, having undergone government re-education, was now overwhelmed by the sight of dozens of officers storming in—his mind was nearly shattered, too drained to even argue.

This wasn't how you arrested a thief.

"I've… given it all up," Wang Kedian whispered.

"Just answer: are you him? What's your name?" Wang Chuanxing's voice rose, sharper now.

He just needed to confirm they had the right man.

Wang Kedian lost all will to resist, lowering his head: "I'm Wang Kedian."

"That's who we're taking," Wang Chuanxing nodded. A nearby officer slapped handcuffs on him.

The guests watched in terror. As Wang Kedian was being led away, one suddenly shouted: "Boss, what about our deposit?"

"I'll be back! I'll be back tomorrow!" Wang Kedian struggled hard.

The guest whispered: "What if he doesn't come back?"

Another whispered: "Then we'll just take back our stay."

Hearing them, Wang Kedian's emotions shattered: "Without me, who cleans your toilets? Who makes your breakfast? I gave up crime, turned over a new leaf, ran a guesthouse—I've cleaned more toilets than I've stolen bags! Now I'm broke, my own grandkids don't recognize me! If you can clean a toilet better than I cleaned my pockets, I'll admit defeat—I admit it!"

The detectives let him vent—this was the perfect time to gather information.

Right now, he'd already admitted to financial movements—that was a good start.

Branch.

Meng Chengbiao never made it to the arrest—he went straight to the branch's interrogation room to prepare.

After being thoroughly searched and brought in clean, Wang Kedian was seated. Meng Chengbiao now understood the full context and current situation.

Winter.

Meng Chengbiao placed a thick stack of documents on the table, pretending they were case files and evidence.

This was the most basic psychological tactic used by interrogators—and oddly, it almost always worked.

Wang Kedian flinched.

He was a veteran criminal, having served time in both prison and detention centers—a high-level offender, level two or above.

But the interrogation room's atmosphere, the sheer weight of the situation, easily scrambled a man's thoughts.

Like a stock trader or a bettor: when not actively trading, they make clear, accurate judgments. But once they actually place their bets, the more they invest, the more their minds cloud.

Wang Kedian was the same—he didn't know how much Meng Chengbiao knew, but his psychological defenses were collapsing under the weight of the consequences.

"Do you know what case we're investigating?" Meng Chengbiao asked slowly, after his colleagues finished routine questioning.

Wang Kedian smiled faintly and shook his head: "I really don't know. I've reformed—I've decided to be a good man. Look at my guesthouse: not many guests, but the income's decent. I've got everything I need now…"

"On April 11, nine years ago, apartment 1507 in Building B of Longhua Tian Di, Changyang City, was burgled—losses: 2, 00 yuan in cash, 21 pieces of jewelry, one camera…"

"May 3. Apartment 702 in Building 16 of Yangguang City Phase II was burgled—losses: two laptops, one external hard drive, one iPad, one mobile phone…"

"June 15. Apartment 1801 in Building 3 of Fenghuang Lake was burgled—losses: 7, 00 yuan, seven pieces of gold and silver jewelry, twenty unopened cosmetics…"

"July 1. Apartment 701 in Building 8 of Shuidong Waterworks Staff Compound…"

Meng Chengbiao listed four cases in one breath, and Wang Kedian exhaled—burglaries, sure, four of them… but wait, how long would four burglaries get him?

While Wang Kedian was still thinking, Meng Chengbiao slammed his hand on the table: "I don't care about these four cases."

"Huh?" Wang Kedian looked up—then why are you talking to me?

"Where were you on November 2?" Meng Chengbiao's gaze sharpened, striking straight at Wang Kedian's weakest point.

Wang Kedian froze again, his face turning sallow.

He'd been reformed for years, and his emotional control had slipped. More importantly, as a former high-level criminal, he knew police interrogation tactics well.

But precisely because he knew them, his small mind connected the dots—Meng Chengbiao's four cases suddenly linked together in his head.

At this moment, Wang Kedian's thoughts grew complex.

"You can't escape," Meng Chengbiao said quietly. "Confess and get leniency; resist and get harshness. You've been through this before—you don't need me to explain the policy again."

Wang Kedian chuckled twice—whether sarcastic or not, it was unclear.

"How did you… how can you be sure all these cases were done by me?" Wang Kedian asked again, sounding like he was challenging them.

Meng Chengbiao smiled inwardly—for him, when a suspect asked this, it was like a young buyer asking, "Can you make it cheaper?"—the final, desperate struggle before surrender.

"Just tell me—did you do these cases?" Meng Chengbiao revealed nothing.

Once the case reached trial, if the suspect hired a lawyer, they could review the files, examine evidence, and challenge its validity.

But in China, suspects during interrogation have no access to case details. For Meng Chengbiao to list all four cases outright was extremely rare.

He did it because he held overwhelming evidence—especially since Wang Kedian's lock-picking tools had been seized. The evidence was so abundant that even without a confession, he could be convicted on zero statements.

Jiang Yuan could use the same method to trace even more cases.

But Meng Chengbiao's main goal was the homicide case—he needed a confession for that. These theft cases? He could hand them all to Wang Kedian.

After all, he was already facing the death penalty—why care about a few extra years?

Wang Kedian realized it too—his face shifted from sallow to deathly pale.