Chapter 320

"If I report and expose a fellow accomplice, can that count as major meritorious service?" Wang Kedian spoke again, and his first words were startling.

Meng Chengbiao's expression changed instantly, then smoothly shifted to laughter: "You know quite a bit? The standard for major meritorious service is very high."

"When I was inside, someone got major meritorious service and had their sentence reduced by several years—wasn't that right?" Wang Kedian pressed.

Meng Chengbiao chuckled twice and said: "You have to report and expose crimes punishable by life imprisonment or worse to possibly qualify for major meritorious service."

His statement wasn't entirely complete, but as the officer in charge of interrogation, Meng Chengbiao had no obligation to explain fully or ensure understanding.

After all, this wasn't a classroom—did they need to pass a test to prove they understood?

Wang Kedian hesitated slightly. He had little education, but he knew some police officers did lie.

Watching Wang Kedian's expression, Meng Chengbiao formed a guess and said: "I can submit your report upward. If it truly leads to solving the case, the chance of it being recognized as major meritorious service is quite high. And to be honest, if you can't extricate yourself from this case, you'll spend the rest of your life inside."

This time, Wang Kedian's pause was brief; he quickly said: "On November 2nd, I was indeed called to pick a lock."

"And then?"

"Then… I just opened it." Wang Kedian sighed. "When I got back, I watched TV and saw the warehouse had burned down. I heard they found a body. I thought, damn it…"

"Which warehouse?"

"8178 Ke Si Road." Wang Kedian clearly remembered it well.

"Continue."

"Then… I was just thinking about what to do when someone threw a bundle of cash into my yard—100, 00 yuan—and a train ticket to Kunming. I thought, fine, packed up and left."

Wang Kedian's answer left Meng Chengbiao silent.

It was completely different from his preconceived line of thinking.

At first, Meng Chengbiao—and the special case team—had assumed a single criminal who handled lock-picking, murder, and arson himself, like Jiang Yuan, a solo operator.

Later, when Wang Kedian mentioned seeking meritorious service, Meng Chengbiao thought he had an accomplice. But even then, he imagined a traditional accomplice: one handling murder and arson, the other specializing in lock-picking, surveillance, and driving.

Meng Chengbiao never imagined Wang Kedian could distance himself so cleanly—and yet his story had a certain logic to it.

Upon hearing this answer, Meng Chengbiao looked at Wang Kedian again and no longer felt he resembled a murderer or arsonist.

From his twenty-plus years as a detective, Meng Chengbiao judged Wang Kedian's movements and demeanor matched those of a middle-aged petty thief—calling him a seasoned criminal was already an exaggeration.

"Who told you to pick the lock?" Meng Chengbiao had a hundred questions and suspicions, but he didn't dig into them—he pressed for the identity of the killer, the primary goal of interrogation. Even if Wang Kedian was fabricating, he needed to see the story's end before judging its truth.

"Zhang Xiang. People who know him call him Zhang DaNao, we used to call him Brother Zhang." Wang Kedian said.

The officer beside him asked: "What are the characters for Zhang Xiang?"

Wang Kedian replied: "Zhang as in 'open,' Xiang as in 'project.'"

"Is Zhang Xiang his real name?" Meng Chengbiao also pressed on the name issue, as this might be the most critical answer of all.

Wang Kedian answered: "Yes."

"What does he do?"

"He's a parking lot security guard at Jianyuan Pharmaceutical." Wang Kedian said.

"How did a security guard end up mixing with you guys, calling you brothers?"

"He used to be in the underworld too." Wang Kedian opened up. "Jianyuan Pharmaceutical's parking guards aren't like ordinary ones. They manage several small lots, collect cash, and the QR code payment system is owned by their own security team."

Meng Chengbiao frowned: "Didn't Jianyuan Pharmaceutical notice?"

"They pretend not to know. Their security team does Jianyuan's dirty work. Besides their regular salary, they split the parking fees—how much they collect, they divide among themselves. Jianyuan doesn't interfere. Brother Zhang—he told me when things were good, he could make twenty or thirty thousand a month."

Meng Chengbiao had been about to ask what kind of dirty work, but thought better of it—he didn't need more trouble. He steered the conversation back: "So Zhang Xiang told you to pick the lock, and you just did it? You didn't go in with him?"

"He said his own key didn't work, and he fiddled with the lock a bit." Wang Kedian shook his head, his fat face jiggling. "I asked him, 'Why not just knock? Isn't my lock-picking fine?' He said there was some dispute, told me not to meddle. So I… sigh…"

"Enough talking. Write the statement." Meng Chengbiao gestured to the officer beside him.

Wang Kedian: "I opened the door. I took my time—about ten minutes. Inside, there was no sound at all. When I opened it, Brother Zhang told me to leave, so I left."

"Do you still have the train ticket?" Meng Chengbiao asked calmly, posing another core question.

If Wang Kedian was telling the truth, he would have kept that day's train ticket. It was crucial physical evidence.

Today, that ticket carried even greater weight.

Because if Wang Kedian truly possessed that ticket on the day of the crime, as a petty thief who had already faced People's Democratic Dictatorship twice, his first and correct choice would have been to flee immediately.

But if he bought the ticket himself, he'd likely have discarded it—because the ticket proved he left Changyang City after the crime, making him a suspect.

But if the ticket was given to him, then to prove his story and his innocence, he'd have kept it. And this story couldn't have been fabricated eight years ago.

Wang Kedian himself may not have fully grasped this logic, but he answered without hesitation: "I have the ticket. I hid it—in the pocket of an old coat."

Meng Chengbiao's expression turned serious at once.

Wang Kedian hadn't hidden his lock-picking tools, yet he'd carefully stashed the train ticket in just the right place.

An old coat pocket holding an old train ticket was perfect—hard to lose, hard to arouse suspicion.

Meng Chengbiao didn't believe Wang Kedian was lying. If he were, the story would be too complex. Besides, he'd provided both physical and testimonial evidence that could be verified.

In Jiang Yuan's cold case task force office, Jiang Yuan's expression also grew serious.

"It seems Zhang Xiang is a prime suspect." Jiang Yuan had grown accustomed to his commanding role—he called Yu Wenshu first to report the case, then named several officers to investigate and question.

Yu Wenshu arrived quickly, his face bright with joy.

From his perspective, a homicide cold case advancing this far was already wildly encouraging.

In the past, he would have already begun planning how to praise Jiang Yuan without sounding repetitive.

Of course, praise was still needed now—but it could wait a little. Jiang Yuan was now the head of the cold case task force; theoretically, he had to solve the case entirely before completing his mission. Unlike before, where securing evidence and completing its collection was enough.

This also further elevated Jiang Yuan's value. A detective who could solve even one homicide cold case was truly a veteran in the police force.