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墨書 Inktalez
What evidence are they looking for?
First and foremost, the discovery of the victim's existence, namely the body of Song Zheng. Additionally, there is the spring knife that Du Zao handed to Song Daoquan for the act, the weapon that Song Daoquan switched out to kill Song Zheng, and blood-stained clothing, among other things.
"Is there anything else we are missing?" Shen Jie asked while standing in front of the display screen in the conference room.
Ji Qinchou slowly raised his hand. "The mask."
"The mask?" Shen Jie was momentarily taken aback but quickly realized, "You mean the mask that Song Daoquan wore while staging the murder scene by Zhaowang River across from PINK? Are you suggesting that Song Zheng was disguised as Tang Wenshan at that time? According to Du Zao's plan, Song Daoquan should have used a spring knife prepared by her that night, but he switched it for a real knife. Song Daoquan isn't very smart; he thought he could take this opportunity to kill Song Zheng, believing that Du Zao's flawless plan would keep him off the police's radar!" Clenching his right fist and striking it against his left palm, Shen Jie looked at Ji Qinchou with bright eyes despite his dark circles. "Good job, quick thinking!"
"Just a guess."
"Proving this is simple!" Shi Ya said. "Didn't Forensic Expert Lin extract DNA from a male and female at the crime scene? If we compare that female DNA with Song Daoquan's DNA, the results will be clear!"
"Notify Forensic Expert Lin to conduct the comparison immediately!"
"Captain Shen, Forensic Expert Lin has been taken by Zhao Ziqiang and his team to Qingtong Community for an on-site investigation."
"Then contact other forensic experts; I need those test results as soon as possible!" Shi Ya said as she left to contact the forensic lab. Shen Jie paced around the empty space in front of the conference table, muttering, "Song Daoquan isn't the type to be a serial killer. After committing murder, his most likely method of disposing of key evidence would be to throw everything—blood-stained clothing and murder weapon—into the river once he's out of sight of any witnesses. Whether we can obtain a complete chain of evidence depends entirely on the upcoming recovery efforts."
"Captain Shen, I want to go somewhere," Ji Qinchou suddenly interjected.
"Where?"
"The basement of Canyang Community."
In the basement corridor, Ji Qinchou lingered outside storage room 2132 for a while. Ye Ying stood nearby with her arms crossed, not urging him; she knew him too well—his mind was busy processing information.
"Ying Jie, if you hid a body inside, what would you do to ensure it wouldn't be discovered?"
"Since the body is stored in a freezer, apart from paying the electricity bill on time to ensure continuous power supply, I just need to keep the key to the storage room on me and not let anyone have a chance to go in."
"So if someone goes in, it can only be because you let them in?"
"Of course! And I shouldn't say I 'let' her in; rather, I 'locked' her in. The moment I locked her in, I had no intention of letting her out again."
"I understand!" Ji Qinchou felt a rush of excitement; his ears turned red as he pulled out his phone and called Shen Jie. "Captain Shen, there may be clues in storage room 2132; I request that our technical team come for an inspection!"
The next morning, after inspecting storage room 2132, everyone present returned to the police station unusually silent. Shen Jie patted Ji Qinchou on the shoulder.
"You've worked hard. How long has it been since you last slept? Go rest."
Ji Qinchou's gaze was sharp with urgency. "I want to see Du Zao again!"
Du Zao was brought in for questioning once more. She sat yawning in the interrogation chair, lazily watching Ji Qinchou, who was seated next to Shi Ya.
"We have already inspected Storage Room 2132."
"Really? How does it feel?"
"It’s quite tragic."
Du Zao raised an eyebrow.
"Song Daoquan once tried to trap Song Zheng in there."
Du Zao tilted his head.
"How do you know about this? Did Song Zheng leave something for you?"
Du Zao remained silent.
"The police have organized a large number of personnel to carry out the recovery work at Zhaowang River. The prosecutors will eventually bring Song Daoquan to trial; it's only a matter of time."
Du Zao scoffed.
"You don't trust the police."
Du Zao raised an eyebrow and tilted his head again.
"What if what Song Zheng left for you could help us find evidence of Song Daoquan's murder more quickly?"
"Let's talk about it when you find the evidence."
Within two days, Song Zheng's body was recovered by a civilian search team and dragged ashore. The now grotesque form of Song Zheng was photographed by a forensic expert, who sent the images to Shen Jie. In the interrogation room, Shen Jie held the phone screen up to Du Zao.
"Do you still recognize him?"
Du Zao stared at the photo, tears streaming down her face, slightly tilting her head in confusion and longing, then bending down, her palm clutching her chest, gazing intently at the screen.
Shen Jie took back the phone; she instinctively reached out to grab it. Shen Jie looked down at her and said,
"A full set of clothes, a fruit knife, and a mask—recovering these from the vast Zhaowang River is like finding a needle in a haystack. Du Zao, what Song Zheng left for you could very well help us speed up our search for evidence. Are you really going to keep it hidden? Song Zheng didn’t leave it for you just to be a keepsake, did he?"
"I rented a place at Qingtong Community, Unit 1101 on the first floor; there’s a phone stuck under the bed in the master bedroom. It belongs to Song Zheng, and it has what you’re looking for."
The truth won’t start from scratch; part of it is already known. Where should we begin? From which angle should we approach this?
Song Zheng was also contemplating this question.
She sat cross-legged on the concrete floor, her sleeping mother behind her, and in front of her was a stack of books with a phone holder resting on top. The phone inside the holder was positioned horizontally, the camera turned on, switched to video mode, and the red recording circle had not yet been clicked. She was still organizing her thoughts, like a stubborn bed cover that became messier the more she tried to arrange it, so she decided to just start.
She clicked the circle, and a timer appeared on the screen.
"Um... Tong Tong? Is it okay if I call you that? I'm afraid you might not like it, but I don't know your real name, so please don't mind. This is storage room 2131 in the basement that I rented because...," she turned her upper body, her right palm pressed against the exterior of the freezer, "I want my mom to have a chance to rest in peace. Of course, this is something I should do as her daughter, but I'm worried I won't live to see that day. The only person in this world I can trust and rely on is you. I hope you won't see this video; that would mean I've been fortunate enough to survive. Let's start from my childhood; I hope you don't find it annoying. My dad is a man who cares deeply about his reputation. In my childhood memories, when my mom went to the market to buy groceries, if the vendor was male and she talked to him for too long, my dad would see it and beat her up on the street before we even got home. It was a daily occurrence—beaten every day. Whenever she mentioned divorce, he would threaten to kill me, my maternal grandparents, and my uncle and aunt. My mom was scared—scared at home and scared outside; she feared not getting divorced but feared even more if she did. He would burn her nipple with a cigarette butt and set fire to her private parts with a lighter. The neighbors got used to it and never intervened; slowly, my mom went insane. Even when she went out, she had to dress very conservatively—no exposed arms or curves—otherwise, she would be abused again. When I was nine and in third grade, my dad picked me up from school for the first time. He said my mom had run away. I was so happy to hear that; finally, she had escaped from being beaten! But when I got home, I saw a kitchen knife in the living room with blood on it—a small amount, about the size of a fingernail—and then I found more blood under the sofa, in the cracks of the floor tiles, in the hallway, and under the shoe cabinet. Only one set of her clothes was missing—the most proper one that pleased my dad. I sensed something ominous and had nightmares every night; sometimes I woke up crying or was jolted awake by my dad because he said I was shouting in my sleep and disturbing his rest. Over time, I came to terms with it; if one didn't have to suffer continuously, then death could be seen as a fortunate thing. With this mindset, I held on until early January last year when I was abducted by Tang Wenshan in some bushes and raped. When I got home, my dad found out; he was furious but couldn't vent all his anger properly—instead, it just built up more and more until he reached his limit. One night he dragged me by my hair into the basement storage room and tied me up there where I met my mother after twelve years of being lost..."
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