frightfiction Chapter 1160 The Interrogation Process
Chapter 1160 The Interrogation Process
"The DNA in the belt gap matches Sun Biao perfectly, and the fingerprints on the IOU belong to both Liu Zhiqiang and Sun Biao." He turned to look at the suspect in the back seat, who had his eyes closed but a strange smile on his lips, as if he were plotting something.
The sunlight outside the car window gradually slanted westward, casting a long shadow of the police car. Li Ming knew that this arrest was just the beginning; the real battle would begin in the interrogation room. The lingering panic in Liu Zhiqiang's eyes had already revealed his connection to Sun Biao's death.
The incandescent light bulb in the interrogation room hung in the center of the ceiling, its tube humming slightly, illuminating Liu Zhiqiang's face ashen white. The three-centimeter-long scar on his left eyebrow resembled a frozen snake, its color tinged with a bluish-purple under the light, the skin at the edge of the scar twitching slightly with tension. His wrists were strapped to the armrests of the interrogation chair, and with each breath, the chains swayed, sending sparks flying across the metal armrests, the soft "crackling" sound particularly jarring in the confined space.
Li Ming pushed a glass of warm water across the table, the sound of the glass bottom scraping against the plywood breaking the silence. "Liu Zhiqiang, from 10 PM on May 14th to 1 AM the next morning, you saw Sun Biao in the blind spot of the surveillance cameras near the fountain in Beishan Park, right?" His voice was as calm as still water, but his gaze was fixed on the other man's constantly trembling Adam's apple.
Liu Zhiqiang's fingers dug shallow marks into the armrest, his fingernails still embedded with grease from the auto repair shop. "Officer, I've already said it," he said, a stiff smile playing on his lips, spittle splattering onto the interrogation record, "I was replacing a motorcycle cylinder at the shop that day. My apprentice, Xiao Wang, can testify to that, and the security cameras have it on." He deliberately straightened his back, causing the chains to tighten and leave deeper red marks on his wrists. "Who's Sun Biao? In the courier industry? I don't know any couriers with that name."
Xiao Zhou suddenly slammed the evidence bag on the table, the black belt buckle inside the transparent plastic bag reflecting a cold light. "A 3.5-centimeter-wide cowhide belt with seven abrasion points along the edge," he said, using tweezers to hold the belt and turn it, the fibers at the abrasion points clearly visible under the light. "The scratches on the inside of the belt buckle perfectly match the lock on your motorcycle's tail box, and more importantly—" He paused, pushing the fiber analysis report forward, "the wool fibers remaining on the edge perfectly match the composition of Sun Biao's jacket lining at 16 characteristic points, including the 30% cashmere content."
Liu Zhiqiang's shoulders slumped, the fingerprints on the armrest deepening instantly. "Found it...really found it," his voice trembled, his eyes glancing at the security camera in the corner, the lens slowly panning. "Found it in the trash heap outside the auto repair shop last week. It looked sturdy, so I kept it to tie things up." He suddenly raised his voice, the sound of the chain striking the armrest startling the sparrows outside the window into fluttering flight. "Who knows what clothes that dead man wore!"
“Dead man?” Li Ming seized on the word, his pen drawing a heavy line on the record paper. “How do you know he’s dead? We haven’t even talked about Sun Biao’s fate.” These words pierced Liu Zhiqiang’s heart like a steel nail; his face instantly turned ashen, his lips trembling but unable to utter a word. Xiao Zhou seized the opportunity to produce a second piece of evidence: on the photocopy of the IOU, the fingerprint next to Sun Biao’s signature perfectly matched Liu Zhiqiang’s fingerprint on the auto repair shop’s registration form at 20 points.
“A loan of 500,000 yuan, with a monthly interest rate of 3%,” Li Ming read the terms of the IOU aloud, the sound of the pages turning like a countdown. “Lent on November 15, 2023, with a repayment date of May 14, 2024. Overdue payments will be charged at a daily interest rate of 1%. Of the 500,000 yuan you lent him, 300,000 yuan came from 'Scarface Li's' usurious loans, right?”
Liu Zhiqiang's breathing suddenly became heavy, the four legs of the interrogation chair scraping a semi-circular mark on the floor. He stared at his signature on the IOU, the trace of the pen tip tearing through the paper still clearly visible—a mark made in his anger. "Yes, I lent him money," he suddenly roared, his left eyebrow scar turning red with rage, "but it was an investment! He said it would double, and it all went down the drain! It's only right that I ask him for my money back!"
"So you took this belt to him to ask for money?" Li Ming drew an arc on the belt with his laser pointer. "It's an heirloom left to you by your father. He was reluctant to use it normally, but he always carried it when collecting debts. It's the one that can leave five bloody marks when you whip someone?" Liu Zhiqiang's pupils suddenly contracted, as if he could see the scene five years ago when his father handed him the belt before he died—the old man's withered hand holding his wrist, saying, "Use it for self-defense, don't go astray."
Once the floodgates of memory are opened, they can never be closed again. Liu Zhiqiang's voice suddenly softened, tinged with tears: "Sun Biao and I met in the logistics park in 2019. He delivered for SF Express, and I delivered for ZTO Express. We met at the sorting center every day." He traced the layout of the logistics park on the table with his fingers. "He said that just delivering packages wasn't a promising career path, so he introduced me to a 'master,' surnamed Wang, who taught us how to do 'credit card repayment' and take a cut of the fees."
Li Ming refilled Liu Zhiqiang's water glass, the steam condensing into mist on Liu's bloodshot eyes. "And then you started lending money at exorbitant interest rates?" Liu Zhiqiang's hand holding the glass suddenly trembled, hot water splashing onto his hand and leaving a red mark, but he seemed oblivious. "Brother Wang called it 'inclusive finance,' but it was really just usury. Sun Biao was in charge of drafting contracts and finding clients, and I was in charge of monitoring accounts and collecting debts." His voice was extremely low, as if afraid of being overheard by ears peeking through cracks in the wall. "We used our identities as deliverymen as a cover, checking the client's home renovation and the cars in their garage when collecting packages to determine if we could lend money."
It started with small loans of a few thousand yuan, but they grew bolder and bolder. In the summer of 2023, Sun Biao found a "big client" who wanted to borrow three million yuan for a construction project at a monthly interest rate of 5%. "I felt it was risky at the time," Liu Zhiqiang said, his nails digging deep into his palms. "But Sun Biao said the person had three properties as collateral, and he even slammed the belt my father left me on the table, saying, 'I'll take responsibility if anything goes wrong.'" As a result, three months after the money was lent out, the "big client" disappeared along with the property certificates. Of the 500,000 yuan they had advanced to the investor, 300,000 yuan was high-interest loans that Liu Zhiqiang had taken out.
“I urged him eight times,” Liu Zhiqiang’s voice suddenly became shrill, the iron chain wrapped halfway around the handrail. “From March to May, I urged him, and every time he said he would pay tomorrow or next week! Until the afternoon of May 14, he sent a WeChat message saying, ‘See you at the usual place, bring the contract, I’ll settle things with you.’” He suddenly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot. “The usual place is Beishan Park. We used to drag those who owed money there for ‘talks.’ There are many trees, so no one can hear the crying and shouting.”
That evening, Liu Zhiqiang polished the belt until it shone with oil at the auto repair shop and stuffed it into the motorcycle's tail box.