ebookland Chapter 947 Analysis Results of Black Oils
Chapter 947 Analysis Results of Black Oils
However, based on the current situation, the possibility of murdering Zhang Mingcai for financial gain has been largely ruled out. The ring on Zhang Mingcai's hand was quite valuable, yet the perpetrator kept it after killing him. This suggests that the killer was definitely not after money.
During this case analysis meeting, everyone spoke freely. However, the main focus remained on Zhou Dehai, while another area of discussion was the ongoing in-depth investigation into the interpersonal relationships of the deceased Zhang Yuncai.
The fluorescent lights in the archives room crackled. Li Ming took off his gloves, his fingertips still carrying the musty smell of old files. He and his team had been working on mountains of documents for three whole days, their knees covered in dust, their uniform cuffs frayed from the yellowed paper. On the long table in front of them, more than twenty brown paper bags were lined up, each labeled with freight records from different years.
Because no breakthrough has been made with Zhou Dehai, and there's currently no evidence to prove he's the murderer of Zhang Yintai, nor is there any evidence that Zhou Dehai is unrelated to the case, the police are focusing their attention on investigating Zhang Yuncai's interpersonal relationships and the old textile factory's files. Zhang Yuncai was a transport driver back then, so is it possible that there were other transport drivers who worked with him? Investigating these areas might yield some clues.
"Found it!" Xiao Zhang suddenly looked up from the pile of documents, his eyes shining behind his glasses. He carefully unfolded a crumpled waybill, the edges of the paper so brittle they were about to crack. Li Ming immediately leaned over, the beam of his flashlight illuminating the faded writing on the waybill—October 15, 2008, Goods transported: Industrial oil, the driver's signature clearly stated "Zhang Yuncai," and the escort's name was "Li Houde."
&34;继续找！&34;李明的声音里带着兴奋。队员们加快了速度，翻动纸张的沙沙声在寂静的档案室里此起彼伏。很快，更多的记录被找了出来：10月20日、10月25日、11月1日......在失踪前的半个月里，张云才和李厚德共同执行了七次运输任务，几乎每次都是深夜出车，运输的货物也都标注为&34;工业用油&34;。
"These records are problematic." Li Ming circled several dates in red pen. "Normally, a textile factory wouldn't transport so much industrial oil in such a short period of time. And look," he held up one of the slips, "the shipping company is the same—Houde Trading Co., Ltd., so similar to the name of Li Houde's oil pressing factory; it can't be a coincidence."
To confirm the discovery, Li Ming and his team visited the freight dispatcher from back then. In a small rented room, the retired dispatcher, wearing reading glasses, carefully examined a photocopy of the freight bill. "Yes, this is indeed my signature from back then." The old man's fingers trembled slightly. "But thinking about it now, that period was indeed a bit strange. Zhang Yuncai and Li Houde always went out alone, and specifically instructed us not to make a fuss."
Upon returning to the branch office, Li Ming immediately retrieved Li Houde's personal information. The household registration records showed that three months after Zhang Yuncai's disappearance, Li Houde suddenly resigned from his job as a truck driver and instead took over an oil pressing factory in the suburbs. Even more suspicious was the fact that the oil pressing factory required a start-up capital of 500,000 yuan, an amount that Li Houde could not possibly have afforded given his income at the time.
"Compile all these records," Li Ming handed a thick stack of documents to his team members, "focusing on investigating Li Houde's financial flows around 2008. At the same time, interview everyone who had contact with him; I need to find out what exactly happened between him and Zhang Yuncai."
The late autumn wind, carrying the distinctive sour smell of an oil mill, swept past the mottled brick walls of the "Houde Flaxseed Oil Factory." When Li Ming stepped into the factory with the search warrant, Li Houde was wiping a rusty oil press with an oil-stained rag. The moment this overweight man saw the police uniform, his Adam's apple bobbed violently beneath his loose skin, and oil drips from the rag spread into dark circular stains on the cement floor.
"Gentlemen, what is this...?" Li Houde forced a smile, but couldn't hide the beads of sweat beading on his forehead. Li Ming didn't reply, his gaze sweeping over the pile of iron drums in the corner of the workshop—each drum was marked with faded "Industrial Oil," exactly the same as the cargo name on the textile factory's freight records. Technician Xiao Wang, wearing goggles, squatted down, scraping away the hardened black lumps that had congealed in the cracks of the floor with a sampling spoon; the clanging of metal was particularly jarring in the quiet workshop.
"Director Li, where were you and Zhang Yuncai on the night of November 3, 2008?" Li Ming suddenly asked. Li Houde's hand, which was gripping the machine, tightened abruptly, revealing a fresh burn scar on the skin exposed by his sleeve. "I don't remember at all!" he shouted in protest. "Yuncai and I were just ordinary friends. We hadn't been in contact for a long time since he disappeared!"
The search lasted a full six hours. In a hidden compartment of the warehouse, officers found a half-rolled hemp rope covered in grease; deep in an office drawer, a yellowed ledger contained a note with the words "11.3" repeatedly thickened and blurred by ink. But none of this could be considered conclusive evidence—no bloodstains were detected on the rope, and the note could not be dated.
In the interrogation room, Li Houde slumped in an iron chair, his gold-rimmed glasses perched crookedly on his nose. "I'll say it one last time," he slammed his hand on the table, splashing the cold tea in his enamel mug, "I have nothing to do with Zhang Yuncai's disappearance! His wife even came to ask me about it, and I told her everything I knew!" When the police showed him his phone records with Zhou Dehai from fifteen years ago, he suddenly coughed violently. "Work-related! I was the one who arranged all the goods for the textile factory!"
Similar to the interrogation results on Zhou Dehai's side, although the police suspected that Li Houde's death was related to Zhang Yuncai's death, they did not have any clear clues, after all, only Zhang Yuncai's remains remained.
A turning point came on the morning of the third day. A phone call from the technical department jolted Li Ming awake from his nap in his office. The grease sample under the microscope was clearly visible on the projection screen: "Team Leader Li, we detected dioctyl sebacate in the black substance, a unique additive in industrial lubricants!" Forensic pathologist Zhang Lin slammed the report heavily on the table. "It matches the composition of the oil residue in the textile factory warehouse perfectly, and..." He pulled up a comparison chart, "The soil particles in the oil sludge match the soil quality of the hill behind the oil press with a 92% match."