National Forensic Doctor
Chapter 671 - 614: Involvement

Chapter 671: Chapter 614: Involvement

Jiang Yuan and others watched the middle-aged man cutting trees sign his name and press his fingerprints before finally being taken away and sent directly to the detention center.

Chop down a small tree at random, and if you get caught, at most, you pay a fine. Cut a lot, or if the amount is large, the most you get is administrative detention. But this guy had chopped down a precious, age-old pine tree—something a fortune-teller had specified by name, naturally it had to be something conspicuous. The park had it priced at 20,000, and the follow-up assessment by the Bureau of Commerce would only be higher, not lower, escalating it to the level of criminal detention.

As Jiang Yuan watched the uncle leave in handcuffs, he couldn’t help but say, "The work at the police station is quite interesting."

"This is one of the more interesting parts," Director Tan laughed.

Jiang Yuan didn’t say much more. The more mundane aspects didn’t need special inquiry; a forensic doctor had plenty of those.

Squeak.

Just a few minutes after the interrogation room became empty, another criminal suspect was brought in.

Meng Chengbiao, at the head of the table, didn’t even shift his butt. He glared with eyes like those of a shoddy factory’s HR and asked, "What’s your name?"

The seated criminal suspect, tall and portly, with a finely tattooed dragon on his arm and a head shaved shinier than a turtle shell. His eyes, big as copper bells, had a ferocity that spilled out with just a slight bulge.

Upon hearing the question, he frowned deeply and said loudly, "Reporting to the government, my name is Huang Biao."

"You’ve been in prison before?" Meng Chengbiao asked.

"I have," Huang Biao bowed his head, then added in a low voice, "Sentenced to one year and two months for stealing diesel, sentenced to two years for stealing diesel, sentenced to three and a half years for stealing diesel..."

Meng Chengbiao, sitting opposite, was momentarily startled before recalling the contents of the dossier: "Oh, you were convicted three times."

"Yes," the criminal suspect Huang Biao answered, with bowed head and subservient eyes.

"This is the fourth time."

"Yes."

"Let me see... you’re directly involved in several cases this time, so you’re going to be inside for a long time this time..." Meng Chengbiao feigned seriousness, "It could well be ten years."

Huang Biao was stunned, "No, government... I... I just stole oil."

"Then let me read this to you. On this year’s April 7th, April 3rd, March 21st, what were you doing?"

"That..."

"And on March 16th, March 14th, you were also stealing oil, weren’t you?"

Huang Biao didn’t dare to make a sound. He was only hearty in appearance. Confronted with the prospect of jail, he really couldn’t muster that heartiness.

Meng Chengbiao grunted, placed the dossier aside, and said, "If you don’t wise up, I’ll send you straight to the detention center first. Once we’re less busy here, I’ll have my subordinates take another statement from you, all right...?"

Huang Biao, with a jolt, hastily said, "I’ll wise up, I’ll wise up!"

"What do you understand?"

Huang Biao ventured to ask, "What would you like me to understand?"

"How about you confess a few accomplices? That’d save us some trouble, and we’d consider it meritorious," Meng Chengbiao said slickly.

Huang Biao hesitated a few seconds before asking, "How many?"

"As many as you like. The more you confess, the shorter your own prison term will be. If you don’t want to earn merit, someone else will," said Meng Chengbiao with a shrewd tone.

Actually, it was about the same. Those who were brazen in their actions were easily ratted out by their peers. And the extent of what peers could know about each other was limited to just those few individuals.

After a couple more words with Meng Chengbiao, Huang Biao began to slowly spill the beans.

With that, he named three people, all of whom he had worked with temporarily as fellow oil thieves.

The case officers recorded it without surprise or excitement.

Ordinary minor cases were just this simple: catch a few people, and you can start rolling the snowball. It’s typical like cases of soliciting prostitution; nowadays they find people through the prostitutes’ payment records, and if they’re slow, they might only notify the johns half a year later to come in for punishment.

Stealing oil was similar; most offenders were likely to get less than three years, but if they could find some old friends to join them, they might be out in a year and a half. As the saying goes, when two people share the burden of pain, the pain is halved...

After Meng Chengbiao squeezed Huang Biao dry, he had him taken away, took a sip of water, and waited for the next one to come in.

It was like he had told Huang Biao, today’s criminal suspects who were willing to confess quickly would have a detailed statement taken.

Those who were stubborn were sent directly to the detention center. After today’s arrest operations were over, someone would be sent to the detention center to slowly bring people in for interrogation.

The chain of evidence pulled out by Jiang Yuan, just from what had been gathered before, was enough for arrests. Finding a bit more evidence on the spot, or have suspects point fingers at each other, provided more than enough evidence for criminal detention.

One after another, the work of interrogation soon turned into a grueling assembly line.

Meng Chengbiao remained unfazed.

Work was work. During his time at the Changyang City Criminal Police Detachment, he frequently encountered similar situations. Whenever there was a major operation, several squads would head out together, and it was not uncommon to apprehend over a hundred people in one go.

In a capital city, the scale of crime generally increased, that was just the way it was.

Of course, when in Changyang City, there were always more interrogation officers, but the nature of the work didn’t change.

"Name?"

As the suspect settled in, Meng Chengbiao opened a new case file.

"An Zhiqiang." The voice of the suspect was filled with apprehension.

Meng Chengbiao looked up and showed not a hint of sympathy.

In just one day, he had handled nearly a dozen cases, and while the suspects came from various places with different backgrounds, they were essentially all of the same sort.

"Age," Meng Chengbiao asked.

"25, 26 years old," replied An Zhiqiang.

Meng Chengbiao pursed his lips and continued with the routine questions.

As the interrogation was about to conclude, Meng Chengbiao noticed An Zhiqiang shivering and offered some reassurance, "You don’t need to be afraid. Behave well in prison, strive for meritorious service, and you might be released in a year or two."

"What if I report a few more people?" An Zhiqiang had already ratted out his "colleagues," but the results seemed not satisfying enough for him.

Meng Chengbiao smiled, "If you can report a few more people, of course you can earn more merit, but avoiding jail time altogether is impossible, unless it’s for a major contribution."

"Does a murder case count as a major contribution?" An Zhiqiang’s voice grew somber.

"Of course, if you can report an unknown murder case to the police, your own case might even be considered for a suspended sentence," Meng Chengbiao’s focus intensified.

Despite An Zhiqiang’s frail appearance, that did not affect his knowledge of clandestine matters.

An Zhiqiang hesitated once more.

Meng Chengbiao engaged him in a little back and forth.

Then An Zhiqiang began again, with a startling admission, "I saw my mom and her boyfriend murder someone and dismember the body."

Meng Chengbiao had not expected that, even at over 40 years old, he could still come across something new in an interrogation.

Murder and dismemberment cases were always complicated.

Yet to report one’s own mother for murder—Meng Chengbiao asked himself, if it were him, he would rather serve a few more years in prison than do such a thing.

If a murder was confirmed, especially with dismemberment involved, the sentence was almost certainly death.

Meng Chengbiao used the act of recording to buy a few seconds, pondered briefly, then struck while the iron was hot, "Where is the body?"

"They took it out and buried it," An Zhiqiang said.

"Where did they bury it?"

"I don’t know."

"Who is the victim?"

"I don’t know, I don’t recognize the person," An Zhiqiang quickly replied.

Meng Chengbiao pressed on for key details and said, "Tell me exactly what you saw."

An Zhiqiang recalled the moment, shuddering involuntarily, then continued, "I came home early that day, heard noises from the room, didn’t think much of it, and just opened the bathroom door..."

An Zhiqiang lowered his head, "My mom was there, dismembering a body, lying to me that they were slaughtering a sheep. The leg still had a shoe on it..."

Meng Chengbiao continued to question him for more details, while quietly sending a message to Jiang Yuan and the others.

At first, he wasn’t sure whether An Zhiqiang was telling the truth or fabricating a story. Some people with psychological issues even confess to imagined scenarios.

However, as the questioning deepened, the likelihood of the existence of a homicide became very high.