SFTD -Chapter 227 The Incomplete Password (Part 11)

Sitting in the taxi, Zhou Hai stared at the driver in the front seat.

This taxi was not equipped with a stainless-steel safety partition. The car was well maintained, and the interior was very clean. On the service card on the front panel was the driver’s photo and information: Zhang Mingquan, male, 46 years old, employee of Southeast Zhongtai Taxi Company.

As the car swayed, a string of hanging ornaments beneath the rearview mirror caught the eye. It was a wind chime with photo pendants shaped like apples, each containing multiple pictures.

There were photos of a girl around seventeen or eighteen, a boy around ten years old, and group photos of the driver with them. These images had been made into crystal apple-shaped pendants and hung at the bottom of the wind chime, swaying constantly with the motion of the vehicle.

Inside the driver’s navy-blue uniform, his white shirt was still relatively clean, but the collar had already turned yellow. The hair at the back of his neck was quite long and touching the collar, looking dirty. It was obvious his clothes were washed together in a machine. The white cuffs sticking out from his sleeves were slightly frayed, showing they had been worn for at least three or four years.

A large plastic cup was placed in the cup holder. Unlike others, it did not contain wolfberry tea or plain boiled water, but instead held some black stick-like objects—was that large-leaf kuding tea?

Such tea was extremely bitter, but it had strong preventive effects on certain immune-related diseases and could also help refresh the mind.

So why was he drinking it?

Zhou Hai, who had originally been extremely anxious and tense, had now lost his initial fear.

Everything the driver had just said seemed to suggest he knew him very well, but in reality, it was all superficial information. With a little inquiry, anyone could find it out. Zhou Hai had been too concerned about Lu Xi and got into the car after hearing her reassurance.

Where was he taking him?

His intuition told him that someone was definitely manipulating this man from behind the scenes. Otherwise, it would be impossible to connect four completely unrelated people together like this. If it were random killings, there would be no need to go to such lengths or to study proportions of drug efficacy.

The driver glanced at Zhou Hai through the rearview mirror and smiled slightly.

“Chief Forensic Doctor Zhou really is different. Other people in the car either cry or keep begging. Only you are still analyzing and thinking. You’re making me interested. What have you figured out?”

“Zhang Mingquan,” Zhou Hai said.

Male.

46 years old.

No special skills, low income.

His clothes and shoes were very old—at least three years of wear. Although he washed them, it was all machine-washed, so he lived alone now. He had been divorced for at least two or three years.

However, he still had two children to support. Although they didn’t live with him, his relationship with them was still fairly good.

As for his health, although he had been trying to suppress his trembling and hold back his cough, from the moment he spoke his first sentence, Zhou Hai had already noticed the old nicotine stains on his teeth—his lungs were already damaged.

That extremely bitter kuding tea was just a form of comfort. What he actually needed was proper treatment, not crime.

“So those four people were indeed killed by you. Why? How did you make them voluntarily ingest the poison?”

Zhang Mingquan’s hands gripping the steering wheel suddenly tightened. His body trembled uncontrollably. Then he let out a long breath, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. The car jolted violently and gradually slowed to a stop.

He pulled the handbrake, unfastened his seatbelt, and turned around holding a gun, smiling at Zhou Hai, revealing yellowed teeth.

“Your analytical ability is truly impressive. It opened my eyes. But we’ve arrived. If you want to know how they took the poison, get out of the car.”

Zhou Hai looked at the gun for a moment, nodded, and did not resist. He followed the driver out of the car.

What surprised him was that they had arrived at an abandoned workers’ cinema. Because it was already dark, the remaining metal letters on the wall could no longer be read clearly. However, dozens of tall steps were still standing there.

Zhang Mingquan had driven straight in without obstruction. There had only been some bumps near the entrance. It seemed that within two or three kilometers of this place, there was no one around. Otherwise, he would not have been laughing so loudly while giving orders.

Zhang Mingquan standing ahead waved the gun in his hand.

“Let’s go inside and sit down and talk. Didn’t you want to know the details? I think we can play a game. You listen to my story and accompany me in this game. Of course, if I’m in a good mood, I might tell you some secrets—secrets about your information.”

Zhou Hai narrowed his eyes. These were indeed the things he most wanted to know: how did this man know his information? And how did those four victims obediently take poison?

He no longer hesitated and followed Zhang Mingquan up the steps. The old cinema’s outer wall was painted with a large “demolition” word. It seemed this was part of an old urban redevelopment area, meaning they were still within Migao City, just in the old district.

Zhang Mingquan walked limping toward a side door, unlocked the chain, and with a harsh creaking sound, the door opened.

“Please, Chief Zhou.”

Zhou Hai stepped inside. A musty smell hit him immediately. It seemed no one had entered this place for a long time. Yet Zhang Mingquan seemed extremely familiar with it.

He shone his phone light ahead, and their footsteps echoed in the hall. He did not enter the screening room but went upstairs instead. At the door, he flipped a power switch, and the second floor suddenly lit up brightly.

Then the two walked one after another into a small meeting room. Zhang Mingquan motioned for Zhou Hai to sit. Zhou Hai did not resist—since he had followed him in, he might as well hear what he had to say.

“This place used to be the clubhouse of the Migao Petrochemical Second Plant. I used to work here. I was in charge of showing films. Later I was laid off and started driving a taxi to support my family.

Working hard every day, from dawn till night. To use your words—low income. Less than four thousand a month, and life kept getting worse. My wife looked down on me, and we divorced.

People like you with high education and high ability can never understand the suffering of us working-class people.

Besides showing films and driving a car, I know nothing else. To earn a little more, I started at five in the morning and didn’t get home until ten-thirty at night. But what did I get?

Lung cancer. Do you know? Lung cancer!

Going to the hospital—every examination drained me financially. And that was just the beginning. Any drug that could treat cancer was self-paid. I couldn’t afford even a single dose. I paid health insurance my whole life.

Hahaha! Don’t you think it’s ridiculous?

What did I do wrong?

When Petrochemical Second Plant downsized, no one responded to the buyout plan. The leaders came to me crying, and I couldn’t refuse, so I was laid off.

I paid all my insurance myself, maintained my own car. And when I got sick, they told me the money I paid couldn’t even be used for treatment. If I wanted those medicines, I had to pay separately.

What kind of logic is that?”