Julian Grant quickly switched his state of mind and responsibly started the car. But just as the car had driven only fifty meters, the phone in his pocket rang again.

His pants were rather tight, and he felt embarrassed to ask The Vault to help him get it, so he had to pull over to the side of the road again. Before he could fish out his phone, The Vault's device also started ringing.

The two of them simultaneously lowered their heads to check their messages, silently read through the contents, and then looked up to exchange a glance.

"This is an important clue," Julian Grant said. "It can pretty much confirm who the murderer is."

"Same here," The Vault gestured, indicating for him to go first.

Julian Grant said, "I just had people at the grassroots level go to Thomas Daniels's company to ask around, and they've already found something. Yesterday at noon, Thomas Daniels appeared at the factory for an inspection, wearing a black suit. The designer brought him the new season's sketches and also handed him a cup of coffee. The two ended up arguing over the fabric of the clothes, and the designer accidentally knocked over the cup, spilling coffee all over Thomas Daniels. That's why Thomas Daniels changed into a spare blue suit—the very one he was wearing when he was killed."

The Vault nodded.

Julian Grant continued, "Also, according to Thomas Daniels's secretary, Thomas Daniels never wore blue suits at the office. He thought that color was too flashy and would only change into it when entertaining clients or attending evening events."

Sylvia Shaw was lying—this was not surprising, and both of them knew it.

The fact that Sylvia Shaw could instinctively answer, after The Vault asked, that Thomas Daniels wore a blue suit yesterday, showed that she must have seen Thomas Daniels yesterday, and after noon at that. And as soon as she finished answering, she realized something was wrong and started making excuses, appearing flustered and almost ridiculous.

Why was she so desperate to deny this? Was there some secret about seeing her own husband that couldn't be revealed?

It was a case of protesting too much.

The Vault said, "This can't be used as direct evidence. Sylvia Shaw could easily refute it."

"But it helps us confirm our investigation plan. Wasn't that what you said?" Julian Grant asked. "What about your side?"

The Vault leaned against the car window, holding her forehead with one hand. "The forensic doctor found a white pill in Thomas Daniels's shirt. It's been confirmed as a sleeping pill. Also, they found a small amount of undissolved white fragments in Thomas Daniels's vomit. Although the specific blood concentration test isn't out yet, the forensic doctor has enough reason to believe that Thomas Daniels was fed an excessive amount of sleeping pills after being deeply intoxicated, which led to his death. He was still alive when he was brought to the crime scene, and died slowly in a deep coma as his breathing stopped."

Julian Grant asked in confusion, "Sleeping pills?"

The Vault nodded, looking at her phone screen, and continued, "They checked Justin Hall's medical records and confirmed that Justin Hall has suffered from chronic insomnia and has been taking diazepam. The most recent time he picked up medication from the hospital was three days ago. They suggest I immediately apply for a search warrant to check Justin Hall's home to see if there are any pills left."

"I'll help you file the application. But I don't think the sleeping pills belong to Justin Hall." Julian Grant knew it wasn't right to rely on intuition to solve a case, but... "His reaction always makes me feel like he's not the murderer."

The Vault said, "Also, the preliminary footprint analysis from the scene is out. There's a fresh size 43 footprint on the ground, walking step by step from the edge to where Thomas Daniels fell, putting him down, and then turning to leave. Comparing the tread pattern left by the sole, it's confirmed that the shoes are the standard issue for sanitation workers. And Justin Hall's shoes happen to be size 43."

She quickly tapped on her device, editing a message to have the tech team do a pressure point analysis of the footprint and to have Justin Hall do an experimental comparison, to confirm whether the footprint really came from Justin Hall.

Julian Grant was silent for a moment, then said, "You win. Your evidence is stronger. There are just too many coincidences."

"Looks like the kid is the real winner," The Vault said. "He bet on both outcomes."

At a time like this, Julian Grant actually found her dry joke a little moving.

...A human tragedy. He was actually getting used to it.

Julian Grant shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

"In other cases, we can't find the murderer. In this case, everyone looks like the murderer. How interesting." Julian Grant paused, then asked, "Do you also think the two of them might be in cahoots?"

The Vault put down her phone, wiped her face, and pulled herself together. "Who knows? Let's bring Justin Hall to the station. I'll question him myself."

Julian Grant: "What about Sylvia Shaw?"

The Vault: "Not for now."

·

An hour later, in the closed interrogation room.

The Vault came in carrying some files and sat down at the table.

Justin Hall was still wearing his yellow work vest, sitting with his head down on the chair opposite, his eyes empty, his face showing neither anger nor grievance, as if he had lost all emotional fluctuation.

The Vault asked, "Have you had breakfast? Meat buns or vegetable buns? Sweet soy milk or salty soy milk?"

Justin Hall looked up, his gaze landing on her face.

The Vault smiled, "If you don't mind, I'll have them bring you one of each."

Chapter 66 Ordinary

The Vault picked up her phone and sent a text message, then sat quietly waiting. Ten minutes later, Julian Grant came in carrying a handful of breakfast.

Even Justin Hall began to look at her with a strange expression, unable to guess her intentions.

Julian Grant put the food down, and The Vault politely said to Justin Hall, "What would you like to eat? Help yourself."

Justin Hall didn't move, so The Vault took two bags for herself and, together with Julian Grant, sat across the table and started eating at leisure.

The aroma of buns began to fill the air, slightly dispelling the cold and solemn atmosphere of the interrogation room.

Justin Hall sat there in dejection, like someone whose spirit was wandering far away.

At last, The Vault spoke: "Do you know why we called you here?"

Justin Hall nodded.

"You couldn't possibly not know Thomas Daniels," The Vault said. "But I know why you acted this way—you didn't want to get into trouble. I can understand that once, but I hope you'll tell me the truth from now on."

Justin Hall's voice was hoarse, and he sounded weak as he spoke: "Are you saying I killed him?"

"We're still investigating," The Vault said. "Personally, I don't think so, because I see some doubts and can't find a logical explanation that fits. But I can be honest with you: at the moment, the evidence is very unfavorable to you."

Justin Hall's eyebrows furrowed slightly, the wrinkles on his face shifting: "Because I found Thomas Daniels's body?"

"Thomas Daniels died from an overdose of sleeping pills."

The Vault placed a white plastic bag in the middle of the table. Inside the knotted bag were boxes of medication, with a hospital logo printed clearly on the front.

"We went to your house with a search warrant. This bag has hospital receipts, proving you picked these up from the hospital three days ago. All the medications match, except for the diazepam. The doctor prescribed you a seven-day supply of sleeping pills, and you also got fifteen more from another hospital. With that much medication, there's no way you've finished it all. So where are the pills?"

A shadow flashed in Justin Hall's eyes. His previously drooping eyelids opened wider, and he turned his head to stare at the camera, his nostrils flaring. Anyone could see that his attitude had changed dramatically.

The Vault pressed her knuckles, observing his reaction, and asked, "Did you kill him?"

Justin Hall suddenly fell silent.

The Vault licked her teeth with the tip of her tongue, thought for a moment, and then said, "We also found the murderer's footprint at the scene, confirming that the killer was wearing the standard-issue shoes for sanitation workers. If you don't cooperate with us, you'll become the most suspicious suspect."

Justin Hall closed his eyes, completely avoiding her questioning.

The Vault took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, reflecting on what she might have said wrong.

Julian Grant tilted his head, glancing at the ceiling, feeling as if he had grasped a key point but couldn't quite put it into words.

"Is this what you want?" The Vault narrowed her eyes, probing, "Justin Hall, you've been honest and hardworking for twelve years, and in the end, you're taking the blame for killing Thomas Daniels for someone else. Is this what you want?"

Justin Hall's lips twitched, showing a hint of self-mockery, though it wasn't obvious.

The Vault had never met such an unfathomable man before, and couldn't help but glance at Julian Grant. The latter had his arms crossed, probably with a sore neck, and changed the direction of his tilt, looking rather silly.

The Vault withdrew her gaze and said to Justin Hall, "You must have someone in mind who could get your sleeping pills, right? He knows you have chronic insomnia, knows you got a half-month's supply of diazepam at once. He knows your work area and schedule, and even your shoe size. I believe he must be connected to you."

The Vault tapped the table rhythmically. "Because he helped you kill Thomas Daniels, you feel grateful and are willing to take the blame for him? But do you realize, he deliberately left a clear shoe print to frame you, and chose the crime scene within your work area. He definitely didn't do it to help you, so there's no need for you to repay evil with kindness."

Unexpectedly, Justin Hall still showed no reaction.