“We miss our Gabe.” Mrs. Adams began to murmur, making Fiona Bennett feel as if she had returned to twenty years ago, when Gabriel Adams would run through the alleyways and his mother would call him just like this. She hadn’t seen Gabriel Adams’s parents for many years, and of course, Gabriel Adams’s former longing for her hadn’t escaped his parents’ notice. So when they saw Fiona Bennett visiting, they weren’t particularly surprised. Perhaps, for them, they just wanted to talk more about their son, as if by doing so, Gabriel Adams’s presence hadn’t yet vanished from this world, no matter who the listener was.

“He worked as a household registration officer, so we felt a bit more at ease. Who would have thought that, among all his classmates who became criminal police, none of them had any trouble, but he was the first to go.”

“How could it be? He was such an honest child, how could he go to that kind of bar at night, and even leave with some unknown woman? He wasn’t that kind of person, you know that.”

“Sigh, the police said they’d do their best to investigate, and the leaders have come to our home twice. Day after day passes, but there’s still no answer. It’s not that we, as parents, are being unreasonable, but we watched our child grow up—how could we not know his character? Not to mention, if he really was, ah, really was like that, why would he send an address to another phone? That doesn’t make sense, does it? He must have suspected something. Don’t you think so?”

“I told him long ago, Gabe, since you’re no longer a criminal police officer, just settle down and be a household registration officer, don’t get involved in dangerous things anymore, those things have nothing to do with you now. But he just wouldn’t listen. I always felt something was off with him, that he was hiding something from us. He must have been investigating those people on purpose, those people are truly evil.”

Fiona Bennett sat uneasily on the small living room sofa, her hands clasped on her knees. Mr. Adams and Mrs. Adams couldn’t accept their son’s death, and even less could they accept that he died because he was seduced by a woman. They believed that Gabriel Adams must have discovered something about that cult and was killed while investigating it alone. She could only remain silent—how could she tell the elderly couple that Gabriel Adams died because of her?

Fiona Bennett asked about the phone that recorded Gabriel Adams’s movements, but it was still with the police. However, it seemed that the contents of the phone hadn’t provided much help to the investigation. Fiona Bennett thought it was probably because the misleading cult clue had sent the police in the wrong direction. Other than that, the police hadn’t kept any of Gabriel Adams’s other belongings; perhaps Gabriel Adams hadn’t recorded the process of investigating Susan Wright’s death in writing.

Gabriel Adams must have made some progress that made the murderer very nervous, which is why he was killed. This progress might be hinted at in the phone’s records. Without the phone, the only purpose of Fiona Bennett’s visit was to pay her respects to the deceased.

Gabriel Adams’s memorial photo was placed on the TV cabinet in the living room. Fiona Bennett lit three sticks of incense and bowed. When she straightened up again, it should have been time to leave, but looking at the face in the photo, a surge of emotion welled up inside her.

“May I see his room?”

It was a small room, less than eight square meters. Other than the phone being taken, the police had only done a cursory search, so the room was almost untouched, just as it had been when Gabriel Adams was alive. Mrs. Adams said they hadn’t started sorting through Gabriel Adams’s belongings yet, as they couldn’t bear it emotionally, so they just left the room as it was. Maybe it would always be this way, cleaning it every day, as if one day their son might come back.

Against the wall was a single bed, with a pillow and a neatly folded quilt on top. On the bedside table was an alarm clock and two books, the one on top being "The Smiling, Proud Wanderer." By the window was a computer desk, with a white cloth draped over the monitor. Maybe there were clues in the computer, but in front of Mrs. Adams, Fiona Bennett couldn’t think of a reason to turn it on. Besides a chair, the only other furnishings in the room were a wardrobe and a storage cabinet. The most prominent spot in the cabinet was given to a photo frame—a spirited photo of Gabriel Adams in his police uniform, with his mouth turned up and his head held high, a rebellious and childish expression on his face. That was the Gabriel Adams in her memory, the one who shadowboxed by her hospital bed, not the overweight household registration officer Gabriel Adams.

There were a few books in the cabinet, not many. Some were martial arts novels, some detective stories, and a few others with unusual titles.

“Can I take a few of his books as keepsakes?” Fiona Bennett asked, pointing at those books.

“Of course, take whichever you like, it’s fine. Leaving a few books with you, he would probably be happy. These are his textbooks from when he was a student. It’s good to keep something for remembrance. In a lifetime, everyone should leave something behind.” At this point, Mrs. Adams began to cry, and then, unable to control her emotions, turned and left the room.

"Criminology," "Interrogation and Investigation," "Trace Evidence Examination," "Investigative Psychology," "Crime Motivation and Personality," "Criminal Investigation Studies"… Fiona Bennett picked up the "The Smiling, Proud Wanderer" from the bedside, and found underneath it a book called "Criminal Psychological Profiling," which she took as well. Under "Criminal Psychological Profiling" was a thick envelope. This was a private letter to Gabriel Adams, and normally it wouldn’t be appropriate to read it, but the sender’s unit was written on the envelope: Shanghai Public Security Bureau Trace Evidence Identification Center. She couldn’t help but feel a jolt. The letter had already been opened, and when Fiona Bennett pulled out the thick stack of papers and glanced at them, she knew her guess was right—these were copies of correspondence between the two murderers, and the originals had already been burned by Frank Bishop. Other than these copies, there was nothing else in the envelope; presumably, whatever needed to be said had already been discussed over the phone between the forensic expert and Gabriel Adams, and this was just a return of materials. In a way, this was something Fiona Bennett had entrusted to Gabriel Adams, and she did need it, so she took the envelope along with the textbooks.

As she was about to leave the room, Fiona Bennett took one last look around and suddenly noticed a wooden board leaning in the corner by the door. Fiona Bennett looked at it a few times, and the dense, strange carvings on the board suddenly made her realize what it was.

“And this—can I take it too?” she asked Mrs. Adams, who had just wiped away her tears and come back in.

“This?” Mrs. Adams asked in surprise. Taking a few books was normal, but wanting a wooden board was a bit odd.

“He brought this board back not long ago, but we don’t know what it was for. If you want it, that’s fine, but isn’t it heavy?”

“I remember Gabriel Adams mentioning it. This board meant a lot to him. It should be the top of a school desk.”

“A school desk? Now that you mention it, it does look like one.”

Fiona Bennett nodded. Yes, a school desk, part of a mailbox.

When she was leaving, Fiona Bennett left her phone number, saying that if the phone was returned, she’d appreciate being informed. The two elders were a bit surprised by this request. Fiona Bennett said she also believed Gabriel Adams wasn’t that kind of person, and if she could see the information on the phone, maybe she could help. There was a hidden meaning in her words, but Fiona Bennett didn’t give them a chance to ask further before leaving with the wooden board.

When she got downstairs, Fiona Bennett heard someone calling her name. She looked up and saw Mr. Adams waving to her from the window, asking her to come back up. Fiona Bennett went back, and Mr. Adams was standing at the door, holding a digital camera.

“Just now, you said you believe Gabriel Adams wasn’t that kind of person, right?”

“Of course, Uncle Gregory,” Fiona Bennett said firmly.

“There’s a photo. We found it a couple of days ago while going through his camera. I’ve already sent it to the police. We always try to provide clues, but honestly, I don’t know if it’s useful. I wanted to show it to you as well.”

Fiona Bennett leaned in and saw a photo on the small camera screen. The photo was a picture of three people, and Fiona Bennett immediately recognized not the female singer in the middle, who was no longer often seen, but the young waiter on the right.

“Do you recognize anyone in the photo?” Mr. Adams asked. Clearly, Fiona Bennett wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings.

“Oh, the one in the middle is a celebrity, right? When was this taken?”

“The day he died, at 10:12 p.m., according to the camera’s timestamp. A few hours later, he was killed.” The old man looked deeply at Fiona Bennett.

“You know something about him, don’t you?”

Fiona Bennett gripped the desk board tightly, her knuckles turning white. “I want to catch the person who killed Gabriel Adams, Uncle Gregory. I must catch him!” She bowed as best she could with the board in her arms, then turned and ran quickly down the stairs.

3

The part of the tape exposed to the air had completely lost its stickiness, hanging limply on the back of the letter like a shed snake skin. Fiona Bennett gently unfolded the letter and saw the line written on it.

The time remains the same, the location changes to blue.

This letter was tucked inside "Criminal Psychological Profiling."

After returning from The Adams Family, Fiona Bennett turned the small room that had been her study into a case analysis room. She drew the curtains, and spread out all the copies of the letters, sticking them on the curtains. She was so open about it, unafraid that her husband would know the original letters he burned still had copies, unafraid that he would realize she intended to reopen the investigation. She was doing it for Frank Bishop to see, so that he would stop trying to persuade her, stop interfering or obstructing her.