Fiona Bennett turned another page. When she read the passage, “It is normal for investigators to feel confused or conflicted about a case. The solution is to promptly organize a scene review and reassess the crime scene,” she couldn’t help but nod. This was exactly what she needed to do at the moment. The police had certainly already visited the crime scene, but she had a different investigative direction. If she wanted to make progress on her own, she had no choice but to go as well. She might not be able to get inside the room, but she could at least visit the surrounding area. Also, where exactly did Gabriel Adams take that photo with William Williams on the day of the incident? This was especially crucial, because just a few hours later, he was killed. The police said he had been bar-hopping before, so was it at a bar? At this thought, Fiona Bennett suddenly realized that the “blue” in “change the address to blue” in the letter might refer to that bar next to the school. She had almost no experience with such places, either as a student or now, so she hadn’t made the connection right away. But after all, it was a well-known spot during her student days. Because of the content in that letter, did Gabriel Adams go to The Blue Lounge to investigate and end up being targeted and killed? There were still many unclear doubts, but she definitely had to visit The Blue Lounge at least once.

　　While reading, Fiona Bennett sorted out what she needed to do next.

　　She knew she was very clumsy, but so what? She believed Gabriel Adams would help her—through these books, through the things written in them, through the… apparitions that often appeared before her eyes.

　　There was a gentle knock at the door. It opened, and in came Frank Bishop, just off work.

　　Frank Bishop had talked with her a few times, in the first couple of days after this room had been set up. Fiona Bennett said, Gabriel Adams died because he was helping me investigate Susan Wright. No matter what, I can’t just abandon him. Frank Bishop said, you have to trust the police. Instead of investigating on your own, why not hand your suspicions and evidence over to them? But the police’s current investigative direction is different from what you’re saying. Fiona Bennett replied, then the police are wrong. They don’t know the ins and outs of Susan Wright. If necessary, I’ll go to the police, but no matter how they investigate, I won’t give up until the murderer is caught. He killed Susan Wright, and that wasn’t enough—he killed Gabriel Adams too. For so many years, someone like that was right beside us. It’s terrifying. It’s like a volcano—a living volcano. Frank Bishop said, aren’t you afraid the volcano will erupt and kill you? Fiona Bennett said, I’m not afraid. Frank Bishop tried to persuade her several times, but in the end could only say, then you must be careful, trust in the power of the police, and no matter what, if you’re in danger, you must tell me. I’ll protect you, but you must protect yourself even more.

　　“So, did you make any progress today?” Frank Bishop asked.

　　“I’ve mostly just been reading. But slowly, I’m starting to get some ideas.”

　　Frank Bishop glanced around the room, his gaze passing over the letters pinned to the curtains. He shook his head slightly and placed a desk calendar he was holding onto the table.

　　“They sent out a few desk calendars. Let’s put one in this room too.”

　　He didn’t say who sent them, but it was probably a pharmaceutical company. They didn’t dare accept money, but these little gifts were harmless. The days of the week on the calendar were marked with the characters for gold, wood, water, fire, earth, sun, and moon, so it seemed to be from a Japanese pharmaceutical company.

　　Frank Bishop turned to leave, but before he could close the door, he heard Fiona Bennett exclaim, “Ah!” He turned back and saw Fiona Bennett holding the desk calendar, staring intently at the desk board hanging on the wall.

　　“What’s wrong?”

　　“Look,” Fiona Bennett pointed at the symbols on the desk board. “Look at these—look at this one, doesn’t it look like the sun? And this one, this is the moon!”

　　There was a circle-shaped symbol and a C-shaped symbol. If you said they represented the sun and the moon, it made sense. Then Fiona Bennett pointed to the “earth” symbol, which was a horizontal line—saying it represented the earth also seemed plausible. Next, a vertical line for “wood.” If you explained these symbols one by one, each might seem far-fetched, but together, layer by layer, the meaning became clearer. Then, a sycee-shaped symbol, which could undoubtedly stand for “gold”; an S lying on its side for “water”; and an upright S for “fire.”

　　Moon, fire, water, wood, gold, earth, sun—these symbols were arranged vertically in this exact order, which matched the days of the week. Since even the sequence was the same, Fiona Bennett’s interpretation was almost certainly correct.

　　So, this was a timetable-like chart, divided by days of the week, repeating in cycles. But what did the symbols after the date symbols mean? That was still unknown. And almost none of those symbols repeated, with no discernible pattern. Cracking the code wouldn’t be easy.

　　At present, there was no evidence that the desk board had any use other than as a mailbox. Logically, any mystery on the desk board shouldn’t be related to Susan Wright’s death. But since Gabriel Adams had taken it down and put it in his bedroom, it meant he was suspicious—maybe there was a clue Fiona Bennett didn’t know about, or maybe it was just Gabriel Adams’s intuition. Gabriel Adams had said that criminal investigation doesn’t believe in coincidences. Maybe it was this disbelief in coincidence that made him keep the board. Such a regular pattern of symbols densely covering the key prop—the “mailbox”—Gabriel Adams was unwilling to explain the connection as mere coincidence.

　　“Thank you for the desk calendar,” Fiona Bennett said to Frank Bishop with a smile. The first one in many days.

　　“But there are still more than half the symbols I can’t explain. What do they mean?”

　　“I don’t know yet, but at least it’s a first step, don’t you think?”

　　Frank Bishop nodded and left the room.

　　At this moment, there were still ten days until Fiona Bennett realized that Frank Bishop wanted to kill her.

　　4

　　In order to successfully carry out a crime, the perpetrator must actively create conditions based on certain objective circumstances, manufacturing an environment favorable to the commission of the crime… In most cases, it is difficult to see obvious social harm in the preparation for a crime itself, as it is not much different from ordinary legal behavior.

　　—“Criminology,” Chapter 2: Criminal Behavior

　　Fiona Bennett learned the location of Gabriel Adams’s death from The Adams Family, which was not far from the medical school or, in other words, The Blue Lounge. It was a rather upscale new development. When Fiona Bennett stood at the entrance, she realized an extraordinary coincidence—the site used to be part of the old street, rebuilt after demolition, and Susan Wright had once lived not far from here.

　　“Excuse me, how do I get to number seventeen?” Fiona Bennett asked the security guard. He gave her directions, then asked which household she was looking for.

　　“I’m not looking for anyone in particular.” Her answer made the guard wary, but then his expression turned sympathetic.

　　“The case in number seventeen on the first of this month. The one who died… was my brother. I’m here to burn some paper for him downstairs.”

　　This wasn’t a made-up reason or identity—Fiona Bennett really was there to burn paper for Gabriel Adams. She crouched in a windless spot downstairs, burned some gold and silver foil ingots, then scattered the ashes with her foot. When she reappeared outside the security booth, her eyes were still red.

　　Fiona Bennett asked the guard if he had been on duty that day. He had, but of course couldn’t enter the crime scene. He saw the police and Mr. Adams rush in, then several police cars brought in forensic personnel, and after a few hours, the deceased was carried out under a white sheet.

　　“All the security guards were called in to give statements. So, did they catch the person?”

　　Fiona Bennett shook her head. “No news at all.”

　　“What did they ask you about?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

　　“That woman,” the guard replied, raising his eyebrows.

　　The mysterious woman the guard mentioned had only rented in the complex for half a month, and didn’t come often. Every time she came, she wore glasses and a mask, head down. If not for her height—over 1.7 meters, quite tall—she might not have been noticed by the guards at all. The guards were generally friendly, usually nodding to residents as they came and went. But this woman never interacted with the guards, nor with the neighbors, always looking like she didn’t want to be bothered, and no one bothered her.

　　“Looking back now, she rented that apartment just to commit murder. It’s terrifying. I never thought something like this would happen here,” the guard said, still shaken.

　　“Do you have a photo of this woman?”

　　“How could I? The police even checked our surveillance footage, but it was no use—there were no clear shots of her face. But that night, I heard that when she came in with that man—oh, your brother—she wasn’t wearing a mask or glasses. But I wasn’t there, and the night cameras didn’t capture it clearly.”

　　Fiona Bennett couldn’t help but feel suspicious. Among her classmates, Susan Wright was the tallest, but not over 1.7 meters. Other than height, the guard couldn’t describe any other features, making it impossible for her to identify the person.

　　“The landlord must have met the killer, right? The police must have asked the landlord?”

　　The guard shook his head. “The landlord isn’t in the country. The agency at the entrance handles everything.”

　　The real estate agency was diagonally across the street. The agent responsible for the apartment was a girl in her twenties, who immediately began complaining to Fiona Bennett.