“The apartment is still sealed by the police, so we can’t clean it or rent it out, and we have no idea how long this will last. By the time we can rent it again, the rent will definitely have to be lower. The landlord left the keys and put us fully in charge, but now how are we supposed to explain this? It’s not our fault, is it?”

This girl had no filter, or maybe she was just a classic extrovert—perhaps that’s what makes it easier to work in real estate, Fiona Bennett thought. She was still presenting herself as the victim’s sister, which, strictly speaking, wasn’t really a suitable identity for digging into details. The agent clearly had no obligation to provide her with all the specifics about the rental, but Fiona Bennett couldn’t think of a better cover—after all, she’d only been reading criminal investigation textbooks for a few days. As it turned out, she ran into this kind of girl, who even showed her a copy of that mysterious woman’s ID.

On the copy was a blurry, unfamiliar face, with the name field filled in as “Daisy Hamilton,” and the date of birth as 1980.03.15.

Maybe it was a fake ID, Fiona Bennett thought.

“Did this person look like the photo on the ID?”

“Well, maybe not really… you know how ID photos are, there’s always some difference.” She stammered, then added after a moment, “And she was wearing a mask that day, never took it off. I only saw her that one time.”

“What did her voice sound like?”

“She was mute. We communicated by writing.”

Fiona Bennett’s first investigation ended there, because this Daisy Hamilton had acted with extreme caution during the preparation phase of the crime, and Fiona Bennett had gained very little. The only thing she could be sure of was that the woman was quite tall; as for whether she was really mute, that was hard to say.

But she had managed to get new information through her own investigation, and that was a good start.

Many decisions are made in an instant, without much deliberation. After leaving the real estate agency, Fiona Bennett had only walked a few steps when she saw a familiar bus pass by. The bus pulled in, and Fiona Bennett got on, riding for five stops. After getting off, she looked around at the now somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood—after all, she hadn’t been back here in five years. Five years ago, right at the intersection across the street, Frank Bishop had knelt down with a platinum ring he’d bought with two months’ salary and proposed to her, rescuing her from overwhelming helplessness, and her life had changed from that moment on. Back then, she thought she had escaped her fate, but now, standing on this cold, blustery street, she suddenly felt a powerful sense of destiny. She remembered how Gabriel Adams had described Frederick Bennett’s recent years—even her mother hadn’t seen him for a while. The small world called “home,” made up of her father, mother, and her former self, was filled with flowing memories and a past that could never truly be severed. One man had taken her away from here, and now she had returned, because of another man.

Fiona Bennett didn’t linger long. She bought apples and oranges at the fruit shop and walked back to her old home.

It was Laura Cooper who opened the door. She gasped and immediately started to cry. Frederick Bennett heard the noise and came over, seeing his daughter standing at the door with fruit in her hands. His brow furrowed, and his lips pressed together. Looking at her father, Fiona Bennett realized she no longer felt any of the old fear, and she was able to study the old man in front of her carefully. He was so thin it seemed he’d shrunk by ten centimeters, his cheeks sunken, making his stubbly chin look even sharper. His face was dull, and his age spots were especially prominent. The vitality he once had was now only faintly present—he was, without a doubt, an old man. It was Frederick Bennett who had called to report Gabriel Adams’s death—their first conversation in years, even if it was only a few words. The shock had been so great that Fiona Bennett had almost forgotten the fact that her father had called her. Thinking back now, Frederick Bennett really had liked Gabriel Adams a lot. When Gabriel Adams died, he felt he had to tell his daughter.

Laura Cooper gripped Frederick Bennett’s wrist tightly with one hand and tried to cover his mouth with the other, afraid he’d say something inappropriate. Frederick Bennett pushed her hand away, scolding her, “What are you doing?” Then he turned and walked off. Laura Cooper quickly pulled Fiona Bennett into the living room, poured her some tea, sliced an orange, and held her hand, asking how she’d been lately. Frederick Bennett didn’t come out; Fiona Bennett caught a glimpse of him standing behind the bedroom door, eavesdropping.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Gabriel Adams’s death. Laura Cooper sighed repeatedly, then said, “But at least you weren’t with him at that time.”

“What are you talking about!” Frederick Bennett came out from behind the door, slapped an envelope onto the coffee table, and pushed it toward Fiona Bennett.

“All these years, you haven’t had a proper job. Who knows what you’ve been up to, living off your husband, not acting like a proper person! Does Frank Bishop make enough to support you?”

Fiona Bennett took the envelope. Judging by its thickness, it was probably two or three thousand yuan—likely all the cash the family had.

“Thank you, Dad.” Her eyes turned red, but she almost wanted to laugh. Frederick Bennett really was a lot like Gabriel Adams, though in a way, that was the opposite of what people usually said.

Frederick Bennett chatted with her a bit more about Gabriel Adams. He knew that Gabriel Adams had been in contact with Fiona Bennett before his death, but assumed it was just old friends meeting again. Of course, Fiona Bennett didn’t say more. The incident of her storming out years ago was never mentioned, as if it had never happened.

“Next time you come back, bring your man with you. I haven’t even gotten a good look at him.” As she was leaving, Frederick Bennett said this, as if everything was Fiona Bennett’s fault.

At this moment, there were still seven days left before Fiona Bennett would realize that Frank Bishop wanted to kill her.

5

Tonight, Frank Bishop was working the night shift and wouldn’t be home. At nine o’clock, Fiona Bennett put on a purple bodycon dress, threw a thick coat over it, hung a pair of ruby earrings from her ears, and stepped out in nine-centimeter heels. She didn’t know what one was supposed to wear to a bar, but figured she should at least look pretty—couldn’t be too conservative, or she’d stand out. She arrived at The Blue Lounge just after nine-thirty. For Fiona Bennett, it was already late, but for the bar, it wasn’t even busy yet.

As she walked down the stairs to the basement, Fiona Bennett couldn’t help but notice the photos on the wall. The age and composition of these photos immediately reminded her of the ones Mr. Adams had shown her. She looked back and forth several times and finally found the original photo.

The photo was already yellowed and curling at the edges, and all the other photos looked much the same—no recent ones among them. The whole stretch of wall on both sides of the stairs was covered, making the passageway feel like it led into the past. When she’d seen this photo at Mr. Adams’s place, she’d guessed from the timing that it might have been taken at The Blue Lounge, and now that was confirmed. This forced her to consider a question—was there really a connection between the deaths of William Williams and Susan Wright?

Originally, William Williams should have been the first person ruled out, because when Susan Wright started being poisoned, William Williams was no longer in the training class. How could someone who wasn’t at school, and who was disabled, have managed to poison Susan Wright repeatedly? But back then, in the last letter, suspect B had suggested changing the meeting place to The Blue Lounge, and William Williams had worked at The Blue Lounge. Was that really just a coincidence? Because he didn’t have the means to commit the crime, William Williams had never been on the radar of Susan Wright, Fiona Bennett, or even Gabriel Adams. But now, setting aside the question of means, Fiona Bennett suddenly realized that William Williams had the strongest motive! Susan Wright had ruined his life, and it wasn’t even accidental!

The person with the strongest motive was the one with the least ability to commit the crime. This huge contradiction made Fiona Bennett realize that even if she didn’t treat William Williams as a major suspect, she shouldn’t ignore him either. Maybe she should visit William Williams soon. Of everyone in the training class, the one who knew Susan Wright best was undoubtedly William Williams, who had pursued her—maybe he’d have some clues.

A few weeks ago, when Gabriel Adams took a photo of William Williams here, what was he thinking? He must have thought more deeply and thoroughly than she had—maybe he’d already made a breakthrough. She was still just an apprentice, always trailing behind him. I’ll catch up, Fiona Bennett thought, stepping into the basement’s noisy waves of sound.

Fiona Bennett had once imagined what The Blue Lounge would be like. In her mind, under spinning neon lights, scantily clad men and women pressed together, hands in the air, rubbing against each other, the music roaring like an engine, making everything hazy and ambiguous. But when she actually walked down the stairs and entered the bar, she found that aside from the loud music, the scene was nothing like she’d imagined.

In fact, once she got used to it, the music wasn’t even that loud. The performance area was empty—maybe it wasn’t time yet. After a round of jazz drumming, the speakers started playing an unknown jazz trio. There weren’t many people in the bar—no crowd at all. In the hundred-plus square meter space, only Fiona Bennett and the bartender were standing. In the dim light, a few customers were scattered in booths, maybe a dozen in total.

Fiona Bennett stood there, looking around, feeling completely out of place and not knowing how to fit in. A middle-aged man sitting on a high stool at the bar saw her awkwardness and couldn’t help but laugh, raising his glass to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Fiona Bennett walked over.