The furnishings in the room were extremely simple: just a square table, a few chairs, and the sofa where Fiona Bennett was lying. Nestled among these statues, she seemed to lose all sense of presence. To Fiona Bennett’s right was a row of large windows; outside, a vast expanse of flowers stretched into emptiness, and beyond that was the Huangpu River. Since it was still early, the tall buildings of Pudong on the opposite bank could be seen clearly.

  “Where am I?” Fiona Bennett asked.

  That was Fiona Bennett’s first sentence. She didn’t ask, “Why did you capture me?” or “What do you want from me?” nor did she angrily accuse Matthew Mitchell of being a cold-blooded murderer. Just like Matthew Mitchell’s first words, hers were ordinary and unremarkable.

  “An isolated island,” Matthew Mitchell said. “This is probably the last abandoned dump in the city. It’s actually been out of use for a while, the land is still barren and uncleared. It’s a pity you couldn’t see it when we drove in—the sight is quite spectacular: piles of steel scrap several stories high, abandoned car shells, a three-dimensional graveyard, maze-like, with cars winding through like little bugs. Once you reach the innermost part, it suddenly opens up—a vast open space by the river, with a two-story-high terrace. We’re in the tin-roofed house on that terrace. It’s almost like a hidden paradise.”

  Matthew Mitchell stood up from his chair and walked to the window on the other wall. On the windowsill sat a small child’s head sculpture, which was originally a full-body statue, but everything below the neck was gone, leaving only the little head facing out the window—rather eerie. Matthew Mitchell rested his hand on the child’s head and gazed outside.

  “The view from here is unlike anything you’ll see elsewhere. Looking your way, the Huangpu River is crowded with ships, and the high-rises on the opposite bank stand in dense rows. At night, the whole area is ablaze with lights and neon signs, shining all night long. The Huangpu is the lifeblood of Shanghai; you can see the city’s growth and vitality.” As Matthew Mitchell spoke of the scene behind him, it was as if he were witnessing it firsthand.

  “But from where I stand, all I see is a wasteland of massive piles of discarded junk—a dead city straight out of a post-apocalyptic sci-fi film, as if this city has been dead for a long time. And this room we’re in sits right between life and death. The old man who watched over the dump built it himself; he lived here for decades, quite a character.”

  Matthew Mitchell patted the child’s head lightly and said, “He salvaged all these from the junk below. Living alone must have been lonely. There are more on the platform outside, and on the open ground below, arranged like a formation of stone figures. Doesn’t it feel a bit creepy? He died of illness a few months ago. Now, hardly anyone knows about this hidden wasteland paradise in the city. One day, when this place is redeveloped and everything is cleared away, it’ll be gone forever. In the past two or three months, I’ve often come here, sometimes staying until late at night. I’ve found that being among these statues makes me feel even lonelier. You think you’re communicating with them, but in reality, you’re not. That contrast—when you look at the two completely different scenes on either side, you gain a kind of detached clarity, and you can see yourself, and your relationship with the world, more clearly.”

  At first, Matthew Mitchell’s voice trembled a little. This was a huge moment for him; everything had been fermenting for too long—nine whole years. Today, he was going to zip up the body bag and nail down the coffin lid himself, letting dust return to dust and earth to earth. Soon, he regained his composure, becoming more at ease. His tone relaxed, his voice gentle, as if he were just chatting with an old classmate.

  “These past two or three months? You mean, since you found out I was reinvestigating Susan Wright?” Fiona Bennett asked.

  Matthew Mitchell walked halfway around the room and stood before the large window facing the Huangpu.

  “Yes, since then,” he replied.

  “I still remember that day when Vincent Parker called me. That’s when I realized you hadn’t given up, and that a police officer was helping you. I was terrified. I stood here, watching the sun slowly set, the whole world quieting down, night flowing between the lights and the stars. Until dawn, I felt the ruins and silent statues behind me connecting me to the world in front of me. Suddenly, everything became clear. What was I afraid of, on this day, nine years after Susan Wright’s death?”

  Matthew Mitchell paced back to Fiona Bennett, sat down in a chair, and crossed one leg.

  “Since it started nine years ago, there’s no choice but to keep going until the end. Today, both you and I have reached the end. I want to ask you—do you regret it?”

  But Matthew Mitchell didn’t wait for Fiona Bennett’s answer. He turned his head slightly and said in another direction, “Lao Fei, do you really plan to keep hiding? What’s the point?”

  Frank Bishop walked out from behind a door, standing at a distance, saying nothing, looking at Fiona Bennett with a complicated expression.

  Fiona Bennett hadn’t seen her husband for ten days. She still remembered the last thing Frank Bishop said to her: it was the morning of November 25th, and he said, “I’m off to work.” A few hours later, she saw him for the last time in the outpatient lobby of the psychiatric hospital.

  Now, here they were, reunited.

  “You pulled me out of the corpse pool just for today?” Fiona Bennett said. “I really wish we’d never met. Frank Bishop, you’re disgusting.”

  Frank Bishop stared at her in a daze, tears streaming down his face.

  But Fiona Bennett looked away from him, turning to Matthew Mitchell and asking, “So, was it you two who killed Susan Wright, plus Winnie Hayes? And what about Gabriel Adams?”

  “It wasn’t the two of us, or the three of us, Fiona Bennett. Don’t you understand yet? But it doesn’t matter. We’re old classmates, and I didn’t want things to come to this, but at least I’ll let you know how it all happened.”

  “No need to make it sound so nice, Matthew Mitchell. You just need me as an audience, right? Telling me everything—will that ease your guilt a little, or just give you a bit more satisfaction?”

  “You really surprise me, old classmate.” Matthew Mitchell glanced at Frank Bishop and said, “Lao Fei, have you ever seen your wife this sharp?”

  Frank Bishop didn’t answer.

  “Looks like we won’t be finishing quickly today. Lao Fei, why don’t you go make some coffee? I have a bag of Blue Mountain in the kitchen, and the coffee machine’s there too.”

  Frank Bishop sighed and turned to leave the room.

  “So, it really was everyone, wasn’t it? Everyone in the special training class!” Fiona Bennett ignored her husband, staring into Matthew Mitchell’s eyes.

  “Yes and no. Actually, at the very beginning, except for Winnie Hayes, no one really wanted to kill Susan Wright.”

  Matthew Mitchell’s eyelids drooped slightly, as if recalling events from nine years ago. The slanting sunlight that had been shining into the room suddenly disappeared, and the whole place turned cold and dim. Fiona Bennett tried to adjust her sitting position, but found her body still limp and numb—perhaps Matthew Mitchell had given her some other drug to ensure safety.

  “You know, back then, I interned for a while in the toxicology lab,” Matthew Mitchell began.

  Fiona Bennett’s heart started pounding; she even felt as if Susan Wright’s spirit was drifting nearby, listening along with her.

  “As an intern, I was usually the last to leave, cleaning up the lab. Because it was so quiet there, I often stayed alone to read. I’d turn off all the lights except for a small lamp in a hidden corner—anyone passing by wouldn’t see me. At the start of junior year, one night, I was reading in the toxicology lab when I heard something. I quietly went out and saw Winnie Hayes sneaking around, searching for something. I stood behind her for a while and suddenly realized she must be looking for drugs. I asked directly, ‘Are you looking for poison?’ She was startled, extremely nervous, but she didn’t deny it at all. She said, ‘Yes, I’m looking for something to poison Susan Wright.’ That shocked me—I hadn’t expected her to be so blunt, like she had nothing left to lose. And after seeing me and realizing I’d guessed her intentions, Winnie Hayes just went back to searching, as if I didn’t exist. I stood there like an idiot, watching her look for drugs, then asked, ‘I know you like William Williams, but are you really going this far for revenge?’ She said, ‘Yes, Susan Wright doesn’t deserve to live in this world. You can call the police now, or just pretend you never saw me.’ The way she looked, I knew she’d made up her mind—there was no talking her out of it. Women in love often value the other person more than their own lives, even though Winnie Hayes’s feelings were unrequited. She spoke so calmly that I felt if she couldn’t find the right drug, she’d just grab a fruit knife and stab Susan Wright.”