Edward Bennett: "Eric Harris, let me treat you to a meal."

"Just seeing you makes me full." Eric Harris freed up one hand and pressed it on Edward Bennett's head. "Who are you calling 'Eric Harris'? Don't act so familiar with me."

"I..." Edward Bennett was about to say something affectionate, but suddenly changed his tone, "What the hell is this!"

It turned out that Officer Eric Harris was frugal in style, and the shoulder bag he carried was probably produced back in the Qing Dynasty, truly old and worn out. The zipper, even when closed, would often split open on a whim. Edward Bennett hadn't noticed, nor could he tell the front from the back of the shabby bag. By accident, he left the opening facing down, and a folder slipped out, scattering a few photos messily onto his lap. In the dim light, the corpse's face looked especially ghastly and ferocious.

Edward Bennett gasped on the spot. If it weren't for the seatbelt, he would have almost jumped up. "Is this a photo of a dead person? Why does it look so awful?"

"That's important evidence, don't mess with it. Hurry up and tidy it for me."

Edward Bennett stiffened his neck, absolutely refusing to lower his head and meet the dead person's gaze on his lap. "N-no, I get dizzy at the sight of blood."

"There's no blood." Eric Harris sighed wearily. "You aren't even afraid of the terrifying William Carter, but you're scared of a dead body?"

Edward Bennett fumbled to stuff the scattered photos and documents back into the folder, covering his eyes with one hand and cautiously peeking. Sure enough, he didn't see any blood, so he relaxed a little, gingerly picking up each piece of scattered evidence as if defusing a bomb, and putting them back in place.

This arduous task kept Edward Bennett quiet for five minutes. After a while, he suddenly asked, "Was it murder?"

Eric Harris replied, "Yeah, but it's still under investigation. I can't disclose the case details."

Edward Bennett made an "oh" sound and, as expected, didn't ask further. He put the folder back, clipped it in place, and, lowering his head, studied the broken zipper on the bag in the faint light, casually saying, "Poor guy."

Eric Harris: "Hm?"

"Full of hope, going to meet someone, only to find out that person thought he was better off dead." Edward Bennett examined the zipper pull for a moment, then started fiddling with it.

Eric Harris was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Edward Bennett said, "didn't you guys take separate photos of the victim's outerwear? The tag was still on it."

"That piece of clothing has already been checked. It was sold at a small shop nearby. Both the shop owner and the surveillance confirmed that the victim bought it himself."

"I didn't say the killer put it on him. Who would bother adding an extra piece of clothing after killing someone?" Edward Bennett laughed. "Wearing new clothes without cutting off the tag probably means the clothes were expensive, beyond his usual spending, but he needed to wear them for some occasion, so he planned to return them after wearing them once. Some students who aren't well-off do this when they first start going to interviews—was he left-handed?"

Eric Harris paused. He recalled his visit to Stephen Wright's rented place, quickly reviewing the positions of everything. "No."

Edward Bennett shrugged. "The wear on the left shoe is obvious—of course, sometimes a person's dominant hand and foot aren't on the same side, but I think it's more likely that he borrowed these shoes."

But according to the campus security guard's testimony, the last person Stephen Wright met before his death should have been a familiar man, most likely a fellow townsman, maybe even a relative—otherwise, they wouldn't have used dialect.

At this moment, they arrived at their destination. Eric Harris parked the car. "So you mean... the victim deliberately dressed up before meeting someone, so the person he met was probably a woman?"

"Not necessarily. Even though he went to the trouble of borrowing clothes and shoes, his outfit was more formal and reserved. I think he looked more like he was going for a job interview, or meeting someone he deeply respected. If he was meeting a girl, it was probably someone he was introduced to for the first time." Edward Bennett opened and closed the old briefcase's zipper, tugged it gently, and sure enough, it didn't come apart again. He handed the bag to Eric Harris. "The zipper pull was loose, I tightened it for you—like, if I were coming out to meet you, I wouldn't wear a three-piece suit, I'd just put on a bit more cologne."

Edward Bennett's eyes weren't pure black; they had a lighter hue, especially luminous in the dark. When he stared intently at someone, his eyes always seemed to have something to say, making it hard not to get lost in them.

Unfortunately, Deputy Captain Harris was blind to it.

He just seriously considered Edward Bennett's words for a moment, then asked thoughtfully, "Then what do you think it means if, after killing someone, a note is stuck to their forehead?"

Edward Bennett withdrew his gaze, bored. "Oh, maybe to prevent the corpse from coming back to life."

Eric Harris: "..."

"Or maybe the killer regretted it afterward and subconsciously imitated others' gestures of respect and mourning for the dead."

Eric Harris thought for a moment and pressed further, "What if it didn't cover the whole face? Like just a small note, stuck in the victim's hair, only covering the area from the forehead to between the eyes."

"The forehead? When elders scold children, when the strong bully the weak, when punishing pets... they all hit the forehead. It could also represent a label—only things for sale in stores have tags. What was written on the note?"

"Money."

Edward Bennett raised an eyebrow. His long brows almost slanted into his temples, giving him a cold, strikingly handsome look.

"What about it?"

"I don't know, one word is too little. Overanalyzing could be misleading." Edward Bennett smiled. "Eric Harris, we're at your place."