It was lunchtime. Edward Bennett heated up a can of sweet milk in the break room microwave, casually complimented the secretary on her figure, reminded her to eat well and stop dieting, then locked himself in his office, put on headphones, looped the song from his car, and pulled out a sheet of A4 paper.

He drew a simple map on the paper in an abstract style only he could understand, spun his pen thoughtfully for a moment, then lightly circled a few spots and wrote “20:00-21:30.” After a pause, he changed “20:00” to “20:30.”

From a pile of surveillance footage, Edward Bennett picked out a few clips, pieced them together, and selected the time slot from 8:30 to 9:30, then started fast-forwarding through them.

Several sets of images flashed rapidly across the screen at once. He lounged lazily in his chair, as if all his energy was focused in his eyes, staring motionless at the screen.

At this moment, William Carter, carrying a briefcase and wearing his flashy sunglasses, was wandering near a transportation hub in the Huashi District, occasionally hailing passing taxis, but none of them were available. Seeing this, a group of unlicensed taxi drivers—a local specialty—parked along the curb, all called out to him.

“Hey handsome, need a ride?”

“Where are you headed, handsome?”

“Cheap, faster than a regular taxi!”

William Carter sized up the fleet of illegal cabs and finally stopped in front of a young man with a buzz cut.

The young man was quick on the uptake and eagerly opened the car door for him. “Hop in, where to?”

William Carter said nothing and slid into the seat.

The buzz-cut youth turned on the air conditioning and smoothly drove out of the lineup. “Handsome, you haven’t told me where you’re going yet.”

“Just drive straight ahead for now.” William Carter took off his sunglasses, and his sharp gaze met the driver’s in the rearview mirror. The driver froze for a moment, suddenly feeling uneasy.

“I have an anonymous report here,” after a while, William Carter calmly opened his briefcase, pulled out a copy of some documents, and flipped through them casually. The driver’s face changed instantly, nearly sideswiping a nearby car and earning a long honk. William Carter remained unfazed. “I’m not from your precinct, don’t panic. Just keep driving, I have a few questions for you.”

Eric Harris and Jason Turner successfully met Stephen Wright’s fellow townsman, Scott Grant, and the three of them went to a small noodle shop together.

Scott Grant was middle-aged and had been working hard in Yancheng for many years. Though he still struggled to get by, he looked much more respectable than the young men constantly running into dead ends. The man’s face showed the fatigue of a long-distance bus ride of over ten hours. He blinked hard, his wide eye bags drooping. “I really didn’t expect him to get into trouble—officer, do you mind if I smoke?”

The noodle shop didn’t enforce any no-smoking rules; the place was filled with men puffing away. Scott Grant took a couple of deep drags and rubbed his face. “Zhongyi was a good kid. Lots of people with nothing better to do hang out in pool halls and game rooms, but he never went, just worked hard and saved money, said he wanted to take it home for his mom’s medical bills. He didn’t steal, didn’t rob, didn’t gamble, and never caused trouble. Why did it have to happen to him? Ask me anything you want to know, I won’t hide a thing.”

Eric Harris observed Scott Grant and noticed that although he used his right hand to eat with chopsticks, he held his cigarette and teacup with his left—back in the day, parents would force left-handed kids to switch at the table to avoid “fighting,” so this wasn’t uncommon.

Eric Harris took a photo from his wallet, showing the shoes the deceased was wearing. “May I ask, did you lend these shoes to Stephen Wright?”

Scott Grant looked down, his eyes almost turning red, and nodded absentmindedly. “They’re mine. Did… did he leave wearing these shoes?”

“Yes, these shoes are very important,” Eric Harris said. “Do you know why he wanted to borrow them?”

Scott Grant looked a bit confused, thought for a moment. “He said he was going to meet someone at a fancy place, called… something Guang… Chengguang Building or maybe a villa?”

Jason Turner suddenly sat up straight. “Chengguang Residence!”

“That’s it,” Scott Grant said. “That’s the name.”

“Who was he meeting? What for?”

Scott Grant shook his head. “He didn’t say. I asked, but that kid was very firm and tight-lipped.”

Jason Turner quickly followed up, “Mr. Zhao, did Stephen Wright have a new phone?”

“Oh, yes, he did,” Scott Grant said. “The white one, right? He usually didn’t want to use it, still used his old one. Sometimes he’d take the new one out to look at it, and he put several layers of screen protectors on it.”

Jason Turner: “Do you know who gave him that phone?”

Scott Grant slowly furrowed his brow.

Eric Harris asked, “What’s wrong?”