Chapter 28

28. "There was a witness"

This time, it was my second visit to Scotland Yard in the strictest sense.

Lestrade was already an old acquaintance of mine.

Over the past month, I had been helping Sherlock deal with the police, so I had some contact with the officers at Scotland Yard and had helped them out, too.

Of course, I didn't think that was enough for them to believe I was innocent or try to solve the case from my perspective. It was good enough that they would sometimes help me, or respect me and be willing to listen to my suggestions.

Watson came back to Scotland Yard with me. He wanted to contact Sherlock, but couldn't get through to him. He didn't get a reply to his texts, either. I thought that was perfectly normal; Sherlock didn't like carrying a phone. Sometimes he even had to borrow Watson's or mine to make a call.

The atmosphere in the car was still as pleasant as it had been after dinner. Lucian couldn't ride in the police car and could only watch helplessly as I got in. Then he asked with concern whether I needed a lawyer, offering to help me find one.

I refused without thinking.

First, I didn't have the money to pay a lawyer.

Second, I didn't know him well and didn't want to get too involved with him.

Third, I didn't think I needed a lawyer anyway. I was innocent, after all.

From the car, I could see London gradually lighting up as night fell. The traffic coming toward us was like a golden Milky Way flowing along the ground.

I had been a little nervous at first, but before we reached Scotland Yard, the pleasant mood from dinner gradually spread among the three of us in the car. Pizza even became our hottest topic, doing a great deal to dispel the mood of riding in a police car to investigate a case.

I thought there was a misunderstanding here, too, and that it would soon be cleared up, so I focused on discussing food.

Although Watson and Lestrade had eaten plenty of pizza, they rarely had the kind with cheese in the crust.

This pizza had Mozzarella in its crust, giving it a rich milky aroma and a mellow flavor. To me, it was like eating mochi or glutinous rice cakes that were slightly chewy yet soft and fragrant. I could have skipped the toppings and eaten that crust forever.

At first, I hadn't known much about that pale yellow cheese and hadn't recognized it as Mozzarella.

In my mind, it was always associated with stretchy cheese pulls. This time, I hadn't seen it stretch, and there was no molten center, either.

But on closer thought, it made sense. The edge of the pizza cooled most easily, and there were no other toppings covering it to keep the heat in like a blanket. Once the cheese solidified in the crust, it wouldn't stretch or have a molten center.

Seeing that I was discussing cheese more than the pizza, Lestrade suddenly asked, "Do you have a sandwich press in your flat?"

"No." I had helped prepare breakfast and dinner at the flat, so I was quite familiar with the kitchen equipment at 221B.

"You should buy one. They're really convenient and practical. Just press frozen chicken nuggets or strips on it for a few dozen seconds, and they'll come out like they've been in the oven."

After saying that, he got to the point. "If you like cheese, you can take a slice of white bread, sprinkle some shredded Mozzarella from the supermarket over it, then press another slice of white bread on top, and

it'll be like the cheese crust on today's pizza. Mozzarella has a fairly mild flavor, though, so you can add a slice of Cheddar cheese. If you like it sweet, you can sprinkle on some sugar, too."

I couldn't help picturing a slice of white bread covered in cheese, imagining the delicious pressed edges and that soft, rich, fragrant taste like a glutinous rice cake.

I made a careful note of it, hoping Sherlock would still be willing to lend me money to buy a sandwich press.

Actually, after being followed, I had been thinking about buying a car to get around.

As for the money, I naturally planned to borrow a few thousand from Sherlock and take out a bank loan for the rest.

Sherlock would always be the first person I asked to borrow money from.

Because Sherlock would never force himself.

If he didn't have it, he didn't have it, and he wasn't afraid to turn people down.

What I feared most about borrowing money was that someone might be short of money themselves, but try to borrow it from all over the place to help me; or that they might not want to lend it, but make a bunch of pointless excuses and feel uncomfortable lying. I wouldn't want to ask them for help again after that. Not just for money, but for anything else, either.

A lot of international students would surely think my decision to buy a car was foolish.

Public transport was very convenient for attending school in central London, so spending money on a car was a waste. Besides, the surrounding facilities and shops were convenient too, all within walking distance. Even if I wanted to take a road trip to nearby areas on the weekend, renting a car was cheap. There was no need to buy one.

After all, a car wasn't an investment. Once you bought one, it started depreciating the moment you paid for it. A car bought for twenty thousand pounds today would sell for at least twenty percent less if resold. So I also knew that some wealthy international students chose to buy houses or flats, saving on rent while preserving their value. If they lived alone, they could also take in tenants, making it a long-term investment.

As for me, even in my first year, I could spend time in the library until after eight at night. Once I started studying more advanced material, staying until the library closed wasn't impossible. By then, late at night when everything was quiet, it would be dangerous for someone as skinny as me to be out in the "wild" alone. Sitting in my own little car, on the other hand, would make me feel very safe.

If I ever had nowhere to live, or couldn't stay in one place, I could also temporarily live in my car—a little mobile home, making it hard for anyone to find me. That would be an extremely desperate situation, a dangerous one that would require me to sacrifice my studies entirely. I hoped it wouldn't happen.

Another consideration was that on weekends, I could take Watson or Mrs. Hudson around the area. Sometimes I could lend them the car, too, so they wouldn't have to rent one. If Watson went on a date or something, wouldn't it be better to pick his date up and drop them off by car? That was what I thought.

I had a complete plan for the car and had done a lot of research, but I hadn't mentioned it to Sherlock yet.

Although Sherlock was the only person I thought of, when it came time to borrow the money, I would be really embarrassed.

Everything I wore and ate now was paid for with money borrowed from Sherlock. Although I had borrowed three thousand pounds in one go before school started, rather than asking him for money every now and then, I still remembered that I had borrowed it from him, and I probably still owed more than half of it.

Lost in these thoughts, I arrived at Scotland Yard in what felt like no time.

As soon as Lestrade got out of the car, he put on a serious expression again and led me inside. Watson followed us into the lobby, but was told to wait outside. This clear separation of business and personal matters made him realize how serious things were, and he looked at me with some concern.

This visit felt completely different from the last. I entered a proper interrogation room.

Cool-toned incandescent lights illuminated the room, giving it a serious, somber air. The enclosed space shut out the lively voices outside, abruptly giving one the feeling of entering another, isolated area, and making it hard not to feel a sense of urgency.

My gaze went straight to the one-way glass window set into the wall opposite the entrance.

Through the window, I saw only darkness, but I knew very well that someone behind it was watching me closely. The room was simply furnished, with a wooden table and two chairs. A surveillance camera sat on the table for close-up monitoring. An intercom phone hung on the wall near the door. Higher up, another camera with a flashing red light stood silently on the wall.

"Please sit down."

Lestrade tried to use an impersonal tone.

I thought that if he were to relax at a time like this, someone else would have to interrogate me instead.

We knew each other somewhat. But I also knew the other detectives, so it made no difference who interrogated me. Perhaps this arrangement actually sent me a clearer message—

Scotland Yard was serious and dutiful. This would never be as relaxed and casual as having coffee or a meal together.

I glanced instinctively at the surveillance camera, then sat down facing the entrance.

Sitting at the table and chair, I felt a chill. Suddenly, I felt the whole room was filled with tension, as though every inch of air had frozen.

After resting my hands on the table for a short while, I felt my fingers grow stiff and put them back on my legs. But two or three seconds later, I thought that if I kept them under the table, people might wonder whether I was up to something, so I put them back on the table.

"I'm Greg Lestrade, the detective in charge of this murder case. What's your name?"

"He Xue." I paused, then continued, "Lanny is the name I usually use to make it easier for people to address me. You can call me Lanny, Detective Lestrade."

"What were you doing after one this afternoon?"

"I was reading in the library."

"Were you alone?"

"I was alone."

"At five this afternoon, someone found the body of Lily Schneider, a first-year mathematics student, on a balcony of your school's M Teaching Building. His head had been struck open with a blunt object, causing his death. According to the forensic investigation, he should have died between one and three this afternoon."

"Do you know the M Teaching Building?"

"Our discussion classes are mainly held on the first through third floors of the M Teaching Building. Above those are the offices of the school staff. Sometimes, when I have questions, I take the elevator to the sixth floor to ask a professor."

"Then do you know Lily Schneider?"

"I know of him. He's also an international student on a scholarship. I saw him at the mathematics salon on orientation day. He and I are the only students in the subject on full scholarships. Although we normally have the same four main courses, we're in different discussion classes and don't cross paths. I don't know him well."

Lestrade didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he said, "I'm going to show you photos of professors and some staff members at your school. Can you tell me their names?"

Lestrade was mainly doing this to determine whether I had trouble recognizing foreign faces, especially Asian ones. Many people had difficulty recognizing faces of other races, just as foreigners sometimes couldn't tell Asians apart.

If I could identify them clearly now, I wouldn't be able to get away with making an issue of or using "facial recognition difficulties" as an excuse later.

I also saw Lily Schneider's face among the photos.

This was obviously a test to see if I would panic.

I said his name directly. "Lily Schneider."

"Didn't you say you didn't know him well? How did you recognize him?"

I thought it would be hard not to recognize him. "Schneider is different from me. At the mathematics salon that day, he was the one who won the prize in the end, and he also gained the favor of the mathematics professors. Over the following month, he fit right in with the other students, joined the school's football and swimming teams, and even got a girlfriend. Not only is he a social whiz, but his overall score on the recent test was higher than mine, and he got full marks in one subject."

Lestrade said, "The way you describe him, you seem to know him quite well."

"Because he's outstanding. I have a habit of paying attention to outstanding people around me. But he's never spoken to me."

Compared with him, I really was the gloomy kind of loser who only liked staying in my own little world.

"Then what kind of person do you think he is?"

"Cheerful and outgoing, humorous and quick-witted. He gets along well with everyone, the type you can tell at a glance is liked by lots of people."

Lestrade paused and asked, "Would you want to get close to him, then? Have you tried to get to know him?"

"He's not the type I want to associate with. I like people who are quiet and straightforward."

"As far as you're concerned, Lily Schneider isn't straightforward?"

"He puts a lot of thought into things."

Lestrade said, "What do you mean?"

"Could you please give me your hand?" I reached toward him. Not understanding why, Lestrade placed his hand in mine. "What are you thinking right now?"

"Of course I'm thinking, What are you doing?" Lestrade said.

I said, "After hearing me, you looked at my hand first, then at my eyes, right? If it were Schneider, he'd look into the other person's eyes first, then judge their intentions from their expression before acting."

"If that's what you mean by putting thought into things, that's entirely because we know each other well..." At this point, Lestrade glanced instinctively toward the window and changed his wording. "It's just a matter of trust. If I trust you, I won't think too much about it."

"The point is, he does that with everyone. And I also said he gets along well with everyone..."

Lestrade suddenly understood. "No wonder you said he puts a lot of thought into things."

"It's not actually a bad thing. If you want to get along smoothly with a lot of people, you naturally have to put thought into weighing things up. I just don't particularly like it."

I paused, then asked, "So, am I suspected of being the murderer because I didn't interact with him

and am considered gloomy at heart?"

Lestrade said, "We did consider psychological motives. Aside from that dislike based on your impression of him, shouldn't there also be a conflict of interest between you?"

I answered frankly, "Yes. Starting next semester, the mathematics department will only have one full scholarship for an international student, and he's my biggest competitor. But I'm very confident in myself."

"Why do you say that?"

"I study very hard. There's a saying in China: 'Heaven rewards hard work.' All I have to do is work hard and get full marks." My voice was full of determination.

Lestrade listened to me in surprise, his expression somewhat hesitant.

I thought I might have gotten a little too fired up, so I quickly reined in my emotions. There were indeed reasons to suspect me, but a personal conviction alone couldn't serve as evidence.

Just then, someone knocked on the door and entered the interrogation room without waiting for Lestrade to respond. The person glanced at Lestrade, who stood up and said quietly, "...I actually believe you. Sorry, Lanny."

I watched the detectives switch places so naturally in the interrogation room, and Lestrade had said that.

I suddenly realized that this was a tactic the police were using to try to make me lower my guard.

They had created this atmosphere because they wanted me to say more.

After all, my knowing them also meant that they knew me. They thought that if I were investigated, I might become wary and speak without leaving any gaps, which would only hinder the investigation.

In other words, things had only just begun.

The detective approaching me wore a grave expression. He nodded slightly in my direction and said solemnly, "Mr. Lanny, I can tell you that there was a witness to this murder."