Hotch soon saw the boy he wanted to see in the principal's office, Adrain Hunt, who looked quite nervous, tightly holding the pen in his hand, and soon his forehead was covered with sweat. Hotch stared at him for a moment, looked out the window, and said mildly, "We can find an empty classroom, or go to the side of the field. If that makes you more comfortable."

The youth sneaked a glance at the silver-haired headmaster, and the old headmaster sighed and nodded.

Hotch followed him all the way to the shade by the court. He wiped off his sweat and said, "You guys are here for George."

"Yes."

Hunt hesitated for a while before continuing, "I really don't know why he committed suicide. I really didn't do it."

"Relax." Hotch held him by the shoulders and made him sit on the bench. "Is George your friend?"

"Best friend." Hunt whispered, paused for a few seconds and then sobbed softly, "Everyone of you came to ask me, and I really hope he is still alive, me, I saw him in a pool of blood when I went back to the dormitory I want to help him, but, but...I keep dreaming...that he is my best friend, but every time I wake up scared."

"I'm sorry." Hotch reached out and patted him on the shoulder, "For you to recall all that again."

Hunt shook his head, "I know I shouldn't be afraid, I should help him, but, but I can't control it."

"Hunt, no one can accuse you of being scared when you see a scene like that. If you want to help him, tell me what George Bassand has been up to lately. Is there anything you think is wrong? Or is there any trouble? Friends?" Hotch squatted down, looked at him and asked gently.

Hunt looked up, frowning, thinking, "No, George doesn't have a girlfriend, and he doesn't do anything weird."

"Did he give you anything?"

"It can't be counted."

"What do you mean?"

"George is like me, once, like most of the college students on this course." Hunt looked blankly at the crowd on the course, raised his hand to wipe away his tears, "dealing with studies, playing all day, bars, chasing pretty girls Run... you know."

"I understand, college student." Hotch gave him a reassuring smile, but didn't give him time to hesitate, and asked quickly, "But you mean once?"

"His parents always felt that he was not hardworking enough. They felt that he should do better than he is now... All parents are like this. We always heard it before and let it go. About a month ago, George decided to change himself."

"You said he didn't do anything weird." Hotch frowned.

"It's not weird what he's doing." Hunt looked up at him. "Just like every one of you wants us to do, do your homework, eat healthy food, get up early and go to bed early...that's why he wasn't with me that day The reason to go to the party. He also wants me to be like him, but I, I'm just not good enough. I just can't really do it."

Hunt buried his head between his hands, "Will he still be alive if I promise him?"

"Hunt." Hotch pulled his hand away, "The first thing those who care about you is that you are alive and healthy. And I don't think his death has anything to do with you, and I'm afraid you can't stop him."

Hunt was silent for a while, "Thank you, you are different from those policemen."

Hotch paused and murmured softly to himself, "It's not much different."

Hunt blinked, looking at him puzzled.

"Think again, did anything happen before Bassand changed? Anything you think might be relevant." Hotch was already thinking about whether he should report to Gideon. At least from the current evidence, this is obviously not a simple suicide. It might not even be simple murder.

"Nothing." Hunt hesitated after recalling for a while, "There is one thing, you just said whether he gave me anything. I don't know if it has anything to do with it, but that was the time he let me When I changed with him, I wanted to give me a pamphlet that seemed to say... change your life."

"You didn't answer?"

"I, I don't want to change." Hunt whispered a little embarrassed.

"Can you still find the pamphlet? At Bassand's?"

"I saw he sent it away a few days ago." Hunt shook his head, "Probably to his pen pal."

"Pen pal?" Hotch raised his voice sharply.

"Ah, you don't know? Everyone has pen pals, and they write about things they're too embarrassed to complain to their friends." Hunt flipped through his bag and showed Hotch the envelope inside, "Look, we have pen pals every week communicate."

"Do you know Bassand's pen pal?"

"Of course not." Hunt shook his head, "According to the rules, this is a little secret between two people."

"Hunt, I want you to recall carefully, a month ago, did Bassand receive a package that seemed to be of some weight?" Hotch stared at him closely.

Hunt thought for a long time, then suddenly raised his head and stared at him, "How do you know?!"

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