I turned over and walked into the dead man's float, praying that the meaning of the word would not be confirmed. Some form of marine life swept over me, and immediately I was more afraid that my woodpecker would become a lunch for some kind of fish, rather than drown in the sea.
Once safely back on the boat, I couldn't help but notice that if something ate Paddington, it would still feel hungry.
The gray and white sandy beaches on the coastline were clearly visible for the first time, but I still had about three hours to wash ashore. In October, I pulled Number 8 off the deck and sat down on the captain's chair.
The murder of the third woman particularly interested me. I found what I was looking for on page 59:
When the body of Amber Osgood was found in the afternoon of October 5, the responsibility was transferred from the Bangor Jǐng Inspection Bureau to the FBI. The FBI sent a special team to Maine to lead the investigation. The task force includes members from the FBI's Violent Crime Department and the FBI.
7-year-old Todd Gregory is a third-year FBI student and is considered the best young agent in the field. Gregory was short in stature, with hazel eyes, dark brown hair and olive skin. He was very handsome.
Wade Gleason, 47, has worked in the FBI community for more than 0 years. Gleason has handled more than 00 serial homicides and is considered the best homicide in the world. This soft-spoken African-American was tall and sturdy, and was abbreviated as "Gleason" by his peers.
Thomas Prescott, an adviser to the FBI, also joined the team. The year-old Prescott is a "retired" homicide detective. He is rugged and handsome, with unruly brown hair and blue and gray eyes, with his violent wisdom, eccentric behavior and confrontation. Famous for style.
I threw the book over the boat. Wacky behavior shit. Who does this bastard think he is? First of all, I am handsome, not rough and handsome. Secondly, my confrontational style stems from the fact that I work with three idiots. Well, two idiots. Wade Gleason is a smart little sweetheart. If his mother overcooked his steak, he would beat her severely. But Todd Gregory and Caitlin Doz are as useful as a twelve dollar bill.
As for the little Gregory, he is so beautiful, most of the men I know Jǐngcha are interested in him, not just in love with xìng. In June or July, when I was reading the "People" magazine in the supermarket, I saw his cute face in the magazine's "50 Most Beautiful People" special issue. Obviously, it is against Maine law to ignite a magazine in a public place because I was arrested and forced to pay a small fine.
I peered out from the edge of the ship, but the eighth in October was missing. mouse. Now I have to spend another twenty-seven dollars to buy a tasteless book that I cannot find comfort in reading.
I took a bottle of beer from the fridge, drank twelve ounces, then lay down and let my thoughts travel until the day I first saw the task force.
I opened the door of that big apartment in Philadelphia, and it was my cell phone ringing inside. I took out my cell from the middle and opened it with the olive sofa cushion
"Prescott."
"Is it Prescott Jǐng?" There was a flood.
"That's the former Jǐng Detective Prescott." At least according to the three documents I had to sign.
The voice softened a bit. "Yes. This is Charles Magno. I got your number from him."
Dwight Stuley was the head of my Jǐng police station in Seattle, and is still my main contact with law enforcement. The name Mangrove sounds familiar. I hope I am talking to my third-generation cousin who I suspect is Mangrove. He has been missing for a long time and moved twice. "Does it have anything to do with Charles Magno, who happens to be the deputy director of the FBI?"
"It's exactly the same. It's exactly the same."
Oh my god.
Charles went on to say, "Listen, I am calling to ask about these killings in Maine. Are you familiar with them?"
I only know about two murders, but in my experience, "they" is an overtone for three or more murders. If I was smart enough, I would hang up the phone. But I am not smart enough. Cunning, yes. Dexterity, of course. It may be competent. But is it smart? The question is still inconclusive. I said, "Of course, those two girls who were hacked. What does this have to do with the FBI?"
"Are you talking about three girls. They found the third one this morning. She was killed on a small island called Campobello in Maine. Campobello is a Canadian territory."
"So why didn't the Royal Caribbean Mariachi not take over?"
"You mean Royal Canada rides Jǐng?"
I guess Charles took my silence as a kind of nod, insisting: "Actually, this is the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Organization."
I am confused, but I am used to being confused when working with the FBI. "You skipped the part of how it fell into the hands of intelligence agencies that were far below average."
He smiled. "Dwight told me you are a smart man"
Cunning bastard. Let's just say it. "Yes, it keeps people awake and prevents me from committing suicide. Next time I see old Dwight, I will say hello to him."
"Okay. I'll tell you how this case fell into our hands. The International Criminal Jǐng has been tied up by about 1,500 terrorist threats. They don't care if a brother hacked his sister and several others to death. Girls. They think they are selling these things to us, but we need to promote them."
The big picture began to become the focus, it was not Picasso's work. "You call me the number of the tailor?"
"Yes. Listen, we want to hire you to step up the investigation. Grice told me something about you, which seems to be consistent with what I heard: You are a bastard, but you are a clever bastard."
Fuck cunning bastard. Talk to me.
I asked Chuck, "Will I work with him?"
"Yes. You will work directly under him."
I don't like working under anyone, but if necessary, there are people worse than Wade Gleason working under him. "Who else is on the team?"
"A man named Todd Gregory. Young man. He graduated from Georgetown University a few years ago and ranked first."
"Sounds like my profile ten years ago, look at me now."
He smiled again and said: "You will become a member of the FBI, and Zhèng Fǔ will give you a substantial allowance."
"First of all, I don't want the status of the FBI. I want to maintain my reputation. Second, what exactly is Zhèng Fǔ's thoughts on health allowances?"
"500 U.S. dollars a day, plus expenses."
Five hundred magicians a day. Their balls must be deeper than I thought. I said "You can call me an FBI consultant"
"Deal. Do you have a fax?"
I quickly uttered my fax number, and Charles said, "I will send you the information kit and autopsy report that the Bangor Jǐng Procuratorate sent me in the last two murders."
Of course he is. I will get about one-fifth of the Bongo Jǐng to send to the FBI. The FBI people are weird. They recruit you to help them, and then do their best to make sure you know nothing. I always hate those people in suits and leather shoes who come in and snatch my suitcase. I asked, "Who is holding it before handing over the baton to you idiots?"
He laughed again. Wow, all three are hit. It would be great if my date also went so smoothly. Charles said: "I talked to Bangor’s forensic doctor, a lady named Doz. She was very upset when she found out that we were taking off the box. This is understandable. We can use female xìng’s eyes to talk to her. Her forensic background will be unparalleled, so we decided to let her be part of the task force. This is part of our new image."
New image shit. I said straightforwardly. "When will my flight depart?"
It was raining, and my guard, an old black gentleman named Hale, huddled under the long railings of the apartment building. Ten minutes later, Hale successfully stopped a taxi for me. When they told Hale that his career dreams were limited to a janitor or weather forecaster, I could imagine his reaction to the results of the work ability test. Nevertheless, Hale threw my bag in the trunk and wished me a safe journey.
The taxi driver took me to Philadelphia International Airport in less than 10 minutes, and I gave him fifty dollars as a reward. He seemed to be grateful to me, and once again I was blessed with a safe journey. The waitress at the American Airlines service desk asked to see my driver's license and handed me a ticket. For the third time, I was blessed with a safe journey. I checked my back to see if there was a sign saying "unsafe travel", but it must have fallen off.
I walked to the terminal and handed the ticket to a computer with light brown hair and a mainframe. The computer guided me through the black curtains and found a beautiful window seat with cushions. What a damn sacred carrying basket, the children of the Federation paid pocket money for first class. If it wasn't for me to rest today, I would be scared to pee my pants.
I still remember taking first class once, and I noticed that they left the most beautiful flight attendants and drip nozzles here, as well as economy class. A pair of hazel eyes, dark brown hair and charming eyes appeared out of thin air. He asked me if I wanted to drink a cocktail before taking off.
Cocktail before the flight? I never knew there was such a thing. I ordered a glass of whiskey sour, my flight attendant theory was soothed, and I extracted the fax document from the attachment box.
My drink came, and I shamelessly fucked with the flight attendant (her name is August, but she was born in November, which is ironic), until she left to make the pre-flight notice. We flew into the air in a few minutes, and Manhattan was just a stamp on a postcard. Auguste jumped on the intercom and told us that we were cruising at an altitude of 1,000 feet. I was going to tell her that I was cruising at 1,000 feet, 81 inches, but I didn’t want to be sent to the coach. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)