I took two steps towards the lifeless hollow eyeballs protruding from the Lacey wall.
I assume that most of you have never seen an eyeball, when it is lying in the eye socket unquietly. The shape of the human eye is oval, with all the lines hanging behind. To be honest, they look like little squids. Through each eye, a nail has been expertly penetrated the pupil, hitting the optic nerve and his relatives outward like the rays of the sun.
Jennifer has dark brown eyes. One day they were yellowish brown, and one day they were made of metal bronze. Now her eyes hang in a copper hell in front of their bloody landscape.
I followed those lifeless eyes and saw the mutilated limbs piled high on the ground. I said, "He wanted us to know that Jennifer watched her death and watched her life be taken away."
Caitlin said somewhere, "Tristen Greer is a bit twisted."
I nodded. This is undoubtedly a new development.
In the next ten minutes, I walked around the room and took three photos of the gods. Jennifer's eyes looked like Mona Lisa, as if following my every move in this small room. As a homicide detective, I have seen many deaths. However, if it's someone you know personally, whether it's emotional or xìng, it's different. I keep thinking that this can't be true. Jennifer Peppers could not die. It's impossible for Tristen Greer to come back.
I laughed at my innocence. Tristen Greer did not return. He never left. He always hides in the dark, lurking. Now he attacked the center of the castle and killed someone special from my past.
As we walked down the stairs, two men in white jackets walked in through the front door with folding gurneys in their hands. Gurney? What do they think is above? They need a box. A fucking big box.
Caitlin directed them to Lacey's room, and the two of us walked to the front porch. The fresh air brought a purification effect, and I suddenly hoped that there would be a downpour. Unfortunately, it didn't rain for about three weeks, so I looked around my yellow lawn. There are 6 Jǐng cars, Bangor and Penobscot Jǐng parked in a semicircular place. Their lights danced on the grass outside the nearest oak tree, where a crowd of onlookers gathered.
Through the kaleidoscope of lights, Alex appeared and walked along the driveway. She wiped her hands on her pants and said, "Your sister just left with Connor. She wants you to call her and tell her where you want to live tonight."
I really didn't expect this little thing. I definitely can't stay here overnight. Thinking about it, I'm not sure if I can still spend a night under the roof. Too many deaths. A woman was killed? Let's change the curtains. Two women were killed? Hey, let's change place.
Obviously, Caitlin had begun to consider my sleep dilemma and said: "You are welcome to come to my house. Only one block from Lacey, I believe she will want you to be nearby."
The case is clear at a glance, right? wrong.
Alex disagreed with Caitlin’s analysis of where I slept, and reprimanded: “You know, I’m the only person in that big house. You can live in any guest room.” She went on, “Anyway you I have to get out of the car."
Caitlin seemed unsatisfied with the news, and pointed to the four Jǐng Chasers and said, "Oh, dear, I believe one of those kind gentlemen will kindly send you home."
I told Alex that I would take her home, but I need to be near Lacey. I'd better stay at Caitlin's. Speaking of which, Caitlin must play the role of the coroner for the next few hours, and I asked her for a house key. She took the key chain out of her pocket, and when she was about to take the key out of her pocket, she asked, "Do you still keep the key I gave you?"
Yes, it's in my glove box thirty feet away. "No."
Caitlin looked at me suspiciously. Alex looked at Caitlin suspiciously. I looked at my feet suspiciously.
Caitlin handed me the keys and returned to the house. Alex and I got on the Range Rover, and I walked through the crowded Jǐng cars. A Jǐng chaser who stopped me saluted me, and I saluted him, but my hand stretched out the window, and my thumb, index finger, ring finger and little finger could not stand up.
Once on the road facing the street, my curiosity overwhelmed me. I asked Alex, "How does Caitlin know your name?"
She raised her thin eyebrows slightly, "I interviewed her about this book. I asked everyone involved in the case. Well, almost everyone is like this." She smiled triumphantly. I dismissed it and said: "Caitlin never said anything about the interview. She just said that she spent a week sorting out her account of these events."
"Yes, stay with me."
"when?"
"I think it will be around the beginning of November."
"Where?"
It's a coincidence that I spent a long time at Maine Coast Memorial Hospital last November, even though I was in a coma. I was stunned and said, "Don't tell me you interviewed her in my room?"
"I have to do this." She seemed to want to stop there, but I thought there was something in the small print of the contract. She also said, "She will not leave your side."
Throughout the driving process, I have been thinking about these last five words.
I walked through the door that Alex was open, and parked the car in front of her house, her rose bush to be precise. She said gently: "Can I get my tape recorder back?"
I forgot that I confiscated her tape recorder and took it out of my pocket. I checked to make sure it was still there, and then handed it out the window. "I'm sorry I have to accept, but from my point of view, you are the enemy."
I watched Alex retreat back to the house, then drove to the place where I had parked before, picked up my bumper from where it was buried in the leaves, and threw it into the trunk. I walked down her driveway and noticed that the door of her house closed presumptuously. I parked the car in front of the sensor box, the door stubbornly pretending to be deaf and dumb. I pressed the green button of the intercom and said, "Alex, can you open the door?"
Alex's voice broke the silence, "Unless you promise to go out to sea with me on Saturday."
I am optimistic that this case-Tristen Greer is the case-can be detained or died at this time, and said, "This is a period of time."
The door creaked, and it took me a minute and a half to pick up the mirror in the passenger seat from her garden. I hung the mirror on my shoulder, threw it into the car cemetery that was transformed from a hatch, and then slipped into the gate. This was the first time I had the opportunity to be alone, and all the emotions I felt at the crime scene came back. There is a dam in my brain that separates all the good from the bad in my life. The death of Jennifer Pepper was a heavy burden for an already unstable roadblock. A large dam was washed away on the way home.
I browsed the visual pictures of the crime scene. The last shot of Jennifer's eyes is nagging. In the past, Tristen took the eyes of these two women as souvenirs. Why did it suddenly change? boring? Maybe, but not sure. Tristen Greer is a serial killer, but he does not meet the standards of a serial killer. His killing was methodical and impulsive, or, because there is no better term, his killing was organized and spontaneous. Tristen Greer is an ultimate paradox, a fatal problem.
Tristen Greer is terrible.
I parked my car in front of Conner’s unspectacular apartment building. When I approached, Connor opened the door of the ground floor apartment and said, "Caitlin just called. I think I should apologize to you."
"When can you take me out for dinner."
Connor followed me into the living room, Lacey was listening to the sports center program. I sat on the armrest of the tan love seat and put my hand on her shoulder, "How are you, kid?"
She stroked Baxter's little back with her hand. "I don't know. I wouldn't be like this if you told me the truth. Thank you for keeping me in the dark. Really. I'm not taunting you. I can't believe it. That poor girl."
Not any poor girl. Jennifer Peppers was Lacey's beloved art teacher in Temple. Lacey introduced us to it. I hope this news will surface at this time. I grabbed a few strands of hair from Lacey's cheek and said, "This is not an ordinary girl. It's JP."
Lacey panted, trying to breathe air. "No. Not Jennifer. My goodness. Jane."
Connor's voice came from the side of the room, "Who is JP?"
I told Lacey and I about the kinship of the deceased, and Connor said, "Thomas, he's chasing you."
No, he is for me. I can't say too much to Jennifer except that I am alone. I didn’t like my way of thinking. I said, "I think you should leave this city for a while, Ritz. Go to Washington to visit some friends."
Connor and I met. He seconded, "That's a good idea, Lacey."
She sniffed and said, "I'm not going anywhere. It's less than two weeks since the opening of the gallery, and I still have a lot of things to do. I won't let multiple sclerosis, my blindness, or some fools dominate me. life."
I wouldn't refer to a man who just chopped a girl into pieces. It is more likely to treat her as a fool. I thought it would be best for Lacey to quit for a few weeks, but I am largely proud of her insistence on her position.
Connor motioned to the kitchen. He turned on the faucet and whispered: "Why don't you call some of your students to see if they are willing to do some extra credits." (to be continued) (end of this chapter)