The big question is: if they think he is the murderer, who was the nameless one year ago
How did Alex get this kind of news? Lacey said that Alex had been with her to bathe Baxter. Damn it, but what to do
While I was thinking about this issue, Caitlin appeared on the porch wearing a tan sè dress from head to toe. This umbrella suit covered homicide detectives, forensics and special team members.
She asked: "Did you call Connor?"
"I forgot." I stood up, handed her the newspaper, and said, "You better sit down."
I walked in and called Connor. He thought I was joking about my identity as the FBI and made me swear by my life. He said he would be in the Federal Building at nine o'clock. I ran into the bathroom downstairs, brushed it quickly, and met her on the highest level of Caitlin's porch.
She sat cross-legged and raised her head in horror. "We haven't even notified the child's parents that the bitch brazenly printed the victim's name on it. How did she quote your eyes?" She suspiciously look at me.
"I didn't tell her anything, I swear." I swear.
I haven't thought about Jennifer's parents. They live in Jersey, and Jennifer Peppers is not the rarest name. Nonetheless, from the reporter's point of view, it is unethical to use names when they have not been made public. I remember in my heart that next time I see Ms. Toums, I will give her a truckload of rubbish.
I told Caitlin about the tape recorder and she said, "But when you put it in your pocket, it turns off. I saw the tape stop turning."
We put the article aside and Caitlin asked, "Should we drive separately?"
Of course we should travel separately. If my brake fails, I will not drive separately. I said gently, "I think this is the best way."
We went back to our respective cars, and I looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost 8:0 in the morning, and I took out my phone and made a terrible call to Jennifer's father. I try to make it short and sweet, but it is closer to long and sour. I ended my speech with a standard sentence, "If you need anything, anything—" I gushed, and then avoided, "Find the person who hurt her, arrest him, and put his eggs The egg is cut down."
Then I dialed the phone, and after rang four or five times, a vague voice replied: "It's better that someone is dead."
"someone here."
This caught his attention. "Are you serious, professor?"
"Have you read the Waterville Tribune?"
"Isn't everyone like this?"
I told him to snatch the newspaper, and then heard him get up from his sex awkwardly, and a door opened. He replied: "Impossible. Did this happen in your house?"
"Yes. I need your help."
"Say it."
"I want you to stare at my sister for the next few days. Look at her from a distance. Basically just watch her. You may miss some classes."
"I won't go to class anyway."
I smiled and gave him instructions to monitor.
I entered downtown Bangor and drove into the huge parking lot of the Federal Building. The most recent FBI field office is located in Boston, which has jurisdiction over the states of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Vermont, and Rhode Island. In this case, during the investigation, an affiliated task force office was set up in the nearest U.S. Federal Building.
The Federal Building was a huge red-brick building, and people at the time were dissatisfied with imaginative buildings. In Maine, this building is classified as a "skyscraper" because it is as high as twelve stories, making it the tallest building in the area and possibly the tallest in the state.
I was punctual only once, which means I have twenty minutes to pass it. In October, I took "Eight" out of the toolbox and turned to the inscription page again. I slowly read the names of these eight women one by one. When I did this, the theory I had been trying to connect last year finally returned to its original point. It's like being hit by a frying pan and then falling and hitting a light switch, which in turn illuminates the bacteria growing on the frying pan. This is penicillin or something similar.
When Connor drove his jet-black Camaro next to me, I was reviewing the details. I was surprised to see him wearing slacks and a black shirt without a tie. When I got out of the car, I said, "If you want to mix with these fruits, you have to buy a suit."
He smiled. "I have an appointment with the tailor at noon."
The two of us walked into the building and retrieved our ID cards at the front desk. Each of us holds our own badge, and it seems that someone in the bureau has a sense of humor.
I showed my picture to Connor. He took a picture of my healthy knee and said, "Is this your headshot?"
That must be my facial photo when I was arrested in "Drunk Driving." Be careful, Nick Nolty, you have an opponent. I clipped the photo in my breast pocket and led Connor into one of the four elevator shafts. I pressed the button on the eighth floor, but the elevator did not respond.
Connor cleverly took off the identification card from his shirt, inserted it into the slot under the number, and the elevator rang.
After scanning his card twice, Connor and I walked into a large conference room. This room is about the size of a third-grade classroom. It's just not twenty tables. It's a huge one, and it's not a third-grade one. It's an FBI agent, a kindergarten kid.
Caitlin Doz, Wade Gleason, and Todd Gregory each held a coffee cup, and an accessory box was placed on the table in front of them. When Connor and I walked in, they stood there. Gleason was the first to bypass the big mahogany table and we did what he called "knuckles"
He said, "I think I owe you a dinner."
"How about dinner, I don't have to pay taxes anymore."
He smiled and said, "Let me see what I can do." His eyes fell in my breast pocket, and he came back laughing. Gleason wiped the saliva from the badge with the sleeve of his shirt and said, "Hey, at least they took the good side of you."
Interestingly, I am essentially a detective, and either Gleason should be grateful to the academy, or he is innocent. I watched Gregory walk around the table. Todd Gregory’s sense of humor complements an excellent Rig, so he has no suspicion. By default, the guilty party is Charles Mangrove. I stuffed this information into a folder labeled "revenge"—seeing funny things, and when I found a folder labeled "revenge" by Triston Grayer—seeing pain and torture.
Gleason walked towards Connor, and Gregory walked into the batter's position. Gregory stretched out his hand and said, "Well, Prescott, I think I owe you a dinner too."
Having dinner with Todd Gregory sounds as fun as losing a jīng tube resection, but we are very enthusiastic here, and I said, "Thanksgiving is coming. Why don’t you tell Gregory’s mother at the dinner table? Leave one more place?"
He showed an annoyingly perfect smile, and I don't know if I can knock out his thirty-two teeth with one punch. Caitlin is next. If the two of us are playing a guessing game, then this card should be written professionally. We shook hands and exchanged greetings. No one would have thought that we were in the same picture when we woke up.
In any other case, the five of us will administer 0 minutes of defecation. Each of us fills up our colon bag, but today is work. We will let a murderer get away with it, and he will come back to do what he does best: slash, strong, and not in that specific order. From the eight eyes on my chest and the pain in my stomach, I guess I am the old corn daddy sitting in this steamer. Caitlin acted as a catalyst, "Your theory, Thomas?"
Oh, right. My theory. everything is over. I stood up, coughed a few times with my hands, and said, "Tristen Greer..."
I coughed again to increase the effect of the drama, and then continued, "... is a twin."
My peers are expressionless. Gleason leaned back in the chair, sat firmly, and made a rolling motion with his right hand. "Can you elaborate on it?"
I sat down and crossed my right leg on my left leg. "Do you remember Robert Elby? He was a nearby farmer who accidentally found the body of Ingrid Greer."
They all nodded.
I continued, "Well, I found him at the end of April and interrogated him deeply about the Greer family. He told me everything he knew, and I went to the Arustuk County Archives Office to try to verify him. The statement. Arostuk is very remote, only about half of the residents are recorded, but I was lucky to discover the history of the Greer family. Penelope and Timothy Greer have a daughter, of course. Ingrid, and a pair of twin boys, Tristen and Geoffrey."
None of the four of them blinked. Caitlin asked coldly, "There are identical twins in Triston? Why didn't these studies have been conducted at the time?"
"Because Alby initially told Jǐngfang that Ingrid and Triston lived alone in the farmhouse. No one had any reason not to think so. Why should we do this? I went to search for information a few months later because Everything ended so neatly."
Tristen Greer showed these people a torn photo, glued together with scotch tape. I am tearing off the tape.
Gleason asked, "So where is Jeffrey's brother in all this?"
"Dead. At least Elby thinks so. Obviously, Greer's farmhouse was burned down three years ago, and both his parents and Jeffrey died in the fire. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)