Gleason asked, "So where is Jeffrey's brother in all this?"
"Dead. At least Elby thought so. Apparently, Glenelg’s farmhouse was burned down three years ago, and both parents and Jeffrey died in the fire. No investigation was conducted, or even any fire records. The death certificate was nothing. It was in winter and no one noticed. Elby said that when spring came, he passed by Glenelg Farm and saw half of the house burned to ashes.
Caitlin said: "We are aware of the fire. Due to the condition of the body, it looks difficult to identify at a glance, but during the autopsy, I found a large amount of scar tissue, which may have been caused by the fire. In addition, when Elby told me When we described Tristen, he talked about how he was severely disfigured in a fire that he suffered many years ago."
I corrected her mistake. "Elby mistook Tristen for Jeffrey."
Gregory looked panicked, and I couldn't blame him for the first time. He asked, "So what role does Triston play in all this?"
"This is a problem. My theory is that he ran away after setting fire."
Connor said, "Do you think it was Tristen who set the fire and almost killed his family?"
"That's what I thought."
Gregory asked: "Why did he kill his family?"
"I have to ask him this question, but I think it must be on the xìng side. Everyone may be doing what others do. Mom, dad, sister, brother."
He smiled triumphantly: "What evidence do you have to support this hypothesis?"
"First of all, when I was in the archives room, I did some background checks on the Greer family and found that there were quite a lot of sexual acts. The parents, Penelope and Timothy, were once siblings. This can be traced back to the late 19th century, when Johannes Elbert Greer beat his cousin with the palm of his hand, and then slowly flowed down."
Gregory cast a skeptical look at me, "So the family just messed around. Triston set the house on fire and fled the town. He was out. Jeffrey killed Ingrid and continued to kill. So we got the name wrong. We still caught the right person."
I slammed my fist on the table, and spit a few drops of coffee onto the table. "No, you fucking idiot, you didn't find the right person, because about 10 hours ago, I found a woman torn to thirty yuan in my sister's sex."
Todd became Zechariah before my eyes, and I said, "Let me finish my theory. Three years have passed, Tristen, no matter what caused these jīng mentally ill patients to return to the crime scene, he Feeling obligated to go sightseeing. In October last year, he returned to Greer's farmhouse and was shocked to find that his brothers and sisters had survived the fire.
"He broke in and found that his abandoned, burnt-to-shit brother was fooling around with his abandoned, burnt-to-shit sister. Then, at worst, Triston found that Ingrid was carrying Geoffrey’s child. He told the story in the way he killed Ingrid. Tristen enjoyed every minute and every second. He had never felt so energetic. He was immediately addicted. He was wisely The plan to kill Jeffrey was postponed because he knew that in the future, someone would take responsibility for all the crimes he planned to commit."
I could see that I started to rotate the bodies of the four of them, riding on my momentum, "In the next massacre, Tristen attracted the eyes of every victim. I have this picture, I can’t get rid of Jeffrey Greer being tied to a chair. Every Tristen’s victim’s eyes surround him, as if to say, if you didn’t go to bed with your sister, if you didn’t put your Put the pee in the tent at home, then we are all alive."
I walked to the whiteboard in front of the classroom. "I didn't think of this until about half an hour ago, when I read the dedication page of "Eight" in October."
I used a blue marker to write down the names of eight women on the blackboard.
I circled the first letter of each woman's last name, and I turned around and stared at the four cold faces. "Every time he kills a person, he wants to make it more painful. He wants his brother to know that he is responsible for these women's deaths. These women are not Tristen's victims, Jeffrey is."
I wrote Jennifer Pepper’s name on the blackboard and circled p. "I almost killed him and almost ended his game."
Below p, I added rescott. "It seems that Tristen has an insatiable appetite for death. I am his next goal."
We huddled together at noon. Gleason and Gregory have a date with the crime scene. Caitlin has an appointment with the forensic examiner in Penobscot County. Connor made an appointment to try on his stool barometer practice uniform. I have an appointment with Alex Toums, a hammer and her tape recorder. The task force is scheduled to meet again in the afternoon.
It seems that Alex's little article caused quite a stir, and news cars in the parking lot followed one after another. It took me five minutes to get in the car and fifteen minutes to the stately lakeside cottage where the Pulitzer Prize runner-up was placed. I drove the car to the door of Alex's house. After 8 seconds, I didn't make a joke. I stepped on the accelerator again and drove the car over.
Alex’s jeep was parked where it had been parked earlier, and I was psychologically ready to be beaten. I had to knock on the door with my fist (because the pretentious scribe didn't have a knocker), and after a few seconds the door was pulled inward. Alex's hair is tied into a ponytail, wearing charcoal sweatpants and a huge Boston College hooded sweatshirt.
Ah oh, of all the weird fetishes, my fetish is as simple as a woman in an undershirt and a hoodie. I think this is much better than being obsessed with bees.
Alex smiled and said, "Don't be too harsh on me."
I was optimistic that what she said "hardened" was just a coincidence, and I said: "How can you be so reckless?"? Your little article has endangered our entire case, let alone your use of her name. What if someone in her family finds this article by accident? Have you ever thought about this? "I wanted to add a fool, but I don't want to play my trump card too quickly.
She didn't even blink her eyes. "I will not lie to my readers. Also, when defending myself, I think you should have called the victim’s family before this article was published. Please correct me if I am wrong. This woman was your bride-to-be?"
Damn, she was right. I should contact Jennifer's parents last night. I changed the subject, "This is not the point. You don't know it. I want to see that tape recorder."
"certainly."
I followed Alex through a series of turns and finally entered a large study/library. The longest wall, as the front of the house, is covered by rows of novels. There is a coffee machine in the far left corner, next to a pair of chestnut chairs near the old copper fireplace.
Alex walked to a large cherry wood desk with a large fern in every corner, and I heard a drawer roll down from it. After fiddling for a few seconds, she took out the tape recorder and handed it to me, "Here you are." Will this become evidence during my trial?"
I rolled my eyes and stared at the tape recorder. This sleek chrome wonderful device has twenty buttons. I asked Alex: "You stole it from James Bond?"
She sat on the table with a plop like me, and a flame passed through my gluteus maximus. Alex smiled and said, "How does your ass feel?"
Between the bee sting and the brotherhood paddling. I didn't tell anyone. "Don't try to change the subject. Do you have a remote control?"
"No."
"So, what did you do? It was closed when I took it, and it was closed when I took it back."
She took the tape recorder. "You can set a time frame and let it run. I programmed it to start recording one minute after shutting down, and then run for ten minutes."
Alex showed me the simple xìng made by cāo, and I asked: "Have you never thought I would hear it open?"
She pressed the record button, and the tape began to roll without any sound. She pressed the stop button, and then said: "Be sure to take it with you when you go out."
I took the tape out of the tape recorder and read in Alex's scribbled handwriting: "October 1rì, 11:0PM."
I put the strap in my pocket and asked, "Is every reporter as good at deceiving as you?"
"No. But what I am after is truth." She grabbed my chin and turned it towards her. "However, I am still very sorry. You trusted me, but I abused that trust. I will never use you to write my stories again." She kissed my cheek.
Well, there is another good resentment.
It's almost three o'clock, and I seem to be late for the meeting again. I drove the car to the Federal Building at 15 o'clock and parked it in a noisy parking lot, where news cars were paired with each other and reproduced. It took me nearly ten minutes and a hundred "no comment" time to find the revolving door.
My dirty Van Dyke is likely to show off on the eleven o’clock news. Maybe I should shave a beard or at least wear a strip.
I opened the door of the conference room. The door was not half open yet, and Gregory stuck out his tongue in irritation, "You are late."
"No, I arrived 45 minutes early." I was planning to be an hour late.
I'm sitting next to Connor, who is now wearing a navy blue suit and looks like a bastard agent. Caitlin handed me a file and said, "I have seen a forensic doctor in Penobscot County, nothing special. The eyes on the wall belong to Jennifer."
For a woman who has been forced, beaten, dismembered, and turned into chicken feed, this is an ugly rìzi that can be described as "nothing abnormal". (To be continued) (End of this chapter)