Chapter 2 Chapter two

"A what?" "A half phone call." "Is it 911?" "Yes. That is, someone called, said 'this', and hung up." "What did you say?" "'This', said the word 'this'." "This?" asked Inspector Tom Dale.The sheriff is fifty-three years old, with smooth, freckled skin like a child's, and red hair, and wears a brown uniform shirt that his wife bought him two years ago and it fit much better. . "It's sir," Todd Jackson replied, rubbing his eyes. "Then it was hung up." "Hung up, or hung up by him? It's different."

"I don't understand. Ah, I see what you mean." Friday, April 17, at 5:22 p.m.For Kennesaw County, Wisconsin, it's a generally calmer time of day.Those who intend to kill themselves and their fellow-men usually do so at an earlier or later time of day.Dale has a timetable in his mind, as if printed there.If you've been in charge of a law enforcement agency for fourteen years and you don't know a little about the local customs, then you should stop doing it. The sheriff has eight officers under his command.The police station is next door to the courthouse and town hall, in an old building.The old building is connected to a new building.The old building was built in the 1870s and the new building was built exactly a century later.Inside the building, where Dale and his men work is mostly an open area with lots of cubicles and desks.This place is new.The eight officers on duty—six men and two women—were all dressed in uniforms, some as starched as wood and others as wrinkled as old sheets, which showed when they were put on class.

"We're looking," Jackson said.His skin was fine as a baby's, too, but that's okay since he's half the sheriff's age. "This," Dale was still thinking. "Any news from the lab?" "Ah, you mean the Wilkins case?" Jackson straightened his neckline. "Not meth. Nothing." Don't look at Kennesha, a county with a population of only 34,021, but it is a very scary methamphetamine distribution center.Those drug users and addicts are all desperadoes, frantically searching for methamphetamine products everywhere.The drug makers also saw that there were huge profits to be made here.The homicide rate associated with meth is extremely high, more than the homicides associated with cocaine, heroin, cocaine, and alcohol combined.At the same time, accidental deaths caused by scalds, burns and drug overdose are mostly related to drug use, and the death rate is comparable to that caused by homicide.A family of four just died after the mother passed out while baking bread in the kitchen and the entire trailer burned down.She had overdosed, and Dale speculated that he had collected some crystal meth near the stove, which had recently fallen off the stove.

The sheriff clenched his jaw. "Well, damn it, damn it. He was making drugs. We all knew he was making drugs. He was playing with us, playing with us. That's all I can get him. Well, then Where did it come from, the 911 call? Was it a landline?" "No, it's a mobile phone. So it will take a while." The E911 system, which has been used in Kennesaw for several years, will provide dispatchers with the location of callers during an emergency.However, the word E here is not the abbreviation of emergency (emergency), but the meaning of enhanced (improved).It also handles cell phone calls, though tracking cell signals is a little more complicated and, in the mountains of this part of Wisconsin, sometimes not at all.

This…… A woman's voice came through the cluttered office area, "Todd, the communication center is calling you." The officer rushed to his cubicle.Dale turned back and continued to revise the stack of arrest reports, which contained as many errors in English as in criminal procedure. Jackson returned.He didn't sit, although there were two chairs in the office.He hesitated for a moment, as he often did. "That's right, Sheriff. That 911 call? It was from somewhere near Lake Mondike." Not good, Dale thought to himself.I am most afraid that something will happen there.That lake sits in the heart of Marquette State Park, which is also not good.He had already handled two rapes and two murders there.In the last homicide, they ended up with only a small portion of the victim's remains.He glanced at the map on the wall.The nearest town is Clausen, six or seven miles from Lake Montaigne.He didn't know the town well, but it was like a thousand other towns in Wisconsin: a gas station, a grocery store that sold as much beer as milk, and a restaurant that sold less than the local meth maker. Dens are even harder to find. "Is there a house there?"

"By the lake? I think there is." Dale stared at the blue area of ​​Lake Montaigne on the map.The lake is surrounded by a small piece of private land, also surrounded by the huge Marquette State Park. This…… "Campgrounds are still closed and won't open until May," Jackson said. "Whose phone?" "We'll have to wait a while to find out." The young police officer had short, straight blond hair.Very trendy kind.And Dale's hairstyle was a sailor cut nine out of ten of his life. The sheriff lost interest in the routine report and a beer bash that was due to start in an hour.The beer bash at the Eagleton Brewery was for the birthday of a senior police officer who'd been looking forward to making a fuss.Then he remembered a case from last year: a guy with a sexual assault record, who was still an idiot, took Johnny Ralston away in a car at the gate of the elementary school. The kid was very calm, and he pressed his phone "Last call" button on the phone, and then put the phone in the pocket.The idiot asked him what movies he liked while he was taking him for a drive around.It took police just eight minutes to find them.

A marvel of modern electronics.God bless Edison, and Marconi, and Sprint. Dale stretched his hands and feet, and rubbed the side of a scar on his leg. It was a place where a bullet had passed through. He didn't feel any pain at the time, probably because the shot was fired by his own men. Bar.It was the only bank robbery in the county in recent memory. "What do you think, Todd? I don't think you're going to say, 'This is the number I want', that's for 411. I think you're saying, 'This is an emergency call', that's for 911 .” "Then the man lost consciousness."

"Either he was shot or he was stabbed. Is the thread broken like that?" "Paige tried calling back. But it was voicemail. Straight in. No ring." "What did the other party say in the message?" "It's just 'This is Steven. It's not convenient for me to answer the phone right now.' Didn't say anything about the last name. Paige also left a message and asked the other party to call back." "A boater on a lake?" Dale wondered. "there is a problem?" "In this season?" Wisconsin will be very cold in April, and the weather forecast says the temperature will drop to 37-8 degrees tonight.

Dale shrugged. "My guys have been in water where polar bears wouldn't dare. A boater is like a golfer." "I don't play golf." Another officer yelled, "Got the name, Todd." The young man took out a pen and a notepad.Dale didn't even see where his stuff came from. "Say it." "It's Steven Feldman. The cell phone billing address is 2193 Melbourne, Milwaukee." "So, a vacation home on Lake Montaigne. Lawyer, doctor, not a beggar anyway. Find him," ordered the sheriff. "what is your phone number?" Dale asked Jackson for his number, and Jackson retreated to his cubicle and began looking up details in federal and state databases.Check all the important sources: NCIC, VICAP, Wisconsin Criminal Records, Google.

Outside the window, the April sky was as blue as a girl's party dress.Dale loves the air in this side of Wisconsin.Humboldt, the largest city in Kennesaw County, has a vast area but only 7,000 cars.Only one cement factory spewed a little dust into the air, but it was the only major industry in the county, so no one complained about it, only the local environmental protection organization had some complaints, but they were not too loud.You might as well look up and see things from miles away. It's a quarter past five. "This," Dale was still thinking. Jackson returns again. "Okay, done, Sheriff. Feldman works in this city. Aged thirty-six. His wife, Emma, ​​is a lawyer. Hartigan, Reed, Som & Carlson LLP. Thirty-four age."

"Ha, lawyer. I won." "No record, neither. Two cars. Mercedes and Cherokee. No kids. They own property there." "where?" "Lake Montaigne. I found the deed, but no mortgage." "The ownership is theirs, and there is no debt yet? Let's do it first." Dell redialed the phone number for the fifth time.Still went straight to voicemail. "Hi, this is Steven. I can't answer the phone right now—" Dell didn't message again.He hung up, his thumb still on the cradle, and let go.The directory desk did not find a phone number with Feldman in the Mondike area.He called the phone company's local legal department. "Jerry. Got you, but you're still on duty. Tom Dale." "Just about to go out. Are you going to issue an arrest warrant? Are you going to catch terrorists?" "Huh. Nothing. Can you tell me if there's a telephone line going to a house on Lake Montague?" "where?" "About twenty miles north of us, twenty-five. The number of the house is 3 Lakeview Road." "Is that a town? Lake Montaigne?" "Maybe it's still a county, but it's just not built yet." Shaoqing. "No, there's no line there. Neither our line nor any other company's line. Everyone uses mobile phones these days." "Let's see what Aunt Bell will say?" "Who?" After hanging up the phone, Dell glanced at the note that Jackson had handed him earlier.He called the office of Steven Feldman of the Milwaukee Department of Social Services, but there was only a recorded message.He hung up. "I'll try his wife's phone. Law firms never sleep. At least for this firm of four names." A young woman, possibly an assistant or secretary, answered Dale's call.Dale identified himself, and then said, "We want to get in touch with Mrs. Feldman." Silence, as usual.Then she asked, "What happened?" "No. It's just a matter of routine. We know she's at her vacation home on Lake Montadek." "That's right. Emma and her husband and a Chicago friend of hers drove there after get off work. They're spending the weekend there. Excuse me, what happened? Was there an accident?" Tom Dale, in the way he always informs about deaths and additions, said, "As far as we know, nothing happened. I just wanted to get in touch with her. Could you give me her mobile number ?" silence. "Come on. You don't know me. Then you call Kennesaw County Police and say you want to speak to the sheriff. It'll make you feel better." "That's right." He hangs up.A minute later the phone rang. "I wasn't sure if she'd call," he said to Jackson, picking up the phone. He got Emma Feldman's cell phone number from the assistant.Then he asked the name and phone number of the friend who went with them in the car. "She was Emma's former colleague. I don't know her name." Dale told the assistant that if Emma had a call, let her contact the police station here.They ended the call. Emma's cell phone also went directly to voicemail. Dale let out a long breath, "This", it was like exhaling a cigarette from his lips, but he had quit smoking for seven years and four months.He made a decision. "I'm going to get a good night's sleep... who's on duty over there?" "Eric's the closest there. Was looking up a 'Grand Theft Auto' at Herbert's, and something went wrong. Broke, haven't called the guy's wife yet, really." "Eric, um." "Called five minutes ago. Said they were going to dinner at Boswich Falls." "Eric." "There's no one else within twenty miles. Usually very few people are there, the park isn't open, and it's this time of year again." Dale looked out the inner window, and looked at the cubicles under him.He saw Jimmy Barnes standing with two colleagues.He is a police officer and tomorrow is his birthday.They were laughing out there.It must have been a good joke, and it must have been told over and over again that night. The sheriff's eyes fell on an empty desk, the muscles in his face twitched, and his hand rubbed his injured leg again. "how is everything?" "Joey's all right," she said, "he's all right." Graham was in the kitchen, trying to show off.Bryn looked at her husband.He was making macaroni and had just laid new floor tiles.The kitchen, about twenty square feet, had been cordoned off with yellow police cordon. "Hi, Graham," the kid greeted. "Hey, boy. How are you feeling?" The little boy was twelve years old, tall and thin, wearing a pair of baggy slacks, a windbreaker jacket, and a black linen cap, with one hand held high. "Great." The kid was nearly as fucking tall, five-foot-five, round with freckles that obviously wasn't Bryn's heritage, and the mother and son had the same hair, All have straight chestnut brown hair.Joy's chestnut hair now peeked out from under the wire cap. "Didn't get a sling to hang it? Then how can you get the sympathy of the girls?" "Haha," the boy wrinkled his nose at the mention of the opposite sex.He is Graham's stepson.He took out a box of juice from the refrigerator, inserted a straw, and drank it in one gulp. "Spaghetti tonight." "Very good!" The boy immediately forgot about his skateboarding injury and the opposite-sex classmates in his class.He rushed up the stairs, avoiding the pile of books on the lower stairs.The books were there to be moved sometime. "Hat!" cried Graham. "at home……" The boy tore off his hat and skipped up the stairs. "Slow down," Graham yelled. "your hands……" "He's fine," Brin repeated what he had just said, and hung the dark green coat in the closet in the front hall, before returning to the kitchen.She is a Midwestern beauty.High cheekbones, at first glance looks a bit like a Native American, in fact, she is a descendant of Norwegian and Irish, which can be seen from her name - Christine Breen McKenzie.Seeing her with her shawl and straight hair, people sometimes thought she was a former ballet dancer, retired and contentedly living a life that was more than the last and more than the next.In fact, Breen had never danced outside of school and ballrooms in her life. She also accommodated her vanity, plucked her eyebrows, and dyed them, so they are not as eye-catching as before.There are many more long-term plans, but they have not yet been put into action.If there is any imperfection on the face, it is the chin, which looks a little raised from the front.Graham said it was charming and sexy.But Brin found this defect quite hateful. Graham asked now, "His arm—wasn't it broken?" "No. It's just scratched off. It will be fine soon, at this age." She glanced at the kettle.Graham's macaroni was done really well. "I finally breathed a sigh of relief." The kitchen was very hot.Six-foot-three, Graham Boyd had his sleeves rolled up, revealing a muscular arm with two small scars.He was wearing a watch from which much of the gold had fallen off.The only jewelry on his body was his wedding ring, which was scratched and tarnished.Same goes for Bryn's, her wedding ring nestled next to her engagement ring.In fact, her engagement ring was only worn a full month earlier than her wedding ring. Graham was opening a can of tomatoes.The sharp Oxo round blade sliced ​​through the can lid firmly under his large hand.He turned down the flame.The onion is already sizzling. "tired?" "kind of." She left home at five thirty in the morning.It was still early in the day before work, but first she had to make a trip to mobile home camp.There was a family dispute there the afternoon before and needed to follow up.No arrests were made.The couple finally reconciled, and the two cried with each other, regretting it very much.However, Breen noticed that the woman had too much makeup on her face, and she needed to make sure that it was covering up some scars that she didn't want the police to see. It turned out not to be.Breen found out at six o'clock in the morning that the lady had just put on a lot of Max Factor. She got up early in the morning, and in the afternoon she wanted to go home early—the so-called early, to her, was five o'clock.But then she got a call from the emergency medical technology department, from a friend of hers.The woman said to her, "Bryn, he's fine." Ten minutes later, she rushed to the hospital and saw Joy. She is now fanning the brown police uniform blouse. "Stinks of sweat." Graham was looking for cookbooks on the shelf.There are three shelves of cookbooks, four dozen in total.Most of these books were brought by my mother-in-law Anna.She moved here after that surgery.Graham had recently skimmed through the books, now that he has taken over the chores.The mother-in-law has not fully recovered and cannot cook yet.What about Bryn?Forget it, it's not her forte. "Oops, I forgot the cheese," Graham rummaged through the cupboard, but couldn't find it. "Unbelievable." He went back to the pot, crushing a few slices of oregano with his thumb and forefinger. "What have you been up to today?" she asked. He told her that there was a problem with a sprinkler system that had been switched on prematurely.I started to use it in April, and it was freezing cold, and suddenly a dozen places burst open.It didn't scare anyone, but the head of the household.He came home to find his backyard as if it had just been hit by a Hurricane Katrina. "You've made a lot of progress," she nodded towards the floor tiles. "It's going well. I said. How are you going to judge the sentence?" She frowned. "Joey. Skateboard." "Oh, I told him to stay off the skateboard for three days." Graham said nothing, absorbed in making the sauce.Does this mean that she is too kind?She said, "Well, maybe a few more days. I said, we'll have to see." "They're so outrageous with these things now," he said. "Sliding railings? Air jumping? It's insane." "He was just playing in the school yard. There was a step. Just three steps down to the parking lot. That's what all the kids do, he said." "He'll have to wear a helmet. I see it's always there." "That's right. He's got to wear it. I told him that too." Graham followed the hallway the boy had run to his room. "Maybe it's time for me to talk to him. It's a man to man thing." "I shouldn't be so worried. I don't want to keep him in my hands. He knows what I mean." Bryn took a bottle of beer and drank half of it in one go.Another half handful of whole wheat pancakes. "By the way, are you going to play cards tonight?" "I suppose so." She nodded and watched him knead meatballs with his two big hands. "Honey," someone called. "How is our child?" "Hi, Mom." Anna, seventy-four, stood in the doorway, fully dressed, as usual.Today's dress is a black trouser suit with a golden vest.The short hair was just done by the hairdresser yesterday, and it looks very decent.Every Thursday is the day she goes to the hair salon. "Just rubbed off a few pieces of skin, a little swollen." "He skateboarded the steps," Graham said. "Oh my God!" "Just one or two steps," Brin hurriedly corrected, taking another sip of beer. "It's all right. He won't next time. Nothing serious, really. None of us can avoid this." Graham asked Anna, "What did she play as a kid?" He nodded in his wife's direction. "Oh, that's a long story." But she never said it. "I'm going to take him to paintball or something," Graham said, "to channel his excess energy." "That's a good idea." Graham tore some lettuce. "Would you like some spaghetti, Ana?" "Everything you make is delicious." The son-in-law poured her a glass of Chardonnay, and Anna took it. Breen watched her husband take dishes from the cupboard. "I suppose there's ashes on it? You're laying the floor tiles." "I sealed everything in here with a plastic seal. I took it off when I was done." However, after hesitating for a moment, he rinsed the plate with water. "Will any of you take me to Rita's tonight?" Anna asked. "Meghan's going to pick up her son. It'll only take about an hour and a half. I promise to clean the bathroom." "How is she?" Bryn asked. "It's not very good." Anna and her good friend were diagnosed together.Ana's treatment was successful, but Rita's was not. "I'll take you," Bryn said to her mother. "It's all right. What time?" "Around seven." Ana went back to the family room, the heart of Breen Cottage.Her cottage is located just outside Humboldt.The evening news is on. "Look, another bomb. These people." the phone is ringing.Graham picked up the phone. "Hi, Tom. How's it going?" Bryn put down the beer.Looking at her husband, his big hand was holding the receiver. "Yeah, I saw it. It was a good fight. I think you're looking for Bryn... you wait. She's here." "Boss," he said softly, handed over the receiver, and went back to the kitchen. "Tom?" The sheriff greeted Joy.She thought he was coming to talk to her about skateboarding too, but no, he talked about what was going on at Lake Montadek.She listened carefully, nodding repeatedly. "Somebody needs to go and look. You're closer than anyone else, Bryn." "Where's Eric?" Graham lights a fire on the Kenmore cooker.Blue flames sprang up. "I don't want him to go. You know how he works." Graham stirred the pot.Most of the contents of the pot are poured out of a can, but he still stirs it like a handmade dressing.The voice of the male announcer in the family room was replaced by that of Katie Couric.Ana exclaimed, "That's more or less the same. That's how the news should be." Bryn was arguing.Then she said, "You owe me half a day, Tom. Give me the address." Graham turned his head away. Dale transferred the call to another officer, Todd Jackson.He gave directions.Bryn remembered it all. She hung up the phone. "There might be a problem over Lake Montaigne." She looked at the beer.Didn't drink any more. "Oh baby," Graham said. "I'm sorry. I can't push this away. I left work early today because of Joy." "But Tom didn't say anything." She hesitated. "No, he didn't say anything. The thing is, I'm the closest." "I heard you mention Eric." "He has his own problems. I told you about him." Eric Mons loves to read Soldier of Destiny, and with another gun strapped to his leg, it's like walking down the streets of Detroit.He'd be stalking meth dens at a time when he was supposed to be chasing DUIs and urging the kids to be home by ten at night. Anna's voice came from the doorway, "Should I call Rita?" "I thought I could take you there," Graham said. Breen put a cork on the top of the beer bottle. "Then you don't play cards anymore?" The husband hesitated for a moment, then smiled, "Let's talk about it. Anyway, Joy is hurt again, so it's better to stay at home and keep an eye on him." She said, "Then you eat yours. Just put the bowl there. Wait for me to wash it when I come back. It will take about an hour and a half." "Okay," Graham said.Everyone knows that in the end he does the washing. She puts on a leather jacket.The jacket was lighter than the hooded parka issued by the police department. "I'll give you a call when I get there and let you know when I'll be back. I'm sorry I missed your card game, Graham." "Goodbye," he said.He didn't look back, he was putting noodles into the pot in his hand.The water in the pot has boiled.