Chapter 55 Chapter VII

Peter Markus, a tall, light-brown man, is sitting at a small cluttered table in the empty room where two desks are placed against each other against two walls. .Another table was clean and tidy, with a green blotter with an onyx pen holder, a small copper calendar and an abalone shell used as an ashtray. The round straw cushion at the top of the straight-backed chair by the window protruded like an archery target, and Peter Markus, clutching a handful of pens in his left hand, threw the pens at the cushion one by one like a Mexican flying bird. The knife hand, he tossed absently, with no skill at all.

The door was opened and Della Gera walked in.He closed the door, leaned against it, and stared straight at Marcus.The light brown-haired man turned the chair with a crunch, leaning it against the edge of the table, and scratched his chin with his broad fingernails. "Hey, Spaniard, have a nice trip! The boss is nagging you." Della Gera murmured, stuffing a cigarette into his brown lips. "Were you there when they found those pictures in Mal's office, Peter?" "Yes, but I didn't find the photo, it was the director who found it, why?" "You watched him find it with your own eyes?"

Marcus stared at him for a moment, then said softly, slightly defensively, "He found it, Sam, but he didn't plant it—if that's what you mean." De La Gera clicked Nodded, shrugged: "How's the bullet thing going?" "Oh, it's not a .32 caliber—it's a . Find the casing." "Imali remembered to take the casings away," De Lajera said calmly, "but forgot to take the pictures that gave him the motivation to kill." Marcus put his feet on the ground and leaned forward, raising his tawny eyebrows and looking up. "It's not impossible. These photos gave him a motive to kill, but the pistol in Mal's hand seems to have been placed in advance."

"Good idea, Peter." De La Gera went to the little window and stood there looking out.After a moment Marcus said hesitantly, "You don't think I've done anything, do you, Spaniard?" De La Gera turned slowly and walked over to Marcus, looking down at him. "Don't be angry, brother, you are my partner. The General Administration has long determined that I am on Mal's side, and you can't escape the suspicion. While you are sitting here, I went to Puma Lake and found nothing—only But someone put a deer carcass in the back of my car and a game ranger came and stalked me."

Marcus stood up slowly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his dark gray eyes wide open, and the nostrils of his large nose were lined with white. "No one here would do that, Sam." De La Gera shook her head. "That's what I thought too, but they might hint that they want to lure me there so that outsiders can get involved." Peter Markus sat down again, picked up a ballpoint pen, and threw it hard at the round straw mat. The ballpoint pierced, shook, broke, and fell to the floor. "Listen," he said harshly, without looking up, "it's just a job to me, to support my family. I don't have any ambitions for this police job like you do. If you Say that again and I'll shove the damn police badge up your ass."

De La Gera bent down and punched him in the chest: "Don't worry, policeman, I know it, go home and drink your wine." He opened the door and walked quickly out of the room, following a marble-walled corridor to a spacious alcove.There were three doors inside, and on the middle one it was written: "Criminal Chief, please come in." De La Gera entered a small reception room with an ordinary railing in the middle, and the stenographer behind the railing looked up. After taking a look, he turned his head towards the inner door, motioning him to go in.De La Gera pushed open the barred door, looked at the door inside, and opened it to go in.

There were two people in the huge office. Chief Criminal Ted McGinn sat behind a heavy desk and watched Drajera come in with sharp eyes.He was a tall, flabby man with a long, melancholy face that seemed to be always in a tantrum, and one eye was squinting slightly. The well-dressed man in the round-backed chair at the other end of the table, with shiny shoes, a pearl-gray hat, and gray gloves, leaned on another chair of ebony; Admiring the soft white hair, the handsome face is obviously well-maintained, and the complexion is still rosy.He smiled at Della Gera, looking amused and slightly ironic, smoking a cigarette in a long amber holder.

De La Gera sat down across from McGinn, glanced at the white-haired fellow, and said succinctly, "Good evening, Chief." Chief Drew nodded immediately and did not speak. McGinn leaned forward, and pressed his blunt nails on the shiny tabletop. He said softly, "It took you a long time to report back. Did you find anything?" Staring at him with expression. "I didn't mean to - there was just a dead deer in the back of my car." McGinn's expression didn't change, not a single muscle moved, and one of Chief Drew's pink, manicured fingers crossed His own throat, tongue and tongue made a tearing sound:

"Don't play tricks on your boss, man." De La Gera continued to stare at McGinn, waiting.McGinn spoke slowly, with regret in his words: "Your record is very good, Della Gera, your grandpa used to be one of the best sheriffs in this county, and you discredited him today. You are charged Violating hunting laws and obstructing a Toluca County ranger from enforcing the law—resisting arrest, what do you have to say about that?” De La Gera said calmly: "Has there been a formal conviction?" McGinn shook his head slowly. "It's just a departmental complaint, not a formal charge, I guess because of the lack of evidence." He smiled dryly, not at all humorous.

De La Gera said softly: "In this case, it seems that I have to hand over my police badge." McGinn nodded silently, and Director Drew said: "You really know everything." De La Gera took out his police badge, wiped it on his sleeve, looked at it, and pushed it across the smooth wooden tabletop. "Well, Captain," he said softly, "my blood is Spanish, pure Spanish, not Mexican and black, or Indian and Mexican. If my grandfather To deal with this, he will talk less and use more bullets. Just because I do that doesn't mean I think it's funny. I was deliberately framed for a crime scene like that because I was once Donegan Marr's closest friend Friends. This matter has nothing to do with my work, you understand, and I understand, but the director and his political backers don't think so."

Director Drew stood up suddenly: "God, you better not talk to me like that." He roared. De La Gera smiled slowly and said nothing, not even looking at Chief Drew.Chief Drew sat down again, panting angrily. After a while, McGinn put the badge away in the middle drawer of his desk and stood up. "You're suspended, Della Gera, stay in touch with me." He quickly walked through the inner door and walked out of the room without looking back. De La Gera pushed back his chair and adjusted his hat.Chief Drew cleared his throat, put a conciliatory smile on his face, and said: "I may be a little impatient, we Irish are impatient, please don't hurt everyone's feelings. The lesson you learned today is a lesson for all of us. You should learn, can I give you some advice?" Della Gera stood up and smiled at him—a dry smile, and he pulled only the corners of his mouth, leaving the rest of his face stiff as wood. "I know what you're going to say, Chief. You want me to leave Mal's case alone." Director Drew smiled, and his mood became better again: "I can't say that, in fact, there is no Mal case at all. Imali has admitted through his lawyer that he fired the shot in self-defense, and he will report tomorrow morning." Turned yourself in. So that's not it, my advice is something else, go back to Toluca County and apologize to the administrator, it's that simple, you can give it a try." Delajra walked silently to the hall and opened the door.Then suddenly he turned back and grinned, showing all his white teeth. "When I see a criminal, I recognize him, Chief, and he's paid for his trouble." He walked out.Drew looked at the door that was gently closed with a crisp click.The muscles on his face were stiff with anger, and his pink face was ashes.His hand holding the amber cigarette holder trembled violently, and some ash fell on his neatly cut trousers. "My God," he said to himself, a little stiffly, "maybe you're a bloody oily Spaniard, maybe you're as slippery as glass—but it's so easy to poke a hole in you." He stood up, his movements were a little unnatural because of his anger, he carefully brushed off the cigarette ash on his pants, reached out to grab the crutch, his carefully manicured fingers were trembling.