Chapter 6 Chapter two

Timothy Cohen called the 'Hope Clinic' and told them he would check it out.He knew that the notification in advance gave the other party a chance to prepare, and they could cover up some shady places in advance. It was a dark day, and the air still smelled of snow.At three o'clock in the afternoon, he was walking toward East Seventy-first Street.Standing across the street from the Hope Clinic for several minutes, looking at the two buildings.The two buildings seemed solid and well maintained, with an ivy planted outside that was still green in winter, and all the windows were lighted.

He walked across the street, dodging passing vehicles, walked towards the east building, and rang the bell.The peeking hole in the heavy door opened almost immediately, and Timothy caught sight of an eye, and opened the door, revealing a particularly diminutive nurse, who showed her his papers , indicating identity. "Timothy Cohen," he said. "I'm from Hudlin's and hope to see Dr. Victor Jerry." "Wait a minute, sir," she said cheerfully, closing the peephole in the door. He waited patiently.Three minutes later, the door opened and a tall woman in a green lab coat entered, smiling, and reaching out to shake Timothy's hand.

"I'm Dr. Phoebe Dubar," she said. "Come in." Her hands were hard and dry. "At present, Dr. Jian Rui is busy with a patient." She explained: "But he will come in a while. How about I show you first?" "Okay," Timothy said. "I guess you thought I'd come sooner or later." "Earlier than we expected." She said quickly, "Let me take off your coat for you, and then we'll start. I think you want to see everything." She took him to the third floor, explaining that the buildings had originally belonged to the private homes of two brothers, both of whom had since died.

Seeing this Dr. Durbar reminded him of Samantha, both of whom were attractively thin and not of much shape.Samantha has dark skin, and you can read her emotions from her eyes. But Phoebe Dubar, the female doctor, looked pale and unfathomable.She would never talk so much, Timothy thought. They walked through the corridor on the third floor and walked from the east building to the west building.Timothy noticed the female doctor and didn't lock the door. "For safety reasons, our research room is in the east building." "What's in the research room?" "You'll see when you read it. There's a bank of our sperm and eggs and fertilized eggs."

"I've been reading some books on artificial insemination lately," Timothy said. "There's a silly question that's been bugging me. When a guy sells sperm—well, how do you collect it?" Dr. Durbar laughed. "Believe it or not," she said, "we use empty baby food cans for sperm." They walked around the West Building quickly, and Dr. Duba introduced many staff members.When Timothy asked them questions, Dr. Durbar was always the first to answer them.She showed him all but the room where the patient was being treated.Then I took him to the offices, the lab, the X-ray room, the testing room, the recovery room, the pharmacy, and the doctor's lounge, where there were tables and black coffee.

"How?" said Dr. Durbar. "What have you thought so far?" "Impressive," he said honestly, "everywhere is well organized, spotless and seems to be running well." "We've been working on it," she said, looking down at her coffee cup. "One thing I didn't mention...Mr. Cohen, most of the women or couples who come to us are under a lot of emotional pressure. They all want to have a child very much. If they don't start If it succeeds, they will be very unhappy. This is what I want to add to tell you." Cohen nodded. "Doctor, do you have any children?"

"No." She said, "Have you finished your coffee? Now let me show you the East Building. I believe Dr. Jian Rui will be here soon." They went back to the third-floor walkway and walked to another building.Dr. Durbar had left the door unlocked, and Timothy felt the door. "Steel Gate," he said, "do you think terrorists will attack?" "Oh, no," she said, laughing. "It's not for this, I just think it's safer to do so." He felt that she had been laughing for more than an hour, probably more than she had laughed in the past month.He didn't think she was much of a laughing woman, so she was nervous about the Hudlin's inspection, wasn't she?

In the east building, Timothy saw many administrative staff, as well as computer rooms and several open laboratories.There was a locked room, but it was separated by a whole piece of glass. He saw many staff busy looking at the microscope on the stainless steel table, or using some instruments that he didn't know well.All the staff were wearing green lab coats and hats, and some were wearing surgical masks. "Is this your lab?" he asked. "It's one of the laboratories," she answered briefly, "We have other laboratories. When you enter, you will pass through other air locks. I can take you in, but it must be disinfected, including washing, at least It takes twenty minutes. The air here is specially filtered."

"I guess it's okay," Timothy said. "It's not your fault," she said, "I rarely go in myself." He stood outside the large glass fascinatedly, watching the activities of the staff inside. Everyone was wearing green uniforms and equipped with various bright instruments.A large sink with steam coming out when the lid is removed, the computer monitor lights up and the belt keeps spinning. This is a factory. "Making babies," said the Wall Street detective. "We've been working hard," Dr. Durbar said. "Hi, hello!" Victor Jianrui called happily, walked all the way, and then reached out to shake hands with Timothy Cohen. "Sorry I'm late. There's a patient in a bit of danger. Thank God it's not serious. I'm Jane Ray and you must be Timothy Cohn from Hudlin's. Nice to meet you, Phoebe I must have shown you around, right? "

Timothy nodded and shook his soft, slender hand.He quickly decided that the guy was attractive. "It's interesting, isn't it? It won't do anybody any harm." As Dr. Jian Rui spoke, he led them into his private office and closed the door.He asked them to sit down in the office and sat himself down in a swivel chair behind a desk.The swivel chair is sewn from zebra fur, which is very interesting. "Okay," he said with a smile, "now let me answer your question. I bet you must have a hundred questions." "No," said Timothy, "I do have some questions, but Dr. Durbar has answered them, and now there is only one thing I want to know—where are all your guests coming from?"

Doctor Jian Rui smiled mischievously at him. "Guests? Well, yes, you're right, I'm both called patients or clients—it's just a different name. They're all our guests. Let me show you the latest numbers." He leaned forward, pressed the buttons of the computer terminal on the desk, and squinted at the fluorescent screen. "This is from the last week," he said. "About 87 percent of our patients were transferred from other doctors, clinics, and hospitals. Another 10 percent were referred by patients, and the rest It may be learned through the mass media.” "So," said Timothy, "is there a guarantee of results?" "Of course not," Dubar quickly interjected. "How is it possible? Before we accept a patient, she or her and her husband, it takes more than an hour to explain in detail until we are sure that the other person understands what she or the couple is going to do, and then they have Signed a five-sheet contract detailing what we hope to do and what they can expect, but there are no guarantees." "We're lucky," Dr. Jian Rui said, patting his desk. "So far, no lawsuits. We haven't promised what we can't do. Mr. Cohen, we have been working hard to increase the pregnancy rate, and our patients know it." Timothy felt comfortable sitting in the warm office on a cold November afternoon.He smiled at them both, and decided to startle them with a word. "There's a guy named Hader Bissen," he said, as if casually. "He used to work as a research assistant here, but a few months ago, he shot himself in the head at the Fulton Fish Market." He thought they would be hit by the boulder, but unfortunately he was wrong.When they heard this, their expressions were very sad. "A terrible tragedy." Dr. Jian Rui said. "It's terrible," said Dr. Durbar. "Poor man, I know he's taciturn and depressed." "It's a kind of depression." Dr. Jianrui mourned. "Does he have any close friends?" Timothy asked, "Are there any among your employees?" "No," said Dr. Durbar. "I think that's part of his problem. We get along like family in our clinic, but he just doesn't fit in. Isn't it, Victor?" "This person is withdrawn, which sucks." Their grief was real, but Timothy, being a loner himself, didn't like to hear it from them.Perhaps, Jane Rui has all the handsome features, impeccable dress, and attractive demeanor that Timothy doesn't have. As for Timothy himself, his gestures were exaggerated and his laughter too loud. "Are you married, Dr. Jian Rui?" He asked suddenly. "I'm married," the man said quickly, "and have two lovely babies." Finally, the Wall Street detective stood up. "Thank you both for your help," he said. "Can't think of any more questions to ask at the moment. Might call or visit again later, okay?" "Of course," Jian Rui said, "we are very worried about whether Pinger Company will agree to this proposal. Don't hide it." "I'm glad to hear that," Timothy said, shaking Jane Rui's hand, then followed Phoebe Dubar downstairs and got his coat.After shaking hands and saying goodbye, I walked out of the clinic.The wind at night was blowing in gusts, he pressed his hair with his hands, and walked towards Park Street. He stopped, thought for a moment, and walked back, across the street from the Hope Fertility Clinic.It was just after five o'clock, and he decided to wait here for an hour, and if nothing happened at six o'clock, he would go home. When it was nearly six o'clock, Jian Rui and Duba came out.They were hatless, and Timothy recognized them immediately, and Timothy followed them across Eighty-third Street, where they turned east and up the stone steps of a handsome house. Timothy waited a few minutes, followed by climbing the stone steps, and looked at the bronze plaque that read: Dr. Phoebe Dubar, Apartment 4-B. He was puzzled, did the two doctors have a meeting in the apartment, or a small party, and Dr. Jian Rui's wife was also present.or else- Oh shit, Timothy knows what's going on. The next morning, Timothy was half an hour late for work and found a note on his desk asking him to call Lester Pinger.Thinking the guy might be coming, he lit a third cigarette. When Ryster answered the phone, his voice was soft and quick. "Thank you for returning my call," he said. "I understand that you are an investigator for the Hadlin Corporation, investigating the 'Hope Clinic.'" "right." "I hope we can meet in a few minutes. There is one thing I think you should know." "What's the matter?" "Well, I'm going to talk to you," Laist said, "but it's not convenient on the phone." "Okay, do you want me to come to your office?" "No, no," said Rester Pinger hurriedly, "well, it's classified. Do you know Trinity Church?" "of course I know." "How about we meet outside the church in twenty minutes?" "I'll go," Timothy said. "How do I know you?" "I'm wearing a black fur collar coat and a black bowler hat." "I'm wearing an olive coat and no hat," Timothy said. Pinger laughed to hide his nervousness, and hung up. Timothy walked in the car, strolled on Wall Street, and browsed the shop windows leisurely.When he reached Trinity Church, he had already seen a man in a black overcoat pacing back and forth at the door of Trinity Church.Timothy looked at it, lit a Camel cigarette before walking forward. "Lester Pinger?" The man was almost taken aback when he heard that, and turned around immediately. "It's me," he said. "Are you from Hudlin's?" "I'm Timothy Cohen, do you want to see my certificate?" "No, no," said Pinger, "it's not necessary, I just wanted to tell you something." Timothy nodded. "I should have invited you to my office, but walls have ears." "People say that, but I've never seen walls have ears." Pingle looked at him strangely, wondering if the man was joking or just out of his head.He looked at the detective's expression and couldn't find the answer. In this freezing weather, Timothy noticed that beads of sweat were dripping from Laist's pale face. As they paced back and forth in front of Trinity Church, Rist said it was his father's idea to hire Hudlin's detectives.And he himself thinks that he "hopes" that there will be no problems with the reproductive clinic, and that it must be a profitable business.But as long as his father, Ernie Pingle, disapproved, the deal wouldn't go through. "So," said Timothy, "what do you want me to do?" Lester Pinger stroked his forehead with his palm and told him that his father believed in Hudlin's Co., and that Hudlin's Co. had done a beautiful job on the Clovis case.Lester wanted Cohn to know that his father was becoming increasingly recalcitrant and had a big prejudice against Hope. If Timothy Cohen can pass the "Hope Clinic" through this investigation, Lester said he would personally send Timothy Cohen a sum of money to express his gratitude, and more work will be entrusted to Harder in the future Lin company will do it. "When I go to the Hope Clinic, I call them," Timothy Cohen told him. "Of course," Lester Pinger said, "everybody wants this deal to go through. So there's no reason to delay it." "I'm not procrastinating," Timothy said firmly. "I'm starting to investigate." Then, his eyes looked straight ahead.Lester Pinger said in a low voice: "If you give me convenience, I will also give you benefits. I must negotiate the business of 'Hope Clinic'. As long as you agree, there will be great benefits." "Oh? How many?" "How about five thousand dollars?" "That's not a great amount," said Timothy Cohn. "Pinger has plenty of money." "How about ten thousand dollars?" said Lester Pinger desperately, still daring to look at the detective. "Ten thousand dollars, okay?" "No, thanks." "Why are you so stubborn?" Lester called out. "I have to go to work." Timothy turned around and left after speaking. He didn't look back, it was a mistake.If he turned around, he would see that Lester had not left, and continued to pace up and down in front of Trinity Church. After a while, a man came out in a tweed coat with a herringbone pattern on it, and a fedora with a bright feather in it. Lester Pinger was very surprised. "Martin, are you in the church?" "Why not? I want to see what Timothy Cohn is like. I think he's a real slob. Isn't he?" Three months earlier, Lester Pinger had first met the broad-chested man, who he called himself "Martin."Lester Pingle didn't even know his last name.Later, he secretly investigated and found out that his name was Martin Gadu.He joined one of the largest groups in the country, a person familiar with the inside information on Wall Street, who called the ruler of this group Mr. D. "How is it going?" Martin asked. "No," said Lester Pinger despondently. "He won't take a ten thousand dollar bribe." "You want more from him?" "No, I don't think he'll be bought." "Don't tell this to Mr. D," Martin said. "He believes that money can make money work, that anyone can be bought. Our contact at the Hope Clinic told us that Timothy was very smart, very Curious, very insistent. We must find out his price." "No violence," said Lester Pinger, again wiping the sweat from his brow. "I hate violence." Martin turned to look at him. "I know, Lester," he said gently. The two men then parted, each going in opposite directions.At this time, Timothy had returned to Hudlin's company and walked directly into Samantha's office. "I'm going to tell you something." She raised her eyes as he spoke. He told her that Lester was going to bribe him. "Ten thousand dollars?" She thought for a while and said, "Do you want it?" "No," he said, "I am a very pure man." "I think it's best to tell Mr. Hudlin." "No," he said quickly, "don't do that." "Why not?" He looks at her. "After Ryster has removed me, the next step is to find Heron Hudlin himself. I want to find out what else is going on between Ryster and the Hope Clinic." More than an hour after returning to the office, his phone rang. "Timothy Cohn?" "Yes, who?" "I'm Detective Nick Galance of the NYPD, working with Neil Davenport. He said he mentioned me to you." "Yes, what's the matter?" "Neil said you were looking into the Hope Clinic, didn't you?" "Yes, their business is booming now, so they want to develop into a chain store business, like a fast food restaurant or something." "Did he tell you about the case of Harder Bissen? It's currently ruled a suicide." "He told me." "I hold a different opinion, do you understand?" "certainly." "When you go to the 'Hope Clinic,' I want you to ask them a few questions about life." "I've asked, and both doctors have told me he has depression." "Yes," said Nick Galance, "that's what they must have said. Have you talked to Jessie Scott?" "Jessie Scotto? No, who is she?" "She was a nurse who worked in the West Wing of the 'Hope Clinic'. She was Hader Bissell's girlfriend. In fact, the two lived together. I asked about the cause of Bissell's death and she was horrified. I heard from her that I can't say anything. "That was about two months ago, maybe she's stabilized now. I'd appreciate it if you'd talk to her and see if you could get something out of her. Neil said you There is a good way to handle cases, I hope you can try it. In my mind, I think about the case of suicide every day." "Okay, I'll go find her," Timothy said. "Jessie Scotto? What kind of woman is she?" "Like a little mouse," said Detective Gélance. "You'd better act like a sympathetic dad, maybe she'll say." "Okay," Timothy said, "thanks for telling me that." "Would you like to tell me any news?" "certainly." An hour after he got off the phone, he remembered that the two doctors had told him that Hader Bisseng had no close friends in the clinic. A black Cadillac was parked in a no-parking area on the north side of Bloomie Street.There was a burly man standing there, the size of a young man Timothy Cohen had never seen before.When Timothy tried to walk past him, the burly man stood in his way. "Mr. Timothy Cohn?" he asked cheerfully. Timothy looked up at him. The man was about six feet six inches tall, weighed at least two hundred and eighty pounds, and his neck was as wide as Timothy's hips.It looked like he could easily grab Timothy and throw him across the street. "Yes, I'm Timothy, who are you?" The other party ignored his question, and the giant made a gesture, pointing to the back of the Cadillac. "There's a gentleman over there who wants to talk to you for a few minutes." "No thanks," Timothy said. "Mommy told me never to ride with a stranger." "We don't know how to drive," said the young behemoth. "Only here for a chat. Come on, Mr. Cohen, you better obey." "What if I don't obey?" The guy shrugged. "Then I have to go back and drive away." He said disappointedly. Timothy believed him, bending over to look in through the car window.In the back seat of the car sat a man who didn't look like a bad guy at all, elegantly dressed in a dark gray overcoat.He watched Timothy look through the window, smiled at him warmly, and beckoned him in. "Okay," Timothy said. The bodyguard, or the driver, or something, opened the back door for him and let him in.The man turned his face and looked at him with deep, gentle eyes.The man appeared to be in his late sixties, and apparently had massages and manicures every day, and also wore cologne, which filled the car with a scent. "Forgive me for meeting you in such a presumptuous manner, Mr. Cohen." He said in a very calm tone. "I thought maybe I should write you a letter, or call your office, but that's not very good." "Why?" Timothy asked. The man ignored his question. "Let me introduce myself first," the man took out an ID from his pocket and handed it to Timothy. The Wall Street detective took a quick look. "It's nothing," he said. "I can buy a fake one for fifty dollars." "I don't think so." The man smiled gently again. "Roger Gibby," Timothy read the name on the card.He paused for a moment, and suddenly a flash of inspiration came to his mind. "By the way, I once read a book about artificial insemination, which mentioned Professor Roger Gibby, so it was you!" "I used to be a professor, not anymore, I'm working for the government." "But you've done a lot of IVF. So we can talk about the Hope Clinic investigation, shall we?" "Exactly." "Let me take another wild guess," Timothy said. "You want me to make this deal, am I right?" "bingo!" "Why is the government interested in 'Hope' clinics?" "Their research has been done so well that the federal government wants to promote it." "Shit," Timothy said gruffly, "what research are you guys interested in putting sperm donor semen in baby food containers?" Gibby gave him a strange look. "Mr. Cohn, don't get me wrong. I can't elaborate on my interest in the Hope Clinic." "Okay!" Timothy said. "If that's the case, then be it! It was a pleasure talking to you." He reached for the door handle of the car, but Gibby's hand rested lightly on his arm. "Mr. Cohen, please wait a moment. I've seen your past record. You were a Marine in Vietnam and got a medal. You did very well." "Oh, it's the Big Daddy in the White House who asked you to come, isn't it?" "Not really. I think the Soviet Union was doing similar interesting research." Timothy nodded. "Nice to meet you. As an American, I will do my duty as a citizen. As for the 'Hope Clinic', I will continue to investigate. If they come to nothing, I will write so on the report. If There is a problem here, and I will write it correctly.” He got out of the Cadillac, and the burly man, still standing on the sidewalk, gave him a look and let him go.Timothy walked south toward Broadway in a huff. He was only an hour late, and when he passed the corridor in front of Samantha's office, he saw Samantha's face was very ugly.He was not in the mood to care about her, and walked towards his office without even saying good morning. "Why are you angry!" she yelled behind her back. He sat at the old desk, looking for his cigarettes, trying to think through these things. At first, it was Laist who offered to bribe him to pass the "Hope Clinic" investigation, but Timothy refused.The next day, the American government officer named Roger Gibby approached him again and asked him to pass the investigation of the "Hope Clinic". Was it, then, that Lester Pinger was bribing him with taxpayers' money?Strange, why is everyone so interested in "Hope Clinic"?Why Jian Rui and Duba, lied about Harder's life? He pulled the phone over and called the Hope Clinic, looking for Jessie Scott. After identifying himself, he said he would go to the clinic to talk to some of the staff, and hoped to speak to her for a few minutes. "I'm busy." Her voice was so low that he could barely hear it. He was unwilling to pass up this opportunity. "Dr. Jian Rui told me that he instructed all his colleagues to cooperate as much as possible, right?" "Yes," she said at last, "he told us that too." "Then why don't we talk about it, it won't be too long." "Well," she said, "if only for a few minutes." "How about in the doctors' lounge?" she suggested. "Let's have some coffee or something." "Okay," she said.Her tone was full of fear, as if she was about to go to the execution ground. When he arrived at the clinic, Timothy showed his ID and asked him to go to the west building.He took the elevator to the fourth floor, was pleased to find that the doctor's lounge was empty, bought black coffee and ate apple pie, using a plastic fork, which seemed to taste the same. While drinking the second cup of coffee, a short nurse came in hastily.Timothy stood up, tried to smile, and held out his hand. "Miss Scotto?" he said. "I'm Timothy Cohen of Hudlin's. Nice to meet you." She looked up at him in shock, as if he was going to slap her, and she shook his hand loosely, weakly, and slumped down on the metal chair next to his table. Detective Gylance was wrong, Timothy thought, and after two months she still hadn't recovered.Jess Scott was so nervous, she looked like she was going to shatter into a million pieces in no time. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?" he asked. She shook her head, and he sat down across from her again, leaning against the table. He speaks in a calm tone, trying to sound like a sympathetic dad.But it was difficult, and her eyes were not on him at all. "I just want to ask you a few questions," Timothy said reassuringly. "I know you are busy." As Detective Galance said, she was a little mouse, unpainted, wearing a nurse's uniform a few sizes larger than her body, and it was hard to believe that she was living with Hader Bissen, because she saw Come like an unmarried spinster. "Miss Scott, how long have you been working here?" "Six years." "Like it?" Nod. "What kind of work do you do?" "Prepare for the patient." As we talked, people started coming in to get food from vending machines.Timothy noticed that many people were looking at Jessie and himself curiously.So he decided to end the visit early.It must be crowded here as lunchtime approaches. "Did you know Hader Bissen?" he repeated the question.She looked up at him in fear. "Jessie," he said as patiently as possible. "Only the two of us know what you said. I swear to God I'll never repeat a word again. You live with Hader?" She nods. "Did you know he had a gun?" "He didn't," she cried out. "I know he doesn't." "Did he tell you where he was going the night of his accident?" "No. He just said he was going to meet someone and go out for an hour or so." "Who did he say he wanted to meet?" "No." "Do you think he's depressed? Like everyone says." "He used to have something on his mind." "What's on your mind?" "About his work." "Jessie, what job? What does Hader do in the research lab?" She looked straight into his eyes without blinking. Timothy knew she was going to lie. "He never discussed his work with me," she said. "I didn't know anything." Timothy leaned back and looked at her sadly. "If you don't tell me, I can't help." She began to cry, covering her eyes with her hands. "Leave me," she mumbled, "please, go away!" "Okay," he said with a sigh. "Hadlin's number is in the phone book. If you change your mind, contact me." When he walked out of the doctors' lounge, people looked at him, leaving Jess Scott alone in a chair.She closed her eyes, shrunk her thin body and was still trembling. He hailed a cab and headed back to Hudlin's, furious at his failure, but unable to think of any other way to do it better.At least, he knew Harder hadn't had a gun in his life.If he had, Jesse Scott would know. Back at the office, he called Detective Nick Gelance, but when he wasn't there, Timothy left a message telling him to call him back tomorrow. He leaned on the back of the swivel chair and stared at the ceiling, thinking of Jessie's thin figure and frightened eyes, she was such a timid woman.She carries too much of a load, a loser. "Just like me." Suddenly Timothy cried out. "Who is like you?" asked Sinai Abikela, stepping in. The chief accountant stood in the doorway, rubbing his swollen nose gently. "Sinai, you don't look very happy," Timothy said, "but you never were." "How am I ever going to be happy when you throw me the change ball all the time? Remember, you asked me to check on Lester Pingle's finances?" "Of course I do." "Pinger is doing well, but Leicester is going bankrupt," says Sinai Abikela. The phone in the attic suddenly rang loudly, and he woke up from his deep sleep.He finally got up and went to the kitchen to answer the phone. "Hello?" he said sleepily. "Jesus," Davenport said, "are you still asleep? It's eight o'clock." "What's the big deal, calling to wake me up at this time?" Timothy said, yawning. "Tell you, Jessie Scott died last night." Timothy was too surprised to speak. "Timothy, are you still on the phone?" "I'll see you here," Timothy said, suddenly wanting to throw up. "Is she really dead?" "Dead. Too bad you didn't get a chance to talk to her." "I talked to her yesterday morning," Timothy said. "Why didn't you tell us?" Davenport yelled at him. "I called and left a message for Galance." Davenport was silent for a while and said: "I remember, I'm sorry, Nick read your message on the table. However, Jessie was dead at that time. Nick and I are going to see the body now, do you want to go together?" "I'll go," Timothy said. "Okay, I'll pick you up. I'll park the car outside your 'palace' in fifteen minutes, don't make us wait for you." "I'll hurry," Timothy promised. Soon, two police detectives drove up to Timothy's door.Timothy got into the back seat, and Nick Gelance was driving.He was a short man with a black mustache. "There must be a conspiracy," Galance said angrily. "Two people died, you said, could this be a coincidence?" "Don't get too excited, Nick," Davenport advised him. "Otherwise, your ulcer will come back. Timothy, we have prepared some black coffee, and this one is yours." "Thanks," Timothy said. "When was Jessie killed?" "I don't know," Davenport said, taking a long sip of his coffee. "I don't know the details. I only know that it was a white woman who died in an apartment on Seventy-fourth Street in the West End. It was found out that her name was Jessie Scott, and it was suspected to be a homicide." "You were talking to her yesterday?" Garance asked. "right." "What did you find?" "She said she never robbed in her life." "Damn it!" Nick yelled angrily, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. "I didn't even ask her that, I'm a fucking idiot!" "She was still terrified," Timothy said. "She knew some things and didn't want to talk about them. I asked her as much as I could, and eventually she started crying and there was a big crowd, so I just gave up." "Why do you think she knows something?" Davenport asked. "She lied to me and said she didn't know what life was doing at the Hope Clinic. Can a woman not know what a man living with does? Maybe—but I just don't believe her." "Is there anything else?" Galance wanted to know. "She said that the night Bisheng was killed, he told her he was going out for an hour to meet someone. She claimed he didn't know who that person was." "She said the same thing to me," Nick said. "At least, it's true that he went out to meet someone, and I think she knew who that was." When we arrived at the scene of the accident, there were three police cars parked in front of a house on Seventy-fourth Street in the West End, and many policemen were busy.Davenport and Galance pulled out their IDs from their coats. "Come on," Neil said to Timothy, "come in with me, and I'll make sure we're talking about the same woman." 三个人推门而入，走上楼梯，楼梯上铺着地毯，有一股喷蟑药的味道。走到三楼，有一个穿着制服的警官把门。 “他是证人。” 达文波特对那名警官介绍提摩西。 两名警察先行入内，提摩西站在走廊，他和那名穿制服的警官大眼瞪小眼对看着，三分钟后，达文波特出来了。 “今天早上你吃过东西吗？”他问。 “只喝了你给我的黑咖啡。” “你待会儿不要吐出来。”这名纽约警探说道。“我的鞋子才擦过的，我可不希望你吐在我鞋子上。进来吧！” 提摩西一走进去，看到这房间被翻得乱七八糟，像垃圾堆一样：地毯被撕破了，墙上的照片被扯下来砸在地上，灯也翻了，厨房架子上所有的东西全都摔得满地都是。椅子和沙发垫子被刀子乱戳，翻箱倒柜，衣物都被拖出来。 他记得最淸楚的，就是躺在床上的尸体。 达文波特拉下染着血迹的被单。 “这就是昨天跟你话的女人吗？” “是她。”提摩西说着，咽了一口口水。 “尼尔，这是怎么回事啊？”一名便衣警察质问。“这是我的辖区。” “昨天为了另一件案子曾问过这女人，现在我们要证实一下。她身上这些伤势是怎么造成的？” “你要我猜吗？”法医说，合上他黑色的手提箱。“我猜是很尖的凿子，伤口不超过一吋深，虽然痛苦却不至于致命。” “我以前也看过类似的情形，”尼克·盖兰斯说：“为了逼出口供。但他们为什么要割掉她的乳头？” “也许她不愿意说。”提摩西说，“他们却非逼她说不可。” “我们发现她的时候，她口里塞着东西，身子被绑住，一条裤袜勒住她的脖子。”管区警员哈利说道。 “我看她是因呕吐物阻塞窒息而死。”法医说。 “至少他们没在她脸上留下疤痕。”提摩西·柯恩说，看着她那张苍白、平凡的脸。这只小老鼠，掉到捕鼠器里死了。 “你有什么看法，哈利？”达文波特问管区警员。 “我想是烟毒犯干的。”这名便衣警警很快地回答道：“我们试着从这方面下手去査。也许他听到她这儿有钱，她不肯说，他就折磨她。她死了以后，他就到处翻寻。” “那就靠你了，”达文波特说着点点头。“祝你好运了。” 三人出来，走在人行道上，深深吸了一口气。从那房间出来，连这肮脏城市的空气闻起来都是好的。 “这样开始了一天，倒也不错。”提摩西说道。 “我饿了。”达文波特说：“我们到'阿姆斯特丹'去吃顿早餐如何？” 十分钟后，他们进入西区七十二街的一家餐厅里。三个人点的全一样——西红柿汁、鲑鱼洋葱煎蛋、法式油炸食物、吐司面包和黑咖啡，三个人匆忙地吃着。 “哈利说是烟毒犯搞的，你们相信吗？”提摩西问。 “哈利是个好警察，就是脑袋不大灵光。”达文波特微笑着说：“我想歹人进屋时，把那女人反绑，并且塞住她的嘴，然后四处翻箱倒柜捜寻他想要的东西，遍找不着，他才用武器逼她说，在她还没说之前，就窒息死了。” “那人到底想找什么？”尼克·盖兰斯用纸巾擦了擦嘴和嘴上那撮小胡子。“她不可能有多少现金和珠宝，你们看她住的公寓，不像有钱人住的地方。” “可怜的哈利，”达文波特说，嘴角还沾着果汁，他也没去擦拭。“只怕这案子成了悬案。” “我知道谁杀了她。”提摩西压低了嗓音说道。 两名纽约警探都瞪视着他。 “谁？”盖兰斯说。 “是我。”提摩西·柯恩说道，然后身子朝后靠，掏出一包骆驼牌香烟。“因为我比哈利更没脑筋，我就在医生休息室询问那可怜的女人。有人看到我和她在一起谈话，这事自然会辗转相传，因此害死了洁西·史考图。” 他们驾车把提摩西送到约翰街，他走过转角，到百老汇一家折扣书店，在每个书架捜巡一遍之后，找了两本有关化学实验室新技术的书。 在赛伦·哈德林的办公室里。 “告诉我，你们调查'希望诊所'的案子到底怎么样了？” “我们一直在进行，这案子很单纯。”珊曼莎说。 “是的。”提摩西说。 贺伦·哈德林原先挂在脸上的微笑消失了。 “提摩西，你看这个案子还需要多少时间？” "It's hard to say." “呃，平格公司有些忧虑。今天早上，我接到赖斯特的电话，他希望我们公司的评价能快点出来，他们就可以快点开始动手。” “动手什么？”提摩西问道。 “'希望诊所'的扩张计划。”贺伦·哈德林说，瞪视着他，好像他是一个白痴。 “赖斯特有没有说明他要开始动手做什么？”提摩西耐心地解释。 贺伦·哈德林往前倾，皱起了眉头。 “他没说，我也没细问。这关我们什么事啊？你该知道，我关心的是调査的情形。” “我相信提摩西会按部就班来做的，”珊曼莎说。 "Yes or no?" “当然，”提摩西·柯恩说：“我是按部就班，一步步来。” 贺伦·哈德林很怀疑地看看提摩西，然后转头向珊曼莎说： “珊曼莎，我再给你们一个星期的时间。” 他们走回珊曼莎的办公室，她要他进去，门仍敞开着。 “这是怎么回事？”他问她：“他怎么突然限我们一个星期就要査出来。” “他不是说了吗，赖斯特·平格打电话给他。” “我感觉还有其他的人在支使这件事。”他说。 她瞪视他好久好久。 “我对贺伦·哈德林说这案子很单纯，你也同意。到底真相如何？” “这案子非常复杂。”提摩西说。 珊曼莎抱怨着说： “我知道，每次问你案子进行得如何，问也是白问。——你是个嘴巴死紧的王八蛋。” “我现在得到的消息都是片片断断的。”他告诉她。“目前都还没有条理。等我理出脉络时我会报告的。” “那么，你认为'希望诊所'大有问题，里面臭气很重？” “岂止臭气很重，简直是臭气熏天了。”他说。 那天回家，他热了两个罐头，配上一包苏打饼干和一罐冰的荷兰啤酒。除了啤酒，克丽奥对什么都有兴趣，这只猫闻到味道，又缠绕在他脚边磨蹭。 “你又不是我儿子。” 他对那只阉过的公猫说道。 他花了整晚读那两本买来的有关人工生殖的新书，努力想读懂，他抽了半包骆驼牌香烟，喝了三杯加水的伏特加酒。到了晚上两点，他被尼古丁、酒精和书里长串的字弄得昏头昏脑。老天，人工生殖究竟是怎么一回事？ 他为克丽奥换水，为牠淸了大便。他正想脱衣服准备睡觉时，电话铃响了。 "Hello?" he said. “提摩西·柯恩？” “对，你是谁？” “我是珊曼莎·华特莱的公寓管理员。”对方说道。 “珊曼莎·华特莱？”提摩西·柯恩说：“她发生什么事了？” “呃，她这儿出了些事，有人想闯进她的公寓里，现在警察都到这里来了。” “老天，”提摩西说：“她还好吗？” “她只是受了点伤。她要我打一通电话给你，问你是不是能马上过来。” “当然。”提摩西说，心里想着洁西·史考图。“吿诉她我立刻过来。” 他挂了电话，重新扣上衬衫的扣子。拿一件灯心绒的外套穿上，把抢套绑在脚胫上，插上那把点三五七的手枪。 “小子，好好守住我们的城堡。”临行他对克丽奥说，然后吱吱嘎嘎走下铁楼梯。在这种时候，能否找到一辆出租车，就要看他的运气了。 他其实并不很担心有没有出租车的问题。朝泉水街跑了二十呎，突然有两个男人从阴影里走出来，朝他靠近。 “骗子！”提摩西大声叫道。他这才恍然大悟珊曼莎根本没事。他手半举，掌心向外，慢慢地朝后退。 这两个男人个子虽然不算高大，但却长得很结实。他们没穿雨衣、大衣、风衣之类的外套，也没戴帽子。两人穿深色西装，面带笑容，好像要护送他到一个令他们惊讶的宴会上。 “你就是柯恩？”其中一个人问道。 “我要到办公室去。”提摩西说，仍然举着双手。 “你听到了吗？索尔？”其中有一个人说：“他说他要到办公室。” “真驴，”索尔说：“这家伙一定是个喜剧演员。你问他是否还有其他的笑话。” “我不知道这是怎么回事——”提摩西说。 他还没有看淸楚，一拳就挥了过来，他来不及闪躱，被打得嘴角淌血，他舔到血的味道。索尔一个箭步欺上，一拳打到他的小腹。这两个真是恶棍。 两人朝他身上猛打，每一拳都非常凌厉扎实，他抱着头，把头缩在衣领里，但那两个人却把他拉直，猛朝他的肾脏打，职业打手的打法。 最后他倒地，双臂抱着脸，身子蜷缩在冷冷的人行道上，那两个家伙朝他踢了几脚。他知道，他们并无意杀他，只让他受伤而已，有一脚还踢到他太阳穴，吓坏了他。最后他们两人踩在他肋骨上跳。 他们什么也没说，一边对提摩西施虐，一边沉重地呼吸。他们把他整够了，提摩西仍缩在人行道上，紧闭着双眼。 “老天！”其中一个人嫌恶地说，好像一切都是提摩西的错。 “现在开始，要你做什么你就乖乖地照做。学聪明一点，别耍花样。” 他听到他们走远了，他几乎要昏了过去，但他一直支撑着保持淸醒。他对自己说，一定是这两个恶棍，割掉洁西·史考图的乳头。想到这儿，再怎么样也要撑着力气，睁开眼睛，往水泥地上抬起头。 他看到他们走到一辆停着的车旁。那辆轿车好像是四门、黑色的庞帝亚克，他的手伸向脚胫的枪套。 他们急转开车，轮胎发出尖叫的声音。他已经准备好了，双手握着枪，手有些抖，可是在这样的近距离内，他不会失误的。 他对准那辅汽车，连发好几枪，即使车子已经开到射程之外，但他仍然弹无虚发。可是那辆该死的车子，好像能吃掉他的子弹，一点事都没有。直到开了三十呎远处，那辆庞帝亚克突然改变方向，爬上人行道，冲破一家刚开幕的流行餐厅的落地玻璃窗。 只听得一整轰然巨响，一阵金属撞击和木头折裂的声音，那辆轿车冲向餐厅黑暗的内部。提摩西希望那辆车着火爆炸，可是他并没有那么幸运。这时，他看到街上已经出现了一些人，朝着肇事现场跑去。 提摩西慢慢地撑着站起来，脚步仍然踩不稳，步履踉跄。看来每件事情都很顺利，他慢慢走回阁楼。花了二十分钟，才爬上六楼铁梯，每到一处转角平台，就要休息一大阵子。 最后，总算进入屋内，亮了灯，拴上门闩。克丽奥看了他一眼，马上钻到浴缸底下去。 “得了，”提摩西说：“我还没有那么难看吧！” 当他站在医药柜的镜子前，讶然发现自己竟是这等模样时，他对着那只猫说： “你是对的！” 他如道那个电话是骗他的，但他还是要再确定一下。所以他在疗伤之前，先打了一通电话给珊曼莎。电话铃响了六下，她才接了起来。 “什么事？”她睡意深浓地问道。 “我是提摩西，你还好吗？” “我当然很好，现在是几点钟了？你怎么啦？是不是又喝醉酒了，这个时候打电话来吵醒我？” “我只是查查看，”他说：“回去睡觉吧。” “你声音有点奇怪，”她说：“不大对劲。” “我八成感冒了，”他说：“也许我明天不来上班了。晚安，做个甜蜜的梦。” 他用纸巾沾着伏特加酒擦拭伤口，这时他才开始感觉到痛。然后，他听到警车的汽笛声，知道警察一定要到被车撞毁的餐厅展开调查。 他将外套塞入塑料袋里，准备送交洗衣店。细看之下，倒没有永久的伤，只是被揍得很惨。这种经验，以前也有过。 他慢慢弯下腰，倒在床垫上。过了一阵子，克丽奥走来嗅嗅他的伤口，呜呜地哭了。 “嗯，”他昏沉沉地说，“我知道你很难过。” 早上爬起来，每一处关节都痛楚不堪，骨头像要被折断了一样。他冲了个热水澡，往镜子里一瞧，真好看，身上有黄、有红、有黑、有蓝。 “我这副样子可以称之为——彩虹小子。”他对克丽奥说。 提摩西给猫换了水，为自己倒了一杯黑咖啡，点了一根骆驼牌香烟。今天不想去办公室。嘴角被打破了，刮胡子也省省吧。他找了件T恤，和一条褪了色的牛仔裤，穿在身上。 九点半，他坐着喝第二杯黑咖啡，抽第二根香烟，达文波特的电话打来了。 “福尔摩斯，今天请假了吗？”这名纽约警探轻松地说。“我打了好几通电话到你办公室找你，他们说你不在。” “对，我大概是感冒或者是什么，所以没去上班。” “这阵子这么忙，你倒在家纳起福来了。喂，你知不知道昨儿个晚上，你家附近有件热闹的事？事实上，就在你住的那条街上？” “什么热闹事？” “有辆车子撞到一家餐厅里去了。你真的不知道？” “发生什么事啦？” “有辆崭新的庞帝亚克撞碎一家餐厅的落地玻璃。你没听到吗？” “几点钟发生的事？” “大约淸袅两点半。” “我在睡觉，整个世界都死过去了。” “那当然。”达文波特说：“我们查出前座死者证件上的名字是柏尼·史诺葛伦，你觉得这个名字好不好？他的犯罪纪录密密麻麻写下来，有一条手臂那么长。你猜他是怎么死的？” "A car accident?" “不！”这名纽约警探说：“他后脑袋中弹，可能从二、三十呎远射过来的。我们查过他车子还有许多弹孔，是点三五七口径的手枪，你不是也有一把吗？提摩西？” "Yeah," Timothy said. “我也是这么想。”达文波特说：“据我们的证人说，看到还有一个家伙逃掉了。我想你会对这件事很有兴趣的。” “这事与我无关，”提摩西说：“但是谢谢你告诉我。你可查过那辆车子？” “这点也挺有趣。那是一辆公司的车子——鲁瑟斯工业公司，也在华尔街，你听过没有？” “知道，他们做机器人和工业计算机的装配工作，规模相当大。” “这家公司声称，那辆庞帝亚克是从他们公司车库偷来的。他们一直不知道车子失窃了，直到我们打电话给他们才发觉。” “哦，”提摩西对着电话大笑。“这种事最近很多，你愿意帮我个忙吗？” “你会付我钱吗？” “不会。只请你打个电话。你认得处理洁西·史考图的那个管区警察哈利吗？” "I know." “你看，他们会在洁西的公寓里找到指纹吗？” “我想应该会的。但是我得问问他。” “呃，如果他们找到指纹，你对对看是否和伯尼·史诺葛伦的相合。你不是说他有纪录吗？” 沉默一阵，他才说： “你这个狗娘养的，提摩西·柯恩！”达文波特朝他吼叫：“你又瞒着我啦，是不是？” “我干嘛要瞒你？我们的立场是一致的，可不是吗？”提摩西温和地说。 然后他轻轻挂了电话。 他走到及腰的老冰箱前，希望还能找些东西，免得还得出去跑一趟，可是没找到什么可吃的，有的食物发干，有的发霉，有的发臭，看来，他得好好淸淸冰箱了。 他一面咕哝着，一面把枪套绑在足胫上，又穿上他那双黄色的工作鞋，穿上风衣，戴上毛线帽子，毛线帽子可以拉下罩着整张脸，只露出两只眼睛，拿着装有要送洗的衣物袋。谢天谢地，这个时段那辆大电梯开动了，他就不必再上下六层楼了。 不到半小时，他抱着两个满满的购物袋回到他的阁楼，还带了一瓶意大利白兰地，一瓶伏特加酒，一条骆驼牌香烟，还为克丽奥买了一罐人吃的鲔鱼罐头，还有些肉丸、排骨、通心面、炖牛肉等冷冻食物。 他收好食物，给克丽奥半罐鲔鱼，又为牠淸了大小便。坐了下来，倒一小杯伏特加酒，开始看他新买的书。这时，有人敲阁楼的门，是珊曼莎的记号。——两短，顿一下，一长。 提摩西叹了一口气，站起来开门。 她正要开口说——“哈啰，儍瓜蛋”，却张着嘴，惊讶地瞪着提的脸，说不出话来。 “噢，我的天啊！”她说：“这就是你说的感冒？” 进了门，把门锁上，她更仔细地检视他的伤口。她碰到他瘀肿的太阳穴，他痛得缩了一下。 “喝酒闹事搞成这个样子？”她问道。 He shrugged. “差不多啦，没什么大不了的事。” “昨晚听你电话里的声音不大对劲，为什么你不跟我说？我会立刻赶过来。想你这个狗窝恐怕连急救绷带之类的药都没有。” “你能不能停止扮演南丁格尔？”他打断她的话。“我没事，只是有点儿痛罢了。” "Did you call the police?" “当然没有。否则，他们只会说——狗屎！” 她瞪视着他，皱起眉头。最后她说： “你没有把真相吿诉我。” “闭嘴。”他粗鲁地说：“要喝伏特加吗？” “这时候喝酒？” “有什么不可以？” 他们就在桌子旁喝起伏特加。她脱掉她的军装，里面穿着一套黑色的斜纹裤装。 “你看起来还不错。”他告诉她。 她不理会他的阿谀。瞇着眼睛审视他。 “他们在哪里打伤了你？”她说：“你那个笨脑袋还好吗？” He nodded. “他们要什么？” 他又耸耸肩。 “只想弄点钱。二十块钱吧，实在不用如此大费手脚。” "When did it happen?" “何必问个不停呢？只是损失了一点钱罢了！” 两人坐着，恼恨地瞪视着对方。 “谢谢你来看我。”他怨恨地说。 “你不想查'希望诊所'的案子？”她问他。 “不，”他说：“明天我会赶上进度，销假上班。” 她点点头，喝完她的伏特加，站了起来，穿上她那件军用外套，系上带子，弯下身来抓抓克丽奥，牠正磨蹭着她的脚踝。 “你不让我为你做任何事。”她低沉着嗓音说。 “好吧，现在我求你替我做件事，在我办公室旁边最上面抽屉里，有一把很小巧的手枪。” “上了子弹了？” “当然。帮我个忙，好吗？把那把枪放在你的口袋或皮包里，你愿意这么做吗？” "What are you going to do?" “你只要照着我的话做就行了。”他大叫。 “好吧，如果这么做会使你舒服些，我会照你的话办的。” “好！”他伸出手臂绕着她的肩膀。“我会舒服些的，亲亲！” 她温柔地亲吻他的脸颊，然后抱着他。 “多保重，今晚我会打电话给你，看看你在做什么。” “如果是女人接的电话，”他说：“马上挂掉。” "whatever." 她笑着说道，转身走了。 他又拿起书看着，慢慢他有些概念了。他们已经有一个早产婴儿保温葙，能使早产的婴儿活着。这么说，人造子宫自然也能使受精卵在里面发育成长，一直到达出生时的体重为止。 他把书放在一旁，拿起挂在厨房墙上的电话筒拨号。 “我找厄尼·平格先生，”他说：“我是哈德林公司的提摩西·柯恩。” “请等一会儿。” 老先生立刻接了电话。 “嗨！我最喜欢的调查员最近调查得怎么样了？” “还好。”提摩西说：“先生，你呢？” “你有什么事要告诉我吗？” “也不尽然。但是我有几个问题要问你，也许你的答案对我的调査工作能有帮助。” “当然可以，什么问题？” “你公司和鲁瑟斯工业公司可有任何业务往来？” 对方完全沉默。 “平格先生