Chapter 44 Chapter Forty-Three

"Are we going to buy a house?" "Well, we're going to see the house." Jackson said, searching the real estate newspaper. "We're going to see the new housing estate. Hart House, do you know the company?" "I really want to make a home for you. I've seen one, and it's a bit poorly built. I don't like the new residential area at all." He thought that Jackson might live in a new residential area, and worried about his own words It would upset him, but Jackson said, "I don't like it either." "We're not actually looking at houses to buy a house," he added, and Martin wondered if Jackson thought he was being retarded. "We're just looking for a show. I'm looking for someone. Watch out, Martin, that bus over there." It looks like it's going to hit you."

"Sorry." "This room is comfortable and pleasant, it feels so homey." The woman who showed them around the display area of ​​Blakecroft's houses paused here.Martin guessed it was because he and Jackson didn't seem so at home.Dressed in a sky-blue suit and a colorful scarf, the woman looked like a professional resort escort, and her name tag read "Maggie."Martin wondered if he could get a name tag to wear too—"William" or "Simon," not one of Martin's names anyway.In this way, changing identities would seem to be simple. "Good." Jackson said blankly.

It was a north-facing room, completely out of the sun's favor.Martin began to feel sorry for his family.Was he going to move back in when those cops were done and live with Richard Mott's ghost for the rest of his life?If he wanted to sell it, would he be able to get it off his hands?Maybe he should hire "Maggie."He imagined her walking around the house with the inspector, and said in a clear tone, this is the living room, this room is comfortable and pleasant, it feels so homely, and this is where Richard Mott was smashed out. Where does the brain come from? "Of course, the Hart House is a home for anyone," said Maggie. "It's not just a family. And what's a family like?" She frowned. , seems to be seriously thinking about this issue.She looked nervous and overwhelmed.

They shuffled up the stairs after her. "Are you on a tight budget?" she asked, looking back. "Remember that Waverley houses are much more spacious and have bigger gardens--that's not to say there's anything bad about Braycroft, Bray." The Croft room type can be said to be a creative use of space." "The sparrow is small." Jackson murmured. "This is the master bedroom," Maggie said loudly, "with its own bathroom, of course." Martin sat down on the bed.He'd love to lie down and sleep, but he guesses they won't let him.

"Okay, thank you, Maggie." Jackson said, turning around and walking downstairs, "We will definitely consider your suggestion carefully." Feeling that a deal was lost, she seemed disappointed, and her whole body suddenly Lost spirit. "Come to the mobile office and let me take your names," she said. Going outside, the sun seems to be stronger than before.The residential area was built on a slope between two mountains, and the terrain produced a strange sound effect. Even if there were no cars in sight, the rumble of the highway was still roaring in my ears.A dusty pot of red geraniums by the door of the mobile office seemed to be the only visible sign of natural life.A JCB excavator slowly drove past.

Although half of the residents in this residential area have been occupied, the construction work is still in progress.Martin sat down in one of the hard-backed chairs in the mobile office.He is so tired. "What's your name?" Maggie said to Jackson. "David Rustingham," Jackson blurted out. "Where's your friend?" she asked, looking at Martin. "Alex Black," said Martin wearily. It was his name, and it could be said to belong to him, but he guessed that David Rustingham didn't belong to Jackson anyway. "Where's the contact number?" Jackson said a number casually.Martin wondered if the number actually existed.

"Oh, by the way," Jackson mentioned casually to Maggie, "I'm an old acquaintance of Terry Smith's from a long time ago—you don't know where I can find him, do you?" You know? It would be great if we could talk about the old days." Maggie's face showed an expression of extreme disgust. "I don't know where Terry will be today." At this time, the phone rang, and she reached into her handbag, said "sorry, I have to go away for a while", and went out.To Martin's surprise, Jackson pounced on the filing cabinet like a thief and began to rummage carefully.

"I don't think it's legal," Martin said. "I think you're right." "I thought you used to be a cop." "That's right." The situation usually made Martin nervous, and he stood anxiously by the door, watching Maggie pace up and down while talking on the phone. Cell phone reception seemed to be bad, so she had to raise her voice and stop every few seconds to say, "Are you still there?" He heard her say, "He seems to be chattering. I know, I I don't believe it either. I think he doesn't want me anymore, even though he promised me so much." When she said this, she seemed to have difficulty controlling the expression on her face.She hung up the phone and pressed her eyes lightly with her hands.

"She's back!" Martin whispered to Jackson.When she returned to the mobile office, her face had regained her composure, while Jackson was concentrating on flipping through a brochure, which contained photos of all the houses for sale in the Hart House. "These houses are so good," he said, "I don't know which one to choose." He sighed and shook his head again. He looks so fake. "Go ahead," he said, turning to Martin, "back to the Batmobile, Robin." "I think it's here," Martin said, pulling the car in front of a wide open electric gate.They had come to the Grange District, and the address of the place in front of them should have been stolen by Jackson from Maggie's filing cabinet.

"God," says a sign by the door. "Who lives here?" asked Martin. "Graham Hart, owner of Hart House. Terrence Smith is employed by him, so I suppose he should know where he is." "And who is Terrence Smith?" "It's a long story, Martin." I have time, thought Martin, but he didn't say it.Time was all he had now, the tick-tock ticking of microseconds. "You go, I'll stay here and wait for you." He yawned.He wondered if that iron cocktail that so-called Paul Bradley had made him drink was a chronic poison, whether it somehow disrupted his metabolism in the long term.One minute he was twitching with excitement, the next he was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes shut.

"Not long," Jackson said. Martin opened the glove box in the car, looking for something to read.The only thing he could find was a stack of fliers for Richard's show, a miniature version of the "Comedy Viagra—Give Your Brain a Strong Drug" poster, which he must have left in the car on Tuesday. Martin closed his eyes, and just as he was about to doze lightly, he heard a string of tunes that he could never have misheard.The hairs on the back of his head stood up like brush bristles, and the familiar opening bars of the "Robin Hood" theme wafted into his ears from the car window.His heart was beating wildly, as if it was about to jump out of his cavity.Richard Mott's cell phone was ringing. Just down the street.right next to you.Martin stared at the stars, searching for where the fleeting theme song came from.A blue Honda sedan pulls up behind his car.A blue Honda sedan.Blue Honda?No, there are hundreds of blue Hondas in the world, and it doesn't have to be the one owned by the crazy guy who wields a baseball bat. The theme song from "Robin Hood" sounded again.Martin opened the door and rolled out of the car. Did not see anyone.Then he finally found him, the man walking down the driveway to Hart's house, the phone in his ear. He's definitely the guy in the Honda he saw on Tuesday.The man in the Honda holds Richard Mott's cell phone.How could this be possible, had he killed Richard Mott?But why did he kill Richard Mott? —Could it be that the guy with the Honda took his laptop, found his address, and came to Merchiston just to kill Martin?Something seized his heart and oppressed him.That is fear. Martin expected the man in the Honda to ring the doorbell and give his name, as people usually do, but instead he walked across the lawn and stood in front of the French windows. After hanging up the phone, he took out the baseball bat out of nowhere, just like last time.He raised the bat high as if about to hit a field ball, but he just smashed the window panes with the bat.

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