Chapter 9 Chapter Seven Tightening the Snare

"Petty," my father said the next morning, "there's something unspeakably evil about this little town." "Aha," I said in a low voice, "so you found out too?" "Please don't talk in that tone," complained the father, "it's not ladylike. And why don't you tell me what's going on—well, I know you hate Hume—but You don't hate me, do you? How do you know Dou is innocent? How dare you be so sure?" I was silent. What I said yesterday was really unwise. In fact, I can't prove it at all.There is one doubtful point that I still don't understand, as long as I figure it out, everything will become clear... So I said, "I can't prove it yet."

"Well, what's interesting is that, as it stands, I don't think Deo did kill Fawcett." "Oh, dear Ugly Daddy!" I cried and kissed him, "I know he's no more a murderer than a forty-year-old can have smallpox, and he can't have killed that wretched Senator. "I watched Jeremy's broad back disappear at the end of the road, poor, he had to rejoin the camp of the working class this morning, and then came home dirty for dinner after dark, "What about you? Why did you Do you think Deo is not the murderer?" "Hey, what's this for?" Father frowned. "Teach me? Also, you're too young to talk big like you did yesterday. Can you prove it? Please, Petty, you'd better Be careful, I don't want people to think—"

"You think I'm embarrassing you?" "Oh, Patty, I didn't say that—" "You think I'm messing things up, don't you? You think I should wrap myself in a woolen blanket and sit in a corner quietly, don't you?" "Oh--" "You think you're still living in the old-fashioned days of tutus? You think women can't vote, they can't smoke, they can't say curses, they can't have boyfriends, they can't talk, do you? It's a trick of the devil, against the teachings of the Bible, isn't it?" "Petty," his father turned cold and stood up, "don't talk to a father in this way." Then he walked into Clay's colonial-style house with heavy steps.Ten minutes later, he reappeared, lit a cigarette for me with a match, and then apologized, looking a little embarrassed.Poor dad!He really doesn't understand women.

Then we went to the city together. That morning—Saturday, after that eerie night of murders and visits to Algonquin Prison—Jeremy's father and father agreed that we would stay at Clay's as guests.Prosecutor Hume and others yesterday warned his father not to reveal his past police credentials and reputation before breaking up. Both he and Elihu Clay agreed that his father's original investigation into Dr. Fawcett's solicitation of a large contract The inside story of the incident may be related to the murder of Senator Fawcett, so my father intends to participate in it and wait and see what happens.And for me, this decision is very important, because I know that unless God shows up, otherwise Alan Deo will never be able to escape the suspicion.

After Allen, who was drunk the night before, was arrested, my father and I were most interested in two things. One was to listen to Allen's own words, and the other was to meet and talk with that amazing Fawcett.Since Dr. Fawcett's whereabouts were still unknown until Saturday morning, we decided to concentrate on the first thing. On arrival at the stone town hall in Leeds, we were immediately shown to the private office of Prosecutor Hume, who was in good spirits this morning--busy, active, interested, bright-eyed, and in my eyes , and a smug look, which is really annoying. "Good morning, good morning," he said, rubbing his hands, "Miss Sam, how are you? Do you still think we have wronged an innocent person? And think you can prove the truth?"

"Yes, and more determined. Mr. Hume." I sat down and took the cigarette handed by the other party. "Well, well, let you judge. Bill," he yelled out into the office, "call the jail and bring Dow over here for another questioning." "Have you already interrogated?" the father asked. "Yes, but I've got to convince other people." He had a smug, confident look on his face, as if God and the flag were with him.While he has always put up with our hostility, it is clear that he has always considered Aaron to be as guilty as Cain in the Bible for killing his brother Abel.And just by looking at Hume's stubborn, decent face, I could see that he was convinced that Dow was the murderer.My idea is purely logical, but this stubborn guy in front of me will not accept any speculation at all except evidence.

Alan Deo was brought in by two stout detectives. Such close guard was unnecessary, because the suspect was a small, timid, weak old man, and with his narrow and thin shoulders, only one guard could do it. One hand could break his spine.I've pictured this unattractive fellow arbitrarily in my mind, but even Warden Magnus' descriptions are far less pathetic than he actually is. His face was small and shaped like a hatchet--cut, lined, gray, and stupidly lifeless-looking--and had an expression distorted by pain and despair, except for the cruel and dull Except for Kenyon and Hume, who was dazzled by the sense of justice, no one would be able to bear it.On that simple, nun-like face, there was a kind of innocent haggardness and shock.However, being too innocent looks like a crime. These people are so eager to solve the case that they blindly forget that this is an instinctive human reaction.Joel Fawcett's murderer was a ruthless man, and probably a good actor, and the conclusions couldn't be more clear from the modus operandi of the crime. How could the murderer be the poor man in front of him?

"Sit down, Dow," said Hume without sympathy, and Dow obeyed obediently, one blue eye weeping with longing and terror.Oddly enough, the lid of his right eye appears to be permanently blind, and his right arm - which I noticed was a little shrunken - hangs limply, but the handicap doesn't make him look any more menacing. , but made him look even more lonely and helpless. The high wall of the prison obviously carved a distinct imprint on him. His behavior is sneaky, his head twists and turns restlessly like a monkey, his complexion is unnaturally pale, and he moves cautiously when he walks... …

He hummed hoarsely: "Yes, sir. Yes, Mr. Hume. Yes, sir." His voice was urgent, like a loyal dog sticking out its tongue.Even the manner in which he spoke seemed more sinful, with his mouth slanted and his lips stiff.When he suddenly turned his one eye to me, I held my breath in horror. He seemed a little confused, wondering if my presence would help him. The father stood up silently, and then the one eye looked up with interest and pleading. "Doo," said Hume, "this gentleman is coming to your aid, and he has come all the way from New York to talk to you." These words seem to me to be utter nonsense.

Alan Dow's expressive eyes suddenly flashed suspiciously: "Yes, sir," he said, curling up in his chair, "but I can't really help. Mr. Hume, I've already I told you, I didn't kill him." Father winked at the prosecutor, and Hume nodded and sat down.I watched with great interest. I had never seen my father interrogate a prisoner with my own eyes before, and his time as a policeman was always a rumor to me.It quickly became clear to me that my father had a rare gift, and the way he earned Austria's trust was a whole new side of me.His clever and invisible use of psychology shows that he is indeed a master.

"Look at me, Deo," he said, in a relaxed yet authoritative tone, and the poor wretch froze, looking at his father, and they stared at each other in silence for a while, and the father said, "You know I'm who?" Doo licked his lips. "No—no, sir." "I'm Inspector Sam of the NYPD." "Oh." Deo looked suspicious, his little head with thin gray hair was still warily twisting around, not looking into our eyes.His expression was alert but expectant, as if he wanted to both run away and get closer. "Have you heard of me before?" the father continued. "Well..." Deo struggled between remaining silent and speaking, "I met a thief in prison, and he said you—you saved him from the electric chair." "In Algonquin prison?" "Yes... yes, sir." "That must be Sam Levy of the Houston Street Gang in New York City," said the father with a smile of reminiscence. "Sam was a good boy, but he was framed by a group of armed robbers. Now listen carefully." Now, Deo, did Sam tell you about me?" Deo shifted restlessly in his chair, "Why are you asking this?" "Just curious, goddammit, after doing Sam such a favor, I don't think he's going to say anything bad about me—" "He didn't!" screamed Deo angrily. "He said you were a straight, honest cop." "Oh, is it?" said the father, raising his voice. "Of course, he should say so. After all, you know I don't set people up on purpose, don't you? You know I never set a trap for people to get in." Jump, right?" "I—I think you're right, Inspector." "Very good! Then we all know each other." My father sat down and crossed his legs comfortably. "Now, Deo, this Mr. Hume thinks you killed Senator Fawcett. My words are absolutely true. Not to scare Yours. You are in a terrible situation now." Deo's one eye was full of fear again, looking at Hume, Hume's face flushed slightly, and he gave his father a hard look.The father went on: "As for me, I don't think you killed Fawcett, and so does my daughter—that pretty little girl—and thinks you're innocent." "Hmm," Doo murmured without raising his head. "Now, why do I think you didn't kill Fawcett, you know, Deo?" This time Deo had a positive reaction. He looked into his father's eyes frankly, with curiosity and hope shining on his dark face, "No, sir, I don't know! I only know that I didn't kill him. Why? ?” "I'll tell you why." My father clenched his fist and placed it on Doo's thin knee, which I noticed was shaking. "Because I understand human nature, and I understand how murderers work. Of course, you killed a drunk man twelve years ago because of an argument, but people like you are not murderers." "Yes, Inspector!" "You don't kill with a knife, even if you wanted to kill a person, would you use a knife?" "No!" Deo shouted, with veins protruding from his thin neck, "I'm not that kind of person, I don't know how to use a knife!" "Of course you didn't, that's clear. Now you say you didn't kill Senator Fawcett, and I believe you. But someone did. Who did it?" Deo clenched his old and strong left hand, "In good conscience, I don't know. Inspector, I was framed, I was framed." "Of course you're bloody framed. But you know Senator Fawcett, don't you?" Deo jumped up from the chair, "That dirty liar, of course I know him!" Then, a panicked look crossed his face, perhaps realizing that such an admission would be a trap, he suddenly stopped, He stared at his father fiercely. Father handled this unexpected situation very cleverly, putting on a hurt expression, "You misunderstood me, Deo." He complained, "You think I'm trying to kidnap you to confess, huh, I won't. You Don't have to admit that you know Senator Fawcett, the prosecutor found a letter written by you in Fawcett's desk, and that alone can send you to heaven, do you understand?" Deo calmed down, murmured words, and looked at his father in pain.I looked at his face and couldn't help trembling slightly.That vulgar, angular face, a mixture of suspicion, hope, and fear, haunted me in the days that followed.I glanced at Hume, who seemed unmoved.I learned later that when the police and the District Attorney's Office first questioned Alan Deo, he stubbornly refused to admit anything, even when he saw the fatal letter.This made me admire my father's ingenious interrogation technique, which was able to open the hard shell that was sealed in Doo. "Very well," said my father calmly. "We can't save you, Deo, unless you tell the truth about that story. How long have you known Senator Fawcett?" Doo licked his parched lips again, "I—I...fucking long ago." "Have you ever done anything bad, Deo?" "I cannot say, Inspector." "Okay," my father knew early on that some things would never be revealed, so he immediately shifted his focus, "but you got in touch with him in Algonquin Prison, didn't you?" After a moment of silence, Deo said, "Yes, yes, sir, that's right." "You gave him the sawn box and a letter in the toy box, didn't you?" "Well... I think so." "What's the purpose of you giving him that box?" I think everyone present is very clear that although the interrogation went smoothly, it may still be wishful thinking to ask the whole truth of the story from Deo.Mentioning the toy box, Deo seemed optimistic, with a smile on his wrinkled face and a sly look in his one eye.My father saw it too, and didn't show his disappointment. "That's just a, uh, signal," Deo whispered cautiously, "that way he'll know it's me." "I see. You mentioned in your letter that you would call the senator on the day you were released from prison. Did you call?" "Yes, I did." "Have you found Fawcett himself?" "Fucking right, I found him," Deo replied angrily, and then reining in his emotions, "he answered me, OK, OK, everything's all right." "You agreed to meet last night?" Deo's blue eye was full of doubts again, "Uh...yes." "What time is your appointment?" "At the sixth ringing, I mean eleven o'clock." "Did you go to the appointment?" "No, I didn't, Inspector, you must believe me!" He said hastily, "I have been in a bitter kiln for twelve years, and I don't look like someone who got 'A point'. Twelve years of fucking It’s really long enough, so when I get out of prison, I just want to drink some wine. There is only potato water in the prison. After a long time, I almost forget what real wine is like.” My father later explained to me, “A point” It is a slang word in the prison, which refers to serving one year in prison; as for "potato water", Warden Magnus later told me that it is secretly brewed by inmates who want to drink and go crazy in the prison, using potato skins and other ingredients. Made from fermented scraps of vegetables. "So, Inspector, as soon as I was free, I found a bootleg place in town, on the corner of Chennagau and Smith. Go ask their bartender, Inspector, he's my proof." !" The father said with a crooked eyebrow: "Hume, is it true? Have you checked it?" Hume smiled and said, "Of course, Inspector, as I said, I won't slander good people casually. Unfortunately, although the owner of the bootleg liquor store confirmed Deo's statement, he also told us that Deo was in Left there about eight o'clock last night. So Deo had no alibi at all when it happened, because Fawcett was killed at ten-twenty." "I was drunk at the time," Deo murmured. "After I got out of prison, I drank so much old wine that my head was confused. I don't really remember what happened after I left that hotel. Let's hang out. Anyway, I swayed for a while, and the wine was almost sober before about eleven o'clock." He hesitated in his tone, licking his lips again and again, like a starving cat. "Go on," said the father softly. "Have you been to the Fawcetts?" Deo cried out with misery in his eyes: "Yes, but I didn't go in, I didn't go in! I saw the bright lights, and there were so many policemen, and I knew right away that I was in a trap. My first thought was that things were messed up Yes, I've been tricked. So I turned and ran like a ghost, into the woods, and—then they got me. But I didn't do it, I swear to God, it wasn't me!" Father stood up and paced up and down.I sighed, as the triumphant smile on Prosecutor Hume's mouth suggested, things weren't looking good. Even without a knowledge of the law, I can understand how difficult Dow's situation is.He's a man with a felony record.How does his testimony stand against overwhelming circumstantial evidence? "Didn't you get fifty thousand yuan?" "Fifty thousand yuan?" Deo called out, "I tell you, I didn't even see it!" "Well, Deo," said my father, "we'll try to help you." Hume ordered the two detectives, "Take him back to the detention center." Before Deo could say anything more, he was escorted out by them. Despite great expectations in advance, our meeting with Deo didn't yield much other evidence.Deo is in custody awaiting a grand jury, and there is nothing we can do to prevent his indictment.According to something Hume told my father before we left, my father, who had always been well versed in politics, believed that Deo would soon become a victim of "justice".In New York City, most criminal cases take months to go to trial due to the overload of cases in the courts.However, there have never been many cases here in upstate New York. In addition, the special care of the prosecutor based on political reasons will definitely exert pressure to close the case as soon as possible. Indicted, convicted, sentenced. "Nobody wants the case to be delayed, Inspector," said Hume. "Yes," said the father with a cheerful expression, "the prosecutor is eager to add a scalp to his belt as a trophy, and Fawcett and his gang are eager to pay for their blood. By the way, Dr. Fawcett is in Where? Have you contacted him?" "Please, Inspector," Hume said with a red face and a rapid tone, "I don't care about your sarcasm. As I said before, I really believe this guy is the murderer. The circumstantial evidence is too strong. My judgment is based on facts , not a theory! You accuse Sang and scold Huai that I am making political capital..." "Calm down," said the father calmly. "Of course you are honest, but you are also blind, and have been too eager to solve the case to ignore many clues. From your standpoint, I can't blame you. But, Hume, This whole thing is so fucking mysterious, with all the evidence clearly pointing to ready-made suspects, this kind of case is too rare, and it is completely unpsychological. There is no way this poor thing is the murderer, that's all... you still Didn't answer my question about Dr. Ella Fawcett's whereabouts." "I haven't found it yet," Hume said in a low voice. "Inspector, it's a pity that you have such an idea about Deo. Why do you insist on looking for complicated explanations when the facts are in front of you? Except for what the wooden box symbolizes Beyond the significance — which would not matter at all, if not for some historical significance involved — there are only a few details left to close the case.” "Really?" said the father, "then we shall retire." So we went back to Clay's House on the Hill in great dismay. Father and Elihu Clay were at the mine on Sundays, looking vainly through the ledger files.As for me, shut up in my room, made it clear to Jeremy that I was in a bad mood, smoked a whole pack of cigarettes, and thought about the whole case.I lay on the bed in pajamas with my limbs stretched out. The sun warmed my ankles but not my heart.Thinking of the horrible situation Deo was facing and my own helplessness, I felt a chill come over me.I checked my reasoning step by step. Although the logic was unbreakable, I couldn't find any actual evidence to prove Deao's innocence legally.Alas, they won't believe my stuff... Jeremy knocked on my door, "Wake up, Petty, and go for a ride with me." "Go away, brat." "Petty, the weather is amazing today. The sun, the leaves, everything is beautiful, let me in." "What! Want me to entertain young men in my pajamas?" "Come on, I want to talk to you." "You promise not to mess around?" "I don't agree to what the hell, let me in." "Well," I sighed, "the door is unlocked. Jeremy, if you insist on taking advantage of a weak woman, I can't help it." He came in and sat by my bed, the sun shining on his curls. "Daddy's precious son, did he eat vegetables today?" "Stop the bullshit, Petty, be serious, I want to talk to you." "Go ahead, your tonsils look healthy." He took my hand, "Why don't you leave these horrible things behind?" I breathed toward the ceiling. "This is your idea. You don't understand me, Jeremy. Don't you understand that an innocent person is in danger of being electrocuted?" "Leave these things to those most qualified to handle them." "Jeremy Clay," I said angrily, "that's the dumbest argument I've ever heard. Who's the most qualified man? Hume? That handsome guy can only talk grandiose scenes, he can't see it Two inches under the nose. Kenyon? Stupid and grim and disgustingly nasty; add the laws of Leeds, boy, and that's enough to keep Aaron D'Orien alive. Can't see it." "What about your father?" he asked maliciously. "Well, Dad is going in the right direction, but if I can help a little, it won't do any harm... Also, Mr. Clay, don't rub my hands, they're almost ruined by you." He leaned closer. "Patiens, dear, I—" "Now," I sat up from the bed, "you should go out. When a young lad's temperature is abnormal and his eyes are full of lust, it means he should go." After he left, I sighed, Jeremy was a very nice boy, but he couldn't have been more helpful in rescuing Aaron Deo from circumstantial evidence. Then I thought of old Mr. Jerry Lane, feeling better, if all else fails...