Chapter 38 Section thirty-seven

Jeffrey Elliott Aged fifty-three at the time, he had been a policeman in the city during his thirty-year career.Half of his working hours are spent in the homicide squad, where he works almost around the clock in the most dangerous places in the city, often seeking out hostile witnesses and arresting those who would not hesitate to kill again. outlaws.His professional world is filled with violence, drugs and a disregard for civilized behaviour, even life.However, the most remarkable thing about this extremely humble man is that he never drew his gun in a fit of rage. In this case, both witnesses and suspects have a large number of solid criminal records.In fact, his killer was a typical white-collar businessman who was the subject of a recent interview for this column—Malach, Dr. Ross, CEO of Parnassus Health Maintenance.Grisky's investigation, which began with the death of Rose's predecessor, Tim Markham, in Portola Hospital's intensive care unit, has expanded to include Markham's murder; The numerous patients who died in Portola over a period of more than a year also came into his investigation.Dr. Ross is now in prison, and according to his account, he was the murderer of all these patients and Grisky.

The sound of the phone interrupted Elliott's train of thought. He glanced back at the few paragraphs he had written with tired eyes, realizing that this was not enough.These words fail to capture the spirit of Griski's manner, the substance of his personality, the image he has always projected to those who know him well.He looked at his watch. It was nearly one in the morning, and there was still an hour to go before the deadline, which he now had to rush out to replace another column he had been working on this afternoon.Maybe he could write it as a composite story of anecdote or two, maybe with a picture of Grisky smiling - of course he knew that was impossible - anyway , have to write something more humane.That phone rang again, and not answering it wasn't going to help, and it wasn't going to change anything.

He grabbed the phone. It was Hardy. "What do you have to say?" he asked. On the following Tuesday morning, Hardy sat across from Marlene Ash on stage in the Police Commissioner hearing room.He looked up and saw the clouds rolling in the sky outside, and thought they were getting thicker and thicker.It looks like it will be a cold spring, maybe a lukewarm summer.He planned to take a two-month break after the children's school year was over, rent a car, take Franny and the children, and run back and forth to Alaska, camping and playing along the way.He's going fishing, hiking, because you never know how much stuff you'll have in this lifetime.Your life could end suddenly.He needs to think about it and do something about it.

"Sorry. Can you repeat what your question was?" "The circumstances that brought Captain Griski to Mr. Bataan's apartment." "Okay." He said without hesitation, facing the grand jury assembled in front of him, "As I said, and as Miss Ash has already explained, I have always Working independently, but on the same pace as the District Attorney on the elements of the Portola Hospital homicide case. I have obtained some documents written by Mr. Markham, and in order to further investigate based on them, ask Gris Captain Key was with me on the job, and that morning we spoke to Michael Andreotti, Portola's superintendent, and then Patrick Foley, Parnassus' corporate counsel.

"Captain Griski believes we have enough information to obtain a warrant to search Rose's house. In particular, he wants to seize his clothing and send it to the police laboratory for examination There was Mrs. Markham's blood. As far as I understand, it must have been on his clothes according to what he said. But Griski couldn't get a search warrant based on what we had. "At the time, Captain Griski returned to his post as head of the Homicide Squad. He could not legally pursue Dr. Ross without further information. I also fucked myself for the rest of the day. I've had the idea during our conversation with Mr. Andreotti that Dr. Ross may have been in Portola all along and was involved in those murders on what we call the Kenson List. —the critically ill patients who have died there unexpectedly since last year. Another suspect in those murders was a Portola nurse named Rayan Badan. Among the many murders, Mr. Badan seemed has always been the only one who had the opportunity and justified euthanasia to kill them. His wife died a few years ago after suffering from a medical condition, and police detectives noticed that as a nurse, He seemed suspiciously oversensitized to his illness. The police had already interviewed Bataan, but the Captain and I agreed that I should interview him again. As I am not a police officer, it might make him feel With less stress, he might open his mouth to say something useful.

"Anyway, I asked Grisky if I could talk to him, and he agreed and gave me Mr. Bataan's home address and phone number. After work, I went to Bataan As I had hoped, he finally let go of his suspicions about Dr. Ross. He also admitted that he was very worried that the police would blame him for the murders. It was clear that Ross was frequently in the Portola, and at least he was there for many of the days when the killings were suspected to have occurred. "From this point of view, I thought it would be worthwhile to try and force Dr. Ross to act. Because from some of the other things we've gathered, I suspect he has a lot of cash in his house right now. I got Mr. Bataan Let him pretend to blackmail him, to see if he can be lured out to meet us."

Having said that, Hardy now lowered his head and wiped his forehead with his hands, looking remorseful. "Looking back now, it may have been a mistake. I could have simply recorded Mr. Bataan's original phone call, and it might have been enough for Judge Comoro to issue a search warrant. But I didn't do that. Instead, Mr. Badan made that call, and when it seemed to work, I called Griski and within about half an hour he was there with Bracco and Agent Fisk. "I would like to add that both Captain Griski and the other two agents were disturbed by my plan and strongly opposed it. The Captain actually predicted that Dr. Ross, if he was guilty, would Become unpredictable, do not know exactly what actions will be taken, and may go to extremes. He is very unwilling to involve Mr. Badan, a non-professional, in such a dangerous situation. However, due to the It had already happened, and we had to launch it on the verge of an arrow, and because Mr. Bataan was not only willing to take this risk, but also strongly wanted to participate in this action, so we continued to do it according to this plan. At that time Come on, there seems to be no one-size-fits-all solution to force Ross to act other than this.

"So Captain Griski and I waited in that dark bedroom next door to the kitchen while Bracco and Agent Fisk stood guard in his car parked around the corner, seeing the room As soon as the lights in the building flashed and dimmed, they quickly ran over for reinforcements." He shrugged regretfully, with a sad look on his face. "That plan seemed reasonable and without undue risk. But I didn't expect Dr. Ross to act so quickly. In fact, if Mr. Badan hadn't found a way to hint to us loudly that Ross had drawn his gun Mr. Badan would probably have been killed had Captain Griski, at great cost to himself, had not acted so quickly."

A week later, after an hours-long client syndicate on the glass-enclosed balcony of Freeman's office, Hardy came out and was somewhat surprised to see Harlan and Fisk there. .At that time, Fisk was standing next to Phyllis' reception desk in an awkward posture, waiting for someone.The chubby, young-looking detective looked to be in his early twenties at the most.Almost from the moment he saw Hardy, he seemed to feel a little uncomfortable, and rushed over to shake hands with him in a hurry. "I was just about to tell you," Fisk said when they were upstairs together in Hardy's office, "that I was going to leave the Homicide Squad. I wasn't born to be a cop anyway, like Darrell or the Captain. Fact. I don't know if you've heard, but Darrell has put on that uniform again and is a biker. My aunt offered to get me a job in her office, but I'm not going That way. People seem to hate that sort of job for no apparent reason."

"That's a good call," Hardy said. "Anyway, I have friends who do venture capital investing, and they think I'll be of great use to them in some way. I'm willing to give it a go. Do business for me. Actually, do me back. you understand me." Hardy didn't understand why Fisk told him this at all, but just smiled noncommittally, and replied: "This is a good idea at any time. Is there anything I can do for you?" "Well, you know," Fisk said with a sigh, "I was hoping to find some information about the car that killed Mr. Markham. I know people laugh at me all the time, but I really I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the case and I'm going to prove it to them. But you listened to me and saw my list of Dodge Arrows and even asked me for a copy .I just want you to know that I appreciate what you've done to me."

This kid would make a great politician, Hardy thought.For him, any contact with people is an opportunity to make friends, influence each other, and exchange for others' favor. "I suppose it will come to light naturally." "Yes, that's the last thing. I hope you understand that it's impossible. I've checked every single one of the twenty-three cars in the city. Indeed only twenty are left. The rest I couldn't find the three of them anyway. I just thought you probably wanted to know how it ended." "I see exactly what you mean," Hardy said. "If you need a lawyer for your new firm, come see me." "Do you also take business law cases?" "Sometimes. It's not my strong suit." "Okay, okay..." Fisk stretched out his hand to say goodbye to Hardy, "It's a pleasure to work with you." When he walked to the door, he turned back again and said, "No one will blame you, You know—in case you think anyone does." The trace of finding Luz Lopez brought Hardy to a box apartment house built by the government in a way of heightening and expanding according to the housing construction plan.The concrete, brushed-cement exteriors of these three-story apartment buildings once had a bright exterior, but now not even graffiti can hide the color of the urine-stained buildings.As he expected, no one knew where she had gone. But he knew that the second-floor apartment at 1921 Elsie Court was the last known address of Luz Lopez, one of the registered owners of the three Dodge Arrows that Fiske could not find.Finally, he convinces a woman in the neighborhood that he's not the police, but the insurance company, trying to track down Luz so he can send her some money for her baby. She had moved away, and the neighbor didn't know where she had gone.Perhaps one morning three weeks ago, she left early in the morning and never came back.Yet the neighbor believed she had worked at the Osaka hotel for many years.Maybe they had a forwarding address she left behind. "That car? Yes, it's green. That bumper sticker says 'FINATA'." Hardy did some research on this online. FINATA is an agricultural reform movement in the Republic of El Salvador.In this country, 10 percent of the population owns 90 percent of the land.About ten years ago, FINATA once established a radical government to implement a plan to redistribute wealth in the country, but most of its supporters were either beheaded or expelled. He had already imagined what happened next.Here she came with her son, whom Parnassus later killed.As the face of that company, Markham took social responsibility for the boy's death, yet Hardy knew the culprit was Rose. But in Luz Lopez's eyes, it was Markham who killed her child. Helpless, impoverished and living in a foreign country, she may feel that she is powerless to rely on legal means to seek justice.The law would never move a finger of such a powerful man.But she can avenge her son herself.She could run over that greedy, unfeeling bastard with a disgusting grin with a car. It's four o'clock in the afternoon on Saturday, June 2nd.Outside, the sun is shining brightly, but the cold north wind blowing still makes people feel chills.But at the Clover Bar, Hardy was throwing a private party, and it was warm, not cold at all.The bar was packed with guests from all walks of life, including city workers, policemen, lawyers, judges, journalists, well-wishers of all kinds and their children. They had hauled in some sawhorses from the back of the house and laid some plywood on them to make a long table in the middle of the room.Once the party started, it seemed that a few minutes would be devoted to gift-giving and souvenirs, and nothing else to do but to have fun.The two guys in the wheelchairs were at the head of the table, behind them were the couches that had been put up to make room.Jeff Elliott's gift was the first to be given, and he slammed his glass on the table to silence the house.McGuire turned the turntable to the only disco song on the record Hardy had bought for the occasion, Gloria Gaylor's "I'll Survive." "I think this is the only thing suitable for you," said Elliott, reaching across the table to hand the flat package. "What's this?" Grisky asked. "It's a draft of that 'Urban Conversation' column I'm halfway through when you look like you're dying. It's a bunch of lies." "I'm not dying. I'm just resting. It was a tiring case." "Well, then you've fooled us all." Amid the clamor of demands, Griski held up the framed manuscript for fun, and everyone clapped and cheered. Hardy, Franny, and Treya sit at the other end of the table. "That wheelchair is a bit redundant, don't you think?" Hardy asked. "He walked very well in your place yesterday." "He won't be able to exert himself for a few more weeks," Franny said. "Doctor's order," Franny added, leaning back and whispering, "the fool was trying to do sit-ups last week and ripped a scab off a wound. Sit-ups sit!" "How many did he make?" Hardy asked. "Dismas!" Franny scolded him for his rashness. "Eight, that fool!" Hardy raised his head and shook his head with a look of disdain. "Only eight, and he broke his own intestines." When he lowered his head and looked back to the table, he was happy to see his best friend sitting there in embarrassment, "What a A spineless person."