Chapter 9 used as testimony

"You have the right to remain silent, but everything you say will be recorded and potentially used as testimony." It is one of the official warnings given to suspects by police in the UK and Ireland. A large police car slowly stopped beside the curb, about fifty feet away, a cordon ran across the road, keeping the onlookers out.The driver turned on the engine, and the wipers rhythmically scraped the drizzle off the windshield.In the back seat, Chief Superintendent William Hanley looked through the car window at a group of people watching outside the cordon, as well as the officials inside who were at a loss in twos and threes.

"You stay here," the superintendent told the driver, getting out of the car.The driver happily complied because the interior of the car was warm and comfortable.He felt that this rainy day was not suitable for walking up and down the streets of the slums.He nodded and turned off the engine. The superintendent closed the car door behind him with a "bang", wrapped his body tightly in the dark blue coat again, and walked towards the gap in the cordon.A dripping wet police officer was there watching people coming in and out of the cordoned off area.After seeing Hanli, he saluted and stood aside to let him in.

It took Big Bill Hanley twenty-seven years to rise to his present position from a junior cop in a Liberal neighborhood.He was over six-foot-one and solid as a truck, perfect for the job.Thirty years ago, he was the top striker on the County Athlone rugby team in Ireland before donning the green Ireland jersey and joining the strongest team the country has ever seen.Under the leadership of captain Karl Mullen, the team swept England, Wales, Scotland and France in a triangle match to win a three-peat.After he became a policeman, playing basketball did not affect his promotion. He loves the job.Although the salary is low and the working hours are long, you can get satisfaction from it.Of course, in every business there are tricky tasks, and this morning was one of them - eviction.

For two years, the Dublin City Council has been working to demolish a sprawling old house in the Gloucester Diamond District. Why it is called that name is a mystery.That place has neither the wealth and fame of the British Gloucester royal family, nor expensive and dazzling diamonds. It is just a slum of shacks behind the pier on the north bank of the Liffey River.Now, most of the buildings here have been razed to the ground, and the original residents have been resettled into government-built apartment buildings.Through the rain one could make out the outlines of lifeless buildings half a mile away.

But this was the center of Bill Hanley's precinct, so he was in charge of the morning's business, even though it gave him quite a headache. The place separated by two police lines is the former center of Mayo Road.Now, it's as desolate here as it is in November.One side of the street is just a pile of rubble, and the bulldozers will soon be digging the foundations for a new shopping center.The other side of the street is the focus of the crowd.There was not a single building within those few hundred feet.The whole area is as flat as a sheet of pie, the rain glistening on the smooth black asphalt.It's a parking lot, two acres in size, for people who will be commuting to nearby office buildings in the future.The entire two-acre site has been surrounded by a two-meter-high fence.In fact, the two acres were almost completely fenced off.

In the middle of the lot, facing the Mayo Road, there was a lonely house, like a broken tooth stuck in a row of beautiful teeth.The sides of the house had been bulldozed, so the only remaining house was braced on two sides.All the houses that were once connected to this lonely house are gone.Paved with asphalt in three directions, the house is like a lonely sand castle surrounded by sea water on the beach.It was this house, and the terrified old man who lived in it, that was the center of the morning's events and the focus of the people's dinners.Residents who had moved to new apartment buildings came to watch how the last of their old neighbors was evicted.

Bill Hanley walked across the front door.A lot of officials gathered there, and they all stared at the broken house, as if the end of the world was coming, and they didn't know what to do.In fact, there is nothing to see here.Facing the pavement is a low brick wall that separates the pavement from the so-called front garden.The garden didn't look like a garden either, just a few feet of weeds tangled around each other.The main entrance is on the side of the house, and it has been scarred by countless stones thrown over it.Inside, Hanley knew, must be a small foyer a yard square, directly opposite a narrow staircase leading upstairs; to the right of the hall should be a door leading to a one-room living room, the living room window next to the door closed. Broken and blocked off with cardboard; between the two is a hallway leading to a dirty kitchenette and a door leading to the back yard and open latrine; there should be a small fireplace in the living room as it is on the side of the house A chimney jutted into the drizzling air.Hanley had seen from the side that behind the house there was a yard as wide as the house and about twenty-five feet long.The yard is fenced with a six foot high plank fence.Hanley had learned before that the ground in the yard was full of chicken droppings, because the old man had built a chicken coop on the side of the yard next to the rear fence and raised four reed chickens.That's the case.

The city hall has made arrangements for the old man as much as possible, provided him with a bright and clean new apartment, and even gave him a small house elsewhere.Social workers, relief workers and church workers took turns visiting him.They persuaded him, reasoned with him, and promised him to postpone the moving date time and time again; but he just refused to move.The front, back, left, and right sides of his residence have been demolished, but he still refuses to move out.The project is in progress in an orderly manner. The parking lot has been leveled and asphalted, and the old man's house has been fenced around.However, the old man remained on hold.

The local news media buzzed and ran the story under the headline "The Hermit of Mayo Road."Local youths also gathered and threw stones and mud at the window, smashing the window glass to pieces.The old man was yelling and cursing through the broken window, which made them all the more energetic. In the end, City Hall issued an eviction order, and a magistrate also ordered the forced eviction of the tenants.Many townspeople also flocked to the front gate of the house on this damp November morning. The Director of the Housing Authority greeted Hanli. "It's a hassle," he said. "It's a hassle. I hate this forced eviction."

"Yeah," Hanley said.He glanced at the crowd, and there were two bailiffs coming to perform their duties. They were tall and round, but they looked a little embarrassed. There were also two officials from the city hall, two policemen under Hanley, and an official from the health and welfare department. , a local doctor, and several petty officials.Barney Kelleher, a veteran photojournalist for the local paper, was there, followed by a young, hairless reporter.Hanley has always had a good relationship with the local media, and also has a good friendship with those old employees.Both sides perform their duties, there is no need to intrigue.Barney blinked, and Hanley nodded in response.The little reporter thought it was a sign of intimacy.

"Are you going to throw him out by force?" he asked briskly. Barney Kelleher glared at him.Hanley turned his gray eyes to the young man, and stared at him until the little reporter began to regret that he should have said so much. "We'll be as gentle as possible," Hanley said earnestly.The little reporter hurriedly wrote it down, not because he was afraid of forgetting such a short sentence, but because he wanted to find something to do. Nine o'clock had been ordered by the magistrate, and it was now two minutes past nine.Hanley nodded to the Director of the Housing Authority. "Begin," he said. City Hall officials went to the door and knocked loudly.No one agreed. "Mr. Larkin, are you in there?" he called.No one agreed.The official looked back at Hanley, who nodded.The officer cleared his throat and began to read the eviction order from City Hall.His voice was loud and could be heard inside, but he still didn't answer.He returned to the crowd on the road. "Why don't we give him five minutes?" he asked. "Okay," Hanley said.Outside the cordon at the scene, more and more former residents of the Gloucester Diamond District gathered here, and whispers began to spread from the crowd.Finally, a guy in the back plucked up his nerve. "Don't bother him," said the voice, "poor old man." Hanley strolled over to the cordon, and unhurriedly inspected the rows of faces one by one, staring into each pair of eyes.Most people avoided their eyes, and no one dared to speak. "Are you sympathizing with him?" Hanley asked softly. "Is it sympathy for him to smash all his windows last winter and let him freeze in it? Throwing stones and mud at him is a Do you sympathize with him?" There was a long silence, "Don't waste your time here." Hanley finished speaking and returned to the crowd in front of the door.Two bailiffs were staring at him, and Hanley nodded to them. "You can do it now," he said. Both were holding crowbars.One of them walked around between the mesh fence on the side of the house and the brick corner.With a skillful pry, he pried open three wooden fence boards and entered the backyard.He went to the back door and knocked on it repeatedly with a crowbar.His colleague also knocked on the front door after hearing the noise up front.There was no answer to the front or back door.The man at the front door stuck the point of the crowbar between the door and the frame and pried the door open with one blow.The door opened a three-inch crack and stopped - there was furniture in the way.The bailiff shook his head resignedly, turned to the other side of the door, pried off the two hinges, and took the door down in the front garden.Then, one by one, he removed the chairs and tables that had piled up in the hall until the room was clear.At last he went in and called, "Mr. Larkin?" There was a sound of something breaking behind him, and his friend entered from the other side of the kitchen. The two searched on the first floor, and the people on the street were silent.Then they noticed a pale face appearing in the upstairs bedroom window. "He's upstairs!" cried three or four voices from the crowd, like squires who spotted the fox before the rider.In fact, they just want to help.A bailiff poked his head out from the front doorjamb.Hanley nodded to the upstairs bedroom window, and the two of them mounted the narrow stairs.The face at the window was gone.There was no scuffle, and soon, they came down, and the person in front held the frail old man in his arms.He walked into the drizzle and stood there bewildered.Rescuers hurried over with a dry blanket.The bailiff supported the old man to his feet and wrapped the blanket around him.The old man looked exhausted from hunger, and a little dizzy, but mainly because he was scared out of his wits.Hanley made his decision.He turned to his car and beckoned the driver to bring it over.The city hall can send the old man to a nursing home later, but now he must have a good breakfast and a cup of hot tea. "Help him into the back seat," he said to the bailiff.After the old man was placed in the warm back seat of the car, Hanley also got into the car and sat beside him. "Come on," Hanley said to the driver. "Half a mile from here, take the second left, and there's a highway coffee shop. We'll go there." As the car backed out, through the cordon and past the crowd of onlookers, Hanley took a look at this unusual guest.The old man wore a pair of worn slacks and a light jacket with his shirt unbuttoned.It is said that he has been slovenly and sullen for several years.The old man stared silently at the back of the front seat, and did not respond to Hanley's gaze. "This day will come sooner or later," Hanley said gently, "Actually, you already knew it." Hanley was tall and strong.He could beat the pussies out of the punks on the docks if he wanted to.Big Bill Hanley was a kind man, despite his fleshy face and twice broken nose.The old man slowly turned his head to look at him, but did not speak. "Move, I mean," said Hanley, "they'll find you a nice place where it'll be warm and eat well. You'll see." The car stopped in front of the diner.After Hanley got out of the car, he turned to the driver. "Take him in," he said. Steaming in the warm restaurant, Hanley nodded towards an empty table in the corner.The police car driver helped the old man to the corner and helped him to sit against the wall.The old man didn't say a word, neither said thank you nor expressed objection.Hanley looked at the menu on the wall behind the counter.The restaurant owner wiped his hands with a damp rag and looked inquiringly. "Two eggs, bacon, tomato, sausage and chips," said Hanley, "a big cup of tea for the old guy in the corner first." He put the two pound note on the counter. "I'll wait Come back and get your change." The driver returned from the corner dining table to the counter. "Stay here and watch him," Hanley said. "I'll drive myself." The driver thought to himself, what a lucky day today, first staying in the warm car, and now in the warm cafe, it is a good opportunity to have a cup of tea and smoke a cigarette. "Shall I sit with him?" he asked. "He smells." "Look at him," Hanley repeated.He himself drove back to the construction site on Mayo Road. The construction team was ready long ago, and they didn't want to waste time.The contractor's workers were coming in and out of the house, removing the grimy belongings of the previous owners and piled them on the side of the road, where the rain drenched them.Now that it is raining heavily, the director of the housing management bureau held up his umbrella and watched from the sidelines.In the parking lot, two excavators with rubber wheels are on standby, ready to start from the back of the house and grind down the backyard and the toilet one by one.Behind the excavator is a row of dump trucks, a total of ten, ready to remove the bricks and tiles from the house.The water, electricity and gas supply in the house had been cut off months ago, so the house was damp and dirty.There has never been a sewer there, so the open-air latrines, complete with underground septic tanks, will soon be filled with permanent concrete.Seeing Hanley get out of the car again, the housing chief walked up to him and motioned to a City Council van with its back door open. "I've packed up everything of any value," he offered, "old photographs, coins, a few medals, some clothing, and some personal papers in a cigar box, most of which have been It's moldy. As for the furniture..." He pointed to a pile of antiques in the rain, "they're all there, and the health bureau officials suggested that they should be set on fire. It's not worth a lot of money." "Okay," Hanley said.The official was right, but that was his business.Hanley still seems to want to help the old man morally. "Can he get some compensation?" Hanley asked. "Oh, of course," said the Commissioner eagerly, trying to explain that his department was not an inhuman beast, "that the house was his private property, and that any damage to furniture, fixtures, fixtures, and all personal belongings, we took responsibility for." A reasonable valuation. There is also a relocation allowance...although frankly speaking, his loss is nothing compared to the loss he caused us by refusing to move for a long time." At this time, a worker came out from the side of the house, holding a chicken in each hand, and bowed his head. "What about these guys?" he asked, not asking anyone in particular. One of his colleagues answered him.Barney Kelleher snapped a photo.Nice photo, he thought—the last few companions of the "Hermit of Mayo Road," nice notes.A person from the contractor said that he also has chickens at home, and these few can be added to his flock.So, he found a cardboard box, stuffed the two wet chickens inside and put them on the van, so that they could be sent home later. Things were moved in less than an hour, and the small house had been cleaned up.A big foreman in a shiny yellow oilskin came up to the city officials. “Can we start?” he asked. “The boss asked for the parking lot to be finished and fenced in. If the concrete is poured tonight, we can have asphalt in the morning.” The officer sighed. "Let's go," he said.The foreman turned away and waved to a mobile crane.A large iron ball weighing half a ton was suspended under the boom of the crane, and it was now slowly driving towards the side of the house.After positioning, with a soft hiss, the body is lifted by hydraulic feet.The iron ball began to swing, slowly at first, and then increased in magnitude.The crowd watched with interest.They've seen their own houses demolished like this before, but they never get tired of seeing it.Finally, the iron ball hit the side of the house near the chimney, knocking away more than a dozen bricks and leaving two cracks on the wall, extending all the way down. "Ah..." The crowd let out a long low sigh.For those who are bored, there is nothing more exciting than wrecking.On the fourth impact, two upstairs windows fell from their frames and onto the parking lot.One corner of the house splits off from the rest and, after a slow half-turn, falls towards the backyard.After a while, the solid brick chimney was also broken in half, and the upper part smashed through the roof and floor and fell to the ground of the first floor.The old house is falling apart, and people love the sight of it.Inspector Hanley got back into the car and returned to the diner. The tavern was warmer and damper than before.His driver sat at the bar, drinking a cup of steaming tea.As Hanley walked in, the driver stubbed out his cigarette and slid off the stool.The old man seemed to be still busy in the corner. "Has he finished?" Hanley asked. "He's been eating for a long time, sir," said the driver, "as fast as he's going down the bread and butter, as if he'd have nothing to eat tomorrow." Hanley watched as the old man spread another piece of butter on the soft white bread and began to chew. "Bread costs extra," said the innkeeper. "He has had three." Hanley looked at his watch, it was half past eleven.He sighed and sat on a stool. "Have a cup of tea," he said.He had informed the health and welfare officials to meet in thirty minutes and transfer the old man to the care of the city hall.Then, he can go back to the office and deal with his desk work.He was relieved that the matter would be over soon. In came Barney Kelleher and his trainee reporter. "You bought him breakfast?" Barney asked. "I'll get my money back," Hanley said, though Kelleher knew he wouldn't. "Take some pictures?" Barney shrugged. "It's okay," he said, "the one with the chicken is nice, and the one that fell down the chimney and got him out wrapped in a blanket. It's the end of an era. I remember 10,000 people living in The days of this diamond community. At that time, they all had jobs. The money was pitifully small, but they all worked. Back then, it took fifty years to turn a place into a slum; now it takes five years." Hanley snorted. "It's progress," he said. A second police car pulled up in front of the door.A young police officer on Mayo Road just got out of the car and stopped hesitantly when he saw his chief with the reporter through the glass.The little reporter didn't notice it, and Barney Kelleher pretended not to see it.Hanley slid off the stool and walked to the door.Outside in the rain, the policeman said to him, "You'd better go back, sir. They... found something." Hanley beckoned to his driver, and the two of them stepped out onto the sidewalk. "I'm going back," he said, "and keep an eye on that old man." He glanced again into the café. In the far corner, the old man had stopped eating.Holding a fork in one hand and a loaf of bread half-wrapped with a sausage in the other, he stared silently and motionless at the three uniformed figures on the sidewalk. On the construction site, all movements stopped.Contracting team workers in raincoats and hard hats formed a circle around the wreckage of the house, and the remaining policeman was with them.Hanley got out of the car, walked through the rubble, and walked towards the circle of people looking down.Behind him, there was a lot of discussion among the crowd who hadn't dispersed yet. "It must be the old man's baby!" a man in the crowd exclaimed.Someone echoed: "He hid all his treasures there, no wonder he refused to move it away even after he died." Hanley walked among the group to see what caught their attention.The remaining half of the chimney still stood, five feet high, surrounded by a heap of rubble.At the bottom of the chimney, a dark old fireplace is still visible.On one side, two or three feet of the outer wall of the house still stood; on the inner wall, at the foot of the wall, was a pile of fallen bricks, from which protruded a shriveled but still legible human leg, like a stocking. The cloth strips are still attached below the knees. "Who found it?" Hanley asked. The foreman came forward. "Tommy was working in the fireplace cavity with the pick. He cleared out a few bricks to make it easier to swing the pick. He saw this and reported it to me." Hanley identified the witness at a glance. "So, was it found under the floorboards?" Hanley asked. "No. The entire residential area here is built on the swamp, and the houses are concrete." "Then where?" The foreman bent down and pointed to the remaining part of the fireplace: "From the living room, the fireplace seems to be flush with the wall, but it is not. The fireplace originally protruded from the wall of the house. A simple brick wall was built between the ends of the room, reaching to the ceiling, forming a mezzanine twelve inches deep. For symmetry, a wall was also built on the other side of the fireplace, but that side was empty. The body was in the false In the interlayer between the wall and the house wall. To cover it up, this room has been re-walled. You see, the chimney protrusion is covered with the same wallpaper as the false wall." Hanley looked in the direction of his fingers: several pieces of broken wallpaper all had the same mildew stains, not only attached to the front of the fireplace cavity above the mantel, but also plastered all over the brick wall, including the part that covered the corpse.It was an old wallpaper, with rosebuds printed on it, but beside the fireplace, on the original walls of the house, a much older, dirty striped pattern was also discernible. Hanley stood up. "Okay," he said, "this is the end of your work for the day. You'd better call the workers down and let them go back. We're in charge of this place now." Workers scrambled out of the rubble.Hanley turned to his two officers. "Continue to keep the cordon," he said, "and seal off the place. Call more people and set up a few more roadblocks. I want you to fence off this place on all sides and no one is allowed in. I'll add Send more people here, and criminal techs. Don't touch anything without their permission. Understand?" The two policemen saluted.Hanley got back in the car and called headquarters.He ordered a few things, and then transferred the call to the technical section of the criminal investigation department.The Technical Section was housed in a stark old Victorian barracks behind Heston Station.Fortunately for him, the person who answered the phone was Captain O'Keefe, who had known each other for many years.Hanley told him what he had found and the help he needed. "I'll send them there," O'Keeffe's voice crackled on the phone. "Do you want the Murder Squad too?" Hanley sniffled. "No, thanks. I think our branch can handle it." "So, do you have any suspects?" O'Keeffe asked. "Oh yes, we already have one," Hanley said. He drove back to the small restaurant by himself.He passed Barney Kelleher, who was trying to get inside through the cordon.This time, the patrol police on duty were not so negotiable. In the restaurant, Hanley found the driver still sitting at the bar.The old man sat in the back, had finished his meal, and was sipping tea.He stared at the tall policeman walking towards him. "We've found her," Hanley said.He leaned over the table, speaking in a low voice so that no one else in the restaurant could hear him. "Let's go, eh? Mr. Larkin? How about going to the Bureau? We'll talk, shall we?" The old man looked at him without saying a word.Hanley realized that he hadn't spoken up until now.The old man's eyes flickered.fear?rest assured?Most likely fear.No wonder he had been afraid for so many years. He stood up silently, Hanley put a firm hand on his arm, and they walked towards the police car together.The driver followed and sat behind the steering wheel.The rain had stopped and the bleak wind was blowing the toffee wrappers all over the street like autumn leaves, but there wasn't a single tree in the street.The car pulled off the curb.The old man sat hunched over, staring silently ahead. "Back in game," Hanley said. No murder investigation in any country is as full of excitement and speculation as it is shown on television.In fact, ninety percent of it is tedious formalities and formalities, and administrative work, a lot of administrative work. Big Bill Hanley saw the old man locked up in a holding cell at the back of the jail.The old man made no protest, nor asked for a lawyer.Hanley didn't want to sue the old man yet, after all, he could still detain the old man for at least twenty-four hours in the name of a suspect.First, he needs more facts.He sat down at his desk and started talking on the phone. "By the rules, lad, by the rules. We're not Sherlock Holmes," his old boss had told him years ago.Great advice.More cases are lost in court because of incomplete procedures than by ingenuity. Hanley officially notified the city coroner's office to report a death.His call was well timed, finding someone before the senior civil servant was off to lunch.He then informed the Stoll Street Mortuary, behind the coach station, that a body would require a thorough autopsy that afternoon.He tracked down the coroner Professor Tim McCarthy.The professor listened to the phone quietly in the foyer of the Kildare Club, then sighed—the delicious breast of pheasant on the menu seemed to be out of reach.He promised to come right away. Somebody was going to find some canvas barriers, and some people were going to report to Mayo Road with shovels and pickaxes.He called the three detectives who were having lunch in the cafeteria to his office, prepared two sandwiches and a pint of milk, and ate them while working. "I know you're busy," he told them. "We're all busy. So, I want to get this case over with. It shouldn't take long." He appointed Chief Detective Inspector as Crime Scene Investigator, sending him to the Mayo Road immediately; he split the duties between two young Detective Sergeants, one of whom went to investigate the house in detail.The director of the Housing Authority said that the house is owned by the old man and is a free property right.Council and Land Revenue will keep a register of past transactions and changes in ownership of the property, details of which can be found in the property register. Another Detective Sergeant was doing errands.He was going to visit every old Mayo Road resident, most of whom were now housed in government-built apartment complexes.Seek out old neighbors, ask for gossip, and interview shopkeepers, patrolmen and local priests from the fifteen years before the complex was demolished—anyone who knows what happened to Mayo Road and the old man, the older the better.And, Hanley stressed, the investigation also includes anyone who knew the late Mrs. Larkin. He also sent a uniformed police officer to drive to the housing management bureau to take all the personal belongings, including furniture, taken away by the truck of the housing management bureau that he saw at the demolition site in the morning, back to the yard of the police station. When he stood up and stretched himself, it was already past two o'clock in the afternoon.He had the old man taken to the interrogation room.After he drank the milk himself, he waited another five minutes.When he entered the interrogation room, the old man was sitting at the table with his hands folded on his chest, his eyes fixed on the wall, and a policeman was standing by the door. "Did he say anything?" Hanley asked the officer softly. "No, sir. Nothing." Hanley nodded for him to leave. There were only the two of them left, and he sat down opposite the old man.City Hall records show the old man's name as Herbert James Larkin. "Well, Mr. Larkin," said Hanley mildly, "you don't think it would be wise to tell me the truth?" Experience told him that there was no need to frighten the old man.The people in front of him are not street gangsters of the underworld.He had dealt with three wife murderers, all timid and docile.He appeared tall and sympathetic across the table, and they poured out the harrowing details, quickly appearing relieved.The old man slowly raised his head to look at him, looked at him for a while, and then looked down at the table.Hanley took out a pack of cigarettes and opened the case. "Smoking?" he asked.The old man didn't move. "I don't actually smoke either," Hanley said, but he put the pack of cigarettes open on the table next to a box of matches. "You're pretty good at it," he admitted, "for months in that house, but sooner or later you won't be able to beat City Hall. You know that, don't you? Knowing they're going to send the bailiffs someday, That must be unpleasant." He waited for a comment, for the old man to show any signs of trying to communicate, but there was none.That's okay, he's always patient when it comes to waiting for someone to speak up, and sooner or later they will.Only by speaking out will it be easier and the burden will be relieved.The church knows best what a man feels when he has confessed. "How many years, Mr. Larkin? How many years of fear and waiting? How many months has it been since the first shovel drove over there, eh? Man, you must have suffered a lot." The old man raised his eyelids and met Hanli's gaze. He might be looking for something.A person who has shut himself off for years may be looking for a modicum of sympathy.Hanley thought he was about to speak.The old man's eyes wandered over, looking over Hanley's shoulder to the back wall. "It's over, Mr. Larkin. It's all over, and sooner or later it will all come out. We'll go back through the years and slowly, piece by piece, piece the truth together. You know, Mrs. Larkin, don't you?" Why? She had another man? Or was it just an argument, or was it just an accident? So you get scared, and then you do it and live like a hermit." The old man's lower lip quivered and he licked it with his tongue. There's a breakthrough, Hanley thought, and now it's almost here. "You must have had a terrible time, all these years," he went on, "alone, without the friends you used to have, just yourself. Always thinking that she was there, close by, by the hearth. Inside the brick wall." The old man's eyes flickered.Shocked by the past?Perhaps shock therapy would work better.He blinked twice.I'm almost there, Hanley thought, and I'm about to make it.But when the old man's gaze came back to meet his, the eyes became hollow again.He still didn't say anything. Hanley spent another hour, but the old man never spoke a word. "Whatever you want," Hanley said, standing up, "I'll be back, we still have to talk." When he came to Mayo Road, it was a busy scene.There are more crowds than before, but the distance is too far to see clearly.All sides of the ruined house were surrounded by canvas, which, though flapped by the wind, was enough to keep out curious eyes trying to get a peek at the workings inside.Inside the square that covered part of the road, twenty strong-bodied police officers in heavy boots and carrying search equipment rummaged through the rubble with their bare hands.Every brick and slab, every splinter of wood from stairs and banisters, every tile and ceiling, was carefully pulled out, inspected for traces, and thrown into the road.The ruins there piled higher and higher.The contents of the cupboards were inspected and the cupboards themselves were dismantled to see if there was anything hiding behind them.All the walls have been knocked over to see if there is a hollow interlayer inside.Bricks and bricks were torn down and thrown on the road. The two men around the fireplace worked with extra care.The bricks on the body were gently removed, leaving only a thick layer of dust covering the body.The body was lying on its side, curled up like a fetus, but it was likely that she had been sitting face to side in the sandwich wall.Professor McCarthy carefully inspected the remaining walls and directed the work of the two men.When he thought it was about the same, he walked into the interlayer of bricks and tiles, and like a careful housewife, brushed off the dust on the corpse with a soft brush. After cleaning most of the dust off, he inspected the body up close, tapping on the exposed thighs and upper arms, and then freed it from the clamping wall. “是一具干尸。”他告诉汉利。 “一具干尸？” “是的。砖头或混凝土的地面上，在六面封闭的环境中，两英尺外的壁炉的热气熏烤让尸体发生了干化，脱水了，但保存得很好。内脏器官也许完好无损，但硬得像块木头。今晚是不可能切开了，我要用热甘油把它泡一泡，这需要时间。” “多长时间？”汉利问道。 “十二个小时是少不了的，或许更久。我知道，这种情况有时要花上几天时间。”教授看了看表，“快四点钟了。我争取五点钟能把它泡上。明天上午九点左右，我会去停尸所检查一下，看看能不能开始解剖。” “糟糕，”汉利说，“我还想尽快解决这个案子呢。” “这就有难度了，”麦卡锡说，“我会尽力而为。实际上，我认为内脏器官说明不了多大问题。根据我的观察，尸体脖子周围有勒痕。” “勒死的？” “有可能。”麦卡锡说。市殡仪馆接到的运送尸体工作通常都是在市内。送葬灵车停在了屏障外面，在法医的监护下，两名工作人员抬起依然侧卧的僵硬尸体，把它放到一个尸架上，盖上一条大毯子，抬到殡仪车上。他们让教授跟在后面，驱车去斯托尔大街的停尸所。汉利走到技术科的指纹检查员身旁。 “发现什么没有？”他问道。 那人耸耸肩：“这里全是砖头瓦块，连一块干净的表面都没有。” “你呢？”汉利又问该科的摄影师。 “我还得等一会儿，长官。我要等到他们把地面清理干净，才能看看有没有什么可拍照的。如果他们搞不完，那我就得等到晚上了。” 承包商的工头漫步走了过来。按照汉利的建议，他被留下来，这样万一出现废墟倒塌险情时，他可以做个技术指导。他露出了微笑。 “你们活儿干得真不赖，”他用浓重的都柏林口音说，“这里几乎没我们工人什么事了。” 汉利朝街道那边比画了一下，那里有一大堆从房子上拆下来的砖瓦木头。 “如果你们愿意，可以把那些东西搬走。我们都检查过了。”他说。 暮色渐浓，工头看了看表。“还有一个小时，”他说，“我们可以把大部分搬走。房子剩下的部分我们明天上午开始可以吗？老板要求先完成停车场的工程并把它用栅栏围起来。” “明天上午九点钟与我联系。我会告诉你的。”他说。 离开之前，他把统筹一切工作的首席侦缉督察叫过来。 “手提灯会送过来的，”他说，“让小伙子们清理地板层，检查地上是否有曾经再次施工的痕迹。” 侦缉督察点点头。“到目前为止，只发现了这么一个隐藏的地方，”他说，“但我会继续留意观察，直至这里清理完毕。” 回到局里后，汉利首先检查了个人相关物品，这也许可以了解拘留室里那个老头的身份。他的办公桌上堆放着那些上午由法警从房子里搬出来、装上汽车并经过清理的物品。他仔细阅读每一份材料，用放大镜去看那些老旧和褪色的文字。 其中有一份出生证明，记录着老头的名字、他的出生地都柏林，还有他的年龄——他生于一九一一年。有一些旧信件，但寄信人对汉利都没有什么意义，这些信大都是很久前寄来的，看不出与本案有什么关系。但有两件物品引起了他的兴趣。一个是张褪了色的照片，已经斑驳起皱了。照片装在一个廉价的相框里，但外面没有玻璃，上面是一名战士，看上去穿着英国陆军制服，面对照相机露出不太自信的微笑。汉利看出那是老头年轻时的模样。挽着他胳膊的是一个年轻丰满的女子，她的手里拿着一束鲜花。她穿的不是结婚礼服，而是二十世纪四十年代中后期那种垫肩的素色两件套西服。 另一个是雪茄盒，里面还有一些信件，也都与案子无关。三枚勋章丝带用别针固定在小棍上，还有一本英国陆军部队的存款簿。汉利伸手去拿电话。时间已经是五点二十分了，但他想试试运气。他确实很幸运，英国武官还在桑迪福德的英国大使馆办公室里。汉利解释了自己的问题。英国武官道金斯少校说，他会尽量帮忙的。当然，这是非正式的；正式的要求必须通过多个渠道。爱尔兰警方与英国之间的任何正式交流，都免不了要通过层层手续。如果是非正式的询问，双方的沟通就能更密切，两边都省去了不少虚文。道金斯少校答应，在下班回家的路上绕些弯路，去一趟警察局。 夜幕早就降临了，两个外出跑腿的警长有一个回来报到了。他是去调查注册和纳税单的。现在，他坐在汉利办公桌的对面，打开笔记本念了起来。 注册记录显示，梅奥路三十八号的房子，是赫伯特·詹姆斯·拉金于一九五四年买下的，原业主已经去世。当初他花四百英镑买下该房产，是自由产权，没有抵押凭证，说明他当时能拿得出那么多钱。地税清单表明，自那天起，该房屋就归这位赫伯特·詹姆斯·拉金所有，并一直由赫伯特·詹姆斯·拉金先生和维奥莱特·拉金夫人居住。记录上没有显示他老婆去世或离开，但地税清单是不会显示住户变化的——即使是一部分住户，除非是接到后继住户的书面通知，但这房子没有后继住户。海关一直查询至一九五四年的死亡证书，也没发现任何与名叫“维奥莱特·拉金夫人”的人有关的死亡线索。那个地址也没有任何人死亡的记录。 卫生和福利部门的记录表明，拉金从两年前开始领取国家养老金，但从没提出过津贴补助的申请。退休前，他显然是个仓库保管员和守夜人。还有一点，警长说，他一九五四年开始的个人所得税报表上面，有一个他之前在英国北伦敦的地址。 汉利翻开书桌上的陆军部队存款单。 “也就是说，他曾在英国陆军服役过。”警长说。 “这不奇怪，”汉利说，“第二次世界大战期间，有五万名爱尔兰人在英国武装部队服役。拉金看来是其中之一。” “也许他老婆是英国人。他在一九五四年带着老婆一起从北伦敦回到了都柏林。” “她很有可能是英国人，”汉利边说，边把结婚照片推过去，“他与她结婚时还穿着军装。” 内线电话响了，说英国大使馆的武官已经到前台。汉利朝警长点了点头。“请把他领进来。”汉利说。警长离开了。 道金斯少校是汉利当天最大的收获。他穿着条纹裤子，跷着二郎腿，闪闪发亮的皮鞋尖对着办公桌对面的汉利，静静地倾听着。然后，他仔细看了一会儿那张结婚照。 最后，他一手拿着放大镜，一手握着铅笔，绕到桌子后面，站到汉利身旁。他用铅笔尖轻戳照片中拉金脸部上方的帽徽。 “国王重骑兵卫队。”他信心十足地说。 “你是怎么知道的？”汉利问道。 道金斯少校把放大镜递给汉利。 “双头鹰，”他说，“国王重骑兵卫队的帽徽，很清楚。其他部队没有那样的图案。” “还有什么吗？”汉利问。 道金斯少校指着照片上新郎胸前的三枚勋章。 “第一枚是一九三九年至一九四五年的星章，”他说，“排在最后的第三枚是胜利纪念章，但中间那枚是非洲星章，从中间穿过的那个杠条来看，像是第八军。没错。国王重骑兵卫队在北非与隆美尔打过仗。确切地说，是装甲部队。” 汉利拿出三枚勋章。照片上的是在正式仪式上佩戴的勋章，桌子上是微缩型的，在不穿制服时佩戴。 “啊，是的，”道金斯少校说，他瞟了一眼勋章，“瞧，同样的图案，还有第八军的杠条。” 汉利通过放大镜可以分辨出，图案是相同的。他把陆军部队存款单递给道金斯少校。道金斯的眼睛亮了起来，他开始逐页翻看。 “一九四○年十月，在利物浦志愿参军，”他说，“很可能是在伯顿。” “伯顿？”汉利问道。 “伯顿服装店。战时它是利物浦的一个征兵中心。许多爱尔兰志愿者都是在利物浦码头上岸，由征兵站的中士引介到那里的。一九四六年一月遣散。光荣复员。奇怪。” “奇怪什么？”汉利问。 “志愿参军，与装甲兵部队一起在北非作战，在部队里一直待到一九四六年，但他始终是一名二等兵，臂章上一条杠也没有，连个下士都没混上。”他拍着结婚照上的制服袖子说。 “或许他不是一个好兵。”汉利提出。 "possible." “你能给我搞点他在战争中的详细记录来吗？”汉利问道。 “我明天一上班就去安排。”道金斯说。他记下存款单中的一些细节，然后离开了。 汉利在食堂里吃了晚饭，等待着第二个警长回来汇报。警长过了十点半才回来，身体疲惫，但收获颇丰。 “我走访了十五个认识梅奥路上的拉金夫妇的人，”他说，“其中三人提供了意想不到的情况。莫兰太太是隔壁邻居，她在那里住了三十年，还记得拉金搬来时的情形。还有一个邮递员，现在退休了，但直到去年，他一直都在梅奥路送邮件。还有伯恩神父，他也退休了，如今住在'退休教士之家'。我刚从那里回来，所以耽搁了点时间。” 汉利把身体往椅背上一靠，警长翻开笔记本，从头开始汇报起来。 “莫兰太太回忆说，一九五四年，住在三十八号的那个鳏夫死了，此后不久，那房子就挂出'出售'的牌子。只挂了两周，牌子就摘下了。两周后，拉金夫妇搬了进来。那时候，拉金大约四十五岁，他的妻子要年轻得多。她是英国人，一个伦敦人。她告诉莫兰太太说，他们从伦敦搬来，她丈夫曾在那里当一名仓库职员。有一年夏天，拉金夫人不见了，莫兰太太认定那是在一九六三年。” “为什么她那么肯定？”汉利问道。 “那年的十一月，肯尼迪总统被暗杀了，”警长说，“消息是从街上一个高级酒吧传出来的，那里有一台电视机。不到二十分钟，梅奥路的人就都聚集到人行道上议论美国总统遇刺的消息。莫兰太太非常激动，她闯到隔壁的拉金家去告诉他这个惊人的新闻。她没有敲门，直接闯进了客厅。拉金正在一把椅子上打瞌睡，他惊跳起来，迫不及待地把她赶出了屋子。那时候，拉金夫人就已经不见了。但春天和夏天时她还在，她总是在星期六晚上给莫兰家看孩子。莫兰太太的第二个孩子生于一九六三年一月。所以，是在一九六三年的夏末，拉金夫人才消失的。” “原因是什么呢？”汉利问道。 “离家出走，”刑警毫不迟疑地说，“所有人都这么认为。他工作很努力，但晚上从来不肯出门，甚至连星期六都不出去，所以，拉金夫人才能给人家看孩子。他们为此有过争吵。还有别的原因，她轻浮，有点风骚。所以，当她收拾包裹离他而去的时候，谁也没有感到惊奇。有些女人认为他活该，因为他待她不够好。谁也没有怀疑过什么。” “此后，拉金更是把自己封闭起来。他极少出门，既不打理自己，也不在乎房子。人们主动去帮他收拾，小地方的人总是那样，但他都拒绝了。最后，人们就再也不管他了。两年以后，他丢了仓库管理员的工作，成了个守夜人，天黑后离家，日出时回来。他的房门上总有两把锁，因为夜间他不在家，而白天又要睡觉——他是这么说的。他开始饲养宠物。先是雪貂，养在后院的一个棚子里，但都跑掉了。后来养鸽子，但不是飞走了，就是在别处被人用猎枪打死。最后，在过去的十年里是养鸡。” 教区的神父大致肯定了莫兰太太的回忆。拉金夫人是英国人，但信天主教，经常去教堂，并定期作忏悔。一九六三年八月，她离家出走了。人们大都认为，她是跟一个男人私奔了。伯恩神父想不出还有别的原因。他不能违背忏悔的誓言，但他只能说，他并不怀疑她离家出走。他曾经好几次走访过这所房子，但拉金不信教，拒绝所有精神上的安慰。他曾称他那离家出走的老婆是个娼妇。 “这些都符合，”汉利沉思着，“她或许是想离开他，当他发现后，他对她下手狠了点。天知道呢，这种事发生得够多了。” 邮递员没有补充多少情况。他是一个本地人，经常去本地的酒吧。拉金夫人也喜欢在周六晚上出去喝一杯，有一年夏天，她甚至还当过吧女。但她丈夫很快就不让她干了。他回忆说，她比拉金年轻很多，快乐活泼，遇上别人调情也不抗拒。 “长得怎么样？”汉利问道。 “矮个儿，身高大约五英尺三英寸，身材丰满，圆溜溜的，深色的卷发，喜欢笑，胸很大。邮递员回忆说，当她从旧式酒桶里把淡啤酒泵出来时，那模样还是值得一看的。但拉金发现这个情况后气急败坏，他冲进来把她拉回家去了。不久，她就离他而去，或者说消失了。” 汉利站起来伸了个懒腰，已经快到半夜了。他把一只手搭在这位年轻警长的肩上。 “现在很晚了，你回家去吧。明天早上把这些都写下来。” 夜晚，汉利的最后一位访客是侦缉督察，这个犯罪现场的调查员。 “清理完了，”他告诉汉利，“最后一块砖头也清走了，但有用的线索一点也没发现。” “那就要靠那个可怜女人的尸体来告诉我们想要知道的其他情况了，”汉利说，“或者靠拉金本人。” “他说了吗？”督察问道。 “还没有，”汉利说，“但他会说的。他们最后都会说的。” 侦缉督察回家去了。汉利打电话告诉妻子他今晚在局里过夜。刚过午夜时，他来到了楼下的囚室。老头醒着，坐在床边，一双眼睛凝视着对面的墙壁。汉利朝着陪同他的警官扬了扬脑袋，于是三人一起来到审讯室。那位警察坐到一个角落里，准备好笔记本。汉利面对着老头，向他宣读了警告： “赫伯特·詹姆斯·拉金，你有权保持沉默，但你所说的每一句话都会被记录在案，并有可能被用作证词。” 然后，他在老头的对面坐下来。 “十五年了，拉金先生。与那样的东西一起生活了那么长时间。一九六三年八月，对吧？邻居们都记得，神父也记得，甚至连邮递员都记得。那么，你为什么不把这事告诉我呢？” 老头抬起眼皮，迎接汉利的盯视，然后低头去看桌子。He didn't say anything.汉利坚持询问下去，直到天快亮。拉金似乎并不疲惫，虽然角落里的那个警察已经哈欠连天。拉金当过多年的守夜人，汉利想起来，他很可能在夜晚比在白天更有精神。 一抹灰色的亮光从结霜的审讯室窗玻璃透了进来。最后，他站了起来。 “随你便吧，”他说，“你可以不说，但你的妻子维奥莱特会说的。奇怪吗？十五年后，从墙壁后面的墓穴里说话。但再过几个小时，她会对法医说话的。她会说的。在解剖室里，她会告诉他，她身上发生了什么，是何时发生的，乃至是为什么而发生的。然后，我们再来这里，到时我就要起诉你了。” 虽然他不会轻易生气，但他还是被老头的沉默给激怒了。不是因为他说得少，而是因为他什么都没说。他只是用那种奇怪的眼神去迎视汉利。那是什么眼神？汉利问自己。惊恐？害怕他汉利？悔恨？嘲讽？不，不是嘲讽。这家伙马上就要完蛋了。 最后，他站起身来，用一只大手摸了一下脸上的胡子，回到办公室。拉金则被押回拘禁室。 汉利在椅子里睡了三个小时，脑袋后仰，两腿伸直，鼾声大作。八点钟，他起来，走到卫生间洗了把脸，刮了胡子。两个年轻的实习警察来上班时看到他八点半就到了，大为吃惊，赶紧小心翼翼地去忙自己的事。九点钟，他吃过早饭，像往常那样开始处理堆积如山的公文。九点三十分，梅奥路承包商的工头打来电话。汉利考虑着他的要求。 “好吧，”他最后说，“你们可以把那里围起来浇筑混凝土了。” 二十分钟后，麦卡锡教授打来电话。 “我已经把四肢都拉直了，”他欢快地说，“皮肤已经软化，可以动刀解剖了。我们正在排水干燥，再过一个小时我就可以开始。” “什么时候可以给我一份报告？”汉利问道。 “要看你指的是什么，”电话里的那个声音说，“正式报告要两三天时间。非正式的话，午饭后我就能告诉你一些，至少是死亡原因。我们已经确认了脖子周围的勒痕，是长统袜，就像我昨天猜的那样。” 这位法医答应，两点半时从一英里远的斯托尔大街停尸所到汉利的办公室来。 上午没什么人打扰，只有道金斯少校中午打来电话。 “运气不错，”他说，“在陆军部的档案室找到我的一个老朋友。他给了我优先照顾。” “谢谢你，少校，”汉利说，“我在作记录，说吧。” “情况不是很多，但肯定了我们昨天的猜想。” 是昨天少校自己的猜想，汉利心里说。殷勤的英国礼节让少校把这事儿归功于他们两个人。 “二等兵赫伯特·詹姆斯·拉金乘坐都柏林的渡轮，于一九四〇年十月抵达利物浦并志愿参军。在约克郡卡特里克兵营参加了基本训练后，转到国王重骑兵卫队。一九四一年三月乘坐运兵船被派去加入埃及的军团。然后，我们就明白了他为什么连下士都没有混上的原因。” "what is the reason?" “他被俘了。在隆美尔那年的秋季攻势中被德国人俘虏了。他在第三帝国东部的西里西亚战俘营当上了一名农场工人，在那儿度过了战争的剩余时间。一九四四年十月，他被苏联红军解放。一九四五年四月他被遣返，正好赶上五月份欧洲战事的结束。” “有没有关于他婚姻情况的信息？”汉利问道。 “当然有，”道金斯少校说，“他是当兵时结的婚，所以，部队也有档案记录。一九四五年十一月十四日，在北伦敦埃德蒙顿的圣玛丽救世主天主教堂结婚。新娘维奥莱特·玛丽·史密斯，旅馆服务员，当时她十七岁。你知道，他在一九四六年一月光荣复员，留在埃德蒙顿当了一名仓库保管员，一直到一九五四年。这是部队当时了解到的他的最后地址。” 汉利向道金斯表达了深切的谢意，然后挂上电话。拉金娶那位十七岁姑娘的时候，已经是三十四岁快要三十五岁的年纪。当他们搬到梅奥路时，她可能只有二十六岁，活泼可爱，而他已经四十三岁，不那么有活力了。一九六三年八月她死去时，才三十五岁，风韵犹存，而且很可能相当性感；而他则已经五十二岁，变得乏味不堪，对别人也提不起兴趣。是的，这也许会出问题。他焦急地等待着麦卡锡教授的到来。 这位法医倒是说到做到。两点半时，他已经坐在了汉利对面的一把椅子上。他掏出烟斗，开始悠闲地装上烟丝。 “解剖室里不能抽烟，”他抱歉地说，“但烟味能盖住福尔马林味儿。你应该会喜欢的。” 他惬意地吐出一团烟雾。 “搞到了你要的情况，”麦卡锡教授轻松地说，“谋杀是毫无疑问的。用一只长筒袜以人力勒颈，导致窒息，并伴有休克。这里的舌骨，”教授指着自己下颚与喉结的部位，“有三处骨折。死亡之前，头部受过一记猛击，造成头皮破裂，但没有死。很可能是把受害人打晕了，然后又勒死了她。” 汉利身体往后一仰。“太好了，”他说，“死亡时间呢？” “哦，”教授说，伸手去拿自己的公文包，“我给你带来一件小礼物。”他把手伸到包里，拿出一个塑料袋，里面装着一张已经发黄褪色的旧报纸碎片，约有六英寸乘四英寸大小。 “受害者头皮的伤口肯定流了一点血。为避免弄脏地毯，凶手肯定是用报纸把头皮伤口包了起来。这无疑是在他砌假墙密室的时候干的。值得庆幸的是，可以看出这是从一张旧报纸上撕下来的，上面的日期依然可以辨认出来。” 汉利接过塑料袋，通过透明的薄膜，用台灯和放大镜来看这张新闻纸片。然后他坐直了身体。 “当然，这是从一张旧报纸上撕下来的。”他说。 “是啊，是很旧了。”麦卡锡说。 “是一份旧报纸。用来包住头上伤口的时候，已经是过期的旧报纸了。”汉利坚持说。 麦卡锡耸了耸肩。 “也许你是对的，”他表示同意，“这样的干尸，是无法判断其确切的死亡年份的，只能是合理地推定。” 汉利轻松了。 “我就是这个意思，”他宽慰地说，“拉金可能是随便抓来这张报纸，把它垫在抽屉或柜子里，留在那里多年没去动它。所以，报纸上的日期是一九四三年三月十三日。” “尸体也是那时候的，”麦卡锡说，“我认为死亡时间是在一九四一到一九四五年之间。很可能与这张报纸上的日期只相差几个星期。” 汉利用一双眼睛瞪住了他，半天没有转动眼珠。“维奥莱特·玛丽·拉金夫人死于一九六三年八月。”他说。 麦卡锡目不转睛地盯着他，一边重新点燃烟斗。“我认为，”他温和地说，“我们在谈论的不是一码事。” “我是在说停尸所的那具尸体。”汉利说。 “我也是啊。”麦卡锡说。 “拉金和他老婆是一九五四年从伦敦抵达这里的，”汉利缓慢地说，“他们买下梅奥路三十八号的房子，原先的房主和住户在头一年死了。拉金夫人被认为是在一九六三年八月丢下丈夫离家出走的。昨天在拆毁那座房子时，我们发现她的尸体被砌在一道假墙里面。” “你并没有告诉我，拉金夫妇在那座房子里住了多长时间，”麦卡锡合理地指出，“你要我对一具干尸进行病理检验。这个我已经完成了。” “但尸体已经干化了，”汉利坚持着，“在那样的情况下，死亡时间的范围肯定是很大的吧？” “但不会有二十年。”麦卡锡平静地说，“那具尸体根本不可能活过一九四五年。内脏的检验是不容置疑的。当然，可以对袜子进行分析，还有报纸，但如你所说，那两件物品在使用的时候可能已经是二十年以前的旧物，可是头发、指甲和内脏器官，这些是不会搞错的。” 汉利感觉像是大白天在做噩梦。在一九五一年英式橄榄球三连冠的最后一场比赛中，他使出浑身力量突破英格兰队的后卫，向着球门线冲去。就在他快要抵达时，球从他手中滑落了。他奋力去抓，但没能抓住……他回过神来。 “除了年份，还有什么？”他问道，“这个女人矮矮的，大约五英尺三英寸？” 麦卡锡摇了摇头：“对不起，即使在一道砖墙后面过了三十五年，骨头也是不会改变长度的。她的个头在五英尺十英寸到十一英寸之间，瘦瘦高高的。” “黑色卷发？”汉利问道。 “直发，姜色的，依然长在头上。” “她死去的时候年龄在三十五岁左右？” “不，”麦卡锡说，“她已经五十多岁了，而且生过孩子，是两个，我敢说，在生下第二个孩子后，还做过引产手术。” “你的意思是说，”汉利问道，“从一九五四年起，他们一直坐在客厅里，与被砌在墙里的一具尸体只相距六英尺，直至维奥莱特·拉金出走，拉金独自度过最后的十五年？” “肯定是的，”麦卡锡说，“在那样温暖的环境下，一具尸体很快就会干化。干化状态的尸体是不会散发异味的。假定她确实如我所认为的，在一九四三年被害，到一九五四年的时候，尸体早就与我们昨天发现她时完全一样了。那么，一九四三年的时候，你的那位拉金在什么地方？” “在西里西亚的一个战俘营