Chapter 8 Chapter Six

I have investigated McGregor carefully, and his social life is very limited, except for the occasional evening sailing overseas on a yacht, there is almost no social life.He has no criminal record, no case file to look through, and of course no way to find out his accomplices.The court records for his divorce simply read "Irreconcilable Differences" and the rest is up to my imagination. McGregor is a loner, and even though I've researched him thoroughly, there's still not the slightest hint that he has friends, partners, dates, colleagues or close friends.He never hangs out with friends at night, he has no friends at all.He was neither a member of the Quakers nor a fraternal society; he did not drink in the neighborhood bar or attend the weekly square dance.

No, nothing, just pictures showing those stupid toes. Who is this guy in the cowboy boots? How can I find him? I knew there was only one place to find out, and I had to do it fast, before someone found out that McGregor was missing.I heard rumbling thunder in the distance, and glanced at the wall clock on the wall, it was already a quarter past two in the afternoon, which was the time when thunderstorms started every afternoon.This thunderstorm could once again give me cover, so excitedly I hatched an ingenious plan of my next move, walked to the parking lot, got into my car, and sped south.

When I arrived at the pier, it was already raining.I put on my yellow waterproof jacket again and ran down the trail to McGregor's yacht. I unlocked it easily again and slipped into the cabin.What I'm looking for this time is something more subtle, a small clue to the identity of McGregor's camera friend.I went down to where they were sleeping, opened the drawer with the mezzanine, and re-looked at the front and back of the photos.Digital photos greatly increase the difficulty of reconnaissance. There are no traces on the photos, no serial numbers, and empty film boxes that can be traced.That doesn't seem quite fair: aren't computers supposed to make things easier?

Somewhat discouraged, I went to the main cabin on the upper level of the yacht.I've turned this place upside down last time and have no clue.I took out the plastic straps one by one, thinking maybe I should make the best use of these things. I casually pulled out the last roll of plastic tape. I found it. It is not enough to have the ability, but also to rely on luck.At the bottom of the last roll of plastic tape was a small piece of paper with "Rakel" written on it and a phone number.Of course, there was no guarantee that Recker was the cowboy in the red boots, and Recker could be the name of the contractor responsible for the ship's plumbing.But anyway, it's a clue.

I stuffed the paper into my pocket, buttoned up my wetsuit, and slipped off the boat, back on the trail. When the car started, I was still in a state of ecstasy.Too bad my good mood didn't last long.When Lao Dao Jiang Road turned into Rerong Avenue, I habitually glanced at the rearview mirror and was immediately stunned. Behind me was a maroon Taurus, the front of which almost touched my back seat.The Miami-Dade Police Department heavily staffs plainclothes officers with such vehicles. This is definitely not a good thing.While a patrol car might happen to be driving behind me, if someone was driving a dispatched utility vehicle, it would be a sure sign to me that I was being targeted.Every cell in my body tensed up, and I had to know how long that car had been following me, who was in it, how much he had witnessed.

I turned into a side street and pulled over, and the Taurus parked behind me.We sat in our respective cars and waited.Will he arrest me?It's not a good thing if someone has been following me since the pier.McGregor's disappearance will be discovered sooner or later, and anyone who has been on his yacht will be locked up and may become a candidate for suspect.These seemingly insignificant things will become the key to the success of the police to solve the case. The police often look for such seemingly ridiculous coincidences, and once discovered, they will take seriously people who happen to appear on delicate occasions many times.Even if the person is a policeman with a charming big smile on his face.

I had to figure out a few things, who was stalking me, why, and then I had to make the other person understand that this stupid behavior was just a waste of time.I put on an aggressive face, got out of the car, and walked quickly to the Ford Taurus.The window was rolled down, revealing the scowling face of Officer Doakes. "Why do you often leave work during the day? Is there anything more important than going to work?" Although his voice was flat, he still managed to convey the impression that whatever I said was a lie. He, he wanted to beat me up for it. "Well—I have some personal business to do," I said.I admit the excuse is flimsy, but I can't think of anything clever to say to him.

"Personal business," he said without batting an eye. "Your dentist is in Gables, and your doctor is in Alameda. You don't have a lawyer, and your sister is still at work. Any personal business?" He knew so much that I was surprised even by myself.Doakes just looked at me, as if begging me to flee in embarrassment so he could practice his moving target skills. "That's funny," he said at last. "I've got some personal business to do here, too." "Is it?" I said. "Something personal, Inspector?" "I'm watching you," he said.Then he rolled the window back up and disappeared behind the tinted glass like a grinning Cheshire cat.