Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty Seven

"Maybe you're remembering wrong." I shook my head, "Not even a stone on the commemorative ring. I've been there before I came here, just to make sure I'm not mistaken. It's a typical class ring, stupid looking, too much engraving, I don't see it How could she wear mink fur and burgundy nail polish with such a ring." I'm not the only one who said that.After my revelation from the broken glass, I ran straight to Kim's apartment and called Donna Campion on her phone. "I'm Matthew Scudder," I said. "I know it's late, but I wanted to ask you about a few lines of your poem."

She said, "Which lines? What poem?" "You gave me a copy of your poem about King." "Oh, yes. Just give me a minute, okay? I'm still groggy." "Sorry for calling so late, but—" "Never mind. Which lines?" "Smash the wine bottle/At her feet, let the green glass/Glitter in her hand." "'Blinking' is the wrong word." "I've got this poem in my hand, and it says—" "Oh, I know I wrote it that way," she said, "but it's not right, I think I'll have to change it. What's your problem?"

"Where did you get the inspiration for your green glass?" "A broken wine bottle." "Why is the green glass in her hand? What does it refer to?" "Oh—" she said, "oh, I see what you mean, her ring." "She has an emerald ring, doesn't she?" "That's right." "How long has she had it?" "I don't know." She thought about it. "The first time I saw it was not long before I wrote the poem." "Are you sure?" — Stick School · E Book Group — "At least that was the first time I noticed. In fact, it was the ring that inspired me to write the poem. The blue of her eyes contrasted with the green of the ring, but I forgot the blue when I wrote the poem. color."

When she gave me the poem for the first time, she said something similar, but I didn't understand it at the time. She wasn't sure when that might be.How long has it been since she wrote this poem?Did it start a month before Kim was killed?Or two months? "Don't remember," she said, "what happened when. I can never keep track. I don't have the habit of keeping time." "But you remember that the ring was set with emeralds." "Well, yes. I'm impressed." "Do you know where the ring came from? Who gave it to you?" "I don't know anything about the ring," she said. "Maybe—"

"Speaking." "Maybe she broke a bottle." I said to Durkin, "A friend of King's wrote a poem about that ring. And there's Sunny Hendricks' last words." I took out the notebook and opened it. I read: "'There's no escape from the mad world. She clings to the brass ring so hard her fingers turn green. Nobody wants to spend money on me.'" He took the notebook from my hand. "She's referring to Dakinen, I guess," he said, "and then there's: 'Nobody wants to marry me. Nobody wants to save my life.' Neither Dakinen nor Sunny was pregnant, What's the matter with having a child here? It's true that neither of them can save their lives."

He closed the book and handed it back to me across the table. "But I don't see what you can find out about that," he said. "I don't think it's going to work. God knows when Hendricks wrote it? Maybe after the alcohol and the pills kicked in, who knows." Where did she wander off to?" Behind us, two plainclothes police officers were putting a white child in solitary confinement, and across the table a long-faced black woman was answering questions.I picked up the top one of that photo and looked at the butchered body of Kim Dakkinen.Durkin turned on the electric razor and shaved.

"What I don't understand," he said, "is that you think you have an important clue. You think she has a boyfriend, and he gave her that ring. Well. You assume she has a boyfriend, and he gave her that ring." Mink coat. Then you traced the line and it looked like you were right, but the coat didn't lead to the boyfriend because he didn't leave his name. If you can't find him with a coat we have, take What can you find with a ring that isn't on our hands? You know what I mean?" "I understand what you mean." - Stick School · E Book Group -

"Holmes says a dog that doesn't bark is a clue. But you have a ring that has disappeared. What does that prove?" "It's gone." "right." "Where did it go?" "Went to the same place as the tub ring, down the fucking drain. How do I know where it went?" "It's gone." "So what? Either it ran away by itself, or someone took it away." "Who?" "How do I know who it is?" "Let's say she wore it to the hotel where she was killed." "You didn't see it again."

"Let's just assume that, shall we?" "Well, let's just say that." "Who took it? A police officer took it off her hand?" "No," he said. "No one would do that. We all know that the loose cash is taken, but the ring on the finger of the murder victim?" He shook his head. Alone together. Nobody does that kind of thing in the presence of other people." "The cleaning lady? The one who found the body?" "God, no way. I asked that poor woman. She just took one look at the dead body and started screaming. If her lungs were big enough, she would scream till now. Tell her to touch Ducky with a mop handle Tender, she thinks it's too close."

"Who took the ring?" "Supposing she took it there—" "right." "It should have been taken by the murderer." "why?" "Maybe he's into jewelry, maybe he's partial to green." "Go on." "Perhaps the ring is worth a lot. This guy kills people, not a moral person. He probably thinks stealing is all right." "He didn't touch the hundreds of dollars in her purse, Jo." "Maybe he didn't have time to rummage through her bag." "He had time to take a shower. For God's sake, he had time to go through her wallet. In fact, we don't know if he did. We just know he didn't take the money."

"so what?" "But he took the ring. He had time to grab her bloody hand and yank the ring off." "Maybe it's not difficult to pull it off, maybe the ring doesn't fit your hand." "Why would he take it?" "I want to send his sister." "Is there a better reason?" "No," he said, "it's nothing fucking. I don't have a better reason. What the hell are you trying to say? He's worried about the ring giving away his identity?" "Why not?" "Then why didn't he take the mink? We fucking know her boyfriend bought the mink. Maybe he didn't use his name, but how can he be sure he didn't slip up and the clerk remembers something? He even took the towel. For God's sake, he was afraid of leaving half a pubic hair, and now you say he took the ring. I think the ring came out of nowhere from left field? I passed two I haven't heard of it once in half a week, so why should I listen to it tonight?" I didn't say anything.He picked up the cigarette case and handed me one.I shake my head.He took one and lit it himself, took a sharp puff, and puffed out a circle of smoke.Then he reached out and stroked his head, smoothing the dark hair that had been subdued on his scalp. He said, "Maybe it's engraved on it. Yeah, everybody has it. Engraved on the inside. For dear Kim, Freddie, shit like that. What do you think?" "I have no idea." "Any theory?" I remembered something Danny "Boy" said.If that boyfriend has a lot of generals and has a lot of contacts, why didn't he take her around to show off?What is the relationship between the person who warned me and this boyfriend?Who was the "accountant" who paid for her mink?Why can't I find a trace of him anywhere else? Why did the murderer take the ring? I reached into my pocket, touched the pistol, felt the cold metal, and slid my fingers under the gun for the piece of green glass that started it all.I took it out of my pocket and looked at it carefully.Durkin asked what I was looking at. "Green glass," I said. "Like a ring." I nodded, he picked up the piece of glass, looked towards the light, and put it back in my palm. "We don't know if she wore it to the hotel," he reminded me. "We're just saying it for the sake of discussion." "I know." "Maybe she left it in the apartment. Maybe someone took it from there." "Who?" "Her boyfriend. Assuming he didn't kill her, assuming the murderer was the EDP I told you earlier—" "You really use that word?" "You have to use the words they asked you to use to facilitate communication. Let's assume that a madman killed her, and her boyfriend was worried about being implicated, so he ran to the apartment to take the ring away. He has the key. Maybe he gave her other gifts, he He took them all together. If the mink coat was there, he would have taken it too. Why is my statement worse than yours when you say that the murderer forced the ring off her hand?" Because it wasn't crazy, I thought.Because the Maniac Killer wouldn't send me a warning in a duffel jacket, wouldn't send me a message through Danny the Boy.Because madmen don't worry about handwriting or fingerprints or towels. Unless he is a character like Jack the Ripper, who knows how to take precautions and plan in advance.But that's not the case at all, no way, the ring must have some meaning.I put the glass back in my pocket.What the ring says, it has to say. Durkin's phone rang.He picked up the phone and said, "Joe Durkin," and "Um, yes, yes." He listened, grunted occasionally, looked in my direction deliberately, and made a note on a note. I went to the coffee machine and poured us both a cup of coffee.I don't remember if he had coffee with or without anything.Then I remembered how horrible the machine's coffee was, so I added creamer and sugar to both cups. He was still on the phone when I got back to the desk.He took the coffee, nodded his thanks, took a sip, and lit another cigarette.I drank some coffee and plunged into King's file again, hoping to find something to fill in the gaps. I thought about the conversation with Donna, what's wrong with the word "blink"?Didn't the ring glisten on the hand of gold?I still remember the way the light hit it.Or am I just making up memories to support my theory?Does my statement qualify as a theory?All I have is a missing ring, and no hard evidence that it exists.A poem, a suicide message, and my own claim that there are eight million stories in the Emerald City.Is it the ring that reminds me subconsciously of the Emerald City?Or am I just identifying with the group of prayers on the Yellow Brick Road, wishing I had brains, heart, and courage? Durkin said, "Oh, it's annoying. Don't go away, I'll be right over." He hung up the second phone and looked at me with a strange expression, mixed with complacency and perhaps pity. He said, "Boatan Motel, you know where Queens Boulevard crosses the Long Island Expressway? It's not far past the intersection. I don't know if there's a landmark nearby, Elmhurst or Rico Park. It's where the two roads meet anyway." "What's wrong?" "It's one of those motels for adults, with water beds in some of the rooms, and X-rated movies on the TVs. They do sex shows, they do the sex business. Two hours at a time. If the business is good, you can turn five or six channels a night in a room. , and mostly in cash, tax evasion is easy. It's a lot of money, that kind of motel." "What are you trying to say?" "A few hours ago someone drove up to rent a room and, uh, they had to clean the room as soon as the diners left. The manager noticed the car was gone and went over to check it out. There was a sign on the door saying 'DO NOT Excuse'. He knocked on the door, no response, he knocked again, same thing. He opened the door, and guess what he found?" I am waiting. "The call was answered by a policeman named Lenny Garfield. His first thought was: This case is very similar to the one at the Galaxy Hotel. He was the one who spoke to me just now. We need to get medical evidence first, such as stabbing The direction of the wound, the nature of the wound, etc., can only be concluded, but it sounds so fucking similar. The murderer even took a shower and took the towel with him when he left." "Yes or no--" "Is it something?" Not Donna.I just talked to her.Fran, Ruby, Mary Lou... "Is it Chance's woman?" "Fuck it," he said, "how do I know who Chance's women are? You think I have nothing to do but stare at pimps?" "Who the hell?" — Stick School · E Book Group — "Nobody's woman," he said.He stubbed out the cigarette, intending to light a new one, but changed his mind and pushed the cigarette back into the case. "Not a woman," he said. "no--" "Not who?" "Not Calderan? Octavia Calderan, front desk at the hotel." He laughed out loud. "Jesus Christ, what's on your mind," he said. "You really think there's a reasonable answer to everything. No, it's not a woman, and it's not your little Calderon. This is from Long Island." The shemale. The operation is only half done. According to Garfield. It means the tits are all there, the silicone implants, but the penis is still on the body. Do you hear me? Her penis. God, what kind of world is this .Of course, maybe she had an operation tonight. Maybe it was done there with a machete." I can't respond.I was paralyzed and sat there.Durkin stood up and put his hand on my shoulder: "There is a car waiting for me downstairs. I want to go there to check the situation. Shall we go there together?"