Chapter 4 third chapter

Ryan drove to Salthill just as the sun was setting.His ass was sore and sore.Starting from Dublin, he traveled westward across the whole of Ireland, hardly resting, except for the convenience of getting off at the roadside outside Athlone on the way.He had to stop three times along the way so the farmer could drive the cattle across the road and into the field on the other side.The farther he got from Dublin, the fewer cars on the road, sometimes the most advanced form of transportation he could see for miles was a tractor, and sometimes even a horse-drawn carriage. He parked his Vauxhall in the small courtyard that adjoined the hotel rooms.Fitzpatrick had given him a few pounds and ten shillings in change when he had handed him the keys, and warned him not to complain about the car.

Ryan got out of the car and walked around to the hotel entrance.A cold wind was blowing in the face, mixed with some salt dust blown from the rocks, and a few grains fell on Ryan's mouth.He smacked his lips and tasted it.Overhead, several seagulls whined and circled in the air, and their droppings naturally fell on the low fence of the hotel. A sign on the lintel reads "The St. Agnes Hotel, Mrs. JD Tower, Owner".He rang the doorbell and waited for someone to open the door. A white figure appeared on the frosted windowpane, and a woman asked, "Who is it?" "My name is Albert, Ryan," he replied. "I'm investigating a case that happened here not long ago."

"Are you a policeman?" "Not quite," he replied. The door creaked open, and the woman peered at him through the crack and said, "If you're not a policeman, then who are you?" Ryan pulled his wallet out of his pocket and showed her his ID. "I have to wear glasses," she said. "I'm from the intelligence agency." "What's that for?" "Kind of being a cop," he said, "but I work for the government. Are you Mrs. Tower?" "Yes, I am," she replied, looking back at Ryan's ID card. "I can't read the writing on that. I have to get my glasses."

"May I go in before you find your glasses?" She hesitated for a moment, then closed the door.Ryan heard the sound of the chains sliding on the door.She opened the door and let Ryan in. "I didn't mean to be offensive," she said as Ryan followed her down the dimly lit hallway. "Since that case was in the news, all kinds of people have been harassing me. , mostly journalists, and some who want to see if the body is still here. It's annoying, all of them. Uh, found it." She picked up her glasses from a table in front of her and put them on her nose, saying, "Show me that again."

Ryan handed her his ID.She looked at it very seriously, not letting go of a single word, and returned the ID card to Ryan after confirming that there was no problem. "I've told the police everything I know, so I can't promise to give you anything else." "You're right," Ryan said, "but I still want to talk to you." At this moment, Ryan noticed a middle-aged couple and a priest resting in a room on the left.The ladies read, the gentlemen smoked, and the vicar read the racing section of the Irish Times, noting the list with a short pencil.Mrs. Tower walked over and closed the door of the room.

"I hope you won't disturb my guest," she said. "I won't. Maybe I can go to the room where the body was found first, and then we can talk." She turned and glanced in the direction of the stairs, as if some horrible creature upstairs was eavesdropping, and said, "Okay." Mrs. Tower led the way.There are portraits of Jesus and the Virgin Mary on the walls on both sides. There are a few old photos of Salthill and Galway City on the walls, as well as a few portraits, which seem to be portraits of previous generations of family members. . "It was such a shock," she said.She was short of breath from climbing the stairs. "He seemed like a nice guy. I don't know why anyone would treat him that way. Maybe he's a foreigner, but that wouldn't kill him. And it's affecting me a lot. Next All the rooms in the month are booked out, everyone is here to see President Kennedy. Did you know that the President's helicopter will land here, this is the road in front of the hotel. But now, the carpet in that room is covered with I had to redecorate the whole room. I can't expect anyone to want to live in a blood-stained room. Here we are, and this is the room."

She stopped at the door of a room marked "6" and took out a bunch of keys from her shirt pocket. "If you don't mind, I won't go in with you." She said as she opened the door. "It's fine," Ryan replied. Just as he was about to open the door with his hand on the handle, Mrs. Tower grabbed his wrist. "I'm going to tell you something," she said in a low voice, "he drank before he died, and I found a bottle on the bedside table. I don't know what it was in, but the bottle There it is." "Really?" Ryan asked. "Well, yes. He wasn't the first man to die suddenly after drinking, I know that. My husband was one of those, and he died outside the front door of the hotel. He drank whiskey and stout all night, Then he accidentally fell on the stone at the door and cracked his head. Then the high tide drowned him."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Ryan said from the bottom of his heart. "I'll find you when I'm done." "Okay then." She nodded and headed for the stairs. "If you need anything, please call me anytime." Ryan turned the doorknob and walked into the room. There was a foul smell, like rusted metal and rotting meat.He coughed, quickly covered his nose with his hand, and fumbled with the other hand for the light switch.The light came on with a snap. The room layout is very simple, similar to the ones he has lived in before.Tasteful printed wallpapers, patterned rugs.A washbasin occupies one corner of the room, while another corner houses a wardrobe, a single bed with nightstands and a chair opposite the bed.

There was a reddish-brown mass on the wall, consisting of a small solid mass, though barely visible from this side of the room. Ryan walked slowly to the foot of the bed.On the carpet not far from the foot of the bed was a pool of black, and the edge of the black was outlined in chalk with a curled human figure.There was some powder on the windowsill and bedside table, and a few fingerprints ghostly revealed. There was a small suitcase open on the floor at the foot of the bed.Ryan squatted down by the side of the suitcase, looking through the contents.Underwear, socks, three boxes of Peters, Stevensons, and a bottle of imported vodka.He stood up and looked around, and saw a toiletry bag beside the sink counter, which contained a shaving brush, shaving pen, toothbrush and cologne.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink.He looked tired in the mirror. He started having a double chin when he was 25, and now, at 36, he sometimes thinks he looks like a lonely hound, especially when he's tired.His eyes looked unfathomable. Suddenly, Ryan was surprised to find that there was another person in the mirror. "Are you the one from G2?" a voice asked. Ryan turned and saw a man standing in the doorway, wearing a scruffy suit and a battered overcoat, holding an open wallet. "I'm Detective Michael Harrington of 'Gorday,'" he said, slipping his wallet back into his pocket. "I was notified that you were coming, but I didn't expect you to arrive in the past two days."

Ryan held out a hand and said, "I want to start early and see the crime scene as soon as possible." Harrington hesitated for a moment, staring at Ryan's unsolicited hand, then reached out to shake it.In his other hand he held a manila folder. "That's normal. I've got a report for you. It's still in the district hospital if you want to see it." Klaus's naked corpse lay flat on the stainless steel table, his eyes were closed, and his dehydrated lips were slightly opened and pouted, as if frozen in a whispered posture forever.The torso has a Y-shaped incision that runs from the black-haired pubic bone up to the shoulders.The internal organs in the abdominal cavity have all been repositioned, and the incision has been neatly closed.There is a hole just below the navel, and the skin around the edge of the hole is wrinkled and scorched. Another suture starts behind one ear and runs up the crown of the head to the other ear.Ryan could have imagined the scene: the pathologist cut the scalp, peeled it back until it covered the eyes, like wearing a mask, sawed off part of the skull, and finally took out the damaged brain. organize. Ryan first saw the inner workings of the human brain on his 18th birthday.It was in a field a few miles north of Nijmegen in the Netherlands, and there was a thick fog.Ryan couldn't remember the corporal's name, only that his head was split open like a crushed watermelon, with no bones or blood left, only the gray substance inside. Ryan remembers him collapsing to the ground, wet dirt soaking his uniform.He scrambled toward the fence 20 yards ahead, convinced that any moment his head would be crushed to pieces, leaving nothing but brain tissue.As he crawled back into the ranks, the sergeant said to him: "Short your face for Irish Intelligence. Wipe it up, lad." Ryan raised his hand, felt wet and gritty on his face, and next thing he threw up all over himself. However, he has long since vomited less easily. A water filter stood beside a large sink, and two Plexiglas bottles contained deformed bullets.Ryan picked them up and examined them carefully. "We took a bullet out of the headboard," Harrington said. "A bullet came out of the back through the intestines and kidney. There was another in his brain. The quack found the bullet in a jelly-like pile of brains. He scooped it out with a ladle. I don't know what it is. There's a hole in the other end of the head, right where the bullet came in, and there's brains splattered on the wall, but the quack finds the bullet in the head. " "It's the thrust from the gas. If the killer had used a silencer, the velocity of the bullet would have been reduced. That's why one bullet remained in the head and the other just went into the headboard reason." "Oh," said Harrington, pretending to be very interested, "Why, it's a long time to live and learn." On Harrington's drive to the hospital, Ryan read the report and found that it contained very little information.The only discernible fingerprint in the room was that of Klaus; the rest were indistinct, including Mrs. Tower's and the recent occupants of the room.From this point of view, the killer should not have touched anything in the room. A plastic tray held a few personal items, among them a lighter and a cigarette case that caught Ryan's attention.He took a pen from his pocket and turned the cigarette case over. The light shone on the beautifully carved patterns on the cigarette case. Harrington noticed Ryan's behavior and said, "I think that's why a few G2 members are sent to investigate this case." Ryan didn't answer him. "There was once a German who rented a farmhouse in Bolleberg and lived there for about six or seven years. There were all sorts of stories about him. I remember cleaning his house after he left. Worker told me that she had seen a swastika on a wall in his house, and a portrait of Hitler. I don’t think her words are credible.” Harrington paused, as if expecting a little surprise from Ryan.Seeing that Ryan didn't respond, he had no choice but to continue talking boringly. "Then there's Skorzeny, the Austrian guy, who's living in Kildare now. I've seen pictures in the papers of him shaking hands with some dignitaries at a banquet. I've never supported England, but Nor did the Nazis in Germany. Although our country did not treat Nazis harshly, I would not welcome them to settle in Ireland." "I've seen all I want to see," Ryan said.