Chapter 6 Chapter Six

On the way to West Virginia, Puller called the police officer in charge of the case several times and left a lot of voice messages, but got no response.Maybe the local police weren't as cooperative as his superiors had said, or maybe they were too overwhelmed with four bodies and a whole host of forensic problems to think about.If it's the latter, Puller finds it hard to blame them. The hotel is a row of bungalows with a courtyard in front.Puller walked towards his room and saw a metal pole standing less than ten meters away from the hotel business room. A Pepsi vending machine was tied to the pole with an iron chain. With an unconscious young man.Puller checked him carefully for wounds, but found nothing.Puller felt his pulse still beating, and smelled alcohol on his breath, and got up to leave.He carried his backpack and walked into his room of about ten square meters.The bathroom inside was very small, and Puller stood in the center of it and stretched out his arms, effortlessly touching the walls on both sides at the same time.

He ground his own cup of coffee with his own pocket coffee pot.It's a hobby he picked up while on assignment overseas.He sat on the floor, spread the information in front of him, stared at the number on it, took out his phone and pressed a key. A woman's voice sounded weak. "Hey?" "I want you to turn on Sam Cole." ① Sam (Sam) is a male name. "Let's talk." "Sam Cole?" Puller asked involuntarily, raising his voice. The woman's voice became stern, and a little more vigilant. "Abbreviation for Samantha. Who the hell are you? Don't you know what time it is?"

"It's three-twenty. Or, in common parlance, three-twenty." Long pause.Puller could seem to see her mentally turning violently, trying to convert his words into something intelligible. "Damn it. You're a soldier, aren't you?" Her voice was husky, but attractive. "John Pooler, Army Criminal Special Investigator, 701st Military Police Group, Quantico Military Base, Virginia." He recited it in a disjointed fashion, as he had recited it a million times before. . Puller could imagine her sitting up in bed.He wondered if she was sleeping alone in bed.No male grunts can be heard in the background.However, after a few seconds of silence, he clearly heard the sound of the Zippo lighter popping off the lid and turning the fire wheel.Then came the sound of deep inhalation, and then, the sound of long exhalation of smoke.

"Haven't you heard the warnings about the dangers of smoking, Ms. Cole?" "There are warning signs on my cigarette pack. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" "It says you're the supervisor on my papers. I just came into town and need to get in quick. And I want to declare that I've called you four times in the past six hours and left a message each time. But You didn't answer once." "I was too busy to check my phone." "I believe you must be very busy, ma'am." He thought to himself, "and I also believe that you must have checked your phone, but didn't bother to answer." Be better.

"Sorry to interrupt your rest, ma'am. I thought you were busy at the murder scene." She replied: "I was there all day and then late at night. My head just hit the pillow an hour ago." "That means I have to do a lot to catch up with the investigation. But I can call you later." He heard her stand up, stumbling, cursing. "Ma'am, I said I could call you back later. Lie back and sleep." "Can you shut up for a moment?" she snapped. "What?" Puller's voice became angry. "I have to pee." Puller heard her drop the phone on the floor.footsteps.The door slams.So he couldn't hear Cole's relief.Another minute passed.He wasted no time, looking down at the report he had brought.

She has come back. "I'll be there to meet you at 7 o'clock—excuse me, or should I say seven o'clock in the morning? Who the hell knows what you're talking about?" "Zero seven zero zero Juliet." He heard the long puffing sound again.She asked, "Juliet? I told you my name was Sam." "This refers to local daylight saving time. If it's Eastern Standard Time, which means winter, we'd say zero seven zero Romeo." "Romeo and Juliet?" she asked suspiciously. "Contrary to popular belief, the U.S. Army has a sense of humor."

"Goodbye, Pooler. Oh, just so you know, I'm Sheriff Samantha Cole. Don't call me a lady, and I'm not Juliet. Well, Romeo!" "Understood, Sergeant Cole. We meet at seven. It was a pleasure working with you on this case." "That's right." She finished angrily. He can picture Cole throwing his phone across the room and falling back on the bed. Puller put down the phone, drank his coffee, and carefully read the document page by page again.Half an hour later, he got up and took out his weapons, an M11 pistol in a holster on his chest and another in a holster behind his belt.With the bloody experience in the Middle East, Puller will never think that he carries too many weapons with him.He put on a windbreaker and locked the door when he went out.

The young man who had been lying by the bushes sat up now, looking around blankly. Puller came over and leaned over him and said, "You might like to think about how you can drink less in the future, or at least choose a place with a roof to get drunk." The young man blinked and asked him, "Who are you?" "John Puller. Who are you?" The young man licked his lips, as if he was longing for another drink so soon. Puller asked, "You have a name, don't you?" The young man stood up. "Randy Cole." He rubbed his hand against his jeans. Pooler mulled over his last name, thinking of some connection that was obviously possible.But he didn't say what he thought.

Randy Cole was handsome, and looked less than thirty years old.Nearly 1.8 meters tall, with a slender and strong build.Beneath his shirt may be the six-pack that sportsmen crave.He had curly brown hair, was handsome, and had no wedding ring on his finger. "Are you staying at this hotel?" Puller asked. Randy shook his head. "I'm from this town. You're not." "I understand I'm not." "What are you doing at Drake?" "Do some business." Randy snorted. "Business. You don't look like a coal boss to me." "Not really."

"Then why are you here?" "Business," Pooler repeated, and his tone suggested that he didn't want to elaborate further. "Do you have a car? Can you drive?" "I'm wide awake." Randy stepped out of the bushes. "Are you sure?" Puller asked. "Need to take you somewhere? I can drop by." "I said, I'm sober." But suddenly he staggered and put his hands on his head.Puller held him up. "I wouldn't dare say you're sober. Hangovers suck." "I can't even say it's just a hangover. My head hurts."

"You should look it up." "Yeah, I'll find myself the best doctor in the world, and I'll pay him cash." "I hope you find yourself a bed next time," Pooler said. Randy said, "Hey, sometimes it's better to sleep in the grass than in the bed. It depends on who you're sharing the bed with, right?" "I think so," Pooler replied. Puller was guided west by GPS, but what he really obeyed was his own biological compass.High-tech stuff is nice, but your brain is even better.High technology sometimes goes wrong, your brain doesn't, unless someone shoots a bullet in it.In that case, you have a much worse problem than getting lost. He again briefly speculates about the relationship between Randy Cole and Samantha Cole.Drunks and cops.Not impossible.Sometimes even the cop himself is a drunk. Puller zigzags and takes a wrong turn on a mountain road that barely passes a car, and finally reaches the street he's looking for after forty minutes.Puller's biological compass told him that the distance traveled in these forty minutes was only a little over ten kilometers.He notes that GPS agrees.There was no short stretch of straight road in this mountainous terrain, and his Malibu never went faster than forty miles. He slowed down further, looked around, and a motto of CID flashed in his mind. vision.hearing.sense of smell.He took a deep breath.It's about to start.It started again.