Chapter 5 Chapter Four

The director's office was a compartment deep in the homicide squad's large office. It was separated from the rest of the room by floor-to-ceiling glass. Make famous brand.For the past six months, McCarthy has always lowered the blinds to cover the glass tightly, but still couldn't block the noise from outside—when he moved into this office, the office noises that he was used to before began to annoy him— —he knew a lot of it was gossip about his promotion, that a lot of detectives thought he was just lucky enough to be a police star and got in the damn cubicle. He lost some friends because of it—they were no longer his friends, they became his subordinates, and McCarthy didn't think it was a big deal, but others didn't—and he tried to get used to it, But things are much more difficult than he imagined. In the stubborn heads of police detectives, bureaucrats are more disgusting bastards than criminals. In that position, no matter who you used to be, you will lose the opportunity to communicate with them fairly. In contrast, the FBI holding two cups of coffee in front of you is a better communication partner.

"You are very lucky to have such delicious coffee. Kuangentico's coffee can make people diabetic." The FBI agent raised his coffee cup and took a sip of the hot coffee, admiringly. "Law enforcement coffee is similar." Although McCarthy's heart was shaken, he decided not to change his attitude towards the FBI agent in front of him for the time being. The federal agent lifted his eyes from the heat of his coffee and looked directly at McCarthy, the smile disappearing from his face, replaced by a serious expression: "It's okay that you don't like me, the police never liked the FBI anywhere, But if you think I'm here for the case on your desk, you're wrong."

McCarthy looked at the man in front of him in surprise—he was astonishingly frank, bypassing those hypocritical opening remarks, and went straight to the core of the problem, but this frankness did not arouse his disgust at all, but made him feel that his own His attitude was a bit unreasonable—he didn't know if this was a tactic taught by the FBI. It was said that the people in the Quantico Behavior Analysis Team were very good at it, and the man in front of him was one of those criminal psychologists. "Then why did you come to Pittsburgh?" he asked. The federal agent in front of him frowned slightly: "Director Owen didn't tell you?"

"tell me what?" "He never invited me and my co-workers to any case—you know, we don't do local police cases until we're invited—you know, unless it's a case that crosses state lines—the head of the Pittsburgh precinct might Have a regular cup of coffee or a round of golf with the Chief of Police, but we're not happy people. After all, it's your job to keep the local law and order, and we don't want to make trouble for ourselves." McCarthy froze for a moment, looking a little surprised, but things were not so unexpected-obviously, the federal agent in front of him was used by the director. "That old fox..." Ian muttered softly, recalling the situation when Director Owen MacDonald introduced this federal agent named Jeffrey Adams to him three days ago in the director's office—if you Inspector McCarthy is here to assist you if you need anything, that's what the director told the federal agents.

"It seems that we have all been played by the director," although the federal agent said so, showing a look of indifference, "Director Owen used me to put pressure on you-don't worry, this kind of thing happens often." "It is for you, but not for me. We don't often have the FBI here." McCarthy's tone softened. At that moment, he even felt a sense of hatred for the blond man in front of him. "If it wasn't for this case, what on earth were you here for, Agent Jeffrey?" The other party obviously noticed that he had changed his title-Agent Jeffrey-the smile returned to the face of the federal agent: "I am here this time for Kilgore Trout, who you call 'Professor ' Guy, he's the subject of my research this quarter, I need to come and check out some files on him and talk to some people - I hear you're the cop who caught him - that's what I'm sitting here s reason."

McCarthy breathed a sigh of relief: "Trout? Yes, I caught him, and we almost sent him to hell-his lawyer convinced the jury that he was mentally ill, let him Get away with it. According to me, they shouldn't be psychiatrists at all. If a serial killer is sane, then he is a ghost! Have you read his diary? He wrote it all down, I guess he Maybe the mental appraisal has already been prepared." "Yes, I read all the material before I came here - diaries, recordings, did you find anything new on his computer later?" "No, no, that bastard added a long password to his computer that couldn't be solved for two hundred years, as if he was quite good at computers, and we couldn't break into his computer until he was put in a mental hospital, But for the prosecutor, the recording on the voice recorder and the stuff on the PDA are enough."

"Understood. Listen, man, I want to hear how you caught him, at the highway scene." "Now?" Jeffrey glanced at the thick case files on the table, hesitated for a moment, and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot that you still have a case. Thank you for your time. Let's talk later." "Wait a minute, Jeff—may I call you Jeff?" "Of course, everyone calls me that." McCarthy raised his left wrist to reveal his watch: "Look, it's time for dinner. I know there's a place that has really good pizza. Let's sit down and chat while eating."

Agent Jeffrey said in surprise: "Then your case..." McCarthy had already stood up from the swivel chair, drank the coffee in his cup, and then put the file under his arm: "We can bring the case, I'm struggling with it! Kilgore Trout Afterwards, I thought you would take a look at the case as well, and perhaps give me some personal advice." "Deal!" Jeffrey also stood up. "Ah, one more thing—" "what?" "Can you drive your car? My car, uh, has a problem with the air conditioner." "certainly!"