Chapter 14 Chapter Thirteen

Friday evening. The sun had fallen below the horizon, and the thin afterglow that remained in the sky could not penetrate the thick branches and shine into the woods.When the sun disappeared, the heat was quickly sucked into the ground, and before six o'clock, the woods by the creek had become as cold as a dead man's finger. McCarthy had to put on a woolen coat over his leather jacket to withstand the sudden cold. He took the police Glock pistol out of the holster under his arm and stuffed it into the coat pocket. It's been three hours.The anglers who had arrived within an hour of his arrival were already in their cars and leaving before sunset.Although in the depths of the woods, McCarthy couldn't see the faces of the four people clearly, but from the voices of their conversation, it could be confirmed that the four anglers were men and knew each other—no, they were not the ones he was waiting for.When the sound of the engine died down, the inspector stood up from his hiding place deep in the woods and cautiously advanced fifty yards to the creek, crouching down again with his back against a thick redwood tree, hiding himself in the In the shadow of the big tree, the place where the body was "originally" found can be clearly seen here-the place is still empty.

The woods after dark are not only cold and damp, but there are often insects that you have never heard of coming out to move. They climbed McCarthy's feet and got into his trousers, but he had to ignore it. He had to keep quiet so as not to startle the snake.The ambush was a far cry from the surveillance missions he'd carried out in the past, sipping coffee and eating bagels sprinkled with icing sugar while watching targets.McCarthy parked his car in a parking lot two miles away and walked in—a car parked nearby might scare off the killer, a risk he couldn’t afford to take. Car... McCarthy recalled the first day he took over the case. There were several cars parked in a mess at the scene that day, and the wheel marks were hard to distinguish.To come to this inaccessible place, the murderer and the victim drove at least one car, maybe one each, but at that time no one thought of checking the complicated tire marks one by one.

But it doesn't matter now, he's going to grab the killer right here, and if he resists, kill him on the spot—he's dead anyway. A gurgling sound startled McCarthy, and it took him a few seconds to realize that it was his own stomach.He rolled up his cuffs and looked at his watch. It was already five past seven—at this time, he had already finished his dinner, but now he didn't have any food around him, and it was impossible for him to stop monitoring to buy food for himself There was—something was wrong, and he remembered the scene investigator telling him that the victim's death was between five and seven o'clock.

Although he was muttering in his heart, he couldn't give up just now—he adjusted his posture carefully and moved his numb legs, but his eyes never left the stream for a moment. Time started to get tough.It was completely dark, and the moon appeared and disappeared in the clouds. When the moonlight was lost, the visibility in the woods was very poor. McCarthy could only prick up his ears, hoping that his hearing could help him find the murderer's movements.He was hungry, so he could only swallow his saliva to force himself to wait. When the luminous hands on his watch reached nine, McCarthy began to wonder if he was getting the date right—he remembered it was a weekend morning, and he was woken up by an early-morning phone call, but had it been the week?Maybe next week?He took out his mobile phone from his pocket and started to check the calendar. The mobile phone set to silent showed two missed calls, both from home. He didn't tell his wife not to go back for dinner. The matter should be resolved before seven o'clock. Never expected it to be this late—by this point, McCarthy didn't care if the light from his phone would give away his location—but the calendar wasn't helping him, and he still couldn't check his memory.

He has been squatting here for six hours, but the murderer still hasn't appeared.McCarthy's mind began to have no idea—maybe he has changed history unknowingly, maybe the murderer had a car accident on the way here... He knew that it would be useless to think wildly, but the current unexpected situation has made it difficult for him to think again. clam down. At a quarter past ten, McCarthy couldn't take it anymore, his eyelids began to fight -- half from fatigue, half from hunger, and he pulled out his phone -- yet another missed call.He got up, tightened his overcoat, and started back—the murderer wouldn't show up tonight, he was sure—and it was two miles to walk out of the woods to get the car, and he began to pray that he would be able to get back home. Had hot cheese pizza.

At twelve o'clock in the morning, McCarthy finally opened the door of the family room-it might be a good thing that Laura wasn't waiting for him on the porch, if she had been, she might have shot the ghost with a baseball bat. That smack on the forehead of the guy—McCarthy had never been so embarrassed even when he was a night patrolman.His wife had left him a light on the porch, and he turned on the light in the kitchen. There was only a note on the empty dining table: "Darling, I didn't save your meal, and if you didn't have dinner, there are sandwiches in the fridge."

McCarthy opened the refrigerator and found the only tuna sandwich inside—the tuna filling in the middle had been stolen by Little Stuart, but fortunately there were still two cans of beer.After finishing this poor dinner in a storm, McCarthy took off his dirty and wet coat, jacket, sweater, trousers, socks and leather shoes, threw them on the porch, and dragged his tired body into the bathroom. Fuck serial killers. Now, nothing is more important to the Inspector than a hot bath and a good night's sleep. But this time he only slept for a short five hours. At 6:15 on Saturday morning, a rapid phone ringing dragged McCarthy abruptly out of sleep.