Chapter 49 Chapter Forty-eight

As soon as Morrow arrived at the police station, he was called to Bannerman's office, and McKechney wanted to tell her about the investigation of Grant Bannerman. McKechney wanted to make clear that the complaints against her boss had not been substantiated. While the laptop was found in Bannerman's home, it did not prove intent to steal, but other complaints were more serious: bullying. , abusing junior police officers, sending employees to buy him lunch... Moreau lost patience with this. "Who?" "What's wrong with who?" McKechney asked sharply. "Who did he send out to buy him lunch?"

McKechney looked at the document, "Nothing." "He brings sandwiches to work every day, and his drawers are full of healthy food." Moreau gasped, "Listen, sir, I have two people upstairs who need to be interrogated. I don't believe it all. We Can we talk about it later?" McKechney snapped the folder shut. "Okay." "Where is he now?" "Temporary suspension." "He's sitting at home watching TV and I have to do all the work myself?" McKechney's eyes widened. "We have a legal obligation, Morrow." "I still need to go back to London to question another defendant."

"People have a right to work in a safe environment." "Safe? He's not guilty, he's just unpopular." "Okay, we've got to look into these things, those complaints—" "I say responsibly, those complaints are all bullshit. He's not coming back, is he? Even if he's innocent, isn't he coming back? But you know, I'm the only senior police officer here, And I'm going on maternity leave." McKechney stood up and said, apologetically, "Morrow, this is the world we live in." "Yes." She opened the door and walked into the case room.Police officers on the night shift gathered together, while those on the day shift waited to take away the latest conversation.Everyone was looking at her, most smiling, thinking they had done her a favor.

Moreau looked around them. "You cowardly scum," she said, softening her tone as she imagined herself reading aloud to a disciplinary committee. "You have no sympathy for your bosses, because you will never change. We will do it." She looked around, and the crowd continued to laugh, but they cupped their hands to cover it up, "You will accomplish nothing, because you are just soldiers, and none of you will take a step forward." Seeing that no one understood what he meant, Morrow finally lost control, and a nameless anger rose in his heart, "Harris?" Harris stood up from behind, "Inspector."

"Go upstairs," said Moreau, and a sudden outburst of anger caused her to add, "You bloody bastard!" Although Jonathan Hamilton-Gordon asked Doyle to accompany him, his family stepped in and brought him along with a friend, someone Jonathan knew.The man sounded the alarm for Moreau.His clothes were too neat, and he didn't make eye contact with the boy.Although they sit close together at the table, their body language is icy.Moreau was sure he was a lawyer. She watched them from the remote viewing room, and was worried about going in with Harris later.Leonard stood behind her, also looking a little uneasy.

"That sweater is made of cashmere." Leonard said, looking at the neat man's sweater. Moreau looked at the knitted jumper, which looked plain, green, with a round neck, and a shirt underneath. "Are you clairvoyant or something?" "Just the way it drape," explains Leonard, "is thinner too, and I bet it's worth about £200." "No way! A sweater can't be worth £200." But Leonard nodded, very sure. Moreau looked again. "The man was said to be a friend. I don't think they knew each other before. What do you think?"

Then Harris came over, biting his lip.Moreau was still angry with him, staring at him, "Are you ready?" Harris looked at the TV screen, "Shall we go in?" "Yes," Morrow said, "come on." She flashed past Harris and into the hallway. The interrogation room is spacious and clean. The man sits against the wall, the boy leans out.Morrow and Harris walked in, stood up, and shook hands with the two officers.Jonathan's hands were dry, and he seemed calm. Morrow sat Harris in the back seat and put the folder in front of his chair.They put the tape in place, started recording, and said there was still a camera.When Moreau read the charges against the boy aloud, the man did not ask for clarification, and the boy barely heeded her warning.

The people in the room sat silently for a while, until Mo Luo suddenly looked at the man opposite, as if he had just realized his existence, "Excuse me, please say your name again?" "Harold." "Where are you from, Harold?" He blinked. "Sterling, I live in Sterling." "Yes, we have your address downstairs, don't we?" He blinked again. "It's a nice place, nice. What do you live on?" Harold sighed and gave Jonathan a suggestive look.Jonathan then asked, "Shouldn't you be asking me?" Morrow looked up at Jonathan, "Really? Can you really have more to say to us than what you said in front of Doyle? All the things you told us and the physical evidence you gave us... "

Harris smiled smugly from the sidelines, and Morrow could see this annoyed the boy. "I do want to get this over with quickly." Jonathan tried to put on a gesture of being helpful. Morrow looked at the notes wearily, "Son, whatever happens here, whatever happens, it's not going to end anytime soon—" "I don't mean that," Jonathan said, "I mean these issues, I want to end these issues quickly." "What do you think will happen when these problems are over?" Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly, and glanced at Harold's hands, which were lightly folded on top of the other.Harold looked directly at Moreau with contempt and pride in his eyes.He really thought he'd be able to bail Jonathan out.Morrow realized that Jonathan hadn't told Harold about the car or how much he had said.

"Well," Moreau continued to check his notes, "Have you watched a lot of police and gangster TV shows?" Jonathan looked at Harold, saw Harold nod to him, and said, "No, I'm in a boarding school, and we can't watch too much TV." "You can't have a car either." Moreau smiled at him, but he didn't. "No, I'm asking because I wanted to know if you've heard of 'Prisoner's Dilemma'?" "Is it a gangster movie?" "no." Jonathan seemed amused by the conversation, he sat back, raised the front legs of the chair and swayed, "What's that?"

"Two people in different rooms being asked the same thing, understand?" He nodded. "Both want to keep it a secret, say, let's say, they did something bad." She stared at him sternly. "If you can imagine that." His cheeks sunken and the smile disappeared. "Two guys did something bad together and they've been caught." "Or turn yourself in," he said. "What's the difference?" "Well, one is that they're trying to sneak away," he smirked. "The other is that they—you know—have made up their minds." "I understand." Moreau nodded at Harold. "An interesting difference. Well, the two are in different rooms, and neither of them knows what the other guy said. They give different versions. For example , I was outside the room from the beginning to the end, and so on." She lowered her voice and smiled slyly, as if sharing a family income, "We analyze the truth of the matter from the contradictions." Jonathan sat forward, letting all four legs of the chair touch the ground, "Didn't they just blame each other?" "Well, it's possible, yes, sometimes, the classic piece," Moreau nodded cheerfully, "and they expose each other. One says, 'He did it all, I'm innocent.' The other One said, 'No, he did it, I'm innocent.' That's a big problem for the police. We have to rely on physical evidence and try to piece things together and figure out what's going on. Of course, It costs more because the case is in court and everyone is pleading not guilty, but you get paid for it, you know?" She smacked her lips, "The sentence will be longer, and everything is The feeling of being checked, interrogated, and exposed..." Jonathan smiled, licked his lips, leaned back again, and rocked his chair, "Is this what's happening here?" "No, here you are saying he did it, and you have a lot of physical evidence that he did it. In your version, you did nothing, and all the physical evidence about you is missing. Is it luck Apparently, you said that when it happened, you walked away and prayed." Jonathan sat forward and nodded seriously, "That's right." Morrow looked at Jonathan, then at Harold, and found that both of them looked smug.She turned over a page of notes, "Ah," she looked closer, "ah, my God, two sets of footprints are deeply on Sarah's soft face." She raised her head and smiled, "Then What kind of prayer? I'm not religious, so—" Jonathan interrupted, "No—" "Okay," Harold stood up, "let's stop here, let's rest for a while." Morrow looked confused. "That question of yours," Harold said, "is too aggressive for a minor." Morrow stood up slowly, hugged his belly, and gave the other party a fierce smile, "Harold, are you a lawyer?" Harold snorted angrily, "We want to rest for a while." Morrow snapped the folder shut, "You can rest as long as you like, I'm done, you will now be taken downstairs to face charges." Jonathan stood up, "Then can I go home?" Morrow stared at Harold, "No, Jonathan, you will be taken to court, and they will decide." "Will they let me go home?" Jonathan suddenly panicked, looking tearfully from Harris to Morrow. No one answered.During a brief pause, Morrow saw the lifelessness in Jonathan Hamilton-Gordon's eyes. Moreau averted his gaze, ashamed of the joy at seeing a child's hopes dashed.She picked up the folder. "You will now be taken downstairs to be charged with the murder of Sarah Errol..."