Chapter 17 sixth scene

Sam disembarked at Weehoken and looked around. A New Jersey police officer was walking up and down the aisle to guard the empty Mohawk Ferry. When he saw Sam, he snapped to attention and set a standard Sam nodded in haste in return, passed the waiting room, and stepped out of the ferry port. He climbed up a fairly steep hill along the cobblestone road next to the ferry boat. The road stretched upwards from the pier, and the top of the slope was close to the other side of the river, which was a steep cliff like a knife.Sam struggled to go up step by step. Several cars passed by, slowing down and carefully going downhill. Sam stopped and turned around. Looking down, the entire Hudson River was magnificently spread out in front of him, and behind him was a bird's-eye view of the city. .After a while, Sam moved on to continue his journey.

At the top of the hill, Sam saw a traffic policeman asking in his deep voice the way to Povard, and then he crossed a wide road and followed a quiet, somewhat cluttered, tree-lined road. Going down the street, he reached a lively intersection, and the straight crossing avenue was exactly the Posid he was looking for all the way, so Sam turned and walked north. Finally, he found the destination of his trip - No. 2075, a wooden house squeezed between a dairy store and an auto parts store - the paint was peeling, dilapidated, and completely destroyed by the long and slow erosion of time. It's out of shape.There are three ancient reclining chairs and a long stool that may disintegrate at any time in an undulating and disorderly manner at the door. On the cushion at the door, there is a faintly visible lettering of welcome, and a line of yellow paint on a doorpost declares sadly: Rent Men's Rentals.

Sam looked at the whole street, pulled his coat neatly, put his hat on tightly, stepped up the creaking broken steps, pressed a bell marked "manager", deep in the house that was crowded like a hive, An electric bell can be heard vaguely, followed by the sound of crackling slippers.Then the door opened a crack in the middle, revealing a red nose. "What are you doing?" The very irascible female voice immediately turned into a gasping voice that knew it was causing trouble, followed by a giggling voice, and finally the door opened with a bang, and a beer barrel-shaped woman in shabby home clothes Someone appeared—a woman who exactly matched her house. "It's Mr. Police! Please come in! Inspector Sam, I'm sorry—I didn't know it was..." She babbled excitedly Pausing, and trying to force a smile, but only succeeding in showing two rows of yellow teeth, she stepped aside, waited, trembling, and opened the door for Sam to walk in.

"Oh, it's been a hell of a time," she continued. "It's been full of news writers and people with big cameras all morning! We—" "Ma'am, is anyone upstairs?" Sam asked. "Of course, Inspector, that man has been upstairs, and the ash has been playing me all over the carpet," said the woman's harsh voice, "I was photographed four times this morning... Sir, do you want to take another look?" What about the poor fellow's room?" "Take me upstairs," said Sam rough. "Yes, sir." The woman smiled obsequiously again, pinching the dirty skirt with two thick fingers pretending to be elegant, and walked up the thinly carpeted stairs with twists and turns, Sam followed behind with a low curse , to the stairs on the second floor, a man like a poodle stood in the way.

"Who's there! Mrs. Muffie?" Inspector Poodle asked, poking his face out of the dim light. "It's okay, calm down, it's me." Sam replied loudly. The detective relaxed all of a sudden, and smiled with white teeth showing: "I didn't realize it was you at once, Inspector, I'm so glad to see you, it's a bit boring to guard here." "Has anything happened since last night?" "Nothing." The agent led the way through the hallway to a back room, followed by Mrs. Muffie, the snakehead, at the end, and Sam stopped in front of the open door.

The room was small and empty, the faded ceiling was cracked, the walls were stained with age, the carpet on the floor was worn out, the furniture was old, and the lead pipes in the sink were of an earlier style, the only The chintz curtains on one of the windows had lost all their bright colors—but the room had an air of cleanliness, evidently taken care of by its occupants.There was also an old-fashioned iron bed, a chest of drawers standing out against the wall, a small marble-topped table, a wire-wrapped working chair, and a wardrobe, which made up all the furniture. Sam walked in without hesitation, and stood in front of the closet first. He opened the left and right doors, and there were three old men's clothes neatly hung inside, and two pairs of shoes underneath, one of which was quite new, and the other Then the big toe has opened the mouth.On the upper shelf of the wardrobe, there was a straw hat in a paper bag, and another felt hat with dried sweat stains on it.Sam - checked the pockets of the men's clothes, checked the shoes and hats, but he didn't seem to find anything interesting. He frowned, as if he was extremely disappointed with his search results, and then he closed the closet door.

"Are you absolutely sure," Sam asked over his shoulder to the agent standing erect by the door, "that no one has touched anything in here since last night?" The lion dog shook his hands: "Inspector, when I was on duty, I was definitely very serious and attentive. Since you left last time, nothing here has been touched." On the rug next to the closet was a cheap tote bag with a broken handle, sticking to one side dangling, and Sam opened it to see that it was empty. Sam went to the cupboard and opened the wet and heavy drawer. Inside were several dry sets of underwear, a stack of laundered handkerchiefs, half a dozen striped shirts in soft colors, a few crumpled ties, and There are clean socks rolled into a ball.

After searching the cupboards, despite the cold wind outside, the small airtight room was very stuffy. Sam carefully wiped his sweaty face with a silk handkerchief.Standing sprawled in the middle of the room, he looked around, then went to the marble table where there was a bottle of ink, a dead pen, and a stack of cheap grid paper, and Sam picked up a Bengal The royal cigar box, opened it curiously, there was only one cigar left in the box, the cigar broke when he touched it with his fingers, Sam put it back into the cigar box, his brows frowned even deeper, but he still didn’t give up Check the room again.

There was a shelf in one corner over the sink with some things on it, and Sam went over and took it all down, including a broken alarm clock and a quarter-pint bottle of rye whiskey —Sam uncorked the bottle and took a deep sniff—and glasses, toothbrushes, a rusted metal razor case, a small can of aspirin, an old brass ashtray . . . He took out a small cigar butt from the ashtray and checked the cigar label buried in the ash. It was from Kreme. Sam thought about it and walked back to the door. Mrs. Muffie's malicious little eyes stared at every move of Sam unrelentingly. At this moment, she said in a nasal voice: "I said, inspector, you have to forgive the mess in this room. The tenant said nothing and asked me to help him tidy up."

"Oh, it doesn't matter." Sam was perfunctory, and suddenly stopped as if remembering something, and looked at the landlady with piercing eyes, "By the way, Mrs. Muffie—has any woman come to see Wood?" Mrs. Murphy snorted and raised her pusty chin: "Inspector, if you are not a policeman, I will really knock your head off when I hear this. I can tell you, of course not, it is noble. anyone knows, and I've always told my tenants that the most important rule here is, 'No ladies allowed,' I said, without exception, in Mrs. Muffie's house. Those embarrassing monkey tricks."

"Well," Sam found a chair and sat down. "No women have been here. . . What about relatives? Any sisters or sisters here to see him?" "Speaking of which," Mrs. Muffie answered cleverly, "of course I can't forbid people to have sisters, so my tenants will of course have sisters, and aunts or nieces and nieces, but never in Wood. You You know, I have always regarded Mr. Wood as my standard tenant. He has lived here for five years, never caused trouble, so quiet, so polite, what a gentleman. As far as I know, no one has ever come to look for him But we don't see him that often either, he works on the New York streetcars from noon till late at night, and we don't serve meals here - tenants have to eat out - so I don't know how Wood Eater, but this poor soul, dare I say it—pays his rent on time, doesn't cause trouble, and doesn't get drunk—as quiet as if he didn't exist, and I—" But Sam didn't listen. He stood up and turned his thick back to Mrs. Muffie. Mrs. Muffie stopped before she finished speaking. The little frog blinked at Sam's back, snorted and puffed up. drummed out of the room. "One old witch," cursed the criminal policeman by the doorpost, "Of course only sisters, aunts, aunts, nieces and nieces can come, this is too much to see." He laughed lewdly. But Sam completely ignored what happened here. He was walking slowly step by step, trying to feel the situation under the carpet with his feet. With Tom's eyes, he lifted the carpet and found that it was caused by the warped boards.Then, he went to the bed again, hesitated for a while, knelt down resolutely and crawled under the bed, groping like a blind man, the detective and criminal policeman saw this and said hurriedly: "Hey! Boss—I'll do it." But Sam ignored him, and he was struggling to move forward on the carpet under the bed, and the detective also crawled forward on his stomach, a small flashlight scanned the deep corner of the bed, and Sam whispered triumphantly, "There it is! The agent tore away the corner of the carpet, and Sam rushed forward to hug a small yellow leather book, and the two retreated from under the bed covered in ashes, holding their breath and vigorously shaking the dust on their clothes. "Boss, is it a bank book?" Sam didn't reply—he hurriedly flipped through the little book, which listed in detail every amount deposited into the savings account over the past few years, without any withdrawal records, and each deposit did not exceed ten yuan. It's five dollars, and the account balance is nine hundred and forty-five dollars and sixty-three cents.There was also a folded five-dollar bill in the passbook. It was obvious that Wood was planning to deposit it, but was unable to process it because he was murdered. Sam put the passbook in his pocket and turned to the detective: "What time are you on duty?" "At eight o'clock sharp, someone will come to take over." "Let me tell you," Sam said darkly, "call me back to the headquarters at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon, remember to remind me that there is a special task that you are responsible for, you know?" "Understood, call back to the General Administration at 2:30 tomorrow afternoon, and I will definitely do it." Sam left the room and descended the stairs—there was a scream of piglets at each step—out the door of the house, where Mrs. Muffie was sweeping the porch vigorously, her pusty buttocks in the dust. Rednose snorted and made way for Sam to pass. Walking on the sidewalk, Sam referred to the information on the cover of the passbook, looked around, roughly judged the direction, and then walked south through Poward.At the third intersection he saw the building—a small bank with a marble porch, and Sam went in and picked out the windows marked "S" through "Z," and the old gentleman in charge raised his eyes in greeting. he. "Are you the one who's in charge of this window?" Sam asked. "Yes sir, what's the matter?" "You probably know from the papers that a streetcar conductor named Charles Wood has been murdered around here."—the old gentleman immediately nodded his knowledge—"and I, Inspector Sam from the Homicide Squad across the river , in charge of the case." "Oh!" The old man responded quickly, "Wood is our client, inspector, you are here for this, right? I saw his photo in the newspaper this morning." Sam took out Wood's passbook from his pocket: "So, uh—" He looked at the name of the service staff written on the window, "Mr. Ashley, how long have you been in charge of this window?" "A full eight years." "Do you normally handle Wood's deposits?" "Yes, sir." "From the point of view of deposit and withdrawal, he comes to deposit money once a week—not necessarily the day of the week. Can you describe the situation when he comes here to deposit money?" "Nothing special, Inspector. As you said, as far as I can remember, Mr. Wood must come once a week, and they all come at about the same time—between half past one in the afternoon and two o'clock in the afternoon— I read the reports in the newspapers, and then I realized that he had dropped by before going to work." Sam frowned: "As far as you remember, did he come to save money by himself? I want to know this most. Did he come by himself?" "I don't have the impression that anyone else has accompanied him at all." "Thank you for interrupting." Sam left the bank and walked back to Mrs. Powell de Maffei's apartment. There was a stationery store next to the dairy, and Sam went in. The sleepy-eyed boss greeted him with a yawn. "Do you know Charles Wood from Mrs. Muffie's down the street? The same Charles Wood who was murdered on the ferry last night." The boss suddenly became full of energy: "Oh, of course I recognize him! He is my regular customer and often comes here to buy cigars and paper." "What kind of cigars does he buy?" "Kreem's, or Bengal Royal, and those are the two most commonly bought." "How often will you come?" "Almost every day after noon, before going to work." "Almost every day, um, have you seen anyone with him?" "Oh no, he's always alone." "Is the stationery also bought from you?" "Yeah, a while ago, ink, and some paper." Sam buttoned his jacket: "When did he start patronizing your business?" The boss grabbed his messy white hair: "Four or five years, I guess, you are a journalist, right?" Sam walked out without saying a word, stopped on the sidewalk, and saw a clothing store not far away. He went over and inquired, and found that for a long time, Wood only went to buy clothes a few times, and all I go alone. Sam frowned more and more, and followed him to inquire about nearby laundromats, shoe repair shops, shoe stores, restaurants, and pharmacies. People in these stores only remembered that Wood occasionally came to the door in the past few years, and they were all alone. ——He also goes to the restaurant alone. Sam asked more questions at the pharmacy, but the pharmacist at the store didn't remember Wood bringing a doctor's prescription to buy the medicine.The pharmacist said that if Wood got sick and got a prescription, he would probably go to a pharmacy nearby in New York to buy it.At Sam's request, the pharmacist drew up a list of the names and practices of eleven doctors and three dentists in the neighborhood—all within five blocks. Sam went door to door, and at each clinic he said the same thing and asked the same questions: "You may have read in the papers that a Forty-second Street cross-car conductor named Charles Wood was at the Murdered on the Weehawken Ferry, he lives near here. I'm Inspector Sam from the police station. I'm here to check some background information on him and see if anyone knows anything about his normal life, friendships and relationships. The state of the relationship. Did Wood ever come to see a doctor? Or did you visit him at his home when he was ill?" Four physicians had not read the report of the murder, did not know the man, had not even heard of it, and the other seven had read the report but had not seen him, so they knew nothing about him. Sam gritted his teeth, and persistently visited the three dentists on the list. In the first dental office, it was raining in Sam's house, and he sat for 35 minutes before seeing the dentist. He was finally invited in. We met in the consulting room.However, this dentist is a standard hard-mouthed person, claiming that he did not see Sam's ID card and refused to speak. This attitude lit the fire of hope in Sam's eyes, and he quickly assumed the aggressive posture of an inspector, threatening, roaring and cursing Quan Lai succeeded in bluffing the other party, but Sam's fire was suddenly turned off by the dentist's reply. The guy reluctantly said that he didn't know Charles Wood at all. Neither of the other two dentists had heard of Wood. Sighing, Sam walked heavily along the main road, climbed back to the top of the small hill by the harbor, and then went downhill with nine turns and eighteen turns to the ferry port, and took the boat back to New York. Arriving in the urban area, Sam immediately set off to the head office of the Third Avenue tram system. The heavy traffic along the way added a layer of pain to Sam's already rather ugly face. When he arrived at the personnel department building, Sam asked directly to see the personnel manager, and the clerk immediately led him to a large office.The personnel manager looked quite vicissitudes, with deep and dense wrinkles etched on his face. He rushed up to shake Sam's hand: "Inspector Sam, right?" He greeted very eagerly, and Sam also responded politely. , "Please sit down, inspector," the manager pulled a chair that was not very clean, and pushed Sam onto the chair without saying a word, "I think you are here to inquire about Charles Wood, it's too bad , It’s really too miserable.” He sat back behind the table and bit off the end of his cigar. Sam looked at the other party coldly: "Yes, I'm here for Charles Wood." Sam said hoarsely. "Yes, it's horrific, I don't know how it could have happened—Charles Wood is one of our best people, quiet, serious, and reliable—a staff of the highest standard." "Mr Klopp, you mean he hasn't been in any trouble, is he?" Klopp leaned forward eagerly: "Inspector, let me tell you, this man is a pearl of our company, never drinks while on duty, everyone in the office likes him - clean record, He is our most reliable person—in fact, I am preparing to promote him, and the service performance in the past five years is so good, I am preparing to promote him to inspector, yes, that's it." "Oh? Are you enthusiastic about public welfare and willing to help others?" "I didn't say that, I didn't say that, Inspector Sam," Cropp hastily denied, "I just said—he's very reassuring, and you're here to find out Woodley's personality, aren't you? This poor guy, since he joined the company, he has been doing things seriously every day. He is determined to perform well. Let me tell you, we also give him a chance to perform well. Inspector, this is the motto of our company: As long as you work hard, If you want to stand out, we will cooperate with you and push you forward." Sam only grunted twice, but didn't answer. "Inspector, let me tell you, Wood is never late, leaves early, messes around, and doesn't take vacations. During holidays, he goes to work as usual and gets twice the overtime pay. Some of our drivers and conductors often have to pay in advance, but what about Wood? No, he won't, inspector, absolutely not! All the money he earns is saved—if you don't believe me, you can look in his passbook." "How long has he been with the company?" "Five years, wait, I'll check the detailed time," Kropp got up and trot to the door, and shouted with his head, "Hey, John, give me the information about Charles Wood." After a while, Kropp returned to the table and handed it to Sam with a long strip of paper in his hand. Sam rested on the table with his elbows and leaned over to look at Wood's information. "Look here," Kropp pointed, "he has been in the company for a little more than five years, and he first served on the East Line of Third Avenue. Three and a half years ago, we sent him and his partner driver according to his request. Chuck Guinness was transferred to the cross-country trolley together—he lives in Weehoken, and it's an easy line for him to commute to and from get off work, you see right? No bad record at all." Sam mused. "And, Kropp, what about his private life? Do you know anything? Like friends, relatives, or buddies you hang out with?" Kropp shook his head: "Oh, I don't know about this. There are always various rumors, but I don't think they are credible. What I know is that he gets along well with his colleagues, but never Go crazy with them, I guess, the person he knows best is Patrick Guinness. By the way, look here," Kropp turned the file over, "Look, this is himself Filled out, relatives—none. I think that's the answer you want, Inspector." "I wish to confirm it," said Sam in a low voice. "Maybe Guinness he—" "Don't bother me, if I need anything, I'll go to him directly," Sam picked up his fedora hat, "this time, let's do it this way, thanks, manager." Kropp enthusiastically grabbed Sam's arm, accompanied him out of the office and out of the company gate, and repeatedly expressed his full cooperation with the police. Sam interrupted his chatter, nodded his goodbyes, and turned away. Sam stopped at the corner, looking at his watch as if waiting for someone to come.A few minutes later, a large black Lincoln sedan with the curtains drawn tightly pulled up, braked beautifully with a screech, and stopped in front of him. She opened the rear door and waited for him to get into the car with a smile.Sam looked around, then got in the car, and huddled in a corner of the car was clearly old Quesy, more than usual a fabled forest gnome, dozing off. The young driver closed the door, returned to the driver's seat, started the engine, and hit the road.Kuisy was awakened by the trembling car, opened his eyes, and saw Sam sitting beside him, a Sam who was deep in thought, a smile immediately appeared on Quesy's weird face, and he bent down to open a small box embedded in the chassis of the car. Dark grid, followed, he sat up straight, his face was slightly red, but there was a metal box in his hand, and the inner layer of the lid was a mirror. Sam moved his broad shoulders. "It's been a long day, Quasi, but it's worth it," he said. Sam took off his hat, groped in the box, and took out something. He smeared a thick layer of oily liquid on his face. Quasi helped him with the mirror and handed him a soft towel. Sam used The towel wiped his oily face vigorously.Then, ah!When the towel was removed, Sam disappeared like magic, or not completely. There was still a little oil left on his face, but basically the original makeup was gone, and what appeared was a clean, sharp, Mr. Jerry Wren, who always has a warm smile on his face.