White City Murder Expo

After this, I went to the inspector's funeral and saw the boy who had been sitting on his lap, still chewing on his fingers, with the other hand being held by a woman, presumably his mother.She was sobbing politely, wiping the corners of her eyes now and then with a handkerchief.There were not many people present, which shows that everyone does not have a good impression of the inspector. Even his little gangsters did not come, and I would not have come.Just the thought of being able to see him in the coffin, the coffin buried in the earth, like the last step in a step, made me feel so relieved.

It was eleven o'clock at noon after the funeral, and when I was about to leave, Cillian stopped me. "I'll walk with you for a while," he said.I kind of want to say no, but I don't know how to say it.

"It's a good location," Cillian tilted his head in the direction of the Inspector's cemetery, "but maybe no one will want to pay homage to him. I heard that his sister has had enough of him." I said it was a pity.There was no new topic after this, and it was about to be silent all the way, so I couldn't help but ask first: "What's the matter with you?"

"Yes," he said, "I want the Inspector's body."

I stopped and turned to look at him—he was serious.Cillian stood still, as if he didn't understand why I was so shocked. He even took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, lowered his head to strike a match, lit it, and took a puff: "Can you get it for me?"

"That's impossible, you're crazy."

"Why?" He glanced to the side, "You killed him anyway."

Cillian's expression was so calm, he didn't seem to think there was any absurdity in all this, but my heart trembled faintly.The wind brought a smell of damp earth, maybe it was going to rain, maybe it had rained in the morning, I don't know.It seems to be a bit of an impression: I told someone that I killed someone, but I thought it was a dream.Can't imagine being so stupid when I'm awake.

"You're kidding." I said.

"No, you told me yourself."

"It's not true that I talk nonsense when I'm drunk."

He smiled, raised his index finger and middle finger together, made a gun gesture, and put his fingertips on his temples. "Come on," he said, "three, two..."

"Enough!" I interrupted, "Are you threatening me?"

"No, not a threat," he said, tilting his head to let out smoke, "Um... remember you owe me a favor? Let's just take it for that."

"You're crazy," I said, and turned away, almost running away.This time Cillian did not follow, but said in his barely audible voice behind him, "I will wait for you tonight."

Between me and Cillian, I thought, someone must be completely mad.On the way, I saw an old man with a dog, that is, the lamplighter in the town, carrying tools to light up street lamps one by one every night. No one asked him to do this, and of course no one was kind enough to tell him Streetlights are probably not needed in those unoccupied houses.Calling his name behind him won't get a response, only nodding or waving at him face to face, he will respond with a jerky smile slowly, as if he has forgotten his expression.

On the way I saw Susan.She stopped me, and I could see that she regretted it as soon as she finished speaking, but she still came over.Hearing the sound of high-heeled shoes approaching made me somewhat uncomfortable.As soon as she approached, I couldn't wait to apologize and hope you weren't bothered about the last time we had dinner together; she immediately said she didn't care.No, this statement is not true.Then she asked about the inspector, followed by some thoughts on suicide, which I didn't pay attention to.She didn't seem to approve of priests conducting funerals for suicides.I put my hands in my pockets, pretended to be digging something, pretended to be listening.

"Mr. Sedders, you look very well today," she said, "calm."

"Oh, yes. Probably because my life is about to end." I said casually.

After I finished speaking, I immediately realized my slip of the tongue, Susan frowned slightly, showing a look of disapproval.I'll add right away that I was joking.

"At school, some kids always threaten us with death," she said, "but if you die today, don't you have nothing to do with what happens tomorrow? That's what I tell them. Seid Mr. Si, people still need hope in order to live."

I looked down at her, even a little envious.In the face of long-term disillusionment, the scenery, food, things that make people laugh, and even everything are no longer meaningful. The things I used to like lose their support because of excessive self-consumption. Everything is off track, but I have no strength. To straighten them... none of this is her business.I don't know Susan's background, but she's probably the kind of person who tries to make herself happy, and thinks she can guide others to live a similarly happy life.

"Thank you," I said, "that makes sense."

"It's going to be alright, really. Butcher has been doing well lately, and isn't that a good sign that he's rekindled his passion for learning?"

Yes, indeed.I said, couldn't help but lowered my head and lit a cigarette.She jokingly said that when talking to me now, she is always worried that I will cry again. "No, not anymore," I said, forced a smile, and made up some excuse to leave.After I turned and left, Susan's last words remained in my mind: "Crying a lot is not a good thing, Mr. Sedders, and there are many benefits to learning self-control. Maybe you can try to suppress your emotions? After all, Bu Cher only has you as a father..."

My breathing became heavy because of the recollection of these words, and I stopped suddenly, feeling an urge to have a big fight with her here.I turned around and saw Susan's back as far away as a small dot, and finally said nothing.Too late, always, and I'm not good at arguing.

**

When I got home, I thought very seriously about exhuming the body.Could this be a trap?The murderer took the body to another policeman's house and threw himself into the trap...

The only good thing is that there is still a long half day before the night he said, and I don't have to do what he said.I cooked something casually for lunch, and then I took a nap. I dreamed that a huge shark rushed straight over and broke the glass tank.I woke up suddenly, and heard a series of footsteps running away downstairs. After hesitating for a while, I lifted the quilt, got out of bed and went to the window to look, but there was no one downstairs.

I went downstairs to make a cup of coffee and found a big hole in the kitchen window.What I just heard was literally the sound of glass shattering.Broken glass was scattered on the countertop, and besides that, there was something wrapped in cloth that moved weakly, which was horrible.I carefully held a corner of the cloth ball, and slowly stepped back, it's okay, it's okay... Then I opened it!In an instant, a black figure sprang out, and I fell to the ground in horror, seeing that thing scurrying around in shock in the kitchen, making a hoarse and piercing cry—it was a crow.I got up in a panic and chased it away with the clothes on the back of the chair until it flew out of the hole in the window.

I lifted my coat and looked at the irregular hole in the glass, my heart was beating so hard that it was almost painful.This really scares me.I couldn't help but wonder, could this be a threat—or a warning?

I put on thick gloves, picked up the broken glass into the trash can, tied the bag and put it by the door, put on my clothes, put the keys in the pocket, took the trash bag and walked out, walked halfway and touched the pocket See if you have the key.I went to the hardware store and asked a guy to come and replace a piece of glass for my window, and he and I carried the glass panel to the house, and then moved a chair to sit on one side, watching him remove the original glass from the frame, Putting the new one back carefully again; after the clerk left I sat where I was, until there was a knock at the door, and Butcher came back.

I didn't mention the glass to him.At supper Butcher spoke of the Inspector's death, apparently in a good mood; a little puzzled at my indifference.

"You're very preoccupied today, Dad," he tapped my plate with his fork, and I was stunned for a moment before realizing that I was distracted, "Who made you angry?"

"No." I said, ate the last bite of noodles, and went to the sink to wash the dishes.

At night, after it was completely dark, Butcher went to the bathroom to take a shower. I listened to the sound of water in it, quietly put on my coat, went to the backyard to pick up the carpentry toolbox, and drove to the cemetery.The road in the cemetery is only for pedestrians, so I parked the car further away and walked there with my suitcase on foot.Looking around, the cemetery at night is very quiet, and the moonlight is evenly sprinkled on the stone tombstones, as if it is also watching me.I feel that my courage is being lost bit by bit. If I stand here for a while longer, I may have to run away.

I set to work, put on my gloves, and with the shovel I dug up the first pocket of soil, and the rest became easy to do.I tried not to raise the soil very high, but piled it loosely on both sides, so that it would be easy to fill it back in later; after digging about six feet deep, the shovel touched something hard, and the surface layer of soil was pushed away, revealing the coffin Come out, it's not enough just to expose the surface of the coffin.I dug down a little more until the lid of the coffin was all exposed, and struck a match to light it. The coffin was not nailed firmly, but there was a long nail at each corner.I first clamped the head of the nail with a starting crowbar, held the end of the stick with one hand, raised my foot and stepped down as hard as I could, the four nails were pried out one by one, and then I inserted the flat end of the crowbar into the gap and pried lightly. , the coffin lid opened.I leaned it against the tree pole next to it, turned my head, and looked at the inspector's body. I could smell the faint stench without looking down. Half of my head was sunken, and the blood and brains that spewed out had been wiped away. Clean, his corpse spots appeared on the lower half of his face, mixed with those gray-brown age spots.I feel a little sick.

I lifted the detective's body and put it on the ground. I tried to get the coffin cover and soil back as they were. After finishing these things, I realized that I had forgotten the four nails under my feet. After thinking about it, I threw them into the bushes inside.I scooped up the inspector's body from the ground, and with his arms around my shoulders like a drunk, I helped him—or rather dragged him—out.The location of his cemetery is really good, it is very close to the back entrance of the cemetery, and I don't have to walk too much.I stuffed him into the trunk, drove to Cillian's house, and saw that every window of his house was lit from a distance, as if he was really waiting for me.

"You're here." Before I could knock on the door, he came out of the room by himself, and stretched out his hand to touch me, but I dodged it. "You look terrified, Sue," he said.After he said that, I realized that my whole body was shaking.

"In the trunk," I said.

He nodded, raised his wrist and looked at his watch: "It's still early, why don't you go with me and borrow your car?"

"What?" I asked.

But soon I was on the road with him.Cillian was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. I didn't know where he was going. I didn't realize it was a medical school until the car stopped.The guard opened the gate, poked his head out to look at us, and quickly retracted. After a while, another person pushed the door open and came out, followed by two young men carrying an empty stretcher.Cillian got out of the car and helped him open the trunk, and I heard the man say, "Gee, the... skull is definitely not working, but it's all good, thank you."

The car shook a bit, and it was obviously light, and I saw the three people carrying the body away.Cillian closed the trunk, sat back in the driver's seat, turned to look at me, and said, "Thank you." He took out a thin wad of money from his pocket, and counted half of it to me.

I didn't move, and I didn't reach out to pick it up.After a stalemate for a while, he put away the two stacks of money and put them in the left and right pockets respectively, and asked me if I wanted to take a shower at his house.

"No." I said.

"The smell on you...can you go straight home?" he asked.This made me hesitate, and finally agreed to his suggestion.On the way, Cillian was visibly in a good mood, and I wasn't feeling well.

Cillian actually made money by reselling corpses to medical students. I couldn't help but think that he looked exhausted every day. Was it because he was tired from stealing corpses?

"Anyway, this is the last time," I said. "It's no use threatening me. I'm not afraid to fight you to the death."

He turned to look at me: "What threat?"

I was almost startled too.If such low-level intimidation tactics as this afternoon weren't a threat, what was?Are you really going to pull out your gun?

"My glass," I said, "you'd better give me the money, after all, a piece of glass is not cheap."

Cillian stopped the car, handed me the money, and said, "I don't know what you're talking about, I thought you volunteered."

"How could anyone volunteer to do such a fucking thing?!"

"But you voluntarily slept with me."

...Talk to him one more time, and I'm about to suffer from shortness of breath and cause respiratory symptoms.However, Cillian's series of behaviors seem to be really ignorant of the fact that my glass was broken, but who else could it be?The inspector's followers didn't even show up for the funeral.

I stopped the car in his yard, and I said to him, "Just trot in like this."

He glanced at me and did as he did, and started running in a leisurely manner. The sound of footsteps seemed different from what I heard in the afternoon.I swallowed my confusion and took a shower in the bathroom of his house. The smell on the coat lingered for a long time. Cillian offered to wash it for me, so I took off my clothes at his house and planned to go back in unlined clothes.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him.Of course I mean the business of reselling dead bodies.

Cillian hands me a mug of hot tea and sits on the sofa, holding the cup, eyelids downcast.

"I need money," he said. "My mom is sick, cancer. I don't have money."

After finishing speaking, he fell into the memory of himself, frowning for a moment, showing a confused expression, and then returning to the ordinary sadness that was no longer so strong because it was too long.