Chapter 5 Chapter Four

I took a quick cold shower and pulled loose clothing on my bruised, scraped, throbbing body.To match the balmy evenings in May, I chose a light skirt, a shirt that covered my arms, and a pair of sandals.I had an appointment with three friends in Clarkwell tonight, but instead of cycling to the appointment, I chose to climb to the top of a double-decker bus.Dalio was out on business too, so he took the bus with me.The police are still stationed outside, and the number of people mobilized seems to be higher than before. A yellow metal sign has even been erected on the pavement a few meters away from the tape blockade: Witness anything unusual on the evening of Thursday, May 10 , please contact the police.

Do you really think someone was murdered?I asked Dalio. there must be.he said with great interest. Police say only that it was a serious accident.There are many possibilities, maybe a car accident, or a robbery. They mobilized a lot of police officers to handle this case.Dalio said. Living on Maitland Road, we're used to muggings: but the yellow signs seeking the public's assistance are rare.Maitland Road was once a backwater wilderness.Members of teenage gangs roam the streets and hang out in parks, bored and aggressive, wearing baggy trousers hanging down their buttocks and cigarettes dangling from their lower lips.They smashed windows, toppled trash cans, dealt drugs at the bus booth we're standing in, or engaged in endless hand-to-hand combat.The road we live in is the border area between the rich and the poor.

When Miles, Pipa and I first moved in, many of the houses in the neighborhood were either crumbling or boarded up.The gardens were overgrown with weeds, and there were few shops, except a twenty-four-hour newsagent, and a small shop that sold Crimplon's house trousers and long underwear, like an outpost on the fringes of civilization.The bunkers in the park are also filled with needles and garbage, further highlighting the area's disliked and unloved places.However, urban renewal is going on here now.While dilapidated townhouses and dilapidated vacant houses that were illegally occupied can still be seen, the rest has been renovated, but the new houses look out of place in the shabby streets.Regal cars and BMWs can be seen everywhere, interspersed with battered SUVs and Ford sedans.Just outside the same abandoned vacant house, the front yard is dotted with house sales signs of realtors, while the back yard is parked with builders' box cars and scrap trucks.Brutal stucco and pink blocks, and residents named Morris and Ruskin, make up this grim, obstinate, neglected island.

The bus came, and I climbed to the top floor to look at the street view.Beyond Hackney, you enter the upper class Stoke Newington, followed by the more upscale Islington, with its brightly lit townhouses and packed restaurants.I had no thought of the accident on Maitland Road for the rest of the evening.I meet up with friends, have a drink, stop outside the cooler bar, have a cheap dinner, and return to Sol's for a coffee.Everyone's tired, but because it's a small weekend night, we'd rather hang around and chat about nothing to do than leave. It was late when I took the night bus home.But the air at night is very cool, and I plan in my mind to sleep until I wake up naturally tomorrow, and then maybe go to the flower market with Pipa, and then have lunch.I also thought of finding a new home to settle down.Whether three months is long or not, I have to move out at the end of summer.

The two police cars remained on Maitland Road.At first there were a few teenagers standing nearby: One of them, trying to be cool, kicked the front wheel on the curb as I passed.I grinned at him, and he blushed, suddenly looking much younger than he was trying to pretend. Hi.I shouted loudly and opened the door. Except for Dalio and Owen, everyone else is downstairs; they're sitting around the kitchen table with two or three empty wine bottles between them.Miles' girlfriend, Leah, who caused us to be kicked out of the house, was also among them.I thought the atmosphere would be a little stiff, but I didn't expect that the air was filled with excitement.

You missed a good show.Myers said. What drama? The police came to the door just now and asked us if anyone heard anything unusual last night. real or fake?Did they say what happened? Mike was right, Miles said, someone was murdered. And it's on Maitland Road.Davy added, as if this was good news. No way! it is true. God, that sucks.Who is the victim?Should we not know each other? do not know.Pipa said.Her tone was almost disappointed. It appears to be a man named Margaret.Farrell's woman, said Davey, we don't know her, do we? At least I don't know, I said, does she live nearby?

This is the point, Pipa said, she lives in the front few buildings.House number fifty-four.It's our neighbor too. Number fifty-four?I repeat.I try to recall what the house looked like and who owned it. The one with the dark green gate and the neat front yard.Myers said. We also went out to have a look.Davey added. When did the gangster commit the murder?I asked.I really can't imagine that while everyone is safe in their warm homes, someone is brutally murdered a few meters from our gate. The police aren't sure either.They just wanted to know if we heard anything unusual during the night.

Just the usual unusual sounds, I said, yelling, running, and throwing things. That's what we said, and Davy poured the rest of the wine into the glass, and held it up to the light.And report everyone's name to the police. Why use it? Routine, Miles said vaguely, I said everyone was home last night.Police say anyone who remembers anything that might help solve the case should contact them. Margaret.Farrell, I mused, said, do the police know the motive?Was she robbed or what?Was she murdered at home? No, Davie further explained, her body was found in the trash can in front of the basement.Police say cleaning crews found her.

No way!In the trash?So scary. I heard so.Hard to believe, right? But why does the murderer want to kill? They should have robbed first and then killed her by mistake.Myers said. them? Eighty percent of it is the murder of her husband, Pipa said, you know, the script is always written like this. How do you know she has a husband?I asked. We don't really know anything, Myers said, and suspicions abound, and gossip spreads in the streets, and the rumors are more and more exaggerated.Everyone is talking about it.You say, is it ironic? Super ironic.Leah agrees.I was taken aback.I almost forgot that she was sitting there, poised and dignified, with her hands peacefully resting on the table.

It's terrible, I couldn't help shivering slightly while talking, it's right in front of our house. But then we changed the subject.David was doing his Portuguese homework, and I picked up a magazine and started flipping through it.Miles grabs the remote and turns on the TV to a home improvement show. Two experts remodel someone's apartment, only to make it worse than it should have been.Then I switched to a cooking show, which focused on ingredients I had never heard of.Just as everyone was about to watch a sequel to a movie no one had seen, there was the clatter of footsteps on the stairs.Dalio rushes into the living room.Turn on the TV!he growled.

Miles looked around.The TV is already on.He said. turntable.I just watched it upstairs.No, give me that damn remote. As soon as he turned the channel, a picture of a woman appeared on the screen, and then the screen switched to a local news anchor.Although that face only flashed for a second, it was enough to imprint it in my heart.That's when I opened the door. Shut up.Dalio said, and turned up the volume, the TV speakers blaring. Margaret.Farrell's body was found yesterday evening. He was fifty-seven years old. The voice suddenly increased in volume. The police have launched a homicide investigation. I heard about eyewitness calls and door-to-door investigations, but everyone was too excited to keep quiet. Margaret.Farrell is Paige! Peggy! We saw her last night, Davy said in horror, me and Dalio and Estelle.Saw her with my own eyes. What?when? Peggy!It was Peggy who knocked me off my bike. So the next morning, instead of staying in bed, taking a hot bath, or spending an hour in the garden tending to my precious vegetables, or taking a stroll at the flower market, I sat at the local police station with Dalio and David, Waiting for Officer Jim.Prieber's arraignment.The inexplicable fear and excitement of last night gradually subsided, and we were exhausted waiting in the lifeless reception. Coupled with the continuous rain outside the house, it really made people feel depressed to the bottom of the valley.Davy had a stye under his left eye and appeared to have a cold.But Dalio's situation is the worst of the three: he only slept for two hours, and we dragged him out this morning without even drinking a cup of coffee.To make matters worse, he was full of delusions and fears of the police.He felt that even if he obeyed all the rules, he would still feel guilty and panic when he saw the police.So he sat there looking like a defendant, pale and restless, with erratic eyes. When we were finally interviewed by Inspector Prieber in a small square room with the shutters drawn and only two seats available, it was a disappointment.Prieber was a stocky, stocky man with a face as dimpled as a potato and a gray stubble.He took down our names and addresses, and listened to our statements about seeing Margaret.Farrell, the woman we'll call Paige, bumped into my passing. When did that happen?he asked, picking up his pencil. Around half past seven.David said.He stood behind me and Dalio. Around seven o'clock.Dalio said at the same time. No, it should be closer to eight, I said, about seven fifty-five.Because I thought I would be late for the roommate reunion that started at 8 o'clock, I was very conscious of the time and hurried on my way.That's why I slam the car door so hard. That's it.So you saw Mrs. Farrell around eight o'clock? Yes. Did you talk to her? Yes, uh, in fact, it is not considered as talking.I probably cursed a bit. You did swear.Davy spits behind me.Dalio snickered to himself. So what did she say? I don't quite remember.Feel sorry.She kept saying sorry to me. She also wanted to call an ambulance.David said. She also said she would pay for the cost of repairing the car, Dalio added, but not now.You can call her husband to compensate instead. Dalio!I snapped, but Prieber didn't seem to notice. that's all?he asked. Yes. After the car accident, you didn't see her again? We all shook our heads. Did you notice which direction she went afterwards? My memory is a bit fuzzy, I said, only her shoes, I remember more clearly. her shoes? I remember lying on the ground and seeing a pair of shoes walking towards me.Brown loafers that require laces.I probably have a concussion.I vaguely remember someone else nearby, right next to Dalio and David. No.Just the two of us.Dalio said firmly. Just the two of you?Sergeant Prieber asked, sure? Sure.Dalio said. Sure.Davy also echoed. All right.Did the two of you see where she went after the accident? We were busy helping Estelle home, Davy said, and I didn't pay much attention.We just want to take her home and lay her down.She has many wounds on her body. Show him your bruises.Dalio said. don't want! But are you sure it happened around eight o'clock?Prieber seemed perplexed.Between his wide-set eyes was a high bridge of nose; he ran his hand over the stubble.I watched his stubble snap back into place after being squashed. Sure. Um.He said. We just thought it should be reported to the police. Thanks. Probably not related. Don't say that, he said, biting his pencil and looking at the record that only wrote one line, you are doing the right thing.It's hard to say whether it helps or not. Do you know who it could be? We're gathering all kinds of information.Do any of you know Mrs. Farrell? Probably not.Dalio said. I don't even remember seeing her before, Davy said, but then again, I didn't live there very long. Where's Miss Belle? She was just what we called Peggy, I said, just a neighbor, maybe a little out of place with the neighborhood, but she must have lived there for several years.At least longer than all of us have lived. How out of place? She looked, well, like some kind of suburban, I say, neat and orderly home.She looked respectable, as if from old England.Anyway, I know she lives around here.She often wears what Miles calls a fundraiser dinner dress. What's the meaning? It's the kind of clothes you would wear to a fundraiser, casual yet stylish, you know.Although there shouldn't be many fundraising dinners around Maitland Road. So she doesn't fit well here? I gradually understood what it was like to be a witness to an interrogation.Our usual after-dinner comments about poor Peggy are scrutinized and given weight they never deserve. Maybe none of us are hooked up here.People come and go, things change rapidly and unpredictable.That's why I like it here.It's like a movie, not a single photo.You know what I mean? Prieber bit his pencil again, carefully picking out the splinters of wood from the tip of his tongue.Well, he finally spoke up, so she was attacked by a racist, do you know that? I don't know!I wish I could keep silent.In fact, I was out of the situation at all.I turned to Dalio in despair.And you? Why do you involve me?Dalio said ghostly, how would I know this? Although she was a neighbor, Dawi said, we didn't know her.Isn't that what London is?We just happen to see her on the day she burps. It was the day she was brutally murdered. right.But that's all.We can't help much. Prieber wasn't overly surprised or disappointed.Just a little tired and bored.Then we walked out of the police station in groups and stopped on the sidewalk in the drizzle. Well, whatever the outcome, at least we did our duty, said Davey, let's go get a coffee and talk about something else.