Chapter 22 Chapter 21

I went back to my bedroom, sat down on the bed, and stared at the envelope full of cash.I moved it to my nose, and there was a sour smell, as if the bills had been tainted by unclean fingers that had grasped them.How many are there in total?I tried to do the sums in my head, failed repeatedly, and finally got it: four hundred fifty-pound notes, a puffy, limp stack.I look around.Where should I put it?In a drawer, behind a book, in a tissue box, or under the mattress?None of these places seemed to work, and then I thought about Dalio, who was desperately scrubbing the room with bleach in anticipation of a police sweep at any moment.If I hid the money in my bedroom, the police would surely find it, but so what?Is it a sin to have large sums of money?Am I legally obliged to come clean?They might think it was Ingrid.De.The package that disappeared from Soto's house.Make no mistake, Myers could explain what the money was for, but even so, it won't be a good time.

I stuffed the money into the back pocket of my jacket.Funny to say.It is impossible for me to carry tens of thousands of cash around with me.I can almost feel it against my chest.I must settle the money matter quickly before everyone disperses.I sat on the bed for a while, buried my face in my palms, and tried not to think about Ingrid.De.The faces of Soto and Leah, two beautiful but disfigured faces, looked up at me accusingly.I thought of Kamsky (are you looking for correlation?) and Ingrid.De.Soto's father (Miss Belle, what do you know?) said something, and his head started to hiss.If the connection is really me, then why?If I knew something and was not aware of it, what could it be?Is it possible, beyond my comprehension, that all this is actually my fault?

I have to talk to someone, this all just doesn't feel right.I want to talk to Owen.It doesn't help to talk to other people.I got up from the bed, suddenly realizing how tired I was, weak from exhaustion, and stepped out the door, almost bumping into Dalio, who was moving a large cardboard box in the hallway. what are you doing?I asked. I told Miles I was moving, and he said, his eyes moving nervously, that I couldn't stay in this damn place anymore.But he said I had to clean things up first.I said he could keep things, but he didn't want them.It will take days to clear the room, and I don't have days to waste.I cannot afford to delay even hours.Anything can happen.Everyone is chasing me.They will come to me one by one.

I am not chasing you.I said. What time was that?He said. What's the meaning? You found the body, I mean, what time was she, Leah? Around ten thirty. I noticed that his expression became extremely focused.I seem to have seen Mike.He said. Mike told me he was sleeping. I was working at home, Dalio said excitedly, and everyone else was at work.I met the postman.He wants me to sign for something. Dalio, I don't care about that.You go and tell the police, don't tell me, I said, yes, I got the money.I'll give you your share before you move. Dalio's expression changed immediately.Really?

I have to figure out the exact amount first.By the way, have you seen Owen? He just walked in. I wandered nervously in front of Owen's bedroom door for a few seconds before summoning up the courage to knock on the door.No one said anything, but I opened the door anyway.A travel bag was wide open, overflowing with laundry.The wardrobe door was ajar, revealing rows of empty hangers.The photos that were originally hung on the wall are now piled up on the huge desk.I sat next to the photos and flipped through them while I waited.Some have been seen before, and some are unfamiliar.The photo was close to one of the bottom ones, and I gasped when I saw it.I put my hand over my heart.There was a sharp pain in the chest.For a few seconds, I couldn't do anything but breathe heavily.

In the image is Irving's old crew: the same smooth-haired, high-cheekboned, non-smiling face.But this time the woman's eyes were closed.She was manipulated like a female corpse, with some marks on her face.I stare at it, letting the image turn into a blur, then lose focus.There were strong and powerful cuts on her smooth and white skin, and the moment the unambiguous cuts were made, bile surged up my throat. Hello. I turned around abruptly, letting the photos scatter on the desktop. Owen.I said.Fear surged through my heart, and my mouth felt parched. You look exhausted.He gave me a smile that would have made my heart glow at other times.

right. Terrible, he said, I mean, for you. You mean, to her. It is for you.Do you have anything to say to me? without.I felt cold, tired, scared, miserable, and sick.I wrap my arms around my body and hold myself tight. sometimes the best No. All right. Owen, I want to show you something.I moved the photos on his desk, noticing my hands were shaking, and finally found the photo with a big painted face.This one. how?He straightened his face and looked at me. You only have these two words to say? What do you want me to say? I want you to tell me the truth, and I find myself unable to speak clearly; the words are cloudy and heavy in my mouth.I clasped my hands together and continued to talk, to be honest, why did the marks on this woman's face have the same meaning as Ingrid?De.The scars on Soto's and Leah's faces matched.

We fell silent.His face became grim and cruel, and the lights in the room seemed to be dimmed; he stared at me intently. Say it?Finally I asked him. He took a step forward, and even though I pulled back, he still grabbed my arms so hard that I felt like his fingers were piercing my flesh.What are you talking about? They were disfigured by the killer just like that.I whispered. Leah with another girl? right.Let go, you hurt me. He let go of his hands, but stopped in place. Nobody knew about it.The police did not allow me to disclose it to the outside world.How did you know? You shut up first.let me think about it.

You must have known that already.unless.I will stop there. Unless I killed the person? right. He gave me a wry smile.You think I went out and killed a woman after I took the photo, no, it was two women, and then made them into that kind of virtue.Then, do you want to run away before I also spoil you? Enough is enough, Owen.Honestly. say what?He laughed sullenly, saying that I didn't kill the man?Is that enough?deny? The knife marks are exactly the same. You have to make up your mind whether to trust me or not. I couldn't help reaching out and slapping him loudly; he stepped back and raised his fist.You idiot, it's not about you or me, I say, it's about the woman who was murdered.You have to explain clearly.

Owen looked at me.He lowered his fist, stretched his fingers, and took a step back.The resolute expression faded from his face, replaced by tiredness and vicissitudes.Yes, he said, you are right. so what? I have no idea. you do not know? The only explanation I can think of is a damn coincidence.But I guess you've had enough of coincidences. If I were a police detective, I'd like to know when your photo was taken.What day and what time. If you were a police detective, I would tell you that I don't know, Owen said, it can only be said that it was filmed in the past few days.

Isn't the date stamped on the photo? I don't use digital display.We shoot dozens of rolls of negatives day in and day out.Owen paused for this one, thoughtful.It seems to have been taken from early May to a week or two ago. This answer is too ambiguous.Then I hesitated, recalling the name of the woman in the photo, would An Jieya remember it better? I do not think so.He walked to the window and stared out of the window.Are you exactly the same? Almost exactly the same. He picked up the photo, looked at it carefully, and said: I probably have to give this to the police, right?But, I'm going out now, probably for a while. Owen? Um? Has anyone seen these photos besides me? Nobody.Even my manager and An Jieya haven't seen it.I keep my photos in folders all the time. Then this is probably just a coincidence.I'm not sure. Maybe that's how a man sees a woman, Owen said, and that's what you think anyway, isn't it? I frowned at him.Do you think this is funny? No, I don't think so.If I thought it was funny, why did I leave?He compares it to an overflowing suitcase.You should get out of here too. do you really think so This home is cursed. I shudder.Sometimes I'm so scared I can't breathe, I say, sometimes reality is so unreal, I tell myself I'm going to wake up soon, and then it doesn't happen. So, who do you trust?Estelle, who do you trust? I stared at him for a while, and he looked back at me.He seemed to have changed, darker than the one I'd known him to be.A horrible coincidence happened, right?I said. Owen took a step in my direction and looked at me carefully.As if trying to see something that I didn't even know existed.I'm very sorry.He said. But About the pipa. That stuff was commonplace for Pipa, I said, but it meant something else to me, and I think I hesitated to speak, avoiding his fiery gaze. You think it means something to me too? Probably. I tell you, he said, that happened before us.I want you to know.This is very important to me. I already knew, I said, anyway. OK, then I took the photo to the police station.You start packing too.