Testimony of Mr. J. Stanley

Go, a small voice told Stanley, before you complicate this further, give him the note back and get out of this mess while you can.

He stepped into the low underground storage room and closed the door.

-

The rain stopped.

"The rain has stopped," Stanley turned his head and looked out of the window, where the pale sunlight flinched and was cut into neat quarters by the iron grid. "People usually think that this kind of rain can rain until the end of the world of."

"We're so lucky."

Stanley smiled at the lawyer, "Isn't it?"

"Regarding your testimony, Mr. Stanley."

"Yes, Miss Gibson?"

"People would ask — I would ask, why not, say, just ignore it? Burn your notes, move, pretend you didn't hear anything. Why go all the way to meet someone you no longer consider a friend, risk it for... ...abandoning everything doesn't make sense unless."

She said no more, and Stanley nodded.

The slanting sunlight slowly turned from wet gray to warm golden.

"Does the doctor know?" asked the lawyer.

"I don't think he knows more than that, Miss Gibson. He's already taken advantage of it, at the cabin in Lakenston. Now, does the story make sense?"

"If I put Nina on the witness stand, will she confirm what you say?"

"She will."

"Are you familiar with firearms, Mr. Stanley?"

"I don't have a gun license, if that's what you're asking, but I understand the 'fundamentals,' so to speak."

"Such as unloading magazines?"

"Such as unloading magazines."

"The last piece of the puzzle." The lawyer opened the folder and took out an enlarged photo with the number of the forensics office in the upper right corner. "How did you get here?"

"A sailing ship, the Bonaparte, was scheduled to sail from Saint-Malo in two days' time for Roscoff; a fishing boat from Lorient would stop there briefly to pick up a passenger and take him to Spain. This passenger can find a place on a cargo ship bound for South America."

Stanley took the photo from Gibson and inspected the burnt house, charred beams sticking out of the rubble like severed limbs, pointing skyward.

"The Bonaparte never showed up."

-

Eleven hours later, they finally left the pier with their luggage.The thick sea fog was like an avalanche, burying the sleeping old city.The outline of the building slowly emerged, and then slowly disappeared.The sea licks the trestle, and sailboats and yachts shake gently in the harbor.Stanley was sure he heard a cough, but there was only impenetrable fog around him.The church bell rang, low and hoarse, as if it had been strangled by the throat.

Five in the morning.

A group of anglers have already set off, wearing orange waterproof windbreakers with the zipper pulled up to the chin, holding a fishing rod in one hand and a bulging canvas bag in the other.They stopped in the shadows under the ramparts, and waited for half a dozen interested vacationers to turn the corner before going on.Nina's hotel was at the end of this alley, and a car was parked in front of the gate, the red taillights were blown away by the fog, like blood.

Salma was alone in the lobby, reading a novel with more pictures than words by the lamplight.She stood up when she saw Stanley, frowning in confusion.

We need to talk to Nina, Stanley tells her.

Dans satanière, the brunette replied, returning her attention to the book.

Privately, the hotel employees called Nina's living room "The Den," partly out of fear of their Irish employers and partly because of the stuffed deer heads that hung on the walls.Nina was still in her nightgown and a gray dressing gown when she answered the door.

"The boat didn't come," she said.

"No."

"I hope you have a backup plan."

She looked at Stanley, who looked at Jason, and the fugitive shook his head.

Downstairs came the sound of doors opening and closing, old floorboards creaking, muffled conversations.

"I can make a few calls after daylight, and maybe someone can take you to Saint-Brieuc, a seafood guy whose van—"

Footsteps were heard on the stairs, and Salma ran up, glanced at them, and whispered something in Nina's ear, wringing her hands together.Nina answered a few words, and she ran down again.

"She says the police are coming," the innkeeper turned to her visitor, "and they want to search the inn."

Stanley and Jason looked at each other without speaking.

"I told you, if the police came after me, I'd have to hand you over, and I'm sorry."

"Nina—"

"You only have a few minutes at most, I asked Salma to hold them. Go down the stairs on the side of the dining room, through the kitchen, and there is a side door leading to the outside."

"Thank you."

Nina caught up with them at the kitchen door and handed Stanley a key. "You've all been to Daddy's boathouse, remember? No one has been there in years. The roof may have collapsed, but if you Need a place to stay," she shrugged and fished the car keys out of her dressing gown pocket, "it's parked in the alley, white pickup. Now run, boys, I have to go to the police and sue you for taking my car gone."

They ran.

12

12.

He ran across the beach, the sun burning his arms and the back of his neck 27 summers ago, and the seaweed hanging on the reef gave off a strong fishy smell.Now he regretted leaving the shoes in the house, and the wet sand was mixed with gravel and shells like tiny blades.

He stepped into the water and ran toward the boat, the waves wrapping around his knees, then his waist, pushing him ashore, only to change his mind a moment later and pull him forward.The twins sitting in the stern stretched out their tanned arms to help him climb up, and Stanley rolled over the side of the boat and lay panting on the wet planks of the bottom.Nina scooped up a handful of seawater and splashed it on his face, taking great pleasure in his embarrassment.

"You're late." Jason rolled up the loose cable and put it on the bow.

"His mother wouldn't let him out," said one of the twins, with freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks like migrating fish. "Jasper was afraid of his mother."

"That's not true." Stanley sat up, wiping the water off his face.

Jason tossed him the paddle.

The lion-like reef is on the other side of the small bay. Only from a distance does it look like a lion, with one front paw resting on the rocky beach and the other protruding into the water; The image formed by the curve is dismantled.The sky is like a wet canvas with a few thin strokes of cloud.The boat swayed and crawled towards the other end of the bay, the houseboat gradually moved away, and the row of windows by the water reflected the sunlight, making it dazzlingly bright.

The water between the lion's paws was calm and icy, a darker gray-green than its surroundings.Stanley crossed the narrow rocky beach, climbed up the flat rocks warmed by the sun, and watched the girls swim to the reef full of parasitic shellfish, and the rattan basket was tied to the arm with a rope, bobbing and sinking behind .There is no better tool for knocking mussels than a three-toothed rake in a round rattan basket; and when it gets dark the molluscs are boiled hot with white wine, shallots and a spoonful of cream. A steaming pot, sprinkled with kosher salt, and served with golden fried potato wedges.

"I bet I can swim across first."

Stanley didn't look at his friend, "You're going to cheat."

"I promise not."

"What if you lose?"

"I know you broke the cold water bottle the day before yesterday," Jason rolled up the T-shirt he took off. "If I lose, I'll tell them I did it."

"I'm in charge of the countdown."

"very fair."

Stanley moved to the edge of the rock, overlooking the noisy dark green water, "Get ready."

Both boys jumped into the water on the count of two.

"...magazines," Gibson said.

Stanley looked up, "Sorry, what?"

"Can I ask what you were thinking just now?"

"For lunch, I hope they don't bring back boiled string beans in salt water."

The lawyer stared at him for a while, put the notebook aside, and opened the file, "Shortly after you left Boston, the media began to report the disappearance of Dr. Coleman. The Observer published a long article—sixteen pages, in fact—"Vaccines and Gunpowder: Skeletons in the IntelGenes Lab," the first third of which is devoted to Jim Follett's lawsuit,' After the final trial, although the smuggling charges were not established, and only a huge fine and two misdemeanors were settled, it is not difficult for people who have been paying attention to this matter for a long time to understand that Follett's brief and symbolic prison sentence shows that the arms Dig up the roots of the dealer's elaborate underground network and set it on fire', at least it's certain that the magazine doesn't like Follett. It's the last paragraph that we need to worry about." The lawyer went on flipping through the black-and-white copies." Cohen and Mussel refer to the 'subtle animosity between the founders of IntelGenes', which he describes quite poetically. Listen to this: 'Coleman and Stanley's protracted, under-the-table war. They scrambled to Gray deal profits are like dingoes fighting for a bone. This may explain Stanley's unannounced resignation, the game is over and Coleman gets the bone'."

"Piggy and his third-rate detective story."

"If the jury believed this version, it wouldn't be just a story. In theory we could weed out jury candidates who were 'tainted', but people talk, speculate and think, most bad things in the world