Der unvergessliche Kuss von Ghost Lips

Kapitel 3

The first part of "The Third Time" presents a gloomy and desolate scene.

Claire is San Francisco's most respected doctor and my best friend of over a decade. In the midst of this madness, it's all the more distressing for her to reveal such horrifying news to me. "Charlotte Lettour is pregnant," Claire said, her face grave and resigned, wearing orange surgical latex gloves. "She's two months pregnant. The poor woman, she probably doesn't even know it." A wave of inexplicable sadness washed over me. Perhaps it was this fact that made the Lettours seem more like a family, more humane.

“I was planning to come see you at this time today,” Claire said to me, forcing a smile. “I never expected this to happen.” “Yes,” I replied, forcing a smile as I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

“I heard about what happened to you,” Claire came over and hugged me. “It really takes courage and bravery, darling. You’re such a silly girl, you had no idea how dangerous it was.” “For a moment, I was completely stunned, wondering if I would ever get out, Claire. The whole house was filled with smoke. Smoke everywhere, it got into my eyes, into my lungs, I couldn’t see anything. I reached out and grabbed the boy, desperately praying we could escape.” “You then saw light and groped your way out?” Claire said with a smile.

"No. I was thinking that if I were to be overcome by smoke or burned to a crisp, you would all think I was incredibly stupid."

“It will spoil our Margarita cocktail party,” she nodded.

“I told you,” I said, looking up and smiling, “you have a good eye for things.” The Letteau’s bodies were laid side by side on two wheeled gurneys. Although the morgue was a quiet place even on Christmas, that Sunday afternoon, the autopsy doctors had all gone home, and the room was filled with the strong smell of embalming agents. The walls were covered with autopsy reports and medical analysis reports, creating a somber and desolate scene.

I walked over to the body.

“You called me here,” I said, “what do you want me to see?” “I called you here,” she said, “because I thought you needed a good hug.” “I really wanted some friends to comfort me,” I said. “Now, can you tell me about the autopsies?” Claire walked to a table and took off her latex gloves. “The autopsies?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Lindsay, all I can tell you is that all three of them were killed in the explosion.”

The first part of "The Third Time" focuses on finding clues to the missing maid.

An hour later, Trajo and I attended a press conference held on the stone steps outside the police station. The atmosphere was tense, and the attendees were quite emotional. Cindy was there too; almost half of the city's journalists had come to the press conference.

Back in his office, Jacobi entered the signature "August Spies" from the photograph into the company's organizational database and the FBI's archives. The result was zero. No person or organization matched the name. Capi was searching for clues about the missing maid. Letor's sister had described the maid to us, but didn't know her background or even her last name.

I took a copy of the Seabell Company Yellow Pages from the bookshelf and slammed it onto Kapi's desk. "Check the Yellow Pages, look for the N-series, find the nanny①."

① Nannies: The English word for nanny is "nannies," which begins with the letter N.

"It was already 6 p.m. on Sunday. We sent some people to X/L Company, but we only found a public relations officer who said he wouldn't be able to see the person in charge until 8 a.m. the next day. Sunday is such a lousy day for investigations."

Jacobi and Kapi knocked on my office door. “Why aren’t you home yet?” Kapi said. “We’ve got your hands on things here.” “I haven’t received a call from Charlie Clapper yet.” Charlie and his team were still searching for clues at the scene.

“Lindsay, listen to me. We’ll take care of you. You look terrible,” Jacobi said.

Suddenly, I felt utterly exhausted. Nine hours had passed since the explosion, and I was still wearing a t-shirt and running clothes, covered from head to toe in grime from the blast site.

“Hey officer,” Kapi turned back to me. “One more thing. How was last night with Franklin Frantley? Your long-awaited date night, huh?” They stood in the doorway, chewing gum like two mischievous big boys. “Nothing like that,” I said. “You sound like you’re asking if your damn boss is even human.” “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Kapi said. “And one more thing, to my damn boss”—the troublemaker leaned back on his shiny bald head—“You look absolutely stunning in that tight suit. Frantley, that bastard, is a complete idiot.” “Watch your mouth,” I said with a smile. It took me a long time to feel like I could handle these guys.

Both of them had served in the police force twice as long as I had. I knew that they had gone through a lot of internal struggle before gradually accepting that the homicide division was headed by a woman for the first time.

"Warren, is there anything else you'd like to say?" I asked.

“That’s all.” He snapped his heels together. “But, tomorrow, should we wear suits and ties, or just tennis shirts and Nikes?” I walked past him, shaking my head. Just then, I heard him call my name again. “Officer?” I turned around, a little annoyed. “Warren, what’s wrong now?” “You were really impressive today,” he said, nodding. “Only the experts would know.”

A fleeting orange figure in the first part of "The Third Soul Stealer"

It's only a ten-minute drive from here to Portrero Street, where I live in a two-bedroom suite in an apartment building without an elevator. When I walked in, Martha wagged her tail and jumped happily into my arms. A patrol officer who was at the scene had taken Martha home for me.

The answering machine's indicator light was flashing. One message was from Jill: "Lindsay, I called your office but couldn't find you. I just heard..." Another was from Frantley: "Lindsay, listen to me, if you're free today..." I deleted his message before he finished.

I went into the bedroom and took off my bodysuit and t-shirt. I didn't want to talk to anyone tonight. I put a CD in the stereo.

It was "the respected Al Green." I stepped into the shower and took a sip of the beer I'd grabbed. I leaned back slightly, letting the warm shower water wash over me, gradually washing away the grime and soot that trickled down from my ankles. It felt so good.

I feel really lonely.

I could very well be dead today.

I wish someone would open their arms and let me run into their embrace.

After Claire stitched up three charred corpses during the day, Edmund would comfort her at this hour tonight. Jill had Steve, and anyway… even Martha had someone to comfort her—I did! My thoughts drifted to Chris. It would be nice if he were here tonight. But he'd been dead for eighteen months. I'd begun to heal and was ready to accept someone else, if I thought that person was right. There was no thunderous applause. No cliché of an officiant revealing the mystery with "Ladies and gentlemen, in this envelope, please…". Just a soft call in my heart, my own voice, telling me it was time.

Then, my thoughts returned to the scene in Marina Green Square. I saw myself strolling down the street, hand in hand with Masha. That beautiful, peaceful morning; that little house with its faux-plastered walls; that red-haired child on his skateboard; that fleeting orange figure.

The scene in my mind replayed over and over again, each time freezing on that one particular moment.

There are some things you didn't see clearly. Things I overlooked.

It was the scene of that woman hurriedly turning the street corner before the explosion. I only glanced at her back. Golden hair, tied in a ponytail. She was holding something in her arms. But that wasn't the real reason I became suspicious.

What made me suspicious was that she never returned.

I only noticed this detail now. After the explosion… the skateboarder was in the crowd. There were many other people too. But the blonde woman wasn't there. Nobody interviewed her. She really didn't come back… why? Because that bastard ran away.

That scene lingered in my mind, refusing to fade. She was holding something in her arms. She had run away from the scene in a hurry.

She was that maid.

The package she was holding? That was the Letour family's baby!

The first part of "Three Times the Soul" features innocent adults.

Her thick, blonde hair cascaded down the bathroom floor tiles. She held scissors and cut the strands away. It was time to start all over again. Wendy was gone. A new face appeared in the mirror. She had been the maid for the past five months; now it was time to say goodbye.

Cut off all ties with the past. Wendy's name is a tribute to Peter Pan. ① Peter Pan: The protagonist of James Barrie's masterpiece "Peter Pan," a child who refuses to grow up, often used to describe naive adults.

It's something you hear, not something you use in the real world.

The baby was crying in the bedroom again. “Shh, Caitlin. Be quiet, be good.” She had to think quickly—what to do with the baby girl. She knew in her heart that she couldn't let the baby die. She had listened to the news all afternoon. The whole world was looking for her. People called her a cold-blooded killer. A devil. But she wasn't that kind of devil, was she? She had saved the baby, how could she be a devil? “You don't see me as a devil, do you, Caitlin?” she said to the crying baby.

Michelle lowered her head, leaned over the sink, and poured an entire bottle of L'Oréal red hair dye onto her already short hair.

Wendy, the maid, has disappeared.

Malcolm could burst in at any moment. They had agreed to meet only after they were sure she wasn't being followed. But she needed him. Now she had proven herself.

She heard a sound at the front door. Michelle's heart pounded.

What if she hadn't been careful enough to hide it properly? What if someone had seen her carrying the child out of the house? Maybe the police were knocking on the door now, coming to arrest her! Just then, Malcolm walked in. "You thought the police were here, didn't you? I told you, they're all idiots!" he said. Michelle ran over and threw herself into his open arms.

“Oh, Mal, we did it. We did it!” She kissed his cheeks eagerly. “I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?” Michelle asked. “I mean, the TV said whoever did it, it’s a monster.” “I told you you had to be brave, Michelle.” Mal gently stroked her hair. “What TV, they’re all bribed, just like everyone else. Look at you…you’re completely changed.” Suddenly, a cry came from the bedroom. Mal pulled a pistol from his belt. “What the hell is that?” He ran into the bedroom, Michelle following nervously. He stared blankly at Caitlin, utterly astonished.

“Mal, let’s keep her here, even if it’s just for a while. Let me take care of her. She hasn’t done anything wrong.” “You idiot!” he yelled, shoving her onto the bed. “The police in this city are all looking for this child.” She felt herself breathing rapidly again. She always looked like this whenever Mal raised his voice. She reached into her handbag for the spray, which was always in her handbag. She always carried it with her. She had used it last night. Damn it, where was it now? “I like her, Malcolm,” Michelle continued. “I think you’ll understand…” Malcolm pressed her face closer to the baby. “Hmph, understand this… kill her, do it tomorrow. Shut her mouth now. Stuff your nipple into her mouth, suffocate her with a pillow. Tomorrow morning, fuck her.”

The first part of "Triple Threat" features a stunningly ruthless maid.

Charles Danko never wanted to take unnecessary risks. He firmly believed that as soldiers, everyone must be prepared to sacrifice, including himself. He always secretly prayed that soldiers would rise again.

He made the call from a public phone booth in the parish. If the call was intercepted, let them worry about it.

The phone rang several times before someone answered. He recognized the voice as Michelle's, that incredibly ruthless maid. Her performance was truly impeccable.

“I’m so proud of you, Michelle. Don’t say anything, let Malcolm listen. Of course, you’re our hero.”

Michelle put down the microphone, and Danko couldn't help but laugh at their obedience.

This is truly an invaluable asset, and it also illustrates the nature of humanity. It's incredible how this could explain Hitler's actions in Munich. They were all highly intelligent people, most of them highly educated, yet they almost never questioned him about what he told them.

“Yes. It’s me.” He heard Malcolm’s listless voice. The kid was great, but he was a brilliant killer, and probably a psychopath; he was even a little afraid of Danko sometimes.

“Listen to me. I don’t want to say much. I just want you to know the latest progress—everything is going well, it couldn’t be better.” Danko paused slightly. “Keep going,” he added finally.

The first part of "Triple Threat" involves selling $600 million worth of stock.

A headland jutted into the bay, topped with a brick cottage with bright glass windows. A large graphic logo—an X and L crossed and stacked—was displayed beneath the eaves. A neatly dressed company employee led Jacobi and me into a conference room. The walls were paneled with articles and magazine covers, all featuring Morton Letteau's radiant smile. A Forbes magazine cover bore the headline, "Who in Silicon Valley can stop this guy?" "What does this company make?" I asked Jacobi.

“High-speed switches and things like that. They transmit data over the internet. This was before anyone even understood how it worked, before any data was being transmitted over the internet.” The conference room door opened, and two people walked in. One was a man with mixed black and white hair, a ruddy complexion, and well-fitting clothes; he was probably a lawyer. The other was stocky, bald, wearing a checkered shirt with the collar open; he looked like a tech guy.

“My name is Chuck Zinn,” the man in the suit introduced himself, handing Jacoby a business card. “I’m the CLO of X/L Corporation. Are you Officer Boxer?” “I am Officer Boxer.” I took his card, glanced at it, and snorted. “What’s CLO?” “Chief Legal Counsel.” He gave me an apologetic bow. “This is Gerry Gates, he helped Morton start this company.” “No need to say more, we were all stunned when we heard the news.” They sat down in chairs at the table, and we followed suit. “Most people in the company started with Morton from the beginning. Gerry went to Berkeley with him. I want to let you know that the company will fully cooperate with the police investigation.” “Any leads?” Gates asked. “I heard Caitlin is missing.” “We’re doing everything we can to find her. I heard the Mortons hired a maid—she’s also disappeared. Do you have any information about her?” “Perhaps Helena might know something; Helena is Morton’s secretary.” Gates glanced at the lawyer.

“I think this is feasible.” Zin wrote something in his notebook.

They started by asking some standard questions: Had Letor been threatened in any way? Did they know of anyone who might harm him?

“I don’t know,” Gerry Gates said, shaking his head as he glanced at the lawyer. “Of course, Morton’s financial dealings have been all over the media,” he continued. “People are always making a racket at shareholder meetings, spilling everything. They’re like financial watchdogs. It’s like if you want to renovate the kitchen, they’ll yell that you’re bleeding the company dry.” Jacobi scoffed. “You think he’s angering some people by trying to sell six hundred million dollars worth of stock and then manipulating the market nationwide to get people to rush in at ten o’clock?” “We can’t control the price of the company’s shares, officer,” Gates replied, clearly uneasy about Jacobi’s question.

An awkward silence fell over the room.

“Could you provide us with a list of your company’s customers?” I said.

“Yes, that’s fine.” The lawyer wrote something else in his notebook.

“We also need to review his personal computer, email inbox, and various communications,” I dropped a bombshell on the chief legal counsel.

The lawyer's pen didn't actually touch the paper of the notebook. "Those documents are confidential, officer. I think I need to review our company's rules and regulations before granting your request." "I thought that was your responsibility," Jacobi said with a slight smile.

“Your boss has been murdered, Mr. Zinn. I’m afraid this is now our responsibility. A note was found at the explosion site,” I said. I pushed a photocopy of the photograph across the table. “The note says Morton Lightol is an ‘enemy of the people.’ It’s signed below, by a man named August Spies. Has either of you heard of that name?” Zinn blinked. Gates took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly becoming unfocused.

“I don’t need to remind you two, this is an investigation into a murder case,” I said. “If anyone is hiding the truth, this is the time to…” “Nobody is hiding anything,” Gerry Gates replied curtly.

“You might want to talk to Helena now.” The chief legal counsel held up his notebook, as if the meeting was over.

“I demand that Letour’s office be sealed off immediately. I also want to review all his communications, computer files, and emails.” “I can’t say whether that’s feasible, officer,” Chuck Zinn said, bowing slightly in his chair.