Chapter 438 George Foye

The two of them waited in the car until dusk when they saw a middle-aged white man with gray hair and myopia glasses staggering around the corner and walking downstairs to the apartment building opposite them.

"He must be less than 40 years old, right?" Jack was a little surprised, but he was immediately relieved when he thought about the photo of this man that he had seen before.

After suffering a serious injury, and living in hiding and fear every day for more than ten years, premature aging is normal.

The two got out of the car and walked towards the man. Hotchner asked aloud, "George Foye?"

The man holding a pile of daily necessities and books raised his head in surprise, and then looked around subconsciously.

"Don't be afraid, we are the FBI, this is Agent Tavole, and I am Agent Hotchner. We have met before, remember?"

Hotchner and Jack took the initiative to show their IDs.

"Yes, I have an impression." Foye grinned, barely showing a smile, looked around again, and then tilted his head.

"If you don't mind, can you come into my house and talk again?"

After saying that, he took the lead into the apartment without waiting for the two of them to answer.

Following him into a cramped room in the apartment, Jack looked around. There were two rooms, one large and one small, with no living room.

Except for a bed and a table, there are almost no extra furniture and furnishings. It doesn't look like a long-term residence, but more like a temporary place to stay.

"Do you usually live here?" Jack asked curiously.

Foye nodded, "I found several houses with different names and switched between them from time to time."

He coughed a few times and asked casually, "How did you find me?"

"By Roy Coulson."

Hotchner's answer seemed to surprise him. He was stunned for a moment and nodded subconsciously.

"I knew it wasn't a copycat crime."

Obviously, he also saw the news about the "Boston Death" returning to the world, and understood the reason why the FBI was looking for him.

“I was going to propose to her over dinner that night, but I got cold feet.”

It seemed that the arrival of the FBI brought back Foye's memories. Although he couldn't stop coughing, he began to describe his original experience intermittently.

Seeing that his cough was really pitiful, Jack poured a glass of water and handed it to him, and used the moment of physical contact between the two parties to perform a slowly effective healing spell.

But then he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Although his mental power attribute is now close to 30, and it is really easy to use healing spells at ordinary times, the consumption this time today is not as good as the one he used on Fenley before. many.

This guy's actual physical condition doesn't seem to be as bad as he appears. Is this a disguise?

Jack was a little confused, what was his purpose of pretending like this? Could it be that he was waiting for the day when the murderer came to find him again so that he could violently fight back?

While he was thinking wildly, he heard Foye continue, "When 'Death' came to us, the ring was still in my pocket.

He said he was lost and was holding a tourist brochure in his hand. When I was about to help, he stabbed me."

Hotchner interrupted his painful memories and said, "Mr. Foye, we didn't come here to do anything."

Both the case file and the book written by Roy Coulson described these contents in detail, and there was no need for them to make him recall the painful experience again.

But Foye seemed oblivious and continued, “I couldn’t move at the time, so I could only sit there, bleeding, and watched him kill Mandy (Amanda’s nickname).

He stabbed her 67 times. Do you know how long it takes to stab someone 67 times? "

It wasn't until Foye had vented his emotions that Hotchner slowly spoke.

"He should have left your glasses on the next deceased person, but he didn't and kept them until yesterday's case. Do you know why?"

"Is it because I survived by luck?" Foye smiled bitterly.

Jack temporarily suppressed his confusion and asked, "Have you received any strange letters or phone calls recently?"

Foye smiled bitterly again, "For eleven years, I have always felt that he would not let me go, so I never used a mobile phone and kept changing places to live.

He likes to target private cars, so I only go out by bus, and believe me, I've done everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen again. "

"So, why don't you leave this place?" Jack asked the question that came to his mind when chatting with Jiejie in the morning.

Foye shook his head, "No, Boston is my home. I swore to myself that this is the only thing I can't let the 'god of death' take away from me."

Seeing his firm tone, Hotchner suggested, "Before this matter is over, we can provide you with a safe place to live, or arrange for the police to protect you."

"No," Foye refused. "No one can protect me."

"He is just a human being and has no superpowers." Hotchner still wanted to insist.

"Then why can't you catch him?" A somewhat mocking expression flashed across Foye's face.

"How about this?" Jack stood up and smoothed things over. He felt that there was no need to argue about this kind of thing.

"Please give us your other aliases and addresses so that we can contact you." He handed over his notepad and pen.

This time Foye didn't refuse. He quickly wrote down a string of addresses and names, and then handed the notepad back to Jack.

"Please keep it carefully." Then he emphasized again, "Please."

Jack was a little frightened when a middle-aged man looked at him with such pitiful eyes. He nodded quickly, "I will keep it safe."

When leaving this simple apartment, Jack was still complaining about this somewhat neurotic Foye.

"This guy's behavior is full of contradictions. It can be seen from his behavior that he is actually scared to death, but when we offered to protect him, he refused so firmly."

The expression on Hotchner's face was a bit strange, as if he could not look back on the past. "You have never had the experience of ten years ago. At that time, the streets of Boston were in panic, and people here almost lost trust in the local police." .”

The two returned to the downstairs of the office. As soon as Jack parked the car on the roadside, he saw a reporter and writer named Roy Coulson, whom he had met before, waiting at the gate.

Seeing the two of them, he took the initiative to greet them, "Hey, someone sent this to my office."

Hotchner took the document bag he handed over and only glanced at it, his face suddenly became very ugly.

Jack quickly put on his gloves and took the documents from his hands. He knew what they were without even turning down.

Because the first page was actually a copy of the agreement that the "Boston Death" sent to the deceased old detective Tom Shaunas.

This guy took the initiative to tell the reporter about this matter, and it was obvious what his intentions were.

"Are you going to report this?" Hotchner looked at Roy Coulson.

The writer shrugged, "If I don't write about him, he will find someone else."

"Maybe, maybe not. To him, you are different from others." Hotchner pointed out.

"Your book "Death in the Dark Night" is equivalent to his autobiography. Believe me, he must have read your book hundreds of times in the past ten years. It is you who made him famous. In his opinion, no one can compare to you. You understand him better and care about him more.

And now, he wants to announce to the public through you the reason why he really stopped back then. "

Roy Coulson was unmoved, but his eyes were full of expectation, "So?"

"If you spread this matter, you should be very clear about the consequences, right? But this is big news after all, so you can write it if you want."

As soon as Hotchner said these words, Jack on the side quickly tried to keep his face straight and managed his expression urgently. When did the poker face learn to be morally kidnapped.

Sure enough, Roy Coulson was a little anxious and took the initiative to bite the hook, "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"I'm not asking you to do anything. It's your right to report or not to report." Hotchner continued to play hard to get.

"Oh come on, this is my scoop. It's probably the biggest news I'll ever get."

Roy Coulson just said directly, I don’t need to report it, but please make some conditions.

"After capturing the 'Grim Reaper', I can exclusively authorize you to have all the case information, allowing you to sort out the whole process of solving the case by the FBI Behavioral Analysis Team."

"The precondition is that I suppress this news, right?" Roy Coulson put on a mask of pain, as if he was facing a major decision.

Hotchner turned his head, pursed his lips, and quickly said a few words, "I didn't say that."

That's what you meant. Jack helped Roy Coulson complete the unspoken words in his mind. Of course Hotchner couldn't admit that this was a deal, otherwise it would be illegal.

"No reporter has ever had such a privilege." Hotchner's tone was calm, but the words coming out of his mouth were full of temptation.

"But what if you fail to catch the murderer?" Roy Coulson rubbed the ground with his soles anxiously.

"This is the risk you need to take." After saying that, Hotchner turned to Jack and ignored the writer.

"Send this thing to Russell and let his people check if there are any traces of physical evidence remaining."

Jack also knew that with the caution of the "Boston Death", it was unlikely to make such a low-level mistake, but what if.

So he rushed to the local medical examiner's office without stopping, and finally found Russell in a nearby parking lot. He and a group of researchers were collecting evidence from a car.

This is the same car that Jack saw at the crime scene yesterday, with "Eye of God" painted on the side of the car in the victim's blood.

He made his purpose clear and handed over the document bag. Russell nodded and said he would deal with it as soon as possible.

Jack was about to say goodbye when suddenly an idea flashed in his mind. Thinking of his previous doubts, he made another request to Russell.