Wine and Gun

Hunter looked at her eyes that were like ghosts in the night, and asked gān abruptly, "...How did you know my name?"

"I know everything." The other party replied fluently, showing a smile, "This is professionalism."

Anne Brook had never been exposed to murders, trials, anything like that before, and Olga Molozze seemed like a miraculous variable that broke into her life, bringing the Gān new things were thrown on his face involuntarily.

The technical witnesses made a series of statements, and the prosecution's clever questioning style made the murder of Slade sound like planned and callous rather than the work of a deeply tortured man. Acts of justice, and the defendants' speeches refuted their views one by one in a slow manner.

In short, Annie was like anyone who saw a trial for the first time—thinking that everyone was making sense, and was nervous about the unknown outcome; Germany alone looked scornful.

After both the prosecution and defense made their final closing arguments, the jury adjourned for more than two hours. During this time, Annie pushed Olga's wheelchair around the courtroom corridors nervously -- she wasn't particularly biased, just simply nervous about the unknown outcome -- and the former FBI agent He showed unexpected calmness, and even comforted Annie by saying, "Don't worry about the verdict. The prosecutor charged him with attempted first-degree murder. Even if he is convicted, he will not be sentenced to death."

. . . Anne took no consolation at all.

"You don't look nervous," she asked hesitantly, "but that Mr. Armalette is your friend, isn't he?"

"Because he is my friend, I know very well that he is not the unlucky one in the end of the whole thing." Olga waved her hand easily, and the tone made her seem alienated and indifferent, but she obviously didn't care: " Let's wait and see."

Annie didn't understand what they were waiting for, and Olga didn't seem interested in explaining.

—Anyway, now Annie is sitting in court again. The members of the jury returned to their seats in turn, and the whispers in the gallery gradually subsided.

Finally, when the jury chairman stepped forward, the entire courtroom was dead silent, and the jury chairman's voice clearing his throat before speaking was particularly harsh. His eyes looked around slightly, and then he said:

"The State of Westland v. Herstal Armalette, the jury found the defendant not guilty of the second-degree murder charge against Albarino Bacchus."

Olga's expression didn't change: there was too little evidence for Albarino's murder. If Herstal hadn't pleaded guilty, they wouldn't even be able to conclude that Albarino was dead. Second-degree murder is not justified. It should—but prosecutors could have charged Herstal on more than that count.

"The jury found the defendant guilty of involuntary manslaughter against Albarino Bacchus."

--really.

"The jury found the defendant guilty of the obstruction of justice and perjury charges in the Slade case.

"The jury found the defendant guilty of the charge of unlawful possession of a firearm.

"The jury found the defendant guilty on the charge of assaulting a police officer."

The verdicts on the above charges are almost to be expected, but the next content is the main event. The most important thing is still the verdict on the crime of hurting Slade. There still seems to be an invisible thread in the courtroom. The strings are getting tighter and tighter. Infected by the atmosphere, Annie couldn't help covering her mouth, and even her breathing became lighter.

"The jury found the defendant guilty of the attempted first-degree murder and grievous bodily injury of Kabbah Slade."

A second after the sound of these words fell, a loud mad cháo swept across the auditorium. Annie sat on the spot, maintaining the movement just now, feeling a strange numbness in her body. She tried her best to control herself and looked beside her - the reporter sitting next to Olga was flushed with excitement, while Olga herself remained very calm, as if the whole thing was still what she expected.

After a while, Olga turned her head slightly, looked in the direction of Lavasa McArd in the crowd not far away, and then just met McArd's gaze. The other party was also stunned for a moment, and then his body language quickly relaxed, and he nodded slightly to Olga.

After the court finally calmed down, the judge looked around the crowd and spoke clearly:

"The court sentenced Herstal Amalet to sixty-four years in prison without parole."

The gavel fell with a heavy thud.

"Now adjourn."

The reporters in the crowd were dispersing, most of them in a hurry, talking on the phone as they squeezed out of the door, clearly eager to spread the word about the outcome of the trial - and then people would read it: during lunch break, on the subway Standing or before the school bus, talking about it at the dinner table, arguing about it in the late night bar.

People read it. Then forget him.

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