Wine and Gun

"Sunday gardeners must have their own way," Olga replied noncommittally.

"I still don't understand: the gardener is obviously recreating a case he and the pianist did before, and if you think about it along the way, has he skipped a case? - didn't he have a fake one before? Skull full of daffodils given to Herstal? I remember this case was before the Bob Langdon case?" Bates continued, apparently amassing money while Olga was away question.

"He reappeared," Olga shrugged. "Didn't Herstal receive a bouquet of roses?"

Best choked for a moment, and then began to shake his head sharply: "Impossible, the researchers in our laboratory have all tested the bunch of roses. They are the most common roses, and they definitely don't contain any human tissue."

"...I don't think it's logically contradictory?" a voice said a little embarrassedly.

Everyone looked in that direction - it was Midaren who was pushing Olga's wheelchair. This kid should definitely go to school after the trial of this series of cases, but I don't know if the class was taken into the dog's stomach by him. Anyway, he is standing in the office area of ​​the police station so confidently. , as if he was also a member of this spooky detective team.

"That is to say," Midalun gestured as if to increase his persuasiveness, "roses don't have to have human tissue, right? The case of the skull was a gift for the gardener to give to the pianist, and roses should also be It's the gardener who's going to give the pianist a gift. The connotation of the behavior is the same, and it doesn't have to be someone's life every time, right?"

If McCard were there now, it would be the gardener's pleasure to point out that "killing people" would be the joy of the gardener, but he's not there now.

Hardy frowned, and his attention was briefly distracted: "Olga, did you show the child those confidential files?!"

And at the same time, Olga was saying--"That's a good answer, Midaren. But I'll add: I think it was deliberate that the gardener didn't give this gift by murder, a The usual bunch of roses made what he meant to say even more pure: clichéd pureness, but they were clearly enjoying it."

Hardy's condemnation came to an abrupt end. Except for Tommy, who didn't seem to understand very well, everyone else was shocked for two seconds by the amount of information in the sentence.

"You mean," Bates repeated sleepily after a moment, "that the bouquet of roses he gave Herstal was just, just—"

"Oh," Olga laughed, and there was a hint of smugness in her voice, "Isn't this love?"

July 23, a sunny Sunday.

On the north side of the city, there is a small shop on the side of the street from the Westland City Library. Eat" fast food restaurant. Most of the shops with such gimmicks are actually exaggerating, and there is nothing to save except the interior decoration suitable for taking pictures and uploading to the Internet, and this one is no exception.

A dark-haired man with glasses on the bridge of his nose sat at a table against the wall, with the store's "signature sandwich" in front of him - just the most common kind of sandwich from every angle, except for the inside The sauce was extra heavy, and the lettuce leaves were extra wilted - when the customer frowned and picked the wilted lettuce leaves out of the bread, a shadow fell on him.

He looked up and saw a woman with fiery red hair standing in front of the table, smiled slightly at him, and asked in slightly accented English, "Can I sit next to you? "

Most people would answer "yes" and find a way to write their name and phone number on a napkin and hand them to each other the next time, while the dark-haired man sitting at the edge of the table frowned slightly, obviously. I'd rather be alone.

But before he could say anything of refusal, the woman sat down across from him. The waiter didn't bring her a menu, and she didn't rush to order. Instead, she put her chin on the back of her hand lazily and said to the person opposite, "This is a great position - you can see everything in the whole store at a glance. The exit; back against the wall, do not worry about being attacked from behind; and from this position, it is very convenient to slam the door or break the window. Whether it is a person with persecution paranoia, or someone who is really avoiding something The guys from the stuff should all like this kind of seat."

The man sitting across from her was silent for a while, put down the sandwich he had been fiddling with for a long time but never had a bite, sighed, and said, "Are you talking to me, ma'am?"

"Ordinary people don't choose such an incomprehensible way to strike up a conversation," the red-haired lady shook her head, and her smile was also light, as if it didn't really come true, "I'm here to talk business with you—and I thought it would be more polite to come and talk to you on Sunday—Sunday Gardener."

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