Wine and Gun

Its abdominal cavity was cut crisply and neatly by gān, and through the layers of flesh and blood, you could see the white bones, and flies buzzed on it, turning into terrifying black spots on the body. Its entrails piled under it as if it had just flowed out of it. These dark strange things almost appeared a kind of black under the shadows of the indoors, like wriggling silt.

The thin, winter sunlight that penetrated the door of the timber shed failed to shine on the bottom of the body, so it was like the coldest thing in this cold room, shocking those who walked into the timber shed. everyone.

- This is what the WLPD cops saw when they got to the scene.

Bart Hardy dumped the crime scene photos on his desk.

The scene investigators take pictures of the fixed evidence at the crime scene. There are very strict regulations for this kind of photography. Therefore, the things they shoot are equally official, impersonal and "artistic" - although the entire WLPD may only have Their advisor, Olga Molozze, uses the word "artistic" to evaluate crime scene photos—each with a brightly colored physical evidence sign and a sharply-focused scale that makes it easy for anyone looking through the archives. It is easy for people to reconstruct the size of the evidence at the scene in their minds; even the corpse can be photographed in a straight line, and even the sense of horror has melted away a lot.

But even so, the disembodied corpse in the photo is still frowning.

People around their desks stared at the pictures, even though they had all seen them once at the crime scene. Among these people, Bates spoke first.

"Bart, I know what you're going to ask, so I'll answer first," replied the CSI researcher with big dark circles under his eyes, "No fingerprints to pick up, no footprints to pick up: this lumber shed every day Different prisoners went to work, there were hundreds of footprints on the ground; the surveillance video showed nothing, it was as if the killer had appeared in front of Balmond out of thin air - in short: the murderer was not proven to be the Westland pianist , nor does it prove that the murderer was Herstal Armalet."

Hardy stared at Bates, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"I said it, I know what you want to ask." Bates said helplessly.

No wonder they were the first to suspect the Westland pianist again—in fact, whenever a scum in Westland died mysteriously, they had to consider whether it was a Westland pianist— After all, this is the worst vicious incident in the New Tarkel Federal Prison in recent years. Although they are just as bad in the eyes of most ordinary people, for the prison guards, the death of gang fights and being hanged under the ceiling are serious. Sex can be completely different.

The former can also be said to be terrible things that ordinary bad people will do when they are angry, while the latter cannot be understood by normal people's thinking at all.

In short, if it is a general prisoner death incident, the prison guards will not inform the WLPD of everything, but after such a thing happened during labor hours, they called the police for the first time, and it took more than an hour to deal with the crime. Officers of the city's worst murders cordoned off the scene. Within three hours, Miss Olga Molozer, who would not have easily visited the police station without a horrific serial murder on the scale of the Sunday Gardener's crime, was invited to Officer Hardy's office—

Now she was sitting comfortably in that chair in the corner of Hardy's office, directing Bates to make her tea.

Today, Midaren is on Christmas vacation, and he is probably having fun with his new friends at this time. Anyway, it is unlikely that a child of his age will spend all the vacation time at home. Olga can only ask Annie to send her to the police station, after all, her prosthesis is still not very neat. At this moment, Annie should be drinking coffee in the public area outside the office while waiting for Olga to finish her work, maybe reading some strange làng novel on her phone.

To sum up, Olga chose to call anyone around her to help her live. She called Bates mercilessly and said to Hardy, "I agree with Bates."

"Agree with what? It's not the pianist's fault?" Hardy asked in distress, scratching his hair as he asked.

"I agree that 'there's no evidence that this was done by the pianist,'" Olga shrugged and took the tea from Bates, "and I agree that it shouldn't be a coincidence, we all agree Herstal was a pianist, and a few months after he was in prison he had a fellow inmate hanged from the ceiling by his disemboweled stomach — there shouldn't be a coincidence."

"And the evidence also points to the deceased as belonging to a Latino gang, and that gang didn't have a good relationship with Amalette... wow, he took a spoon and poached the eye of one of that gang's minions, you know?" Bates As he spoke, he flipped through the transcripts on the table. Hardy's policemen took a lot of effort to organize them into paper versions, and Bates felt that their heads were going bald.

Hardy admitted that he didn't care much about what happened to Amalette after he was in prison, after all, there was a guy who was suspected of being a Sunday gardener or a fan of the pianist roaming the country, and he had other criminal cases. Follow-up, there is really no way to follow a person who has been in prison every day. So he never imagined that this man had already been in trouble with a gang after he was imprisoned. Hardy knew the prison and these prisoners, and knew how difficult it was to provoke a prison gang.

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