Wine and Gun

"Are we thinking in terms of 'Albarino is indeed a murderer'?" Bates asked, staggering to his feet, his legs numb, and a smear of dust on his face for some reason. Black smudges.

Olga tilted her head to look at him.

"Okay: If he's the murderer, I think he'll be the kind of murderer with super anti-reconnaissance ability. A forensic practitioner should not accidentally leave fingerprints on the murder weapon, nor should he take home a blood coat. ." Bates frowned, "He's the best among us."

Olga chanted, "He's the best."

Of course they didn't find any bloody clothes or suspicious footprints in the house, and there was apparently no blood in Albarino's car. Bates began to think that the trip was completely in vain—and he expected it—and just then, somewhere in the backyard, a surveyor called out, "Schwandner, you can come and see. A glance?"

Bates nodded, and Olga followed him and walked all the way: behind Albarino's house is a small wooden shed, looking at the roughness of the unruly, it seems that Albarino built it himself . There were farm implements in the shed, apparently because Albarino would grow lettuce along the corners.

The surveyor squatted in a wet, ash-covered open space in the small shed, carefully digging through the dirt with his rubber-gloved hands. Seeing Bates approaching, the young man raised his head worriedly and said, "That's right, we found burn marks here, and then..."

He reached out, holding a small, charred object in his tweezers.

Bates murmured, "Bone."

His voice was gān, as if trying to accept a fact that he didn't want to accept. Olga looked at him and asked, "This is...?"

"I don't know, it's burnt so badly that I'll have to take it back to the forensics lab for testing to find out what kind of bone this is," Bates murmured. Bart make a call."

When Bart Hardy returned to the interrogation room, all he saw was Herstal and Albarino sitting nicely side by side in two chairs, looking just like any normal criminal suspect and his lawyer.

No, although it's a lot different everywhere.

"Your chief just called me and said the police department's accusations against you are 'appalling'," Hardy said wearily, and sat down heavily on his chair, "and the forensic chief even came over in person just now, We had some... pretty tough conversations."

"It sounds like he's angry," Albarino commented.

"He is obviously quite angry. I don't know who leaked the news. There have been rumors on the Internet that the chief forensic officer of the Westland City Forensic Medicine Bureau has been involved in a murder case." Hardy replied with a headache, "It is now you. The forensic chief of the company will have to face the issue of public opinion, and it will not benefit anyone if it goes on like this.”

"So what?" Albarino asked lazily.

"We have to detain you until we determine that all evidence against you is exhausted, or until we find other suspects; I guess there are reporters watching, this is the procedure." Hardy gān said, "Albarino, just to be on the safe side, I'll just ask you once: you really didn't hurt that little girl, did you?"

"My God, Officer Hardy," Herstal said calmly and gān, his sarcasm beyond words.

"You've been so frivolous in your private life that you might have this kind of problem. I thought you've seen too much in this line of work!" Hardy said in the tone of an overly worried old father.

"I don't think this matter really has anything to do with my client's private life," Herstal said in that beautiful lawyer's tone, "although, yes, I also admit that Mr. Bacchus's private life is really in the dark. unbearable."

Albarino rubbed Herstal's side with his elbow and said with a stern face, "I swear I didn't kill her, Bart."

——When he said that, his tone was sincere, his fingers were neatly placed on the table, as if the hand hadn't been around Herstal's neck a moment ago, or if the hand hadn't severed the other when he was holding the knife girl's throat.

About half of the Sunday Gardener's victims were women, and he had no preference for the gender of his victims, and there was no connection between the appearance of the victims. Some of the victims had exceptionally brilliant hair color or smooth skin that deserved the extravagant splendor of flowers, while most were left with only partial bones or fragments of stumps.

Albarino sat quietly in his chair, and Hardy began to check again the details of his last night's timeline, with Herstal occasionally interjecting as an addition, given that they had spent half the night together. When Albarino turned his head slightly, he could see the other party's pale blue eyes and blonde hair in the bright light of the interrogation room, scribbling in the to-do list in his mind for a moment of distraction.

Westland pianist, he thought—what an unexpected gain, worthy of a particularly extravagant and complicated design, but for now, we can wait to see where they will go next, and whether Herstal has anything in mind What other dramas are arranged for him.

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