Wine and Gun

Perhaps, this Westland pianist is no exception. If it is possible to uncover the guilt of others through such a simple framing, Herstal would probably like such a scene.

Sure enough, the man looked at him with that unshakable mask of contempt, and asked sharply, "Is that all you have?"

Albarino stared at him, somehow even hearing a trace of sullenness in his voice, as if Albarino had really disappointed him.

Albarino was silent for a moment, then really laughed at some part of Herstal's tone: "If you're interested in what's in my house, you don't need that, you know? As long as you Say it, and I'm even willing to show it to you in person."

"Are we going to spread it out now?" Herstal tutted lowly.

"...if you want," Albarino replied equivocally and mildly.

Herstal stared at him, like a elk in a winter snowfield aiming at a pine forest: "I don't know why you're doing this from start to finish—because I can solve the problem I'm facing and don't need anyone else's Help; if you know me well enough, you'll know I don't want to be left behind. It wouldn't be rude to give some proper counter-attack to that, I guess, right?"

Apparently, "proper counter-attack" means that after he had put a skull on Herstal's desk, the other party turned around and planted a murder on him. Apparently, the pianist didn't appreciate the Sunday gardener helping him kill a witness.

Albarino felt that it was better not to remind the other party that Olga had been extremely close to the truth.

"Perhaps, because after all, I'm a very tolerant person, and I didn't feel too angry anyway; this may be a little different from some of your... Jailan's vindictive behavior." Albarino replied, he also stood up, he He is a little taller than Herstal, and it feels good to not be overlooked by the other party. "You said you didn't know why I did this, I can try to answer you in this regard."

Herstal looked at him, his body tense, like a leopard that would attack its prey at any time.

"As I said before, I follow the metaphysical guidance of my muse, and explore where you should be." Albarino traced the other's tight lips with his eyes and replied in a low voice, "So on the one hand, I do want to adorn you as best I can—"

"Decoration" is a constricting adjective. Herstal sneered, knowing that the other party's "decoration" was basically equivalent to "cutting your throat with a knife and planting flowers in your wound", which at most included some artistic handling methods, but for the dead It's obviously not that good for that person.

"But on the other hand," Albarino spit out the following words in a low voice. It was a scene that his friends had never seen before. His pupils were like huge voids that could swallow people's hearts. Guilty, "I want to fuck you to cry on this table in the interrogation room too - I'll confess to you, I'm undecided, Mr. Armalette."

Herstal wanted to answer something, and the vicious words like a knife stuck in his throat, because the door was knocked twice in the next second, and a policeman pushed the door and came in, no doubt with handcuffs in his hands , the sudden guest silently silenced the words he was about to spit. The officer, who had apparently heard of Albarino's name and identity, was embarrassed now.

Albarino apparently didn't care, he just stretched out his hand and obediently let the man handcuff his wrist. Herstal had seen the hand with the scalpel, so he had to admit that the scene looked so strangely dissonant.

"And one last thing I have to say, Herstal," Albarino said without looking up, the pleasure in his voice so disgusting, it was as if he didn't feel like he was in the moment at all. behind bars. "Although it is clear that the autopsy of this case is not relevant to me at the moment, I still looked at some pictures of the scene - to judge objectively, the bunch of mint grass on Sarah's chest is really ugly, don't you think?"

"If you don't always say such ignorant words, the communication between us may be more valuable, Mr. Bacchus." Herstal commented coldly.

The young policeman was obviously confused, and Albarino didn't care. He walked slowly to the door, before adding needlessly: "It's like the case of Richard Norman. The Sunday Gardener, I'm sure he must have thought the same about that 'Cain' metaphor, or he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of killing Thomas Norman."

He heard Herstal's undisguised gasping of exasperation.

Albarino glanced back at him and gave him a wide smile.

"… brutally murdered the woman. WLPD sources pointed out that Albarino Bacchus, the chief medical examiner of the Westland City Forensic Medicine Bureau, is suspected of committing the crime. At present, Mr. Bacchus has been summoned by the police ... …”

The news was playing in a fast-food restaurant on the street with substandard hygiene, and almost no one was listening to the dull, unwavering voice of the announcer. Depressed clerks work behind the counter, and the air smells of fried food and cheap meat.

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