Wine and Gun

There were three or two patrons sitting behind greasy tables, gulping down their unappetizing lunch. A big-waisted guy in a plaid shirt and gray trousers sat at a table in front of the TV, picking a sticky, shrunken lettuce out of a burger in his hand.

I don't know when, the movement of his hands has stopped, and he looked up at the TV with poor picture quality: there was a picture of the victim in mosaic, and the corner of the beautiful woman's mouth was still in the picture. In the top pick, the host is expressing some emotions about emotional injury and manslaughter, which is not very professional, but anyway, this is a local TV station that few people watch.

"Witnesses said they had an argument in a bar that night..."

The unremarkable-looking man looked at the picture of the chief forensic officer released on the screen. The young man in the picture was smiling unconsciously at the audience.

The man didn't seem to realize that the salad dressing had dripped down his fingers, and his brows were frowning, as if he had seen something dirty.

Finally, he clenched his fingers in exasperation, pushed the chair away, and stood up.

Chapter 16 The Metaphor of Mint 04

Albarino Bacchus was lying in the small cubicle where the Westland Police Station temporarily detained prisoners. This room was very small, with only a wooden bed and a thin bed. Before the sun came out, a dim white light would leak through the high windows in the wall.

The case in which Sarah Aardman was murdered is still going nowhere, and the detention process on Albarino's side is clearly not going to stop: by this time the prosecutor should have applied for a pretrial hearing, When he appears in court, he will of course refuse to plead guilty. Whether this kind of violence can apply for bail or not depends on the judge's decision.

Now Albarino can't help but suspect that perhaps he won't see Herstal again until he arrives at the pretrial hearing. Of course, if he wanted to, he could call Herstal at any time, at least that was his guaranteed right, but he suspected that even then Herstal would just keep taunting him on the phone, which was simply theirs everyday.

Although Herstal made such an incident mainly because he wanted the CSI team to search his house, Albarino had no doubts that the man was just as interested in seeing him behind bars - they knew very well, Al doesn't want and won't be restricted, so it's interesting if he unexpectedly gets a few years in prison for some kind of mess.

It's not that Albarino never imagined a jailbreak, but now is not the time.

He is now extremely poor and bored, lying on the hard bed until his back hurts. Just when he was about to turn over, the door of this small cubicle was suddenly opened.

Bart Hardy was standing in the doorway, looking tired and looking faintly shocked. He said hoarsely, "Al, we need you to come out now."

Albarino said, "Huh?"

"Not a release, but after all we're assuming you're innocent until the official verdict," Hardy nodded slowly, "...Come on, I need your help."

—There is a body opposite the Westland Police Station.

After October, the temperature dropped very quickly, and a white color just appeared at the end of the sky. Albarino came across the road surrounded by several policemen, he felt a little amused, and several of them stared at him as if he would now kill someone and run away.

Directly opposite the police station is the narrow alley between the two buildings. Now, between the walls and the shadows of the walls lies a woman, wearing a red coat, her hair is disheveled, and her cheeks have obviously been hit hard. There was no pool of blood under her body, but her chest was already soaked with blood. Albarino had no doubt that if she took off the clothes on her body, she would see a lot of messy stab wounds on her chest.

The body was found by a police officer who was off the night shift. Trace examiners and forensic field investigators have yet to arrive. Albarino and Hardy are beside the body, and other police officers are pulling up the cordon.

"I don't think this is the first scene here. Otherwise, there won't be only these bloodstains. Look at these wounds, I'm afraid she died of excessive blood loss." Albarino took the rǔ rubber gloves handed to him by Hardy, Crouching beside the corpse, although he is now a legally restrained suspect, he might as well use his expertise to do Hardy a favor. Now he doesn't have a probe to measure the temperature of the corpse, but it's fine to check the rigor and corneal opacity. "I reckon she's been dead for seven or eight hours. It's not even seven o'clock. She probably died around midnight."

Hardy gave a low hum.

Albarino seemed to understand what he meant, and choked out a smile: "You don't think I'm a murderer now?"

"I never thought you were a murderer, but it would be better if you would condescend to tell me what happened to those bones," Hardy retorted wearily.

Albarino smiled and stood up slowly, he looked down at the corpse, the soul had been shed from the shell, so the beautiful appearance no longer made sense: "Look at these messy knives The scars and the restraint on the deceased's neck, the scrapes and broken nails on her fingers, the marks left by these struggles... It looks very similar to Sarah's wound, which was also repeatedly stabbed by the murderer after being pinned to the ground. caused."

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