Wine and Gun

Herstal paced cautiously to the door, peering out through the cat's eye. The sight he saw seemed to make him pause, and then he slowly opened the door.

——Albarino stood at the door and stared at Herstal. This man looked at Herstal with almost admiration, and looked at the mottled blood from his fingertips to his elbows. On Fei's shirt, the silver cufflinks inlaid with eagle eye stones were all covered with a sticky liquid that gradually dried up.

The cold autumn wind kept pouring into the porch, and Albarino's hair had been wet from the rain, and strands of strands were stuck to his forehead. He rake and comb his hair casually, smoothing the particularly curled strands of wet hair to the back of his head, showing a smile.

Herstal looked at him cautiously, a flash of lightning flashed through the air outside, and the interior suddenly fell into a flash of white light, and then was swallowed by darkness.

And Albarino said, "Good evening."

It was already past ten o'clock in the evening. At this time, Bart Hardy should be standing at the scene of the crime. It was the letter he received about an hour ago. Hestal was distracted and thought about how the bunch of damn mint flowers had been eroded by the rain. He didn't believe that those soft branches and leaves could survive the bào rain, and the clever round flower balls might have shrunk down.

"I thought you were in jail," Herstal said calmly. Albarino should have been there. During the pre-trial hearing, the judge rejected his request for bail. Albarino should have been there until the hearing. in prison.

"You may be a little incompetent as my lawyer, Herstal." Albarino's voice was soft and happy, even though the rain was running down every inch of his fabric, and his fingers were apparently cold from the cold. Some trembling. "The charges against me have been dropped - thanks to Bob Langdon, who apparently had a habit of leaving parts of his victims as trophies to relive the killing at any time, today CSI people found it under the floor of his house His diary and all the victims' hair."

"So it turns out that you didn't kill Sarah Aardman." Herstal whispered, wondering if he was dissatisfied with this fact, but he didn't hear it in his voice anyway.

"Yes, although they still don't understand how my fingerprints ended up on that knife. But since the evidence is so overwhelming, it doesn't make sense to keep me in prison." Albarino shrugged, A drop of rain dripped from his hair on his shoulder; he neither commented on the bloodstain on Herstal nor greeted him, so he forced his way into the room from his side. , sighed with satisfaction at the warm indoor temperature.

Herstal looked at him, but didn't say anything, just closed the door.

Albarino continued in a calm voice: "As compensation, the Forensic Medicine Bureau wants me to take paid leave first. It is said that they will negotiate... compensation and other issues. Before I went back to the Forensic Medicine Bureau to get a few pieces Put the daily necessities there, and then plan to go straight home."

"I really hope you stick with your plan," Herstal said in a low voice.

"I thought so, but Bart sent me a message on the way, and I was going to come to you directly." Albarino shrugged and held the phone in front of Herstal: the dazzling white light illuminated It was dark, and on the screen was a picture of a dead body:

Bob Langdon was hung from a piano string, and his body was stretched eerily because his whole body weight was on a steel string; it was not raining when this photo was taken Langdon's body looked abnormally bloated and pale in the night, his chest was covered with dried blood, and bruises that were crisscrossed; while his chest was open, his ribs were poked out, and there were tender green leaves and green leaves in the place of his heart. Small purple flowers.

"A bouquet of mint to replace the murderer's heart," Albarino sighed softly, turning to Herstal, the two of them staring at each other in the relatively dark porch, "It's quite làng man, don't you think?"

"I'm afraid most people don't think so, Mr. Bacchus." Herstal's voice still sounded as cold, as if the subject they were talking about didn't stir up any waves in his mind, "So, what is it? Makes you think you should come to me after you've seen a photo of a murder scene?"

"Curiosity." Albarino's voice was almost as low as a breath. He took a step forward. The owner of this empty, unpopular residence frowned, almost standing against the wall. , but has no intention of going back. "The pianist stabbed that victim a lot, too many... We'll see the specific autopsy report from the Medical Examiner tomorrow. Langdon was alive when he did that, and the blood must have been inevitable, I think. It must have stained his fingers."

He raised the corner of his mouth slightly, reached out and grabbed Herstal's right wrist, slowly raising his hand. Through the dim light outside the window, I could see the bloodstained crust on his skin, the hard-to-clean blood stains soaked between his fingernails.

Albarino tilted his head slightly, and the interest in his eyes seemed to be stronger: "Rǔ rubber gloves can better prevent blood from sticking to the skin of the murderer, of course. But rubber is too...industrialized, It's not intimate enough to touch skin and flesh through it, right?"

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