Wine and Gun

He remained in that curled motion, trying his best to catch his breath—so, that was Albarino's revenge on him, and Herstal couldn't help but sneer sarcastically at the moldy ceiling.

In the Bob Langdon case, from the time the magistrate judge barred Albarino from bail at the pre-trial hearing until the CSI found evidence of Albarino's innocence at Langdon's home. The forensic doctor was held for eight days at the New Thacker Federal Penitentiary.

Eight days, many people don't know what this number means, many people think that as long as Albarino is finally cleared of his wrongs, everything will be fine, and eight days - an exaggeration, enough time for God to create the whole world and rest for two days. - Not a short time for a chief forensic officer who has handled countless homicides for the Westland Police Department.

Albarino Bacchus was thrown into a prison full of felons, and apparently the guy couldn't do any harm even in prison in order to continue to pretend to be a law-abiding citizen.

Of course Herstal knew that Albarino wouldn't just let it go, but he never thought that revenge would come to him in this way.

It's almost ironic: a serial killer like the Sunday Gardener has no way of empathizing with his victims, and in fact has no way of empathizing with what's happening to others. As a result, Albariño was able to get revenge on Herstal's most hated way of picking out of a bunch of assemblages, without profiling Olga Molozze and her criminals at all. Face, even Herstal wanted to praise him for his talent.

But now he can only lie here and take a deep breath, try his best to dispel the discomfort caused by the numbness in his limbs, and wait for the symptoms of low blood pressure to pass.

Then he had to find himself a solution to his current troubles, because he certainly wouldn't be staying in this place too long, and the Westland pianist would never sit still.

—October 29, the day after “Killer Qiáng Ni” kidnapped his second victim in Westland.

Shortly after everyone returned from the crime scene yesterday, all kinds of scene reports were handed over to Lavasa McCard and Officer Hardy, even though CSI took the entire Rolls-Royce back to the forensic laboratory for testing, it would still be fine. No further evidence was found. The only good news is that the DNA test results of the blood on the road came out, at least the blood did not belong to Herstal Armalite.

However, the DNA information of the killer Qiángni's blood was scrolled through the existing information database, and he didn't match anyone. Obviously, the killer Qiángni has no criminal record, which makes the pursuit of the murderer even longer. .

The 29th was a Saturday, and Olga had no class to attend. As a result, when Hardy walked into WLPD's office area with a coffee cup in his hand, he saw Olga had occupied a corner of his office with a sullen expression, sitting in a circle formed by a dense pile of autopsy photos and transcripts. In the sea of ​​paper shaped like a pagan god sitting in the center of the skull altar.

"You're so scary, don't you know?" Hardy asked wearily. Yesterday, the police officers ran a marathon and checked all the surveillance videos that might have captured the murderer. As a result, nothing meaningful was captured in the wilderness. Didn't sleep well at all.

"She probably knows," a voice behind Hardy pointed out lazily, startling him.

"Oh my God!" Hardy finally couldn't help exclaiming. He turned sharply and saw Albarino Bacchus regiment in another corner of his office, holding another stack of autopsy reports in his arms, staring and hanging. Two huge dark-rimmed, godless green eyes.

Obviously, Hardy's office may become a nest for some nocturnal animals. He calmed down, observed the bloodshot in Albarino's eyes, and asked, "Are you two here all night?"

"These documents are theoretically not allowed to be taken out of the police station." Albarino explained as if convincingly.

Hardy really, really wanted to sigh, but he reckoned that Olga wasn't listening to them at all, her eyes were red, and she was swiping quickly across the paper in front of her. After a moment she looked up and looked at Hardy as if she had first noticed him standing there.

"Hi, Bart," she said hoarsely, "when is McCard going to do the profiling?"

"This morning, he'll be here in a while," Officer Hardy replied bewildered.

"Let him come to see me first before giving the cops a meeting," she staggered to her feet against the wall, looking haggard and hypoglycemic, "I'm going to talk to him—or take him with you. All the people in the team who came have to talk about it, no matter what; although in my estimation, there is a high probability that we will have to quarrel."

Hardy looked at her for a moment, then asked cautiously, "Have you found anything new?"

Olga shrugged his shoulders, his face not very good-looking: "I suspect that there is something wrong with the previous profile."

Elliott rushed into the room with the clatter of something falling to the ground.

Hestal was kneeling at his feet when he came in—it would be difficult for him to figure out how to get off his feet, given that his ankles and wrists were tightly bound and the ropes were deep Squeezed deep into the skin, the extremities that were tightened by the rope had already revealed an unpleasant bruised purple color.

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