Wine and Gun

"Why are you asking me this question? I'm not the one controlling the flow of things." McCard replied with a frown.

"Aren't you? It's too arbitrary to position yourself like this." Olga shrugged and gave him a meaningful look, "At least, I remember you said you were going to talk to Bart—and you Didn't talk about it."

McCard sighed and told her, "I want to talk, but I don't have time. Quantico wants me to go back right away... Apparently the Areola case is getting some attention, and they want to talk about it from me. Let's listen to what happened, after all, it involves Robb's old case, and they will always pay more attention."

Olga nodded to him understandingly, and the words he said were as unpleasant as ever: "And you have to find a way to remove yourself from this incident."

"—I have a clear conscience." McArd said with a stern face.

"Obviously for the time being." Olga smiled, and only she could show the complex meaning of "I don't believe a word" from that fluttering smile.

"Listen, Molozer," McCard sighed deeply and looked at her, "Anyway, I have to go back to BAU now, but if I have time after the holiday, I still want to talk to Officer Hardy. Consider my proposal too: you should be well aware that the WLPD is now powerless to deal with the frequency of vicious cases, and they need BAUs if they want to solve the cases of pianists and gardeners - also, consider my Think about it, okay? Albarino Bacchus is a murderer."

"Dr. Bucks did have an alibi at the time of the Anthony Sharp and William Brown cases," Olga pointed out, apparently anticipating this assertion.

"The person who gave him the alibi is his boyfriend, and of course the other party may cover up him." McCard shook his head, "We all know that it's nothing, people will do all kinds of things for love. Stupid thing, isn't Areola an example of that?"

"I don't always agree with your statement." Olga objected with a smile.

"The part about the cover-up?" McCard asked sullenly.

The other person replied briskly: "The part about love."

—But anyway, McArd was busy after the Christmas break and didn't find time to talk to Officer Hardy or the WLPD chief in the end. Their department wants to recruit new people, which means that he has to be responsible for the endless assessment process; but fortunately now that the dust has settled, a new member has finally joined among them, which can make up for the lack of recruits since Olga left. The vacancy left by an employee who has completed one year.

And now, following the knock on the door, who came in was a tall, thin young man with curly ginger hair: the agent had just graduated from the FBI Academy, and his name was John Garcia. For now, McCard is happy with him in every way, and I really hope he can make a full year.

"Sir," said the young Detective Garcia, with some uncontrollable excitement in his voice, "the police in New York State contacted us, and they found a strange murder over there, and they suspect--"

McCard nodded, folded the papers on the table, and stood up.

He was accustomed to this kind of life, and he knew the truth: peace never lasted for a few hours, murderers didn't have holidays, and they should always be vigilant.

The bar at night was filled with a strong smell of smoke and the unpleasant smell of alcohol gradually evaporating. This shop is still in Herstal's taste, unlike the ones that Olga picked, which has too much harsh music along with delicious cocktails; but although it is relatively quiet here, it is a pleasure-seeking place. The crowd is the same everywhere.

But nonetheless, he did not sit here with such a purpose in mind—it was against his will, and it was against his taste. Herstal stared at the half-full glass in front of him, questioning his decision again.

And a soft hand fell on his shoulder.

When Herstal turned his head, he saw a beautiful woman with gentle brown hair leaning on the bar counter: at least it looked like that. The dim and ambiguous light blurred many details and transformed all the flaws into a mysterious beauty. . And the dyed nails on those hands were as red as blood, so bright that they looked like they had just been pulled out of a dead person's chest.

And the woman smiled at him: the kind of smile that means "I'm interested in you", which occasionally does make others feel that way when he's not wearing that domineering custom three-piece suit; He'd never cared, but it didn't seem bad, at least to chat to ease the boring night.

"I've been watching you for a while," the woman said with a smile, and there was a lot of sweetness in that smile, which is a good thing for people who would come to a place like this to pass a long night. "Sit here and drink alone. Too many glasses of whisky, is it too lonely?"

He thought for a moment, then quietly admitted: "It is."

It was ten minutes into the night, and Albarino was sitting by the fireplace.

His house in the outer suburbs was completely covered in snow, with only a shoveled driveway winding its way to the road. The forecast said it would snow in a day or two, and the temperature might drop. The city is very far away.

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