Wine and Gun

"Then what?" McArd asked in confusion. In fact, it was very smooth to find a trace so close in time. McArd didn't know why Garcia seemed so worried.

Garcia's lips puckered, apparently recalling some bad rumours he had heard while working at BAU.

"That car belonged to Olga Molozze," he said.

Hunter had gone to inspect the whole house, and the other two could hear him limping further and further on crutches. Hestal stood in front of the computer, feeling a little overwhelmed for the first time this day, because if he had to say that he was not good at something, it might be something related to children - such as giving birth, delivering a child, and returning There is to calm down the crying child.

But after Olga was gone, Clara bit her lip and tried to calm herself down, still pitiful, but she even asked Herstal his name after the conversation with Herstal began, and started Calling him "Mr. Armalette" sobbing.

Then, as best she could, she began to describe what had happened.

"I shouldn't have left school halfway through, our teacher said before that we wouldn't be allowed to do that." She whispered, sniffling, "...but I just wanted to go buy some paper and paintbrushes, Mom wasn't feeling well this morning, so Dad The breakfast I made for me ended up burning the toast... I wasted time, so I forgot about the paper... I thought I'd go back right away, but someone rushed out from the side alley Grab me at once, drag me down an alley, stuff me in the trunk of a car—"

Albarino recalled Olga's second suspect at the time: a man named Jerome McAdam, whose face floated darkly in his memory.

"Brunette, tall," said Albarino. "Dark skin and black eyes?"

"I don't remember exactly, maybe it was." Clara whispered, maybe Albarino was right. After Clara heard his voice, she didn't know why she lowered her voice a lot.

"If you're really making her nervous, stop talking," Herstal told him, frowning.

"You're still very interested in this matter." Albarino said suddenly, Herstal clearly saw a hidden smile flashing in those brightly colored eyes, "I was actually real before. I thought that when you encountered such a thing, you would—how do you say, go out and pretend that you didn’t see anything, I thought you wouldn’t care, because it has nothing to do with you after all.”

Herstal pressed the laptop's microphone with his hand again, preventing the little girl from hearing anything she shouldn't have heard. He listened carefully and could hear Hunter limping on the second floor, far away from them.

So he simply replied: "Not completely unrelated, that suspect kidnapped the prosecutor in my case."

"The prosecutor might even miss the trial," Albarino said with a smile. "I thought it would be in your favor."

"That's not a fair competition." Herstal shook his head disapprovingly, his eyes hovering over Albarino's face, as if hoping to see the truth through this motionless mask, and then he Suddenly he said, "And I thought you wouldn't care."

"Why don't you care? Sergeant Hardy is a respectable adversary, and he's a good man," Albarino replied, his eyelashes drooping gracefully in a look you could call pity. Although he obviously has no position to talk about his admiration for "good people", it even sounds ironic.

He was silent for two seconds, as if enjoying the silence.

"Herstal," Albarino continued after a moment, "it is foreseeable that Bart will one day become my enemy, but that does not mean that I will not help him in this situation. I Acknowledging that I may not feel the same way about certain things—but not necessarily having a completely different outcome when feeling different, you know what I mean?"

Hardy's fingers trembled as he typed on the keyboard.

He called up the surveillance camera on the street in front of his house, but found in desperation that he couldn't concentrate at all—the images of the crowded traffic recorded in the blurry picture all melted into a ball in his eyes.

His heart was beating fast and his breathing was disordered, while Officer Bull came over and mentioned something about Quantico. The other's voice was confused, but he didn't hear a word. Finally, the other party came and went down the hallway, and Hardy only felt the hot pain in his eyes.

He understood the killer's eloquent hint: how cruel, even if he tried his best, he might only be able to save one of his wives and daughters, only one, or even none. Time is never enough, every second is passing, his little daughter is suffocating to death in a small room, and her cries are still ringing in his ears--

A car sped past the surveillance footage, and the fast-forward timeline flew backwards. Hardy felt like he didn't see anything suspicious, and was constantly worried that he had missed the killer.

Then--

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