Wine and Gun

"If everything goes according to plan, of course there is nothing wrong with it. But you also know, Agent McCard, things can never go according to one's expectations all the time." Albarino replied calmly, "then It seems that no matter how many people should have died at Rob's hands, Blanca Areola did kill two people who shouldn't have died."

McCard frowned for a brief moment, and then he asked calmly, "Are you saying this because you really care about the lives of those two, or because you're just trying to run on me?"

"I don't think that's what you want to ask the most." Albarino shook his head.

"Then why are you with Herstal Armalite? I remember you told me last time that you didn't like him." McArd asked directly, and his next sentence was Showing that he wasn't asking the question for gossip at all, "Did you take the shard of Mr. Armalette's porcelain in Elliott Evans' basement?"

Albarino blinked, and then the smile on his face widened.

"I'm going to cite my Fifth Amendment rights, Agent McCard," he replied languidly. "Perhaps, you should call in a prosecution witness."

McCard studied him carefully for a moment, then nodded briefly.

"I see," he said.

Then he reached out and took the coin from Albarino.

Chapter 65 The Diary of Anne Brook, the Hospital Attendant: February 3, 2017

February 3, 2017

friday, sunny

To be honest, I have been a nurse for almost three years, and I have never seen such a situation.

——When I wrote this line, I was sitting outside the intensive care room, and in the single ward lived a poor girl with a high-fall amputation. Of course, high fall is nothing unusual. I have taken care of many amputee patients. The doctor said that she may become a vegetative person. I have not seen this kind of thing: I once took care of a vegetative man in the hospital for half a year. For a long time, until his wife could not bear the increasingly onerous hospital bills and finally chose to take him home.

And when people don't live in a general ward, there's really not much I can do. I'm mainly responsible for paying attention to the progress of those infusions, and whether the beeping instruments work as usual, although they have problems. The chances are really small. At this stage, it’s not yet time to fight bedsores, muscle wasting, and other ailments. In fact, most people don’t hire caregivers when their loved ones are in the hospital.

—This is one of the strange things about this thing.

First of all, this girl has no family. I have seen such poor people. Usually, the process of their hospitalization will be very miserable. Second, this morning, the chief of the Westland City Police Department stood in front of me with a look on his face. Exhausted, he looked like he had been punched in the face.

"Ms. Molozer is an advisor to WLPD," he explained, who was the poor girl's surname. "What happened to her...has something to do with our police department. Will she get better when she gets better? The claim for compensation says otherwise, we now have to pay for her full-time escort and treatment."

Beside him stood a more haggard-looking policeman, who the chief explained was the officer who worked with Molozer, Hardy or something. He snorted and said, "Sir, actually..."

"Shut up!" The director roared back fiercely, his voice so loud that the police officer and I were both shocked, "If you had reported the matter to the bureau earlier, at least half of the incidents would not have happened! Not to mention the FBI. —"

I looked at him and closed his mouth with dissatisfaction, apparently swallowing a lot of dirty words, and didn't say what happened to the FBI. Then the director turned to me and explained awkwardly, "All in all, we have to hold a press conference for this. And your job is to take care of her... and then there will be a lot of reporters trying to rush into the hospital, a lot of reporters, you have to Be mentally prepared for this."

I nodded my head in confusion, although at the time I had no idea why so many reporters rushed in. From what I know about Westland's print media, they should only be interested in news about serial killers and WLPD chief's extramarital affairs - and they don't have to be the chief's wife to a city councilman interested.

Then the facts quickly hit me in the head: my predictions were too simplistic.

And I never thought it would be -- it's actually a love story.

Around one o'clock this afternoon, I was sitting in the lounge across from the intensive care unit eating a sandwich from the vending machine. I still haven't learned the lesson of last time: really, really don't buy hospital salmon sandwiches, that stuff tastes like something died in it.

At that time, all the monitoring equipment on Ms. Molozer's side was working normally. One bottle of liquid was just finished, and it would take at least 90 minutes for the new bottle to be finished. Before that, I could relax a little. However, according to the doctors, she still had a fever, although not fatal, but if the infection in her right leg continued to worsen, they would have to amputate her remaining leg.

To be honest, the possibility of problems with the infusion reminder and the alarms of the pile of instruments is very small, and the real patients will not stop beating every three days like those in the medical drama, but since WLPD is willing to pay a large sum of money for it. I have to do my due diligence.

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