Wine and Gun

Tom's lips were wrinkled, obviously he couldn't bear to see such a small child die: "But—"

"It's not a big case," Albarino gave him a funny look, even though the young man in front of him had been an intern in the Forensic Bureau for so long, sometimes his naivety and idealism still made Alba Lino was surprised, "I mean, the person who died was not the child of a celebrity, a chaebol, or a politician. If this child is finally found to be just a bastard, or a child who sold his body for money - you I know there are still a lot of young people like that - this case is likely to end without a cause. It would be fine if the case was handed over to a police officer like Bart, but..."

"But WLPD doesn't have a lot of cops like Officer Hardy," Tommy reluctantly murmured.

Albarino nodded with a smile: "That's what I meant."

Tommy muttered something aggrieved, while at the same time the door of the autopsy room was knocked and then carefully pushed open. Albarino's secretary stood at the door and asked, "Doctor Bacchus?"

"What's wrong?" Albarino raised his eyebrows. His secretary usually didn't come to him when he was about to get off work.

"A gentleman came to your office looking for you and said his last name was Amalette," the other replied, and everyone—whether it was the secretary or the front desk of the forensic medicine department—had been skeptical about how he looked after working with Albarino for so many years. The outstanding men and women who came to the Forensic Medicine Bureau to find him are immune, and no one can afford more gossip.

...except maybe Tommy.

Tommy's eyes started to light up as soon as he heard the name Amarette, and Albarino had to wonder if he was hearing too much gossip from Olga. He nodded with a headache and said, "I understand, you can let him come directly. In addition, the recording of this autopsy is over," Albarino said, pointing to the dead, young body behind him, "You The autopsy form can be sorted out tomorrow morning and given to Sergeant Bull."

—Bull, Albarino had some conversation with the officer, he wasn't as responsible as Hardy, and he wasn't as capable as Hardy. In short, Albarino believes that if this case is handled by Officer Bull, the case related to the unidentified man's body will always be thrown into the "unsolved" pile of paper like hundreds of other unsolved cases.

Albarino's secretary probably thought so too, but in any case, he responded and withdrew from the stage of the dissection room, closing the door before leaving. The faint rotten smell of the corpse and the lingering wet smell of cháo from the river lingered in the room for a few minutes before the door was opened again, and Herstal Amalet appeared at the door of the autopsy room.

Herstal looked as flawless as ever—those tailored suits, expensive silk shirts and ties, handcrafted leather shoes could easily pack a domineering image. Albarino knew that, despite his keenness to gossip about their love lives, Tommy was actually a little scared of Herstal.

Before Herstal entered the door, Tommy, who was still yelling at Albarino whether the two of them were finally living together, suddenly stopped, like a student who was caught by the teacher and read a small book. He shrank his neck and jumped behind Albarino to concentrate on stitching up the cut corpse, while Albarino looked at each other with a smile.

"Why did you leave work so early today?" he asked.

"I turned down a reception," Herstal said, his eyebrows not about to loosen at all, making people want to reach out and press the fold with their fingertips, "Holmes wanted to borrow This opportunity to become a celebrity, but I'm really not interested in it."

Albarino took a few more steps forward as he spoke, reducing the distance between the two of them to an unseemly point; but then again, he was concerned about the social distance between normal people Clearly out of control. Now, he languidly laid his hand on Herstal's shoulder, and he didn't taut the moment his fingers fell, so his fingers swept the seams of the fabric with satisfaction.

"So," Albarino asked lightly, "would you rather spend your time with me?"

His fingers crawled like spiders to the other person's neckline and swept it lightly with his fingertips - there was a bite mark on the skin, which Albarino had left last night, and was now well hidden under the collar of his shirt. And the layers of the tie cover up. As expected, Herstal glared at Albarino.

"Be careful," Herstal warned. "According to the time, the reception has not yet started. I may change my mind and go back to participate at any time."

"By the way, take the key to your house from me?" Albarino asked with raised eyebrows, snapping into the pocket of his jacket as Herstal's fingers were creeping in. touch.

Apparently Herstal's hand was hooked on the key ring, he clicked his tongue, and let go of his hand in annoyance, giving up this doomed attempt. Then he adjusted it again, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear: "Don't pry the door of my house again. If you don't have the key on your body one day, go back to sleep in your moldy refrigerator."

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