Wine and Gun

"Albarino . . . " Hardy mused. "A very strange man. You know what they call him?"

"They say he's a 'genius,' which I hear a lot." Bates laughed.

"He graduated from medical school at the age of twenty-three, then went to travel around Europe, and returned to Westland at the age of twenty-four." Hardy said, with a slight smile, "You know that people in this field should first be a forensic doctor before becoming a forensic doctor. He was a pathologist for four years, but he had only been in the hospital for two years and the hospital director wrote a letter of recommendation to let him enter the Forensic Medicine Bureau in advance. Except for the internship period, he was appointed as the chief forensic doctor after only six years in the Forensic Medicine Bureau, you know What an amazing result."

"I feel it," Bates said sincerely, "so you were very impressed with him back then?"

"Very, very profound," Hardy replied in a particularly serious tone, "I was a regular police officer when I first met him, and he was a forensic trainee—no exaggeration, Bates, I I've never seen someone like him before."

It was a hot summer when Bart Hardy first met Albarino Bacchus, and it's well known that all forensics and homicide cops hate summer the most, because you can't guess that the heat will decompose a body into one. What the hell.

By the time Hardy crossed the brightly colored cordon, the place was already crowded with reporters, and several officers younger than him were pouting in the corners outside the house. A policeman shoved the SLR camera into Hardy's hands irritably, and there was lingering irritability between his brows.

"You're going to take the place of the guy who's fixing the evidence," he said, pointing to Hardy to the guy who was spitting pale at the door. "He's about to vomit his stomach out."

This is how Hardy stepped into the house in a blue protective suit in a confused manner, and immediately an unparalleled pungent smell hit his face. It was a small two-story building painted lovely white, but the interior didn't feel as clean as the outside at all - an inexplicable rotting liquid mixed with blood and water was flowing on the gray ground, and inside Maggots writhing and tumbling with white flowers.

Hardy struggled to hold back his vomit. Several CSIs were busy pinching their noses, and the source of the smell—a rough-formed concrete pool in the center of the living room floor—was crouching a young brown-haired man, looking at the toolbox by his hand. , he should be a forensic doctor.

Hardy walked carefully across the floor so that he wouldn't step on a single bug. He finally stood beside the young man and asked, "You need to take pictures of the corpse?"

"Yes, we'd better finish before my boss comes, or he will lose his temper again." The other party said casually.

——It was only later that Hardy learned that the "boss" this person was referring to was the chief forensic doctor of the Forensic Medicine Bureau at that time, an old man with a very bad temper.

At this moment, the cement pool in front of him was full of corpses, a few flies buzzed around the corpse, and the dense maggots rolled on the surface of the corpse like a white ocean. Hardy saw five hands at a glance, and they didn't seem to match.

But the young forensic doctor didn't seem to be affected by these shocking fragments and the indescribable smell, but nimbly poked tweezers into the mountain of corpses, and pulled out a white worm from it.

And now he can only watch the other party put the maggot into the small bottle of ethanol: the type, length and growth stage of the worm on the corpse are important in judging the time of death of the corpse, but even so, the other party seems to A little too calm, not to mention that he was the closest person in the entire room to this horrific scene.

"It's like one of those fairy tales, the ones from Grimm's Fairy Tales," commented the young forensic doctor cheerfully, speaking to him casually, "the young bride opened the room that her husband wouldn't let her open. door, and found that the large pool inside was full of the bodies of the young girl; because she could not help prying into the secrets of her husband, she could only be one of them."

"Well," Hardy finally asked after taking the first picture, "don't you think that looks unpleasant?"

The young forensic doctor pondered for two seconds, and then replied: "Maybe it is true from an aesthetic point of view, but considering that this is where everyone ends up, it may not be so bad."

"I don't think I belong in a pool like this," Hardy murmured.

"But this is how we finally return to dust, our true form in front of others." The young forensic doctor looked down at the corpses and concluded with regret, "The form has disappeared, leaving only a faint trace. dream."

"This is what happened when I met Al for the first time." Hardy said frankly, and Bates' cup had already drank. He glared at Hardy with a dumbfounded expression.

"...Should I comment on this way of meeting?" After a long silence, Bates said stumblingly, obviously he didn't know what to say, "Well, this way of meeting is really good impressive?"

"It's actually overly impressive," Hardy admitted, with a familiar wry smile on his face again, "I have to admit to you the fact that it's the only reason I'm worried. As I Say, actually I know that Albarino isn't a very ordinary guy, he's sharp, skilled, and heck smart - so while I still don't believe he'd do something like a Sunday gardener,... …”

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