Wine and Gun

Slade nodded nonchalantly, took the folder in the other's hand and opened it. Those are some very common personal data, Herstal Armalite's resume, his experience at A\u0026H law firm, previous work experience and internship experience at large law firms in other states, college and Photos from law school...

Slade's page-turning movements suddenly stopped.

His finger is on the footer of the last page, which outlines the high school information he attended, and a printout of the website page: he won a scholarship in his first year of high school. , the school posted photos of him and other award-winning students on the school's official website, and the person who collected the information carefully printed the entire page.

Slade stared intently at the young face: the still childish face that looked almost different from the present because of the lack of fat and hair, the sharper and more prominent cheekbones and the angularity of the brow arch. , the thin and slightly hunched body hidden under loose clothes, gloomy and avoid the gaze of the camera——

The corners of his mouth tightened, and even his masseter muscles trembled.

it's out of the question. Shouldn't be this person.

"...William."

Albarino saw Herstal for the third time in the past two days. The other party was still standing next to the defendant. He and Slade should not be standing together. It seemed so strange and incongruous.

Herstal asked: "Do you have anything to add to Mr. Black's testimony?"

Albarino took a lot of effort to find the name "Black" from the depths of his memory. It was many years ago, and Albarino never remembered things that he didn't care much about. So clear.

He remembered that he hadn't been a forensic doctor for a few years after what happened to Blake, or a Sunday gardener—a very important premise, when he hadn't figured out where he was, as if he'd first dedicated himself to The works of the masses were terrible, and at that time he still had a little bit of fantasy about ordinary people.

Perhaps it was some of his experiences while traveling in Europe that gave him some wrong impressions. In the first few years of his return to Westland, there was still a foreign, European, làng comic in his blood. The madness is flowing, making him think that "beauty" can also be found in ordinary people -- ordinary people who are "living". After all, deep in his memory, there are still his mother, the lake, and the tender white petals of the hemp leaf embroidery thread floating on the water.

So when Blake came to him and begged him, he was in a state of blunt curiosity. He was curious about the bewildered and mad soul, he was curious about everything in the minds of other sinners; and the man in front of him was dominated by great fear, and he wanted to know from this bào and huge emotions Something can be transformed.

So he agreed, withholding one or two key pieces of evidence and delaying the other party's imprisonment - unfortunately, this person failed to surprise him, and the other party still lived a sluggish life until another crime that was also stupid enough to be real. send him to jail.

Albarino admits to being disappointed that "beauty is hard," he'd heard someone say. It does. The pure, crazy and single-minded beauty that erupted from the human soul was so rare that he had only seen it once in his mother.

Disappointed, Albarino turned his attention to the dead again.

——until years later, he met Herstal Armalite and the Westland pianist.

At this moment, he looked directly at the person standing in the dock. This murderous killer was standing beside his enemy, the source of all his sins, and his voice was cold and hard, beautiful and unshakable.

Albarino almost wanted to smile.

"I have nothing to refute," so he replied rather cheerfully. "Mr. Black is telling the truth."

Lavasa McCard sits in front of Olga's sick room.

According to the doctor, her condition has improved recently, and a slight reaction can be seen in her upper limbs. If all goes well, she may wake up in the next few days.

"If all goes well," McCard just wanted to sneer at such idealistic terms, things can never go well, just as Kaba Slade is a free man now... when they Who would have thought of this day when this person was arrested at the scene where the children were being held?

Would things have been different if the still voiceless woke up before this trial?

Or, had she woken earlier, had the Sunday gardener and Westland pianist already caught up?

McArd understood that there was no point in thinking about these things. It was still dawn, and when it was dawn, he would have to get on a plane and go back to Quantico. A smart guy like Albarino Bacchus couldn't have guessed that they were already being targeted. Although I still don't know why Amalet sneaked into the Sequoia Manor, it might be the next time he has a chance. , the two have been smuggled to Mexico.

McCard really thought for a moment at this moment. Would it be the best option to go to the door of Albarino Bacchus's house now and fire two shots inside after the doorbell rang - but what? is the best choice? Does the best option really exist?

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