Wine and Gun

Albarino smiled and said nothing.

By this time Bates had finished taking the pictures and carefully took out the flowers, which were impeccably white from head to toe, like a fluffy handful of snow.

Bates's voice was quite certain, clearly knowing: "Although I don't know what the murderer used to bleach the skull, but in general, the way of bleaching and decorating the gold leaf is very similar to the Sunday gardener's 'bridal boat' modus operandi— —Although no further tests have been done, I think this is the work of the Sunday gardener."

He spent nights sticking up the gold foil to make sure they were perfectly flat and the edges smooth. He has always separated this part of his private life from his work, and he has not shortened his overtime hours during the day because of this. After driving a few dizzying night trains, he regretted it a little.

On those nights, the wilderness outside the house was nearly silent, and he owned the house and the acres of land outside that he had not purposely planted anything. After dark here, foxes and suburban láng roam, those wild shòu howling in the dark, the gold leaf glittering like stars between his fingers, and the others lurking in the blue of Herstal Amalet. inside the eyes.

He wanted to get close - to touch that wild shòu's fur, to tear open his flesh and drink his blood.

He loves challenging and beautiful things.

Bates carefully took out the flower and put it away. The skull was still half full of red things. Albarino stretched out his hand and squeezed the skull and shook it. With the muffled sound of several collisions, the skull came out of the eye socket. A few small red particles fell out and fell on the table like drops of blood.

"Pomegranate," he said.

And Olga said at the same time: "Persephone."

Several other people looked at her together, more or less confused. Orr snorted triumphantly and pointed to the things that Bethes had taken out: "Wheat, Persephone is the goddess of grain in Greek mythology; daffodils, Persephone is written in the Theogony Nirvana picked the daffodils and was taken away by Hades and became his queen of the underworld; and pomegranates, as we all know—"

"Persephone ate the six pomegranate seeds Hades gave her," Albarino said softly, and Herstal looked at him with blue eyes like a hunter's crosshair Aimed at the deer swimming in the woods. "So you have to stay in the underworld for six months a year."

Herstal gave him a sharp smile, then looked away.

"So," he said sarcastically, "I'm now caught up in a perverted metaphor of the Hades? And with the Sunday gardener narcissistically referring to himself as Hades, Hades?"

"To be precise, it's the innocent girl who was robbed by Hades. Bernini's "Platon Robbery of Persephone", everyone can imagine that kind of picture?" Olgaha said, no Knowing why, she sounded gloating like they weren't talking about a psycho killer. "But if you eat this amount of pomegranate seeds, it is estimated that you will stay in the underworld for the rest of your life without having to come back."

"Olga!" warned Bates, the only conscientious one among them, and he was the only one who remembered to bring the discussion back to the point. "So, was Mr. Armalette courted by the Sunday gardener?"

They were quiet for a few seconds, like elementary school students who were awkward when the teacher asked a question, and no one was willing to say the answer that everyone knew well.

Albarino watched Herstal, who stood there calmly, brows furrowed, but that was it; he was a little too calm for someone involved in this level of conversation.

"The word 'court' is a bit heavy," Olga pondered, his eyes wandering between the plants and pomegranate seeds on the table, "Although this present is also very beautiful - may the dead rest in peace, of course - but I always I think if things had risen to the level of 'love' for the Sunday gardener, he would have made the scene a little more extravagant."

Herstal gān said: "...Sorry?"

"Meaning that he might kill every judge who convicted you, build a giant pile of bones for you on your desk, and fill their ribs with arrows as blue as your eyes jú and delphinium." Albarino smiled, and the words flowed from his lips without thinking, as if he had thought about it for a long time.

"Stop talking, that's disgusting." Bates groaned.

Olga said with a straight face: "We are talking about love."

"Okay, then I'm pretty relieved that you don't think it's courtship," Herstal concluded in that sarcastic tone that he couldn't learn to speak properly.

Olga shook her head solemnly.

"Not trying to hit you, but I don't think things are as good as you think," she whispered, pulling her hair slowly, "it's a Greek mythology, and we know that the myth of Hades qiáng robbed the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, and qiáng forced her to be his queen. So I think the Sunday gardener's analogy is...disrespectful, but that's probably what he really meant."

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