Wine and Gun

But at this moment he was sitting here. In the cold interrogation room, the metal tables and chairs were fixed to the ground, and the armrest of the chair opposite him had holes reserved for the chains of the handcuffs. This is one of the few interrogation rooms in the New Takker Federal Prison that is not separated by thick glass. It is located in one of the oldest buildings in the prison. It is said that a hundred years ago, doctors tied patients to the ground. Chained to iron chairs in these old rooms, probed into their foreheads, shredded their lobe white matter.

And Amalette was brought in by two heavily armed warnings, handcuffs jingling in a walking collision. They held Amalette in a chair, and the latter looked up at Officer Hardy, his eyes still cold, arrogant, polite.

He nodded slightly and said, "Officer Hardy."

"...Mr. Armalette," Hardy squeezed the name out of his throat. At such a moment, he would sincerely hope that it was Olga who was sitting here and asking, but that was not in line with the procedure, "I I want to talk to you about Balmond."

Amalright paused for a second or two, then raised his eyebrows, acting like someone who doesn't know anything about it, and asked, "That Latino guy? What's wrong with him?"

"He's dead," Hardy said word for word, staring intently at his expression.

"I can't say I'm too sorry, he's a guy who doesn't make a good impression," Amarette replied flatly, tapping his fingers on the metal tabletop as he spoke This expresses his impatience. Hardy glanced at his slightly flicking fingers, unable to stop imagining how the hand would actually rest on the black and white keys.

Hardy made no comment on this. He stretched out his hand and slowly pushed the photo of the crime scene across the cold metal table, crossed the center line a little bit, and stopped in front of Amarette.

Amarette looked down at the bloody and tragic state, and said in an emotionless voice, "Oh."

It didn't sound like a real exclamation, Hardy said softly: "He was hanged by the killer when he died."

"So you suspect that the murderer is a Westland pianist, don't you?" Amalet asked bitterly, "With all due respect, a considerable percentage of Westerland's dead are hanged every year, and you always You can't attribute them all to the Westland pianist, unless you expect the pianist to be more efficient than the crematoriums of the Nazi concentration camps."

Hardy was tempted to say it wasn't, but realized that even saying it wouldn't help, he chose to shut up, and he pushed the second photo -- the one of the dead sheep -- as well. He passed the table, watching Amarette's expression closely.

Was there a hint of surprise in his eyes? Hardy didn't actually see it too much. All of this person's emotions have been hidden under the iron mask for too long, and it is easy to reveal any flaws.

Hardy simply said: "The carcass of this sheep showed up at Leohard Schreiber's house the other day - you should know him, I heard you gave him an interview."

Yes, Herstal Armalette did accept the interview with that reporter. The whole interview was written as a tragic and desperate love story for the Westland pianist. Much of the content was made up by Shi Haibo, and it is no wonder that the report was written like this, and it was received death threats from the pianist's over-the-top fans.

"So what?" Amalet asked in a nonchalant voice.

Hardy stared at him and sat up slightly: "Where is Albarino?"

Then Amarette raised her head slowly, and for the first time in the entire conversation, the other party seemed to finally be willing to take a good look at him. When he was able to take a good look at the other's face, Hardy noticed that the lawyer had indeed lost a lot of weight. His face was cold and angular, and the blue eyes in the deep sockets were even more terrifyingly bright.

Then, he saw the thin lips twisted into a smile, a look that someone like Armalite could make, only possibly out of sarcasm.

"I know what you're thinking, and what kind of speculation you make in this situation - you ask me such a question when there is no evidence, and you expect to hear the answer from me." Marlette said slowly, "Officer Hardy, what kind of naive idea do you have in these cases?"

Officer Hardy didn't answer, his lips pursed slightly.

"Justice must be manifested, and the wicked have evil retribution?" Amarette continued to ask, he leaned forward slightly, for some reason, such an ordinary action could make him feel a sense of threat, " Do you think that there is some greater being above us that will give us some kind of justice when the seven trumpets are remembered?"

Hardy gritted his teeth and asked again: "Where is Albarino?"

"Six feet below," replied Herstal grimly, "in the newly excavated tomb of the nun, with his marble statue."

@ Guoliyuwanduo has drawn a few pictures for this article, please enjoy——

Chapter 120 Chrysalis 04

That evening, Herstal met Albarino Bacchus as expected.

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