Chapter 7: A Confession Dedicated to Persephone 01
For the lawyers at A&H Law Firm, one of the firm’s partners, Hestal Amarette, was a legendary figure.
There was no doubt that he could be considered handsome and young with a promising future, though his moral principles were questionable—for those who were willing to take a job at his firm despite knowing he was a gangster’s lawyer, discussing his moral principles was meaningless to begin with—but in any case, among the people who had witnessed a terrible murder on a Sunday morning, Mr. Amarette was certainly one of the calmest when it came to going to work on Monday.
Only a day had passed since the Sunday Gardener’s murder, and it was precisely when people were discussing the case with the most fervor. During A&H Law Firm’s lunch break, looking out from the floor-to-ceiling window of Hestal’s office, one could see a group of reporters squatting in front of the entrance, trying to stop anyone who came out of the office.
It was at that moment that a hesitant knock sounded at the door.
The one who entered was Hestal’s secretary, Emma. This pretty blonde girl sat in the cubicle outside Hestal’s office door, shielding him from every reporter’s call requesting an interview. Now her face looked weary, and it was obvious that she had smudged a bit of her lipstick while eating her tasteless sandwich lunch during her break, and hadn’t had time to touch it up yet.
“Mr. Armalite,” she said with a frown, “the front desk called to say someone is downstairs looking for you.”
“It’s not some reporter who snuck in, is it?” Hestal asked with a frown.
Emma shook her head. “No, he said he’s from the Forensics Bureau. His name is Albanino Bacchus.”
Faced with something like this, even Hestal was stunned for a second. He truly could not figure out what that ever-smiling forensic examiner wanted with him. That smile made him uncomfortable, even though it looked warm enough; but he was certain that hidden beneath that nearly human skin of gentleness was the smile of a wolf.
But he had no other choice. He wisely did not leave the Chief Forensic Examiner of the Forensics Bureau standing outside the door—in the future, when they appeared in court, he would inevitably have to deal with this person. So he could only say wearily, “Let him in.”
A few minutes later, Albanino entered. He did not look like the type who enjoyed wearing suits; when he came, he was just in a casual jacket and jeans, out of place in this beautiful office building full of lawyers in suits—you had to know, any random person here probably wore a tie that cost more than his entire outfit.
But that didn’t matter at all—he had beautiful chestnut curls and gentle mint-green eyes, the kind that could make a girl like Emma swoon with just a smile.
But since Hestal himself didn’t buy it, he just watched coldly as the man swung in with a handbag, strolling in like a forensic examiner who didn’t have to work. Before the other could speak, he beat him to it: “Does Officer Hardy need me to give another statement?”
“The reason I’m here is the same as the reason for those reporters who’ve been standing guard outside all morning.” Albanino tilted his head, looking at Hestal like a curious waterbird.
Hestal said, “Can I ask you to leave?”
“No!” Albanino laughed, and the action pressed a few charming, shallow creases at the corners of his eyes. “You see, here’s the thing: the Sunday Gardener never contacts anyone. He’s different from the Pianist—he doesn’t send provocative messages to the police. He always displays his works in public places, letting randomly selected passersby discover them—but this time was different. He used the victim’s phone to send a text message. He chose to let you find that body.”
“What does that mean?” Hestal asked sharply.
“No one knows, except the Sunday Gardener himself.” Albanino smiled, and in truth he didn’t seem worried at all. “But obviously, those reporters out there think it means you’re very important to the Gardener. Bart is also worried that you’ve played an important role in this case without even knowing it yourself. Seriously, the people at the Westland City Police Department are worried about you.”
“But based on the existing evidence, it’s not enough for them to apply for a personal protection order or anything like that for me,” Hestal pointed out.
“That’s exactly right, which is why Bart suggested that those of us following this case should keep a closer eye on you when we have time, so that we don’t end up not even knowing if you’ve been abducted by the Sunday Gardener.” Albanino said with a smile. “So I’ve come to have lunch with you. The forensics bureau is quite close to your firm, and I think I have enough time to make it back before my lunch break ends.”
Hestal stared in disbelief at the smiling man across from him. On his face, which rarely showed emotion, there must have been a fleeting expression approximating “what did I do to deserve this.” He raised his voice slightly: “Dr. Bax, don’t you think you should have notified the person first before deciding to have lunch with them?”
“If I’d told you in advance what I wanted to do, would you still have let me in?” Albanino asked.
…Fair point.
So, even Hestal was stuck for two seconds, and then he waved his hand helplessly: “In any case, you might have chosen to come during lunch break to the only place in the entire city where there’s no real lunch to be had. Almost everyone in the office building makes do with stuff from the vending machine downstairs at noon. People in our line of work don’t get much downtime.”
“Actually, it’s the same in my line of work, and no one would want to buy convenience food from a vending machine across from a decomposing corpse autopsy room.” Albanino answered calmly. “But considering the salary of someone in your profession, spending lunch break like this is a bit too miserable.”
“If you want to do a job well, it’s inevitable that you’ll sacrifice a lot of time.” Hestal replied noncommittally.
Albanino smiled. He rummaged around in his tote bag for a while, then lined up several airtight containers in a row on Hestal’s desk, and said matter-of-factly: “That’s why I bring my own lunch to the forensics bureau.”
Hestal looked at Albanino as if the other man were a moose that had accidentally wandered into the middle of an interstate highway, forever unable to escape its ultimate fate of being sent flying by a car.
The several保鲜 boxes contained salmon sandwiches cut into neat triangles, several kinds of fruit cut into chunks, and a few muffins wrapped in paper towels. Albanino, as if he hadn’t noticed what his expression meant, pushed the two boxes in his hand in front of him: “I prepared your portion too.”
Hestal stared at him fixedly: “Albanino, we discussed this last time—when you interact with others, your sense of personal space really is somewhat problematic.”
They had only met twice—how had things already progressed to the point where he could have the other man bring him lunch? And this person had even barged into his office without so much as a heads-up beforehand. Halstead hated things that were beyond his control, especially when it involved this forensic examiner he’d spent barely a few hours with in total—there was something in the other man’s green eyes that always put him particularly on guard, even more so than when he was facing Officer Bart Hardy.
Albanino shrugged, flashing a small, wounded, animal-like smile—probably fake, just to stir up sympathy: “Perhaps that’s true, but in reality, most people I know quite enjoy that.”
“Maybe because they’re looking at that pretty face of yours,” Hestal pointed out. “Or they just want to get into your pants.”
“If you’d use nicer words to compliment someone—like ‘you’re endlessly charming’—that’d be better.” Albanino let out a laugh. “Are you going to eat or not? If not, I’ll go share it with that sweet Miss Emma sitting outside your office.”
—So, somehow, the two of them ended up finishing lunch at the small table to the side of the office. Hestal’s office was enormous, and the set of sofa chairs placed by the floor-to-ceiling window looked like soft clouds, though in truth no one had ever rested in that spot—considering the… professions of Hestal’s clients, they probably preferred to meet their lawyer on their own turf.
The office of this notorious lawyer was practically the ideal haven for someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder: everything looked spotless, picture frames and books were arranged neatly, and every piece of office supplies on the desk was parallel to the edges of the table. It looked so impersonal that it seemed like a design showroom freshly arranged by a designer, rather than a place where a person spent at least eight hours a day.
Just being in a room like this made a person feel that dropping even a crumb of food on the floor would be an absolute sin, and it made one not dare to even bring up the topic of eating in such a space. But Albanino was clearly not defeated by this invisible, terrifying atmosphere—he seemed to be sitting quite happily on the sofa.
And Hestal had to admit that, although this lunch required no particular skill, the food Albanino made was actually quite delicious. And clearly his knife skills when cutting fruit were excellent: this was hardly surprising—judging from what Hestal had seen at the forensic bureau, this person’s skill at cutting people was also quite high.
“So you’ve just decided like this?” Hestal asked as they finished the last bit of dessert—which, according to Albanino, were muffins he had baked himself. “Taking turns to check whether I’ve been killed by the Sunday Gardener?”
“Just a concern. Based on the intervals between his killings, he probably won’t come after you anytime soon.” Albanino shrugged, a strange smile hanging on his face. “But after all, he only texted you. That’s rare. Bart’s worried he might contact you again.”
“If he contacts me again, I’ll call the police,” Hestal pointed out.
“What if it’s the kind of ‘contact’ where he’s hiding under your bed with a knife? Anyway, being cautious never hurts.” Albanino finished the last bit of his muffin and unconsciously licked his fingertips. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and gave Hestal an embarrassed smile. “We’ll come by to check on you whenever we have time, but Bart and Bates probably won’t be able to get away. You’ll likely be seeing more of me and Olga.”
“Then I might prefer dealing with Miss Molozer even more.” Hestal didn’t hold back the smug sarcasm on his face, even though he had clearly just eaten the lunch someone had prepared.
Albanino let out a laugh. “Although I’ll admit Olga is quite pretty, once you spend time with her you’ll find she’s incredibly annoying—truly, exceptionally annoying. Don’t let appearances fool you.”
“And you?” Hestal scrutinized him, then suddenly asked, “What part of you has been fooled? I don’t see anything about me that would draw your attention.”
“It’s inspiration. My Muse has given me metaphysical guidance,” Albanino said sweetly and ambiguously. “I’ve appeared here to familiarize myself with you, because only once I’m familiar with you can I fully understand where you belong.”
“You’d better not save any place for me. Most law enforcement types can’t stand people like me.” Hestal let out a scoff.
Albarino shrugged nonchalantly, sinking comfortably into the sofa with the determination to merge with the cozy fabric couch: “I’m not law enforcement, and besides, I became a forensic pathologist simply because I enjoy the job.”
Hestal said nothing, just quietly watched him.
“Since I don’t have any naive impulse to uphold justice, I won’t feel too much disgust over the things you’re doing either.” Albarino smiled. “Attorney Amalette, when you defended your clients, you must have broken the hearts of many innocent people, haven’t you?”
“That sounds like a rather emotional accusation,” Hestal said slowly.
“…Sensitivity.” Albanino nodded thoughtfully. “I wanted to ask you the day you went to the forensic bureau to sign the authorization letter—you don’t feel anything about the things you do, do you?”
He remembered the way this person had stared at that corpse, and the dead man had even been an employer he had served for many years.
Hestal looked at him, as if wanting to answer something, but he was quickly interrupted: in the very moment before his lips could part, they heard a gunshot from outside the office.
The sound was far too close—clearly right in front of them. Somewhere outside the office, a wave of chaotic screaming erupted, and in that same instant, the two of them nearly jumped up together.
“I bet you definitely don’t have a gun, right?” Hestal asked.
“I’m a forensic pathologist, not a police officer,” Albanino replied with a frown. “Even if I had a gun license, I wouldn’t carry a gun to work every day.”
But it was too late to say any of that now. The two of them had already rushed out of the office together. Poor Emma was huddled under the partition outside the office, trembling all over. Though based on his experience, Albanino estimated that if a gunman really did burst in, that partition wouldn’t withstand a single bullet.
Hestal’s office was in the most remote corner of the floor, and one had to walk down a long corridor to reach the common area. Most of the higher-ranking lawyers had their own individual offices, while only the newly hired and the interns sat in the large office on the outermost side. Although that office was still spacious and bright, it was undoubtedly more crowded by comparison.
The office was currently in complete chaos:
A balding man with an agitated expression was standing in the center of the office, holding a gun high in his hand. From the look of it, he had definitely just fired a shot at the ceiling. Now the gun was swaying back and forth with his trembling breaths. He had the pistol aimed at the chest of an office employee, who was frozen stiff, pressed tightly against his desk.
“You liar!” the balding man screamed at the top of his lungs. “Now I have nothing left! It’s all your fault!”
The employee’s face was rigid, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible: “No… it’s not like that. At the time, I didn’t expect…”
“You bastard! I will never believe a word you say again! You’ll suffer the same loss as me—” The man’s voice was shrill and piercing, the gun trembling in his grip.
Half the staff in the office had already fled in a panic. Albanino had shrunk back into the rear, inconspicuously sending a text to Officer Hardy. It was only a matter of time before the police arrived. The employee was shaking like a leaf, clearly unable to utter a single word.
Hestal tentatively took half a step forward, raising both hands high, and said, “Sir—”
Unfortunately, the gentleman clearly had no intention of negotiating. He had been screaming himself hoarse for quite a while, and now he finally managed to focus and look around, discovering that the people hiding under the desks were all staring at him in terror. It was obviously only a matter of time before the police arrived. The man did not lose his nerve—he decisively, or perhaps desperately, began to shoot.
The next second was so chaotic it defied description. The clerk hit the ground with a thud, as if rammed by a train, without even managing a superfluous scream. The bald man’s pistol clearly had plenty of rounds left, and the remaining bullets sprayed wildly toward the people still standing in the room. One obvious target was Hestal, who had been attempting to negotiate.
It came too suddenly and without logic. Hestal clearly hadn’t reacted in time—or rather, his reaction was exactly the conditioned reflex of an untrained ordinary person in such a situation. No one could truly dodge bullets like in the movies, at least not in a completely unexpected moment like this. The shrill gunshot rang out, and Hestal instinctively raised his left hand—a feeble blocking gesture, so instinctive, fragile, and undefended—and then Albanino tackled him around the waist, sending them both rolling into a scattered pile of printer paper.
It wasn’t that Albanino was particularly well-trained; as a forensic pathologist, he didn’t receive the kind of training police officers did. The only reason he reacted was that he hadn’t been listening to the man with the gun at all—instead, he’d been warily watching the swaying muzzle. So when the man suddenly opened fire, Albanino had the advantage over Hestal, who had been trying to talk to him.
The two of them tumbled into an undignified heap. The firm’s floor was impressively sleek and hard. But Albanino had clearly taken the brunt of the impact by slamming Hestal down beneath him, cushioning part of the force.
Albanino scrambled up on his hands and knees, just in time to see the shooter fleeing in a blind panic—what a rookie. More employees were crawling out from under the tables, trembling all over, while the one who had been shot lay on the ground bleeding profusely.
Now didn’t seem like the time for overthinking. By the time Albanino rushed to the injured employee’s side, he saw the man pressing his trembling fingers against the wound in a futile attempt to stanch the bleeding, but he had no strength left at all. Albanino reached out to help press down on the wound while directing the employees—who had already burst into tears—to call an ambulance.
It was at that moment that Hestal knelt down beside him.
When Albanino turned to look at him, he saw that the ever-composed lawyer was gazing down at his bleeding employee—actually, he still looked calm; it was just that his hair, usually kept neatly in place with hairspray, had come slightly loose. Other than that, he was unharmed.
Albanino replayed a fragment of what had just happened in his mind: the moment the gunman fired at Hestal. Unfortunately, he had been standing behind the lawyer and couldn’t see the expression on the other man’s face at that instant.
Albanino was different from that Westland Pianist, after all. He didn’t derive cheap pleasure from these people’s dying moments. He was simply instinctively curious about the state of the person before him when caught between life and death. He needed to understand this person better before he could create a suitable work… In any case, he was grateful that the clumsy gunman had missed Hestal. After that business with the Norman brothers, he didn’t need any more external forces interrupting his plans.
He was now pressing down on a continuously bleeding wound, his fingers soaked in scalding blood, yet his mind was elsewhere.
Hestal asked in a low, hoarse voice, “You did call the police, right?”
And Albanino merely recalled that moment just now, when Hestal instinctively raised his left arm, as if that gesture could truly stop death in its tracks—
Albanino was momentarily stunned.
“Yes, of course I called the police.” A moment later, he laughed and gave the lawyer a meaningful wink. “I always think things through very carefully, Hestal.”