Once Dr. Holloway got into action, he truly lived up to being the best surgeon in New York.
Just moments ago, he was overwhelmed by his emotions, but now he lifted the corpse onto the autopsy table without a tremor in his knife hand.
Under the harsh shadowless lamp light, he avoided the bullet holes on the chest and made a standard Y-shaped incision, then reached into the chest cavity to search for any marks on the organs or bones.
Perhaps a fragment of a bullet or a scratch on the bone, he wasn't sure what he was searching for, but in this era, the tools that robbed people of their lives were relatively simple.
Su Ming stood aside smoking, calmly watching the way the flesh and fat shifted under the silver-white blade.
In recent years, he's been controlling his bloodthirsty desire with limited violence and music, but soon, he would be able to unleash it fully, and he felt a slight anticipation in his heart.
Dr. Holloway didn't notice the strange expression on Su Ming's face; he was completely absorbed in looking at his hands.
Phantom Bullet had been shot five times in the chest, with no burn marks near the wounds, indicating that it was a long-distance shot.
The bullets hit in a relatively tight area, with all five shots within the size of a fist, demonstrating the precision marksman skills of the killer.
One bullet hit the heart, followed immediately by four more hitting either the aorta or pulmonary artery, causing Phantom Bullet to fall.
All the bullets entered from the front and exited out the back, which allowed the doctor to breathe a sigh of relief, as at least the hero wasn't killed by someone he trusted.
However, this doesn't explain the surprised expression on Phantom Bullet's face, or why he couldn't fight back; there was no gunpowder residue on his hands—he hadn't fired a single shot.
But fortunately, the doctor wasn't alone now; he started in this line of work too recently and hadn't even considered that masked individuals could cooperate with others.
The appearance of Deathstroke had opened a new door for him. For example, a squad of like-minded masked individuals could unite and complement each other's strengths.
Of course, collaborating with government cleaners should be minimized as much as possible....
He just needed to compile his findings, share some results and data with Deathstroke, and then see what he thought.
After stitching up the wounds, he pulled over a hose to clean the various parts of the corpse, collecting the wash solutions for chemical analysis.
He moved very quickly.
Su Ming had initially planned to give him thirty minutes, but in just over ten, Holloway had returned the body to the storage cabinet.
"Any results?"
Su Ming accepted a stack of papers handed over by the doctor. Is this occupational habit of his? A verbal conclusion would be enough, so why the paper report? What do these charts and figures mean—who can even understand them?
Holloway shrugged; he had strictly followed the forensic procedure and only realized after finishing that he still had his mask on.
"A professional killer shot him from the front, modifying the gun to fire five shots in an instant. The bullets should be 9mm—very clean and neat, with no clues from the body." He paused, again looking at the cabinet holding the body, and sighed. "There's evidence that the body was moved—that was the dump site, but I found some clues in his hair and on the soles of his shoes."
Su Ming nodded his chin, signaling the two of them to head back to the rooftop to leave: "Go on, what did you find?"
"There was a rust stain on his cape, which I tested and observed; it contained halogens and several dead algae cells." Holloway spoke seriously as they quickly moved through the empty stairwell. "And on the soles of his shoes, he had stepped in a special compound, carbamide."
Su Ming extinguished his cigarette and pocketed it, re-fastening his mask. "If I'm not mistaken, this is a type of fertilizer, right?"
Holloway nodded, acknowledging that not many people knew about this, but Deathstroke was right: "Yes, CN2H4O, commonly known as urea."
"Interesting, fertilizers have many uses, but nitrogen fertilizer is most known for being used to make explosives. Maybe he discovered that someone was planning something big by the seaside or on a ship."
They returned to the rooftop, where Su Ming once again tossed out his grappling hook, and the two maneuvered between rooftops.
"It's not necessarily by the sea or on a ship. New York is a coastal city, and these algae cells are distributed throughout various water bodies. I'm not an expert in algae biology, so I can't provide a more detailed classification. Moreover, if there are heavy rains or strong winds, they could drift almost anywhere."
Dr. Holloway added that if they wanted to trace the clue, it would be better to see if they could find the same batch of fertilizer, as it would be easier to pinpoint than algae.
Su Ming shook his head, initially wanting to find some direct evidence from the body, like distinctive murder techniques or weapons.
But whether it was algae or fertilizer, these two clues were like finding a needle in a haystack, completely insufficient for an investigation—at least current technology didn't support their level of investigation.
"We're not following these two clues; the other one you mentioned earlier is the most useful."
Su Ming had indeed seen the reporter's name in the comics, but it was vastly different from now.
Information from the past could only be selectively used. Finding Holloway and Torchbearer was confirmed through multiple checks that it was indeed the person he remembered before proceeding with any interaction.
Only the information obtained through his investigation was trustworthy now.
Dr. Holloway pondered for a moment: "You mean his true identity?"
"Yes, even though I didn't know him, I've carried out activities with another reporter. She liked to write things down in her little notebook, even though she had a camera and a voice recorder."
Su Ming and the doctor returned to the car. Gin started driving away as the scenery outside the car windows passed by rapidly, and they began changing out of their uniforms for the next low-key activity.
"What is that thing?"
Dr. Holloway looked puzzled. Was the camera the kind of bulky equipment used for shooting movies? How could a female reporter carry that around? And what was a voice recorder? A recording and a pen—those things were totally unrelated.
"Don't worry about those details." Su Ming waved his hand, signaling him to let it go. Since the Dual Gun Hero hadn't mentioned these things, he didn't want to explain to the doctor either: "After all, it's a journalist's occupational habit. They must all have a little notebook to record their whereabouts and tasks."
"I didn't find it on him just now." Holloway showed an excited expression; in past interviews, reporters certainly carried notebooks around.
"So now that you know his real name, we can find out his address. If that notebook isn't on him, it'll either be in the Horn Daily's editorial office or at his home."
Su Ming swapped back into his suit and coat, tidying his hair to restore his rich man's demeanor, raising a glass to toast with the doctor.
Dr. Holloway also raised his glass; he indeed needed a drink to calm himself a bit.
"It's almost impossible at the office. Office politics are very intense. If you record the news you're following in a notebook and leave it in an office shared by dozens, that news will soon have nothing to do with you."
The doctor reminded him that every industry had hidden competition, especially the news business, which was highly time-sensitive.
News means money; without news, there's an empty stomach. This fight is much fiercer.
Su Ming nodded, showing appreciation for Holloway, who was much more thoughtful than those in the Justice League, at least capable of independent thinking, right?
He smiled, raising the glass filled with golden liquor to clink with the doctor's: "Yes, so now we go to my turf to see if this poor reporter is my client."