Leaving the Iceberg Lounge, some of the people who liked to let loose at night were already out and about.
They squatted in twos and threes in alleys, smoking and relieving themselves, while lying in wait for any unfortunate passersby. The air instantly became rank with a pungent, offensive odor.
"Get out of my way!"
Jay popped his collar and walked toward his police car parked two streets away.
He kicked aside a junkie lying across the road, clearly high out of his mind. Revealing his badge and gun handle, he slapped a guy who couldn't resist rushing over to strip him, sending him spinning like a top.
The others immediately showed understanding and restrained smiles, retreating to the corners on their own.
"I'll play with you guys later."
He sat in the police car, slammed the door, and rubbed his hands. Just as he turned the key, his phone rang.
"Sir, George and Steven, who went to check the clothing stores, are dead."
"What? Isn't Steven a civilian from the Tech Department?"
"Yes, but we were short-handed… Besides, it was just checking order and sales records at clothing stores. The Chief didn't think there would be any danger, so he let him help." On the phone, Allen's voice was a bit panicked.
"They… George and Steven got into an argument on the street for some reason, then suddenly drew their guns and shot each other. Both died."
"Where did they die?"
"In the Burnley District, near the Sprang River, in front of a clothing store on Wunterston Street. Many shops on the nearby streets were already open, and many customers saw…"
"Forget the damn customers. They see whatever they want to see." Jay stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The tires spun rapidly on the unmelted snow, emitting a sharp squeal.
"I'll be right there."
Neither George nor Steven were good cops; they were lazy and cowardly.
Because of this, they both usually operated on the principle that avoiding trouble was better than dealing with it, and never had any major conflicts with colleagues. Let alone between the two of them.
Jay's lips pressed into a straight line. This was nine out of ten the work of that master hypnotist.
You son of a bitch. Just wait until I deal with you.
The police car rampaged all the way to the crime scene.
When he jumped out of the car, yellow and black police tape had already been set up.
"Hey, I thought homicide or major crimes detectives would come. Didn't expect a patrol cop."
A patrol officer from the West Precinct leaned against his car, his tone dripping with obvious sarcasm.
Another patrol officer was taking statements from witnesses nearby, glancing over occasionally.
"Two people dead, your colleagues? What's wrong with your East Precinct cops, shooting on the street…"
"Where did they go before they opened fire?" Jay scanned the bodies on the ground.
The two bodies were less than five meters apart, fallen in mirror-image postures.
He quickly reconstructed the scene in his mind; they had almost pointed guns at each other's heads and pulled the triggers.
"Didn't you hear me? Your East Precinct has seriously affected the image of Gotham police. Dragging us down…"
"Where! The fuck! Did they go! Before they opened fire?"
Jay rested one hand on his gun handle, turning slowly and menacingly toward the patrol officer. "Next time, my gun will be asking you the questions."
"Uh… ah…"
The patrol officer looked as if he were being choked, staring at him stiffly, and tremblingly pointed to a shop not far away. Jay ignored him and strode in.
The sign for "Style & Art Clothing" swayed gently in the breeze. The shop smelled of textiles and a faint scent of lavender.
"GCPD, anyone here?"
"Here, Officer." A young woman stood up tremblingly behind the counter, her fingers twisting nervously together. "Your colleagues outside already asked me just now. I really don't know anything. My God, this is terrible."
"The two dead policemen came into your shop just now. What did they ask you? Was it about blue dresses?"
"Yes, yes, how did you know?" The shop owner nodded repeatedly. "They asked if anyone had bought blue puffy dresses and white aprons in the last few months. But most of my clothes here are styles for adult women. I've never stocked the items they mentioned."
Jay stared into her eyes, unable to distinguish for a moment whether she was telling the truth. Nothing showed on the surface, but what if she had been hypnotized too?
He thought for a moment and asked, "Are there any other clothing stores on this street?"
"Yes," the shop owner raised her hand and pointed east, back the way he came. "About two hundred meters back, there's another shop that sells various performance costumes and children's clothing."
Without a word, Jay turned and rushed out the door, running east. He ran all the way to the entrance of "Flower Feather Performance Costumes" and pushed the door open violently.
"GCP… Holy shit!"
Opposite him, a middle-aged woman sat on a chair, clutching a knife, staring straight at him.
Before Jay could calm her down, the knife slashed into her carotid artery.
Pff—!
Blood sprayed all over the wall like an out-of-control fire hose.
He involuntarily took a step back to avoid stepping into the sticky blood.
The force of the slash was so great it almost severed half her neck. On the wall behind her, a line of bright red words was written. The wet writing crawled on the wall like snakes, making his heart pound and leaving him a bit confused.
Off with her head!
At her feet lay a burning trash can, crackling with flames. Many papers were curling and withering in the firelight, turning into a pitch-black mass of ash.
The fire is starting to spread
Jay held onto the counter next to him, bent down, stretched out his arm to pick up the trash can, threw it out the door, and then rushed out to stamp out the fire desperately.
He squatted on the ground hoping to dig something useful out of the debris, but almost everything had burned to ash. Blown by the cold wind, it swirled up into the sky, disappearing into the lead-gray clouds.
…
The fluorescent tubes in the Gotham PD evidence room always buzzed like flies, making people irritable.
"Any useful findings?"
"No…" Nygma shook his head. "Almost all sales records were burned. The bits and pieces that could be restored were old customers. But no one ever bought a blue puffy dress."
"Fuck!"
Jay raised his fist to smash something, then suddenly remembered he was in someone else's evidence room. He looked around and saw nothing he could vent on, so he resentfully punched his left palm.
"Calm down, Jay. At least we proved the hypnosis direction is correct. Now we have to think about what means he uses."
"Ed." The door to the evidence room suddenly opened, and Gordon walked in. "How is it, any…"
He suddenly saw Jay and nodded somewhat awkwardly. Harvey Bullock, following closely behind, laughed. "You ran to Central again. What is this, a two-man party for a homeless patrol cop and a riddle freak?"
"Yeah, useless drunks can't solve problems, so young people have to step up." Jay glanced at him sideways. "Drinking until you can't hold a gun steady—be careful not to misfire and blow yourself away when loading bullets."
"What did you say, you bastard? You were still a liquid when I became a cop." Bullock didn't expect Jay's reaction and flushed red on the spot. "You think just because you have some achievements now…"
"Cut the crap," Jay patted the sidearm on his right and the baton on his left, sneering. "Which side? Take your pick!"
"Uh…"
Looking at Jay's physique, Bullock's momentum clearly faltered.
At this moment, Gordon rushed between the two. "Everyone calm down. Don't be impulsive."
Bullock shut his mouth and stopped talking. Jay nodded too, turning to Nygma. "Ed, continue. Only your brain is above average here."
"I think…" Nygma cleared his throat. "The so-called means of hypnosis are mostly mental suggestion, electronic pulses, or psychic abilities from legends.
Mental suggestion is hard to filter precisely unless applied face-to-face. That would be too risky for the killer. If it's psychic ability, let's just give up. There are no principles to follow for that kind of legendary stuff."
He drew a question mark in the air with his hand. "But does an electronic device capable of controlling human thoughts exist? At least I haven't heard of it. But…"
"But what, Ed?" Gordon asked eagerly.
"Although the autopsy report says everything is normal, if the other party was eager to silence two police officers and a shop owner, a slight overdose of electronic pulses might cause damage to the brain. I want to dissect them myself."
Bullock pointed at him. "Don't go too far, kid. That's not your job…"
Gordon stopped him. "Okay, Ed. I'll apply to Captain Sarah for emergency handling under special circumstances."
He dragged Bullock out of the evidence room. Nygma watched their backs, lowered his head in silence for a while, as if making a decision.
He turned to Jay. "Jay… does your… East Precinct… still… still need people?"
"Oh ho!"
Jay laughed in a low voice, opened his arms, hugged Nygma, and patted him on the back.
"Of course! I still need someone to help me carry the equipment!"
——————
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