"Damn it! What the hell is going on?!"
Gordon's angry roar came from the office, as the rookie officers all trembled, and the slightly more experienced cops were pressing down their hats, leaning against the wall without saying a word.
"Is this how you handle a case?! Where are the eyewitnesses, the evidence, the confessions?! Without any of these, on what grounds do you label them as suspects, and on what grounds do you barge into their place of work and cause a disturbance?!"
Gordon, his face iron-blue, threw the file in front of Clay and said, "Senator Draven just called me, saying that my men have caused a big disaster. I didn't believe it at first, but you sure gave me a huge surprise!"
Clay picked up the file and saw it was a termination notice, citing a serious mistake during his tenure as the reason for his dismissal.
Actually, he didn't care, because his identity could be changed at any time, so naturally, no one could see his real resume. What he cared about was something else.
"We found pieces of the body in the suspect's house, and there are also eyewitnesses who saw them committing the murder with their own eyes. Isn't this evidence substantial enough?"
Gordon closed his eyes and sighed, then flipped the tail of his trench coat and said, "Evidence is not for convincing yourself, nor is it for convincing us police officers, but for convincing the public, for convincing the jury."
"Isn't this enough to convince the public? The professional forensic reports issued by the forensics department, they may not even understand them."
"Then can you explain to me what all these complaints are about?" Gordon threw another stack of files in front of Clay.
Without even looking, Clay said, "They are being unreasonable; our evidence is very substantial already."
Gordon stared straight at Clay, his intimidation even making the burly officer unable to hold his gaze to the end, as he was the first to look away.
"Whether it's truly sufficient evidence or evidence fabricated based on jurisprudence, you and I both know."
"They are infamous serial killers..."
"Until they are sent to prison, they are nothing. They are citizens of this city, the ones that police are meant to protect."
"I'm absolutely sure of it."
"Why can't you understand?!" Gordon roared again, "Criminal investigating is not a subject where you can ignore the process and act as you please just because you believe you know the outcome in advance. You need evidence, a complete, convincing chain of evidence for everyone!"
"Your fabricated evidence is full of holes, holes that even slightly more professional industry insiders can spot, and you still have the audacity to say you're absolutely sure?!"
Gordon took a deep breath and said, "I don't care where you got your answers in advance, forget them, and start the investigation over. This is your last chance, or else I will have no choice but to sign this termination notice."
"But I am unable to provide more evidence on these cases."
Gordon laughed and said, "Your other superior told you with confidence that these people are vicious serial killers. Did you ever consider where his confidence comes from?"
Clay frowned and, as if talking to himself, said, "They can't possibly be flawless, there must be loopholes..."
After speaking, he looked down at the termination notice and said, "I think you won't need it, chief. I will find their loopholes."
"But not with your methods," Gordon shouted. "Brock, accompany Officer Clay. Make sure he doesn't employ any illegal search tactics."
Clay's frown deepened, and he said, "You know it's impossible, if I don't use..."
"Are you trying to tell me you're so foolish that you can't find out anything without illegal methods? Where did all that education of yours go?"
Clay had nothing to say. After giving Gordon one last look, he turned and walked away. Brock took a drag of his cigarette and said, "I've told you before, should've just gotten him a desk job and kept him supplied, but you insisted on letting him investigate. Happy now?"
"Do you think his superiors are fools? If we give him a desk job, they would just cram even more people in here. Such is the cost of order; you have to accept more outside rules. I've foreseen this day coming."
"But you didn't foresee whom he would get himself involved with," Brock said with a smile. "I bet one of those complaint letters came from Gotham University."
Gordon, somewhat puzzled, said, "Indeed, but wasn't it because Clay rashly injured the new president of Gotham University?"
"And you didn't ask under what circumstances did Clay hurt the new president of Gotham University?"
In an instant, Gordon's eyes narrowed, and he had a very bad premonition.
But no matter what, he couldn't let Clay jeopardize the credibility of the police department, which they had spent so much effort to build. So, his top priority was to clean up after Clay.
Shiller arrived at the old goods market in the East District, the very market where thieves like Catwoman used to fence their stolen goods. Now, it had become the largest second-hand trade market in all of Gotham.
Shiller was here to buy garden soil.
The big pit in his backyard was the result of Raven's magic explosion, which completely eroded all the soil, so even though Shiller could fill in the pit, he didn't have any material and had to buy some soil.
Besides, a bare patch on the lawn didn't look good, so he needed to buy some grass seed and some gardening tools as well.
This old goods market was so large that you couldn't see the end of it, and even though it was still early, most of the vendors were still having breakfast, but they were squatting beside their stalls trying to attract customers as best as they could.
Shiller saw some acquaintances, the newspaper boy who used to deliver newspapers to him when he was in the West District manor; the boy had grown a lot and now had a fairly large stall.
Approaching, Shiller found he was selling old books and newspapers. Although the average Gothamite graduated in utero, thanks to English being an alphabetic language, recognizing the 26 letters was equivalent to being literate. Even those with minimal education could read, so these cheap old books, old comics, and old newspapers were very popular—first choice for those who couldn't afford modern electronic devices to pass the time.
Shiller walked over and picked up a book to look at it, only to find it was a cookbook, likely quite old, judging by the illustrations of housewives from the last century.
"Hey, mister, you really have an eye for quality. This cookbook was my mom's... Professor Shearer? What brings you here?"
Shiller looked at the freckled teenager who seemed familiar yet entirely different from the one in his memory. In Shiller's recollection, the boy was always following around his older brother, too short to reach the mailbox when he first came to the manor, and now, in the blink of an eye, he was all grown up.
The boy was extremely surprised and said, "My gosh, I never thought you would come here. How have you been lately? I hope there haven't been any problems with the person delivering your newspapers?"
"I've moved. This is my new address," Shiller replied, handing the boy a business card and saying, "You could give me your address too. I'll send you an invitation to my housewarming party."
"Really?" the boy immediately widened his eyes and said, "But I don't have any good clothes, I might..."
"It's just an ordinary housewarming party. I also invited the Matthews Brothers. Do you remember them?"
"Of course. They delivered bread. They used to always have issues with us. What are they doing now?"
"Electricians. Their work area just happens to overlap with the community where I live. I saw their truck parked outside the other day, so I went out and greeted them."
"Learning a trade is really impressive," the boy lamented. "Not like me. They asked me to go to vocational school, I found it annoying and didn't go, and now I can only set up a stall here and do second-hand trade."
"Looks not bad to me," Shiller's gaze landed on the pack of cigarettes beside his hand. Those were quite good cigarettes for the lower layers of Gotham, and being able to afford such in this era meant his business was doing well.
The boy gave a shy smile, scratched his head, and said, "I can't compare to a gentleman like you, but if you do send me an invitation, I'll definitely pick out a gift with care."
"A cookbook would be nice," Shiller said. "But it would be better not to claim it's your mother's recipe. That's too fake."
"Exactly. My stall is meant to deceive out-of-towners; the locals all know, how many here setting up stalls aren't orphans," the boy shrugged nonchalantly, then his eyes started scanning his stall, as if he were trying to pick out the best cookbook.
"Oh, by the way, there's something I want to ask you."
"What? Just ask away," the boy leaned forward and whispered, "I know that even in the West District, a newspaper boy's tip could never be two US dollars. A generous man like you is rare, and if you want info, I've got plenty."
Shiller smiled and didn't refuse his offer but said, "It's not any important intelligence. A few days ago, we had a case in our community, and a lot of police came. A Mexican was killed, and it's said to be a vendetta. The murderer hasn't been caught yet."
"I didn't pay much for my house, but I also don't want its value to plummet. If there's a serial killer on the loose around here, it won't take long before..."
"You're looking for a Mexican?" the boy glanced aside, thought for a moment, and then said, "I'm not a Mexican Descendant, I can't mix into their circles, but I know who would be useful."
The boy leaned in closer and pointed to a corner of the street, "See that guy over there wearing a cactus hat, with all the skulls on his stall? His name is Martin Nez; we all call him Blackskin Martin. He's the head of the local Mexicans here, and he's also well-known throughout the entire circle."
"This guy is clever, not as blatantly bad as the others. He's got a foothold in both the underworld and legitimate society, even the cops give him some respect. Some of the Mexican Descendants who've caused trouble and are hard to catch also ask for his help."
"Wouldn't he get in trouble for betraying his own people?"
"He's too smart for that. The people he helps the police catch are the ones who are despised in their circle, so instead of shunning him, others come to him with complaints. Going to him can't be wrong."
The boy patted his chest and said, "I also get along well with him. During the music festival, someone took his spot, so I knocked over the trash can and spilled it all over that disrespectful idiot. He owes me for it; you just say I sent you."
Shiller smiled and said, "There's no need for your introduction; on the contrary, I have a big job to refer to him."
After that, Shiller walked toward where the boy had pointed, and soon, he arrived at Martin's stall.