RPAGF Chapter 465 Unnamed
Chapter 465 Unnamed
Chapter 465 Unnamed
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I will update later.
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He had read the case file on the Batcomputer. It was also one of the cases he had been paying close attention to recently. However, he was conducting reverse investigation and first discovered the smugglers' hideout, knocking most of them unconscious and hanging them outside the police station entrance. This was how the police were able to link the two cases together.
In a flash, Batman appeared in the Gotham prison. These criminals were caught by the night training vigilantes ten days ago for drug trafficking and beating buyers, and were all sent to the prison. Now he was ready to pry more information out of them. The interrogator was not reliable and they might be in the same group. Therefore, Batman only believed in the conclusions he dug out.
It turned out that they really didn't know their superiors and contacts, and Batman got a lot of information without much effort, such as they were all long-term vendors who received monthly wages on the condition that they just did the work without asking any questions. Every transaction was made in cash, and the goods were thrown into the second trash can behind a certain street restaurant.
This is of no help to the case. The people who put money in the trash can could be homeless children, prostitutes or clients. There is a blind spot for the cameras there and the flow of people there is huge every day. It would not have enough time to check them one by one, and no useful information would be obtained because they might not be aware of the situation either.
Ten minutes later, Batman appeared in the hospital morgue, examined the body of the police officer who died in the line of duty, and compared the autopsy reports, trying to find out new things.
The police officer died of cerebral hemorrhage caused by a collision with the back of his head. He had seven or eight scars and three fractures on his body. The autopsy report stated that he died in a fight with the Joker Gang.
On such a chaotic Thanksgiving Day, gangsters dressed in costumes and smeared with oil paint walked openly on the street, attacking everyone they saw without purpose, waving sticks in their hands to smash windows, car glass and human heads.
They create panic and spread violence, and when the biggest criminals are caught, they hide in dark alleys to wash their faces, hide their tools, and come out as good citizens again.
The scary thing is that they blend into the crowd. You would never guess that a submissive worker who is exploited by his boss, or a respectable man in a suit is one of them. Some of them are not even one of them at all, but just take the opportunity to settle personal grudges and fish in troubled waters.
Batman found something different here.
The deceased had an impact injury on his waist, with a large bruise. The stasis caused by the cessation of blood flow caused a large black area. There were cuts and scratches on his arms and face. His hair flashed under the flashlight, and Batman picked out several pieces of glass from it.
He initially determined that the deceased died in a car accident, and inferred that the police officer rushed onto the road with a broken leg while being chased by the Joker Gang, was hit by a straight-moving vehicle, and died on the spot with the back of his head hitting the ground. As for the reason for the abnormal autopsy report -
"One penny, pull up the surveillance footage of streets 3-14 in Xicheng District last night."
After waiting for a few minutes, Batman saw a flashy red Maserati knock the police officer dozens of meters away. After a while, an adult male got out of the driver's seat. He was about thirty years old, well-dressed and expensive.
The man walked up to the police officer, took a look at him, took out his cell phone from his pocket and tapped a few times. The action was so familiar that Batman immediately understood.
Sure enough, the progress bar lasted more than 20 minutes. Here, four times the acceleration was used. Several police cars overcame all difficulties on the road where criminals were rampant. They shook hands with the perpetrators, talked for a few words, and then let them go as if nothing had happened.
In Gotham, money and power can solve all problems.
Even if you hit and kill a policeman on the street, as long as you are willing to spend the money, someone will cover it up for you and handle all the aftermath.
After turning off the communicator, Batman covered the dead man's face with the white cloth again. He looked at him in silence for more than ten seconds, then turned and left.
Next, he will investigate the detailed information of the police officer, his network of relationships, the forces behind him and the parties involved.
In Gotham, being capable means being able to move easily between the black and white worlds. This police officer was able to infiltrate the inner circle, which obviously means he is involved with the criminals, or has connections and has dealt with similar things before. This is an important clue.
He drove back to the Batcave, taking out three robbers and a thief on the way, and hung them on the street lamp in front of the police station. He noticed that the street lamp was bent by a drunk driver, and put repairing the street lamp on his to-do list.
Sitting in front of the Batcomputer, he ate the midnight snack prepared by Alfred, some healthy yet unpalatable nutritious meals, and found that the vegetable juice he had half drunk was refilled by Alfred, so he frowned and drank it all in one breath, not giving him any chance to refill.
"Master Bruce, your ribs are still broken." After taking away the empty cup, Alfred raised his eyebrows and looked at Batman in black equipment.
"It's just investigation and solving the case, Ah Fu. There's no need to use force. It's just some brain warfare."
"That's what I hoped for." Alfred sighed and walked up the stairs with an empty cup on a silver paper tray. He wanted to prepare some almonds and walnuts for the young master who had overworked his brain.
Batman entered the face of the man driving the Maserati into the Batcomputer. It would take longer before he upgraded the equipment, but it was still not fast enough. He had put Batcomputer 3.0 on the research and development schedule. During this period, he began to read the information of the murdered police officers and profile them.
[Eddie Vanster, male, 35 years old, native of Gotham...]
The text locks a person's life on the magnified bat computer screen. This is a mediocre and inactive policeman. Like most of Gotham, he embezzles and accepts bribes, extorts vendors, and occasionally enjoys driving away frightened homeless people. This is his ordinary first half of life. At the age of 28, he became addicted to gambling and lost all his savings of many years. His wife divorced him after a big quarrel and miscarriage. Later, he became addicted to drugs, so he met some gangster dealers, who used their position to earn extra money to repay his gambling debts and drugs.
Surveillance footage showed that after Garcia Jr. disappeared, he had been at the intersection of Crime Alley many times and had frequent contact with criminals. The intelligence network showed that he had already worked as an informant for the criminal police and had penetrated into the criminal community. Clearly, this was not an outstanding undercover performance, as they were already in collusion.
Batman can't blame anything. After all, it is a common tactic used by the police in Gotham to establish good relations with gangster forces. Reaching agreement and cooperating on certain things can help reduce unnecessary trouble and improve work efficiency. This is the unique way this city works. Obviously, he is as conservative as his guardian.
An hour later, Batman finally found useful information from the surveillance video.
The footage shows that it was the night before Thanksgiving, specifically at 12:17 a.m. on Thanksgiving Day. Eddie Vanster was thrown out of the back door of the bar, which was his usual place to meet with gangsters and Falcone's sphere of influence. The police officer rolled on the ground and got up in a not very dignified manner, with bruises on his face and messy clothes. He had obviously had an argument with someone inside. Several thugs were standing on the steps and spitting at him. The police officer was obviously drunk rather than being knocked unconscious.
The surveillance footage was not very audible, but Batman could read their taunts and curses, trash talk, slapping and drunken nonsense through lip reading. More on-site investigation was needed. In any case, there was new progress in the case, which might be a breakthrough. He needed to change his clothes and go around the bar.
Before he set off, the Batcomputer issued a high-tech prompt sound, which indicated that there had been new progress in the facial screening, a manual operation of an access request. Bruce raised his eyebrows under the mask, which meant that the other party's identity was protected by the government system and was not within the sphere of influence of Gotham. He was either related to the military or a figure in the political or judicial departments.
Typing on the keyboard to gain access through the firewall, Batman took off his mask and the black eye patch under the mask and began to remove the bat suit.
Half an hour later, Matchstick Malone, who was tall but with a slightly bent back, wearing a wrinkled jacket and with slightly messy hair, with haggard eyes and obvious dark circles, pushed open the door of the Hot Night Bar like every other depressed and unlucky middle-aged man.
03.
Spill Berkeley had only been a bartender at the Hot Night Bar for four months. His predecessor had given up the job due to a shrapnel that broke through the window, so he took over. To be honest, he was a little reluctant. In Gotham, besides the police who have nothing to do all day, bartenders in gang-related bars are one of the popular and high-risk jobs.
Gotham is a city where all kinds of people gather. People are often more mature than they look. The air that smells of mold, alcohol and urine is the best catalyst, ripening batches of aspiring young people who rush into the quagmire and become fish and shrimp to feed bigger criminals.
The taped wooden-framed glass door was pushed open, and the crisp sound of the door clanking was quickly drowned out by the noisy cursing and boasting.
Spiel Berkeley only glanced at him when he entered the door. His wrinkled suit had faded from repeated washing, the cuffs showed signs of years of wear, the mud on the soles of his shoes had dried, and every step he took left tiny pieces of sand on the ground. All signs indicated that he was not rich, at least not the kind of generous person who would be willing to tip a dollar or two.
The middle-aged man stood at the door of the bar and looked around, his eyes anxious and evasive, like a lamb that accidentally strayed into a pack of wolves, anxious and ready to run away at any time. Finally, he walked around the drunk strong man and sat at the bar. Spill Berkeley wiped the wine glass in his hand with a smirk.
"What do you want?"
"A cold beer." The man scraped his fingertips on the bar and added, "A cheap one will do."
Spiel Berkeley bent over to get the wine and rolled his eyes where he couldn't see. The lack of tips seriously dampened his enthusiasm for business. Sure enough, for the next fifteen minutes, the man sipped the wine in the glass, looked around from time to time and looked at the clock on the wall, which tapped the table anxiously, obviously waiting for someone.
"Excuse me…
Finally, the other shoe dropped, and Sibill Berkeley perked up a bit, covering up his perfunctory response with a fake smile, "Yes sir, what can I do for you?" The reason why he could keep this job for a long time, four months was indeed a long time compared to other working days, was because he knew how to behave as a human being, and he didn't get himself into trouble nor did he take the initiative to cause trouble.
The man looked around and saw that no one was looking in his direction, so he lowered his voice and whispered, "Do you know Officer Eddie Vanster?" He smiled stiffly, "I made an appointment with him to meet here at eleven o'clock, but he may be delayed because, uh, I've been sitting here for almost a quarter of an hour, and I wonder if I should continue to wait."
"I wouldn't wait any longer if I were you, sir." The bartender wiped the same glass repeatedly, the rag rubbing against the surface of the glass making a sizzling sound. "Officer Vanster died last night." He raised an eyebrow, hinting at something that everyone knew tacitly. "Unfortunately, this is not surprising in Gotham, is it?"
"I'm deeply sorry." The man was stunned for a moment, then he made the sign of the cross on his chest. "It's unfortunate. I mean, I just paid the money, a full three hundred dollars, and now who's going to make up for my loss? Damn it - I don't think he's going to buy insurance for it."
"Obviously," the bartender shrugged.
The man grabbed the not-so-cold beer and took a big sip. He choked and soon started coughing. When he no longer felt the sting, he sighed deeply for his misfortune. "But I still need his help, or..." He lowered his voice again and said vaguely in an ambiguous tone, "Do you know who can take over his job? Someone has to operate his 'goods'. I paid the money and got the promise. I have to try my luck again."
Spiel Berkeley immediately smiled sincerely, pointed at the bar in front of him, and rubbed his thumb over his index finger.
"Of course, you deserve this." The man immediately understood and took out a handful of change from his pocket. There were coins and banknotes, but the denominations were small and wrinkled and full of dirt. However, this did not affect its original value. "This is for the wine and the tip. No need for change..."
After leaving the Hot Night Bar, Match Malone found an empty street to change his dirty clothes, sorted out the intelligence and the experience of his disguise, and revised and deleted unnecessary performances and overly exaggerated tones. When he realized that his wallet was worth tens of thousands of yuan and was filled with large-denomination bills, it would be a wise choice to exchange it for a handful of change from a beggar.
Within a few minutes of entering the bar, he had figured out the general layout, the routes for ambush and retreat, who were the thugs and who were the drug dealers. The boss had been sitting in the corner disguised as a drug addict, but his eyes were always on himself, staring at the weight of his pockets.
He got into the Batmobile, put on a cape and equipment, and entered the information he had obtained about the dirty deeds of Police Officer Eddie Vanster into the archives, establishing a chain of clues and looking for clues that could be used. He learned from the bartender that there would not be a new successor for a while, which was more like some kind of confidentiality principle to prevent leaks. This was very common in gangs. The closer they got to the transaction stage, the stricter the control over the flow of personnel. No one wanted to take unnecessary risks.
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I will update later.
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