Murder on a Rainy Night

In Gotham’s chilly late-autumn rain, yellowish mist rose beneath the streetlamps as they flickered on one by one. The cold beams of headlights gradually spread from around the corner, illuminating the end of a pitch-black alley.

The colorful glow of neon signs reflected off the black car. The door opened, and the driver stepped out beneath a black umbrella before opening the rear door.

The attendants at the mansion entrance wore white shirts and champagne-colored vests. They hurried over and laid a carpet beneath the car door. Leather shoes stepped onto it as Schiller braced himself on the door and emerged from the car.

The moment he straightened up, he saw a guest ahead of him throw an enormous umbrella into the arms of a scrawny umbrella boy. The water streaming from it soaked the boy from head to toe, and the attendants by the entrance snickered at him.

Schiller took the umbrella himself and walked to the entrance. A blond manager came out warmly and said, "You must be Professor Rodriguez? The Godfather has been waiting for you."

As soon as he finished speaking, Evans came down the stairs. He warmly embraced Schiller and said, "Thank you, Professor Schiller. My coming-of-age party really wasn’t worth you making such a special trip."

"It’s nothing. Happy birthday."

As the two spoke, Schiller caught sight of the umbrella boy clutching the huge umbrella from the corner of his eye. He looked about Evans’s age, but he was thin and small, with a hooked nose and somewhat sinister eyes. He was not particularly likable. He was struggling to fold the enormous umbrella in his arms, but his frailty made the effort look rather comical.

Schiller noticed that the cufflinks at the boy’s wrists were fastened with meticulous precision. Compared to the attendants, he looked more like some important guest attending the party.

Seeing Schiller still carrying his own umbrella, Evans looked a little displeased. He turned to look at the umbrella boy as well. The manager was very good at reading the room; he walked over, smacked the boy on the back of the head, then had someone nearby take the enormous umbrella from him.

Schiller’s umbrella was already folded. Holding it around the middle, he handed the handle to the umbrella boy. The boy rolled his somewhat clouded eyes upward and glanced at Schiller, then lowered his head and timidly accepted the umbrella.

This little incident did nothing to affect the progress of Evans’s birthday banquet. Somewhat surprisingly, Bruce was there as well.

Of course, they were classmates, and their social standing was roughly the same. They both belonged to Gotham’s upper class.

Schiller held a glass of wine and discussed club matters with Evans. Before long, the star of the banquet was called away by his father. Bruce came over and asked, "Aren’t you going to eat something first, Professor?"

Schiller shook his head and asked, "Last time, you said you wanted to become the president of the club? That’s quite unusual."

Bruce was just about to speak when Schiller continued, "Judging by the quality of the paper you submitted, forget being club president—you may not be suited to studying psychology at all."

"Don’t be like that. You know why I’m doing this."

"But that still isn’t a reason to pollute my eyes with a pile of academic garbage."

"All right, then. How much club funding would make you waver in your academic principles? Would two hundred million dollars be enough?"

Schiller cursed inwardly, but he said, "I suggest you find another disguise. Can you really handle spending all day mixed in with a bunch of scum?"

"I use ginger ale instead of alcoholic drinks, and the powders they burn are just ordinary spices."

Schiller said nothing. He merely let his gaze fall silently on Bruce’s waist. Bruce said, "All right, that really is somewhat of a problem."

As they spoke, the lights in the center of the banquet hall lit up one after another. Falcone came down the central staircase with Evans.

This was an important part of the coming-of-age ceremony. The elders introduced their children to their social circles, showing that they could now participate normally in social activities and take on the duty of inheriting the family business.

Afterward, Schiller and the other elders offered Evans words of encouragement. Finally, it was Evans’s turn. He first made the sign of the cross over his chest with great devotion, then gave thanks to God.

While Evans was speaking, Schiller noticed that beneath the shadow of the heavy curtains in the corner of his right eye, there seemed to be a small figure hiding.

But once the crowd gathered in the center dispersed, the figure had vanished.

Then the banquet proceeded into the usual dance and dinner arrangements. Lights glittered, glasses clinked, and people conversed with hidden motives in the magnificent hall.

However, just as Schiller had been treated at S.H.I.E.L.D., almost no one took the initiative to speak with him. Everyone knew of his astonishing résumé. No one wanted to linger too long before someone who might see through the secrets in their hearts.

After a while, the banquet drew to a close. Schiller was feeling a little hungry and planned to get something else from the buffet table nearby. At that moment, he heard a disturbance behind the staircase to his right. Soon, a lady in a gorgeous gown ran out screaming. She shouted, "Old Edward!!! He’s collapsed in the washroom!!"

Everyone nearby hurriedly scattered. Falcone said in a steady voice, "Quiet down. Andy, go see what happened."

Someone at the Godfather’s side left. Soon, she returned and whispered a few words into Falcone’s ear. Falcone’s gaze swept across everyone present, and under the pressure of his presence, no one dared make a sound.

Falcone said, "Old Edward is dead. He died at my son’s coming-of-age party."

In a banquet hall filled with hundreds of people, it was so quiet that it seemed as though nothing existed. No one even dared breathe loudly. Everyone was wondering who had been so bold as to cause trouble on the Godfather’s turf.

Leaning on his cane, Falcone said, "Where is Young Edward? Have him come see me. His uncle died here; he has to show up at least once."

"Also, go to the Police Department and have them send someone to investigate. Evans, help me entertain the guests. Don’t let them feel neglected."

Afterward, Falcone gave his assistant Andy a look, then turned and left.

Bruce stood beside Schiller and asked, "You saw it too, didn’t you?"

"Yes, but it has nothing to do with me."

Bruce said, "It looks like Young Edward has this in the bag. Things at the docks are about to get chaotic."

"You think Young Edward did it?"

"He benefits the most, doesn’t he?"

Schiller shook his head. "I think the Edward family are the biggest losers. Old Edward is dead, and everyone will assume his nephew did it. And something like this happened at the Godfather’s only son’s coming-of-age party. No matter how Falcone retaliates against the Edward family afterward, no one can say it’s excessive."

"You think Falcone staged this himself?"

"He’s more shrewd than you imagine."

Bruce looked back. The banquet hall, which had been buzzing with excitement moments ago, had now completely fallen silent. Most people had left. They did not dare remain while the Godfather was angry. The leftover food beneath the still-splendid lights looked all the more desolate.

When Schiller was about to leave, it was the Godfather’s assistant, Andy, who returned his umbrella. She said, "I’m very sorry, Professor. The Godfather asked me to convey his apologies. None of us expected something like this to happen at the first banquet we invited you to."

"Yes, none of us expected it."

Schiller looked down at his umbrella. All the droplets on it had already dried. Standing beneath the portico, he saw a group of people carrying a box from the mansion’s side entrance. Old Edward’s body should have been inside.

They loaded the box into a car. Judging by the direction it drove away in, his body would likely be thrown into the sea.

Schiller stood at the entrance a while longer. Soon, police lights blinked through the rainy night as police cars drove in. That was Gotham for you—they did not wait for the police before dealing with a body.

Gordon had once again arrived at a crime scene where there was no trace of either victim or killer. They had even wiped away the blood, but he was perfectly accustomed to it. He calmly directed the officers under his command as they began poking around the washroom.

As for himself, he neither investigated nor took notes. Instead, under someone else’s guidance, he went to see Falcone.

The results of this investigation did not depend on what had actually happened in the washroom, nor on what the police could uncover. They depended entirely on one person’s attitude: Falcone, the host of the banquet.

That was Gotham. When one gang member killed another, the police ended up in an awkward position. Gordon understood this deeply. Being a police officer in Gotham required stronger nerves than detective skills.

After a while, Evans came out holding an umbrella. He hurried toward Schiller and said, "Professor, I heard you haven’t left yet. Is there something you need?"

"No, nothing in particular. You know, I’m interested in cases like this."

Evans looked a little embarrassed. "Uh… it’s only a minor case, not some serial murder case. But if you’re interested, you can go in and take a look."

Schiller shook his head, but handed his umbrella to Evans. "Give this to the Godfather for me."

Evans accepted the umbrella, feeling rather puzzled.

After Schiller left, Falcone took Schiller’s black umbrella from Evans’s hand. He said, "It seems he really will be your longest-lived tutor."

On the drive back, Schiller listened to the rain pattering against the car window and recalled the small, timid umbrella boy. The guest who had entered before him and used an enormous umbrella to torment the boy had been Old Edward.

The moment Schiller returned to his apartment, he heard movement on the balcony. Batman stood there. Schiller did not turn around as Batman said, "I’m going to investigate Old Edward’s case."

"Why? Gangsters killing each other falls under your jurisdiction too?"

"He used to be the boss of Park Street."

Schiller did not answer, but Batman continued on his own, "He knew who killed my parents."