amaotonovel Chapter 3859 The Nameless Bat (29)
Chapter 3859 The Nameless Bat (29)
Chapter 3859 The Nameless Bat (Twenty-Nine)
The downpour had subsided, but a light drizzle continued. Nemosini and Schiller remained remarkably calm when they declined the offer to ride in the police car. When Schiller drove her to his car, she didn't object, only staring blankly at the rain outside the window.
“The wound contained fibers from the lining of the high stool in front of the bar, left when I stuck the letter opener in it. And you deliberately didn’t clean it, letting Gordon see it when he came to visit, letting him know it was my handiwork,” Nimosini said. “And you didn’t stop me from going crazy in your house because you knew the letter opener was the only weapon I could get my hands on. I could only use it to attack something. If the police were to investigate now, they would only find my fingerprints on it. And I’m a high-functioning child with a history of mental illness; no one would think I wouldn’t kill someone.”
"The flaw is that I have no grudge against the mayor, and I have an alibi for his death. But these can be overturned. My background is tragic, so it's normal to blame the mayor. Gordon is my adoptive father, so he might give false testimony for me. You are my psychiatrist, so you might also cover for me out of pity. The jury may not accept the testimonies of either of you."
“Besides, many of the police officers who have seen me want me dead, because that way the mayor’s death won’t be blamed on their employers behind the scenes. Nobody wants to get into this mess right now, so blaming a mentally ill kid is the best option.”
“And you did all this so that I wouldn’t say your name.” Nimosini turned her head back and stared at the windshield. “If I choose to remain silent and tell Gordon that I didn’t see anything, I will become your accomplice and never have the chance to speak again.”
“You look a little tired, miss.” Schiller focused on driving and quickly parked the car in front of number 125 Kazsovo. “Go back to sleep.”
Nimosini silently changed her shoes, dried the rain from her hair with the towel Schiller handed her, and went up the stairs, but stood on the edge of the second-floor railing looking down.
“Why did you do this?” Nimosini asked.
"what do you mean?"
"Imitate him."
"We'll talk about this tomorrow. You need to rest now. Go back to sleep, miss."
Nemosini had no choice but to return to her room. She tried to recall everything she had just seen, but she was so tired that she couldn't remember anything. The day's events had been far too intense and stimulating for a child. Nemosini quickly fell asleep, experiencing a deep sleep she hadn't felt in a long time. When she woke up the next morning, she felt clear-headed like never before.
Suddenly, an image of a corpse flashed before her eyes.
No, the murderer couldn't be Schiller.
Bruises are the easiest way to determine the time of the crime. The ligature marks on the necks prove that the two bodies died within an hour.
Schiller was with him at that time, so he didn't have time to do anything. He had a solid alibi, and it was an alibi that he witnessed firsthand.
But if he didn't kill him, why would he arrange the letter opener like that to prevent himself from speaking to Gordon? Who was he hiding it from? And why was he hiding it from him?
Nimosini solved one puzzle, but found herself surrounded by more. She recalled Schiller urging her to sleep last night, perhaps implying that fear and exhaustion had clouded her reasoning. That was his only defense.
How absurd. Nemosini couldn't help but wonder how he could expect a 14-year-old to understand such a subtle hint. Unfortunately, she understood anyway. Perhaps this is the dilemma of intelligent people.
Breakfast was a very ordinary omelet, seemingly from the fast food restaurant at the end of the street that I had driven past yesterday. And Schiller, as usual, read the newspaper after breakfast.
Do you remember what you said we could discuss today?
"Is your head starting to hurt again, miss?"
"Maybe a little, but after yesterday's brainstorming session, I feel much better."
"That's good. After all, I'm your therapist. If there's no progress in the treatment, someone will come after me."
“Gordon? Or Batman?” Nimosini finally realized something was wrong. She began to realize that something she didn’t know had already happened. This feeling of being out of control made her uncomfortable again.
“Tell me about that case,” Nemosini said. “I don’t think you were the one who did it, but you don’t want anyone to find the real killer. So you used a letter opener to make me unable to speak. Who is worth doing this to? Your friend? Your partner?”
“Neither.” Schiller’s words were tantamount to admitting Nimosini’s reasoning. He said, “I never intended to frame an innocent lady, so it wasn’t the knife. Even if you say it, it won’t lead back to you.”
“What?” Nimosini stood up in disbelief.
"And the chairs next to the bar don't have leather upholstery."
Nimosini rushed to the bar. She saw the mark she had made on the bar stool with the letter opener. She reached out and examined it, only to find that Schiller was right. The stool was genuine leather, with foam underneath; there was no fabric lining at all.
“You could learn more about interior design,” Schiller said calmly, glancing at the newspaper. “Since you can tell the flooring is a high-quality product worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, you should also be able to guess the quality of the leather. Only inferior leather needs lining to prevent it from rubbing against the internal foam and generating heat; this quality of genuine leather doesn’t need it.”
"So I lost because of a lack of knowledge?"
“You’ve only lost to age.” Schiller turned to look at another page of the newspaper. “Batman is better than you in that respect too. He’s lived longer than you, so naturally he’s learned more.”
"So this was all a misleading scheme from beginning to end? You wanted me to think you were the murderer, so I wouldn't dare to speak up?"
"Why don't you dare to speak up? Chief Gordon was there at the time, and I couldn't possibly kill him on the spot to silence him."
“I…” Nimosini took a deep breath and said, “You’re a psychiatrist, and my attending physician. If you just say I’m mentally ill, a madman spouting nonsense, people will believe you. My accusations against you can’t stand. And Gordon can’t stay with me forever; I won’t end up well in your hands.”
“That makes some sense,” Schiller said. “But this situation might have started earlier than you think. If you’ve really observed me closely, you’ll know that I prepare all the necessities beforehand, when others have already informed me that outsiders are coming to stay with me for a while. So why would James send you a package?”
“…You had him send it?” Nimosini felt a chill run down her spine. “Just to pull out the letter opener, draw my attention to it, and then use it to mislead me.”
“I told him you needed some comforting items, preferably everyday items you used to use. James Gordon is a good father, so even though it was a bit difficult to go back to your previous host family, he still managed to get these from them.”
Nemosini pursed her lips and said, "Actually, it was even earlier. You knew what kind of person I was the first time you met me. You knew I wasn't normal, which is why you did this. If I were a normal, ordinary kid, I wouldn't be so interested in knives, and I wouldn't have been so impressed by them, and then connect them to you at the crime scene."
“Your condition is fairly typical,” Schiller said. “I have a lot of experience, so it’s not surprising that I can tell you have manic behavior.”
“And that phone call,” Nimosini said. “The call you made to reschedule the appointment. You deliberately let the package arrive at that time. And when I couldn’t find anything to open the thing, I didn’t care if you were on the phone. So I called you, and you ‘had’ to explain the source of the noise to the person on the other end, let her know I was there, and say she would see me that afternoon. That lady might remember that.”
"So, if I called out your name last night and was taken away by the police, causing her to miss seeing me this afternoon, she'll definitely ask you about it. Then you can take the opportunity to explain to her and show her my medical records. She'll also find signs of vandalism in the house, all done by me. From that, she can easily deduce that I'm insane—her opinion will definitely be important. Who is she?"
“A judge,” Schiller said.
Nimosini walked back to her chair and sat down. She said, "You really didn't intend to frame me; you were just eliminating any possibility of me telling the truth. And now I just want to know, what exactly are you trying to do?"
“If you think I’m someone who covers up crimes for others, then no amount of explanation will help,” Schiller said, shaking his head. “I’m more curious about what you want to do than what I actually want to do. Are you going to the Gotham Police Department?”
Nemosini shook her head and said, "No, when I took the package back from the mailbox without noticing anything unusual, I had already completely lost. It's too late to turn things around now."
"So you choose to cover it up?"
“I still have another option,” Nimosini said. “If I die here, you will be held responsible.”
“You really should study interior design, miss,” Schiller said. “A house of this caliber can’t possibly be without a single decorative vase. Where have you seen them before?”
Nemosini looked around and then realized that not only were there no decorative vases, but everything on the display shelf had no sharp edges and was completely unbreakable. The plates and cutlery were also silver artifacts, unsuitable as murder weapons.
“I guess you don’t have the courage to kill yourself,” Schiller said with a smile, closing the newspaper. “Any other options?”
Nemosini slammed her fist on the table in annoyance. Schiller, straightening his collar without even looking up, said, "Since you know I tolerate your aggressive behavior so you can leave evidence of your mania, you'd better control yourself a little when I don't need to, Miss."
Nemosini didn't become agitated. She said, "Okay, you can do whatever you want to me, but I just want to know the truth. My head is starting to hurt again."
"Who do you think is the key? The mayor? Or the Eden Killer?"
Countless details of the case flashed through Nemosini's mind. Suddenly, she grasped a fleeting inspiration, but something seemed missing. She said, "The camera, where is the one that was stolen from the premises?"
"Ross would never hand it over to his employer so easily because he was threatened. He needs to guarantee the safety of his family before he will give it up. And because of the person who framed the Penguin, the Penguin will come after him. The Penguin might take the camera from Ross."
“But what’s so important about this?” Nemosini muttered to herself. “It just shows footage of the Eden Killer manipulating others to kill. Even if Adam dies, he can create another one, and then there will be new cases, new footage, without delaying any of his plans.”
"So the problem lies with the Penguin. What will he do with this footage? It's evidence of someone committing murder, which he can use to blackmail others. But Adam, who was controlled by the Eden Killer, is already dead..."
“No.” Nemosini slowly stood up and said, “Gordon blocked the news. Nobody knows that Cowens, who played Adam, committed suicide inside the police department. The Penguin doesn’t know either, because the big informant he bribed at the police station was framed by Ross and put under control, so he couldn’t send any messages out.”
"More importantly, he didn't know that the Eden Killer was manipulating others to kill, nor did he know about the existence of copycats. He would have thought that Cowens was the only killer, and that this killer could even kill the mayor. He could very well have used the evidence in the video to manipulate him into killing."
"He'll contact Cowens, but Cowens disappeared after killing the mayor. He'll send people to look for him. If he can't find him, what will he do?"
"He'll probably investigate, look for clues around the crime scene, and see if he can find out where Cowens went. But he probably doesn't have any professionals like that, and he can't just ask the police directly, so he'll go to..."
Bang! Bang! Bang! There was a knock on the door of number 125. Schiller went to open it. A short, stout figure with a hooked nose walked in, accompanied by four strong, tall bodyguards.