The car stopped on a very chaotic street. Here, the buildings are generally three to four stories, retaining the traces of the Great Depression era. Below the broken asphalt road is not a stone slab, but a muddy dirt path. This proves that it took less than 20 years for this place to develop rapidly into a modern city. Along with it came chaotic management—mobsters, crime, an outlet for the repressed violence in the city.
If it were in other cities, there would be very evident ethnic characteristics: different races would have different chaotic neighborhoods. But in Gotham, it's a mixed pot. People are only divided into criminals and madmen, and the color of one's skin is the most irrelevant topic.
"Letting a 14-year-old child breathe even a little of this air is abuse," Gordon couldn't help but say as he got out of the car. He retrieved a pack of masks from the car and forcibly put one on Nemocine despite her resistance. He gathered Nemocine's braids back, put a large cap on her, and wrapped her in his overcoat. After completing the set of procedures, he dressed her like the most exquisite "penguin" on the East Coast.
Shiller just scrutinized the building in front of them. Officers were escorting out clients who hadn't had time to dress yet and looked quite embarrassed. Some, high, were cursing loudly, some were vomiting, and some were trying to finish the routine on their own strength. It was chaotic like Hell.
The neon lights shone on bodies full of tattoos, whether obese or gaunt, covered in scars, abundant hair. The rich smell of cheap perfume mixed with the vomit from marijuana intoxication. As Shiller and the others went up the very narrow stairs, everything turned into a large net, numbing everyone's senses and minds.
For detectives, the lack of clues is never troublesome. What's really troublesome is this kind of scene: too many traces, completely chaotic. Vision, hearing, smell, touch, every sense is bombarded with countless stimuli, and they must find the useful ones from this massive amount of information, which entails enduring a lot of mental strain.
Nemocine was evidently facing such a scene for the first time, and she seemed a bit uncomfortable. Gordon thought she was just feeling too stressed, but Shiller knew: a genius like Nemocine could even deduce all the actions from the entrance to the client from a single hair falling to the ground. Undoubtedly, it's disgusting, but in order to seek the truth, she must repeatedly replay the scenes deduced from each trace, finding the abnormal spots. This would overburden her mentally.
Gordon opened the door. Shiller went in first for a glance, then shook his head at Gordon. Gordon turned to Nemocine and said, "The condition of the bodies is significantly beyond what you can handle. Can you just look at the crime scene?"
Nemocine stepped back but still nodded and then said, "Can I see them in the morgue?"
"Yes. As long as I'm present, you can take a look at the wounds, but not the whole thing," Gordon said, "and then I'll still give you photos with mosaics."
Nemocine hesitated for a moment and said, "If you let me in for a moment, maybe I can catch the killer directly."
"No way. Nemo, that's not good for your mental state. You look pale. I knew bringing you here was a mistake."
"I'm just a bit overthinking," Nemocine said, "You guarantee there will be someone who can describe in detail what happened in the room to me."
"Alright, that's my bottom line. You know when I say this, even the most ferocious criminal can't negotiate with me anymore?"
Nemocine nodded and stepped aside. The officers carried out the bodies covered with white cloth. Shiller walked into the room.
The crime scene was even more chaotic: a very narrow room crowded with stuff, the floor so dirty it was sticky, the ceiling covered with black and yellow tar stains. The sheets and blanket were a mess, alcohol and drugs were scattered all over, liposuction instruments and syringes piled in the corners of the room, needles everywhere.
"Batman is cracking down on the sex industry," Gordon said, "now all the sex workers in Gotham are underground, only daring to hide in small rooms and basements like this. The clients are all those bottom-tier junkies. If it wasn't for not being able to destroy the crime scene, I'd have thoroughly disinfected this place before coming."
Shiller saw that the positions marked for the bodies were beside the bed: one on the bed, one under it. From the postures, they were not in any connected state. He had just looked, both were killed by stab wounds: one hit the heart from behind, the other hit the throat from the front. The former died from stabbing, the latter from slashing. The room was covered in blood.
Nemocine walked in.
She stared at the scene in the room for a while, then turned to Gordon and said, "It's number 1."
"You mean that male killer?"
"Yes. Your men should already be on the female killer, but there's no lead on the male killer yet. This time he committed the crime. You better hurry because after losing his Eve, he will become more frantic until..."
"Until what?"
"Until God no longer needs him."
Suddenly, chaotic footsteps came from the stairs. A young officer hurriedly shouted into the room, "Chief, Covens is dead..."