"What I really wanted to ask you was, what is 'hatred'?"
"Yours or his?"
"For all murderers."
Schiller raised his head slightly and said, "You really went through a lot of trouble moving the interrogation room here."
"Gordon, turn up the temperature," Batman said, turning his head.
"But the bodies..."
"Forget the bodies." Schiller shook his head gently.
Standing between the two of them, Gordon felt that the atmosphere between them was strange.
There was one fact obvious to all three of them: the morgue door was locked. So the question was, who was the judge? And who was the criminal?
On the surface, Batman was naturally the interrogator who had lured his guest into a trap. His sole purpose in leading Schiller here was to make him answer questions in an uncomfortable environment, improving the accuracy of his answers. Ordinary people called that an interrogation.
But Schiller showed no anger. He was not angry about the deception and calculation, nor did he seem uncomfortable as it grew colder, even though the professor's body clearly was.
Gordon could plainly see that Schiller was shivering a little. Before the door had shut, the morgue's temperature had not dropped much, but once it was fully sealed, its refrigeration system proved excellent. Clearly, the professor was not very resistant to the cold.
"Normally, I would not kill because of hatred. For me, the urge to kill does not come from emotion, but instinct. There is no switch inside me that makes me bite people when pressed, but some people do have one."
"So the killer is not the same kind of person as you." It was an utterly standard declarative sentence, unusually frank.
"For some people, certain words cannot be mentioned. Once their switch is pressed, their eyes immediately turn red, and their