Bruce lunged forward and knocked Gordon to the ground. Gordon had nearly been struck by a flying splinter of wood.
The thunderous crash of the total collapse, the debris spraying everywhere, and the billowing dust forced everyone far back. Some of them even landed flat on their backs.
Gordon stared dumbfounded at the completely collapsed old building before finally managing to say, "Looks like our luck isn't very good."
Bruce frowned instead. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. From what I observed earlier, the house was old, but nowhere near the point of collapse. Otherwise, the victim wouldn't have chosen to run here."
"Who was the dead man?" Gordon asked, turning to him.
"He was a fisherman, Sheriff David. He once owned a fishing boat, but his gambling addiction made him lose all his money. He even handed the boat over to his creditors and became homeless after that."
"So he was a Gotham local."
"Yes. When we investigated, quite a few people told us stories about his mother. She sounded like a pitiful woman, but that also proves that, at least as far back as his parents' generation, he was from Gotham."
"That makes it even clearer. If the building had been in danger of collapsing at any moment, a homeless local would never have chosen this place."
"You think it was a trap." Gordon understood Batman's meaning. "Someone lured us here, then brought the building down to bury us alive."
"That possibility can't be ruled out." Though Bruce already had a suspect in mind, he did not say it aloud.
He knew that during the music festival, maintaining order in Gotham City's tourist areas was already difficult enough. Asking them to investigate a transnational drug trafficking organization of such scale was asking too much. If he told Gordon,