On a stormy night crackling with lightning and thunder, rain fell onto the manor's roof, making a soft rustling sound that mingled with the dying crackle of the fireplace logs.
It was an extremely sleep-inducing sound, so Schiller slept deeply in bed. But just then, an urgent telephone ring sounded, and Schiller opened his eyes.
He looked out the window. At that moment, a bolt of lightning streaked across the horizon, casting the window's latticework onto the floor and bed. One of the shadows happened to cross Schiller's eyes.
He took a deep breath, then got out of bed. Wearing slippers, he made his way through the pitch-black manor and downstairs, where he picked up the receiver. Entirely unsurprisingly, Gordon's somewhat anxious voice came from the other end. He said, "Harry Cooper is dead, Professor Schiller. You need to come over."
"Is it connected to the serial murders? If it is, go find Batman."
"Batman is already here, Professor Schiller. I know I shouldn't be disturbing you this late, but the situation this time is truly awful. You'd better come over..."
Schiller looked up at the grandfather clock in the room. Its hands pointed exactly at two in the morning. He remembered that the last time Gordon had called him on a rainy night was when Fish Mooney had died.
He went upstairs to get dressed, took an umbrella, and walked out through the manor gates. Gotham's night was still frighteningly dark, and the damp air filling his lungs drove away his drowsiness.
A black sedan drove through the manor gates. Black suits, black umbrellas, black sunglasses—the silent style unique to Gotham's mobsters. The person who opened the door said nothing, and Schiller asked nothing.
Cooper's Estate lay west of the North District, quite far from Falcone Estate. When the