The shooting

Three days passed uneventfully, and William gradually grew accustomed to the transition from forensic examiner to police officer.

During that time, he went on several assignments with Gordon. With his keen powers of observation and professional expertise, he always offered deductions that cut straight to the heart of the matter.

"The forensic examiners have had a much easier time these past few days. All they need to do is copy out your crime scene reports."

Bullock covered the body with a white sheet, then leisurely lit a cigarette.

He had been in a good mood lately, perhaps because violent crime had dropped sharply, or perhaps because William's presence left Gordon with less energy to find fault with him.

"These are only preliminary deductions. Sometimes a thorough examination and autopsy are still necessary. Of course, I trust Mrs. Blanca's professionalism. She wouldn't cut corners when it mattered."

Snap.

William pulled off his disposable rubber gloves.

After loading the body into the police car, the three of them found a restaurant to eat in. Over the meal, Gordon brought up Norman's intention to promote William to investigative sergeant.

If it went through, William would break Gordon's record as the youngest sergeant.

Of course, that did not mean William was more capable. He had merely chosen the right path, at least on the surface.

While Bullock was outside smoking, Gordon asked about Norman.

"Are you really going to work for Norman? You don't have to force yourself. Now that I have a lead, I can investigate in secret. It'll just take longer to gather the evidence."

"Risk always comes with reward."

As William said this, he nearly reached up to touch his nose.

In psychology, that gesture often indicated a lie. A seasoned cop like Gordon would surely notice.

William had indeed lied.

He had no plans to take on Norman or Falcone for the time being. First, their faction posed no threat to him. Second, feeding information to Maroni would let him stir up anxiety in the man.

The more anxious Maroni became, the more likely he was to make mistakes.

William could only rise through the ranks when Maroni's organization was bleeding and weakened.

For now, everything seemed to be going well.

But Gordon's concerns were hardly unfounded. William had still underestimated how difficult it was to be a crooked cop.

He had never been a good person. Selfishness was his most defining trait, but unfortunately, he was not a bad person either.

That afternoon, Norman gave him a small assignment.

He was to pressure a mother who had lost her child in a car accident into dropping the charges against the driver responsible.

"Who was the driver?"

William asked one question too many, earning a disgusted sidelong glance from Norman.

"That's none of your business. I hope this is your first time being an idiot, and your last!"

Dressed in his police uniform, William held the document envelope against his chest and boarded the light rail to his destination.

As though he gave off a foul stench, the space around him alone remained empty in the crowded carriage.

Perhaps that was no metaphor. When he met the victim's mother downstairs at his destination, a middle-aged woman with disheveled hair and vacant eyes, he thought he really could smell that stench.

The stench of a crooked cop.

He walked openly into her living room and sat on the gray fabric sofa. The woman brought him a cup of black tea.

Yet all he could offer her was coercion.

No compensation, no comfort. After the victim had endured so much injustice and torment, he was to personally strip her of her right to seek justice.

"I'll drop the charges, but could you give me-give us some compensation...?"

The woman clutched the neckline of her sweater, her voice low and restrained, but her gaze turned toward the little girl standing in the bedroom doorway.

She had lost her eldest son, but she still had a daughter to raise.

"How much do you need?"

William should never have asked that question.

Norman had not allocated him so much as a cent in compensation.

Even if she took it to court, the drawn-out legal battle would be enough to grind away every last bit of the family's resolve.

"I need ten thousand... eight thousand would do!"

"I'll give you fifty thousand."

William made the decision.

He used his own private savings to bring a spark back into the woman's eyes.

It was a worthwhile trade.

On the way back, William sent Gordon a message on his pager, asking him to look into the driver involved in the case.

After receiving a reply, William found a phone booth. He put in a penny and dialed the desk phone at Gordon's workstation.

"I found the file, but before we get to that, I have a question... does Batman, or rather Stuart, really believe he's Bruce Wayne with amnesia?"

The question was so strange that William dropped two more coins into the phone.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because the file lists the driver responsible as Bruce Wayne."

William regretted putting in the coins. This was not something they could sort out over the phone.

He hung up and buttoned his coat.

He had to get back to the precinct immediately and have Gordon explain.

But on his way back, he encountered someone unexpected.

It was Casey. Wearing a cool, striking look, she sat opposite him with her arms folded across her waist, staring at him with something close to anger.

The instant their eyes met, the girl turned her head away in disgust.

Casey probably did not know her secret identity had been exposed yet, so why was she just as hostile as last time?

Fortunately, he still had the thought bubbles.

(I've run into the evil scientist again. A bad omen. I can't act yet. What if he takes the passengers hostage?)

She really does think I'm the villain controlling Batman.

William wanted to go over and say hello, but he could easily be mistaken for some creep hitting on her. If he spoke frankly, he risked exposing his mind-reading ability, and then he would probably never shake the evil scientist label.

Forget it. Deal with the urgent business first.

After weighing the pros and cons, William decided to put Batwoman aside for now.

She posed no real threat anyway.

Crash!

Without warning, glass shattered behind William.

Something flew past his ear, its shrill whistle making his eardrums ache.

After a brief numbness, agonizing pain surged in like a tide.

He ducked down and felt his ear...

His ear was gone. Instead, his hand came away covered in blood.

It had happened so suddenly that William's mind went blank.

The passengers in the carriage were just as stunned. No one knew what had happened until a body with a bullet wound in its chest slid off a seat, prompting the first scream.

William stared at the person who had been shot in disbelief.

Casey clutched her chest. Hot blood spurted through her fingers onto the floor and splashed onto William's face.

"Give me back..."

Her face paled as she lost blood. The girl's life drained away too quickly for her even to finish a sentence.

"Bat..."

By the time William came to his senses, she had died right before his eyes, just like that.

William slapped himself hard across the face, forcing himself to snap out of it.

The attack had come from outside the window. He fixed his gaze on the shattered glass.

Cracks covered the pane, with a circular hole at the center of the densest cluster.

There was no doubt it was a bullet hole.

But the insane part was that the light rail was moving at full speed. In the direction the shot had come from stood a stretch of low houses, with nothing else except a blurry elevated billboard far off on the horizon.

It was at least three kilometers from the moving train.

Hitting a target aboard a speeding train from a platform three kilometers away-was that really something a human could do?

A name surfaced in William's mind.

"Deadshot Floyd!"