But people were different. Though Bruce was young, he had read all kinds of detective fiction, and even in this state of emotional collapse, he was not misled.
He merely shook his head, held out his hand to ask for the cigarettes and liquor, and said:
"You're not. If you were their good friend, you wouldn't have left my parents' bodies lying face-down in a pool of blood. At the very least, you should have turned them over and checked them."
As he spoke, he pulled free of Deathstroke's hand and walked toward his parents. With great effort, he turned Martha over, cradled his mother's head in his arms, and touched the blood on her face.
After a brief silence, he turned Thomas's body over as well, then moved both of his parents to a slightly cleaner spot beside the wall and propped them against it.
"As expected of young Master Wayne. You're quite smart for your age. Let's put it this way: the lady beside me and I are kindhearted passersby. We saw someone had died here, so we came to take a look. We also called the police for you."
"Thank you. I'll wait here for the police, but could you contact Alfred for me? He's my butler." Bruce raised his head. Sitting against the wall between his parents' bodies, he looked up at the Batman beneath the streetlamp.
"Alice, go make the call." Su Ming tossed Laurie a few coins, then walked toward Bruce. "Do you want to be a detective? I can teach you. And by the way, your parents weren't killed in a robbery gone wrong."
The boy under the light instantly turned his head, shock in his eyes as he stared fixedly at the man's face. "How do you know?"
"Evidence and clues, then