Two police cars stood in the weed-choked square outside Florentia Cathedral.
Cordon off the area, outline the bodies in white, take a few perfunctory photographs, then grab a few onlookers for statements-that was the standard procedure for Gotham police investigating a murder.
"Sir, we've identified the victims. Besides the two wanted repeat offenders, the other three were members of the Flying Graysons circus troupe. They were also a family, but we haven't found the youngest child, Dick Grayson, at the scene." The young officer handed Dijie the investigation report.
"Then that kid must be the killer. Tell headquarters to issue a warrant!"
Dijie glanced impatiently at the report, picked up the coffee on the hood, and took a sip.
Perhaps someone had forgotten the sugar. The coffee had barely entered his mouth before he spat it out, splashing caramel-colored stains all over the elder Grayson's dead face.
The young officer hurriedly pulled out some tissues to wipe it off, afraid that mouthful of coffee might destroy some vital clue.
"What are you wiping it for? Bag him up and take him back to the station."
"But... but we found two sets of bullet trajectories going in completely opposite directions. Our preliminary assessment is that two parties exchanged fire here!"
The young officer tried to argue further, but Dijie had already lumbered off, his big belly sticking out.
Of course Dijie knew who had done it. Baron had called him immediately after the killings.
He had only relaxed once Baron told him the victims were a family of three from a circus.
As for the boy who had escaped...
"I'll send my men to search the Lower District. You put out a warrant for him in the city. Once you find him, hand him straight over to me. I'll make him disappear from this world without a sound!" That was what Baron had told Dijie.
The Gotham Police Department received at least seven or eight murder reports every day. If they devoted their full resources to solving each one, they would never have enough officers to go around. And so the department followed an unwritten rule when handling murders.
Leave them alone! Only start investigating when someone with a stake in the victim came asking and pressing for answers.
Whether the evidence had been destroyed by then, or where the suspect might be, was none of their concern.
Baron had killed a family of three, and the only survivor would now be hunted by both the police and the gangs. No matter how you looked at it, the boy had no chance of surviving.
Once Dick died, no one would care about the murders anymore. A few years later, the case file would be marked unsolved and sent to gather dust and mold in the archives.
It was certainly a good plan, but Baron rarely asked anyone for favors. How could Dijie pass up the chance to squeeze him dry?
"Got any stuff?"
"I do! A new shipment from Detroit. High purity. I'll save you some. Come over once you're done."
At the thought of that, Dijie lost all interest in the case. He left his subordinates to process the scene and headed for Baron's residence.
Baron's residence was much like the Senate: an old-fashioned apartment building of the kind found everywhere in the Lower District. But unlike Oswald, who had no men under him, Baron had plenty. Four or five stood guard at the entrance alone, and Dijie could hear the noise inside from a street away.
Dijie was a familiar face, too. The lookouts nodded in greeting and opened the door for the potbellied officer.
The acrid smell of marijuana hit him head-on. Dijie narrowed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Ever since Harvey Dent arrived, Rob had tightened discipline among the officers. As a result, Dijie hadn't been able to sneak a smoke in a stairwell for a long time. He had been listless on duty, barely keeping himself going on caffeine.
"What a wonderful surprise, my brother!"
Baron came to greet him in person, rolling his shoulders as he spread his arms and pulled Dijie into a great hug.
They hadn't seen each other for a while, and Dijie noticed that the drug-addled dog had grown even thinner. He looked like a skeleton wrapped in skin, and the tangled blood vessels in the whites of his eyes had nearly turned both eyeballs red.
In stark contrast to his emaciated body, Baron was feverishly energetic. He slung an arm around Dijie's shoulders and kept muttering incoherently.
His rotting gums were black and oozing pus. His foul breath was so overpowering that Dijie could barely keep his eyes open.
"You ought to cut back. Look at you-you're practically dead."
"Really? That's wonderful. I can't wait to meet God."
Baron gave a strange, cackling laugh, pulled the cross out from beneath his shirt, and kissed it hard.
He took Dijie to his bedroom on the top floor. It offered a commanding view, and a telescope was mounted outside the window, allowing him to spot any disturbance nearby immediately. Just outside the door, a left turn led to the stairs up to the roof, making escape easy.
A few days earlier, when the Red Hood Gang had come looking for trouble, that escape route had saved his life.
Baron drew the curtains and switched on a dingy yellow desk lamp in the dark room.
"I've got everything ready for you. If you're worried, put in a mouthguard. I don't want to see you bite off your own tongue from the rush. Hehehehehe!
"Oh, right. I've got a little gift for you, too!"
He flopped comfortably onto the yellowed sheets and snapped his fingers, summoning a young girl into the room.
The girl's wrinkled dress was covered in dark brown bloodstains. Her long hair was disheveled, her eyes vacant. At Baron's signal, she obediently lay down in Dijie's arms.
A flicker of displeasure crossed Dijie's eyes.
"Don't look at me like that. I acquired this child perfectly legally. Her mother was going through withdrawal and begged me to buy her. That day, she pushed her own flesh and blood in front of me, then dropped to her knees.
"She looked so pathetic, clutching my trouser leg, her head tucked against her belly. I'm sure she would have done anything I asked right then."
"Shame she stank too much for my taste. The girl's nice, though."
Baron took a small bag of powder from his pocket and waved it under the light as if showing off.
"All of it, every last bit, was for this stuff."
"That's an ugly story. You almost sound like you're trying to get me to quit." Dijie pushed the girl out of his arms and sat up, his face blending into the shadows.
"Oh! Don't misunderstand, my friend."
Baron flicked the needle, then plunged it into the familiar spot on his neck.
"This world is going to end... that mother, this child... you and me, too. We're trapped in the mire, unable to pull ourselves free... thrashing our arms only makes us sink faster. We might as well enjoy its embrace... we'll all die sooner or later... oh, God!"
The drugs ravaged Baron's battered nerves. The scrawny man arched his back and clawed at a corner of the sheet, his eyes rolling back as he moaned in pleasure.
Through the haze, he saw a gargoyle clinging to the wall in the shadowy corner.
It was a truly terrifying monster. Its pitch-black muscles bulged like tumors, with distended veins winding across them.
The gargoyle growled and struggled, beating its black wings. Thick saliva trailed in long strands from its sharp teeth.
Am I dying?
Baron was bewildered. He had been a devout Catholic since childhood-why would he see something as evil as a gargoyle?
Only when the gargoyle lunged at him and its thick, sharp claws severed his artery did he break free of the hallucination.
There had never been any gargoyle. The figure pinning him down was a boy in a green bodysuit. The boy gripped a small knife and swung it with all his strength, stabbing him in the chest over and over.
Wonderful. I can finally meet God...
The drugs had robbed him of pain.
Baron murmured as his consciousness slowly drifted away from his body. But what greeted him was not the glad tidings of heaven. It was the boy's hoarse, desperate roar.
"Go to hell, you devil!"
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