Chapter 2147: Battle of the Two Cities! (Part 25)

The Joker had to admit, he had indeed tampered with the crime scene beforehand by taking a strand of hair from the corpse. That was certainly his fault, but given his need for investigation, evidence was first-come, first-served—it was understandable.

However, the Joker had been extremely careful. He hadn't left a single footprint of his own. The shoes he wore had no tread, he hadn't stepped on any mud, and he had been careful not to put weight on his toes to avoid leaving a clear impression of his foot shape.

Therefore, the only footprint at the scene was the partial one in the mud beside the corpse.

The Joker remembered very clearly that the blood from the corpse had flowed into the soil, making the dry dirt moist. The shoe had stepped half on the tile and half on the damp soil, leaving that partial print.

Note that the partial print left in the mud was three-dimensional; it wasn't just a mark, but a relief model where the tread patterns were indented or raised.

As everyone knows, three-dimensional objects are always more eye-catching than a flat, inconspicuous pattern.

Yet, hiding in the shadows of the prisoner transport vehicle, the Joker watched as Batman wandered around for at least a minute, completely failing to notice that footprint.

He was certain Batman hadn't seen it and simply ignored it; he hadn't seen it at all from start to finish.

The Joker looked left and right from his hiding spot, finally concluding—with great reluctance—that perhaps it was because the footprint was directly under a streetlamp, lacking side-lighting, making the relief less obvious.

Furthermore, the footprint was to the left of the prone corpse, hidden beneath the shadow of the body's upper arm, and right next to the fatal wound caused by the weapon. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to spot at a glance.

But who searches a corpse from only one side?!

The Joker hadn't experienced a "bad day," but he had just experienced the longest minute of his life.

He really wanted to rush out, grab Batman by the collar, and ask: "What are you wandering around for?!"

If you're going to wander, wander thoroughly! The space around the corpse was only four square meters. Batman had wandered for a minute, covering at most two and a half square meters.

Because the body had fallen near the transport vehicle, the space on that side was narrower, but all Batman had to do was walk to the head of the corpse and look back to see the footprint.

Instead, this Batman was like someone scrubbing a bathtub, focusing only on one spot, pacing back and forth like a polar bear with stereotypical behavior in a zoo, shaking his head in that one specific area.

Did he discover me?

The Joker couldn't help but think so. But he wasn't sure if this Batman had ever met the Joker before. And even if he had, shouldn't he be charging over in a rage? Turning around and leaving just like that—what was that about?

Wait, the Joker thought of another question: was this footprint supposed to be a clue left by the Joker of this universe to mislead Batman?... Was it intentional?

After Batman left, the Joker crawled out of the transport vehicle and became a polar bear with stereotypical behavior himself, pacing around the corpse.

He wasn't pacing for any reason other than to see why Batman had been pacing there.

After looking for a long time, the Joker truly couldn't see any clues worth Bruce Wei En pacing for a minute. It was making him doubt his own competence.

Although the Joker wasn't exactly famous for his detective skills, he had been sparring with Batman for so long that his anti-reconnaissance skills were on par with Batman's. If he didn't want Batman to find him, it was very difficult for Batman to do so.

Yet, no matter how the Joker looked at it, this was just an ordinary murder and prison break scene. He could reconstruct the entire process in his mind.

A prisoner transport vehicle turned a corner and entered the street. The headlights illuminated the bushes of the houses, and behind the bushes stood a dark figure holding a pitchfork.

The caution tape reflected the bright headlights. The driver slammed on the brakes, not knowing what had happened ahead, so he got out to check. The guard in the back of the vehicle also stepped out.

At that moment, a long-haired figure rushed out from the side of the vehicle and ambushed the guard from behind. The pitchfork pierced the guard's chest, and he fell straight down, blood pooling on the ground.

The figure straddled the guard's waist, one foot on each side, and began searching for keys. When searching the left side, he found the keys were fixed to the belt. To pull them off, he squatted down hard to the left, leaving a deep footprint in the mud with the front half of his sole.

Then he stood up, opened the vehicle door, spoke a few words to the prisoner inside, and the two of them left together.

The entire process was unremarkable—a completely ordinary prison break. The tracks of both individuals were clearly written on the ground. It shouldn't have taken Batman more than three seconds to deduce the whole sequence.

To ensure he hadn't missed anything, the Joker searched the area thoroughly again, only leaving when the detectives handling the explosion incident returned.

The other points that had puzzled the Joker were the fact that Batman wasn't wearing his gear, and that he had seen Batman drop from mid-air.

Usually, for self-protection, Batman wouldn't reveal his true face to others, so the fact that he wasn't wearing his gear or a mask was suspicious in itself.

And the Batman the Joker knew was just a normal human; all his abilities relied on high-tech equipment. But a normal human couldn't drop from the top of a building in casual clothes and remain unscathed.

The Joker recalled carefully; he had seen Batman make a motion to retract his hand, but no visible grappling hook had been retracted into any equipment on his wrist. So, what had he used?

The Joker moved with the crowd to the other side of the street, then pretended to be frightened and hid in the bushes. He remembered that was where Batman had landed.

A police flashlight flickered, and the Joker's eyes lit up. He saw something shimmering between the paving stones.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he reached out and touched it, only to find it was a strand of spider silk. It felt just like a regular spider's web.

The Joker frowned. He didn't think it was a coincidence, but he couldn't be sure if this was a unique trait of this universe's Batman. He needed more evidence.

Batman was hard to track, but the crime scene had given the Joker enough clues. He could track the Joker of this universe now.

As he walked toward the other side of the street, the Joker sketched an image in his mind: a middle-aged male, about 1.85 meters tall, not light—meaning not frail—with long, slightly wavy hair. Judging by the texture, it hadn't been dyed long, maybe a few weeks. His posture was upright, his weight distribution even, his stride steady.

The Joker estimated. He wasn't a master detective like Batman; he couldn't deduce the person's profession or education from a footprint. He only knew the guy should be stronger than himself, but the Joker's experience definitely outweighed his.

The Joker was certain the other version of himself had left in this direction. Just as he was about to look for more footprints, he saw a very obvious pile of glass shards by the roadside.

The Joker didn't even need to walk over to see it clearly. A scene flashed in his mind: the Joker walks over, suddenly turns around to knock out the person behind him, smashes the car window, picks the lock, throws the person in, and drives off.

The Joker was speechless.

First of all, this was a wealthy neighborhood. The cheapest car parked on the street cost tens of thousands of dollars and was a new car purchased through official channels, not the kind of second-hand junk car seen in the slums.

Did he really think that by stealing a car here, the owner wouldn't have the money, time, or inclination to hunt him down?

One of the Joker's key traits in Cat Getan was his pragmatism. He never provoked anyone outside the slums during his "leisure time," avoiding unnecessary trouble.

He did make a living through robbery and theft, occasionally engaging in black-market deals, but he always picked the softest targets. It was just a means to survive, not his "art," so there was no need to increase the difficulty.

Charging into a wealthy neighborhood to steal a car, even among the monsters of Cat Getan, was considered a high-difficulty five-star mission.

Because you weren't just dealing with the wealthy, but the professional security they hired, elite lawyers, impartial juries, and even world-renowned assassins.

For these lunatics in Cat Getan, it wasn't that they couldn't handle them, but if you had the time to deal with them, why not just go after Bruce Wei En directly?

The Joker stood there, mouth agape, then decisively walked to the other side, going an extra 200 meters just to ensure that when the wealthy owner discovered the car missing, they wouldn't find any clues leading to him.

The Joker glanced at his watch. Okay, judging by the scattering of the glass and the dampness of the water on the ground, the car had been gone for about an hour. He didn't need to search the streets for the Joker anymore; he could just go to the police station to find the car.

But the Joker never expected that what he would find at the police station wasn't just the car, but the car thief himself.

The Joker had been caught.

The new city was a bit large, and the Joker couldn't find where the original Cat Getan police station was, so he found the nearest one—which happened to be the one serving this wealthy district.

Sure enough, before he even entered, he heard a very authentic, upper-class white accent shouting, presumably scolding the security for their incompetence, leading to the car being stolen.

The police chief was sweating profusely, explaining that they had recovered the car within an hour of it being stolen. Although the Joker had anticipated this, he sighed inwardly.

The next second, he heard the chief say that the car thief had also been apprehended.

"That kid is smart," the Joker thought. He must have arranged for an accomplice to take the fall.

But the chief's next words struck like a sword into the Joker's heart.

"This guy must have snuck over from some slum, dyed his hair green, and smashed the car window like he was playing the drums. Actually, we were prepared for this..."

Hearing this, the Joker scrambled to the back of the police station, climbed up a drainpipe to the second-floor balcony, and without even entering, he saw a burly figure with green hair sitting in the interrogation chair.