Chapter 4882

"I'm also a mystery novelist," Victor said proudly. "Let me set the rules for this round—how about it?"

His hair and eyebrows were tinted snow-white by the cold light from outside the window, giving him the faint appearance of a snowman. Yet the lively spark in his brow made him look less like a world-weary disappointment and more like a child eager for a game.

Falcone Manor is also one of Gotham's oldest and most prestigious estates, possibly even older than Viscount Manor. The walls here are paneled and adorned with retro-patterned fabrics. Near the fireplace corner, there is only a small round window, casting a bright oval shadow on the opposite wall, with the light's trajectory clearly visible.

The wood feels somewhat heavy and aged; the dark green silk tablecloth on it is newly replaced, yet the candlesticks and fruit tray still exude an antique air. The wicker chairs are woven in a somewhat Florentine style, and the bookshelves are stacked full of Italian-language books.

Shiler gave Victor an encouraging glance. By the still-glowing embers of the fireplace, Victor looked around and said: "There's still some wine left unfinished—let's drink it all."

Tim turned on his flashlight, went to the dining table, and fetched the wine and glasses. They had just finished splitting the remaining bottle, each person's glass filled halfway.

"Let's go in clockwise order for questions and answers. One person asks a question, the next answers. After answering, they ask a new question. If someone can't answer, they take a sip of wine. How does that sound?"

"A bit cliché," Alberto replied honestly.

"You won't think so once we start playing," Victor said. "Because there's a lot to consider. Right now, we have no clues at all."

"I'll go first," Coppert said, glancing at Tim seated to his right—Tim currently knows the most. Coppert's opening question could draw out more information from him.

No one objected. So Coppert spoke: "When Brainiac discovered the body, what was its condition?"

"It had already begun to swell," Tim replied. "That's also why the face captured on the water's surface is unclear—we can't tell who it is. Additionally, I can tell you the victim wore dark clothing, held nothing in their hands, floated face-up in the water, and was approximately drifting at two-thirds the depth of the room."

Coppert nodded, indicating the answer was acceptable. Then Tim turned to Shiler beside him and asked: "Professor, do you think the victim could have died of unnatural causes?"

"Of course," Shiler said. "Without a doubt, this is a murder case."

Upon hearing this, everyone exchanged glances. Though Tim hadn't asked for the reason, Shiler explained anyway: "Last night's rain wasn't heavy, the storm surge hadn't truly arrived yet, and seawater backflow wasn't rapid—there was plenty of time to evacuate."

Everyone still seemed doubtful, but no one asked then, since it was now Shiler's turn to ask a question. He looked at Alberto sitting in the single sofa and said: "How is Evans doing?"

Alberto glanced at Victor. Victor said: "Indeed, there's no rule saying we can only ask case-related questions."

"He's fine," Alberto said, letting out a soft sigh. "Not long ago, he even went to see the Venice theater exhibition."

"You're lying," Tim said, staring coldly at him. "His personality is inherently fragile—you've taken up too much of his time, to the point he's nearly vanished."

"I'm trying to figure it out," Alberto said.

"The most effective way would be to give him more time—but you refuse to do that."

"If I keep letting him stay outside, I'll never find a solution," Alberto seemed to flare up as well. "This is between us brothers—it's none of your business, Mr. Drake. Mind your own affairs."

Tim still held back. He sat on the sofa, pondering something, his expression somewhat grim, thus revealing more of Moriarty's side, as if reflecting on his own past as a criminal consultant.

Alberto then turned to Shiler. Shiler's gaze held some concern, as if worrying about both brothers simultaneously. Alberto sighed silently, then said: "Now it's my turn to ask."

He looked toward Victor beside him and said: "What does the body's floating position signify?"

Victor thought carefully, then said: "This is indeed crucial. Normally, without any weighted equipment, a body wouldn't sink that far in water. To maintain buoyancy equilibrium at two-thirds the room's depth, there must be something else on the body. If nothing is held in the hands or tied to the body, it could very well be inside the corpse."

This reasoning drew no objections. So Victor turned to Ethan and asked: "When were the people inside Arkham Asylum evacuated?"

Ethan, clearly dissatisfied about being trapped, said: "It should have been before 9:00 PM."

"The storm surge and seawater backflow come with warning signs. Based on Gotham's geography, coastal backflow should move from south to north. Reaching the asylum in the north would take no more than half an hour. Even if noticed later, everyone should have been evacuated by 9 PM. After all, this city's residents should already be well accustomed to such disasters—they wouldn't dawdle."

Everyone agreed with his assessment. Indeed, as he said, even a mental hospital full of psychiatric patients wouldn't take long to evacuate. Even those strapped to restraint beds, upon hearing a natural disaster was coming, would feel no back pain, no leg soreness, no symptoms—they'd just follow the doctors out willingly. This is what natural disasters do—but if it were human-caused, they might still follow while firing two shots. The will to survive needs no explanation.

Unable to turn his head, Ethan maintained his posture and asked: "Can we determine the victim's gender?"

This question is somewhat difficult. The current information is indeed insufficient to judge. But Coppert didn't immediately concede; he kept trying to reason.

"I've visited Arkham Asylum many times recently, often accompanying patients there. The ground-floor lobby, used for receiving patients and families, has a nurse station toward the back for nurses to accompany patients to the yard for fresh air. Many female nurses move about on this floor."

"The first floor is the treatment wing, where doctors and nurses go, but the east side has an orderly station. Since some psychiatric patients become aggressive during treatment, most orderlies stationed there are strong males. Thus, the gender ratio on the first floor favors males. By this logic, the victim is more likely to be male."

"But there's a loophole: Arkham's orderlies are often battle-hardened, especially the males. Most are physically strong, professionally trained in subduing individuals, and many are former gang members seeking redemption—making them very hard to kill. So it's truly hard to say whether the victim is male or female."

Coppert lifted his wine cup and took a sip. No one thought Ethan's question was inappropriate—if he hadn't asked, Coppert wouldn't have volunteered this information. Tim might know the case best, but Coppert certainly knows this asylum best. Even Shiler doesn't visit the relocated Arkham Asylum often after the move, whereas Coppert, who frequently visits to see Edward, knows far more.

The turn finally returned to Tim. Coppert pondered, then asked: "Who was missing among the doctors and patients evacuated from Arkham Asylum?"

This time, everyone perked up—this is clearly an important question. Even if we can't temporarily recover the body, elimination is still very useful. Once we know who's missing, we can more easily determine who the victim is.

"Unfortunately, I don't know either," Tim said. "They didn't evacuate uniformly under Brainiac's arrangement. Instead, once they noticed seawater backflow, each went their own way. The thunderstorm damaged some signal towers—some areas have no signal, so we can't currently contact anyone, making the missing persons list uncertain."

He also picked up his cup and took a sip. Victor quickly emphasized: "Just say what you know or what you've reasoned—'I don't know' is a valid answer, and only unreasonable answers require penalty."

"He just wants to drink," Shiler said.

Tim tasted carefully, let out a cold chuckle, and said: "Not as good as Drake Family's."

Alberto gave him a cold look.

Tim cleared his throat and asked: "Professor, what do you think the killer's motive might be?"

"Tim," Shiler sighed helplessly, "even if you're a psychic, you still need a medium. No body, no crime scene, not even a photo—motive would be pure guesswork. You've really stumped me."

Shiler took a sip of wine. The faintly icy expression on Tim's face faded; he smirked at Shiler, as if to say he was doing it on purpose, yet confident Shiler wouldn't blame him, with a touch of smug satisfaction.

Shiler then turned to Alberto and said: "Does your father know about Evans's condition?"

"He does," Alberto said, letting out another soft sigh. "He's also deeply worried about it. Brainiac promised he'd find a way. He's connected us with Tianhao Lilith, a powerful psychic currently researching treatment options."

Shiler nodded. Alberto seemed to drift off for a moment, then finally spoke: "Does your dense ice ability stagnate the spirit?"

Victor shook his head and said: "If you mean freezing a single personality alone, that's impossible. The way dense ice stagnates spirit is by lowering and stabilizing temperature, letting the brain operate at minimal efficiency to achieve unconsciousness—there's no way to achieve precise isolation."

But Alberto seemed to relax a little. Victor added: "Still, I suggest you treat this as a last-resort measure, not a lifeline. Someone frozen in ice is as good as dead—you'd then have even less chance of finding a solution. Your father would lose both sons at once."

Alberto nodded slightly. Then Victor turned to Ethan beside him and said: "Your reflexes are quite sharp—have you seen combat?"

"I'm a military medic," Ethan replied. "I didn't just fight on the front lines in Afghanistan—I was stationed there for several years."

His eyes flicked toward Tim: "Hand-to-hand training mostly only works against ordinary people. Without real life-or-death combat experience, it's hard to deal with veterans."

Tim squeezed his fist—not out of anger at Ethan, but because being disarmed really is embarrassing. Still, thinking it over, his martial arts skill is poor, and he lacks real death-match experience—because he never needed to follow Batman into the perilous dark city. Since joining the Wayne Manor household, he's only done mental work. Losing to a battle-hardened Afghan veteran is completely normal.