Chapter 4894

"But you seem to have forgotten one thing." Tim looked at Brand and said, "That doctor you found, Brand, didn't just get you into this one mess."

"What?"

"Oswald Cobpot, he went to see a doctor because of early symptoms of schizophrenia. Since your treatment of Edward worked well, he booked an appointment with you. And the judgment made by that incompetent guy, you can probably imagine it."

Tim stared intently at Brand's expression, because this might be the only time in his life he'd ever see that "the sky is falling" look on an outer god's face—this couldn't be missed.

"You're completely wrong." Tim said, "Even to preserve your corporeal form, you can't bring back the original one. He would be threatened, or swayed by greed, and participate in such an experiment—proving he's really not a smart person. But if someone could stand at the pinnacle of the industry through their own professional skill, there'd be no need to live like a rat in a gutter, right?"

Brand had already fumed and sat back down. Of course he knew Cobpot and Xilei were together—even if Xilei isn't exactly versed in pathology, if Cobpot's condition were abnormal, he'd surely notice. And that doctor Brand, whose professional level isn't great, must have said something like "It might not be anything," "Let's observe further," brushing it off. If Xilei heard such a judgment, he'd surely have a problem with him—quack doctors harm people!

"This guy never makes progress." Brand slammed the table, "His consciousness has lingered in his corpse all this time, watching me treat illness for so many years—he should have figured it out by now?!"

"Hard to say." Tim cut straight to the point, "Batman and Professor Xilei have been entangled for so many years, yet they still haven't figured it out?"

Brand's face grew even uglier. This isn't quack doctors harming people—it's students harming people. Back then he shouldn't have, just for fun, left part of this guy's soul behind—originally not too bright, and in the sacrificial ritual another part of his IQ was sacrificed, making him even dumber. Originally I thought he'd watched this so long, propping himself up by imitating a cat drawing a tiger for a few days without issue, but now it looks like giving him a few more days, he could punch a hole in the sky!

"Unless..." Tim drew out a long note. Brand looked at him.

"If that doctor's conclusion is correct, things might still be salvageable. I think Cobpot's issue isn't big, but there's one thing worth researching."

"What?"

"Those 200 tons of ice." Tim said, "Cobpot says he has no memory of going to Victor Fries for ice. If it wasn't his illness, then how could this have happened?"

Brand blinked slightly. Tim's words came out of nowhere, sounding a bit confusing, but he quickly understood—it should be that Cobpot's condition looks okay, yet he did some things resembling early symptoms of schizophrenia, and this seems to have another clue.

"What do you need me to do?" Brand asked directly.

"If it wasn't Cobpot who went to Victor, but someone using special means to impersonate him, then his memory would definitely have a clue."

"Don't joke around." Brand said, "Victor Fries and Xilei have such a good relationship—how dare I move against him?"

"I didn't say it was by force. You outer gods should be good at disguise and deception, right?"

Brand seemed to want to retort, but then suddenly thought of something and said: "Victor joined a secret society investigating outer gods, and it seems to be full of novelists there. You could write to him as a pen friend."

"That's an illegal society." Brainiac reminded.

"Give me Victor's communication address." Tim said, "I want to know if that Cobpot Victor saw had any issues."

Brand gave Victor's communication address to Tim. Of course it couldn't be his home—earlier that alliance meeting, everyone used fake identities and virtual communication addresses. Victor put his communication address in a place not far from Gotham University.

Tim picked up his pen to write the letter. Brand watched him write and asked, "Looks like you already have a lead."

"If it wasn't Cobpot himself who went, but someone impersonating him, then that person must know Cobpot well enough to fool Victor, who's also very familiar with Cobpot. Only someone close to Cobpot could do that."

"From his behavior, I'd infer he doesn't mean well for Cobpot—on the contrary, he wants Cobpot to doubt himself, or simply drive him to a mental hospital for treatment. And with Cobpot gone, the biggest beneficiary would be his subordinate. I recall Cobpot has a capable assistant named Ogwai."

Tim paused and then said: "Oswald Cobpot really has no weaknesses. He's a profit-driven businessman, from Gotham's lower class, close to the old godfather, and the direct heir of the new godfather. Cobpot Group is deeply rooted in Gotham, hard to shake—its only weakness is that seemingly existent yet seemingly nonexistent hereditary mental illness. To take him down, we can only start from there."

"I heard he still has an unhealthy mother." Brand said, "She was once hospitalized at Arkham Asylum, but I didn't become her attending physician, because just as you said, Cobpot is very smart—I'm worried he'd discover my problem."

"That's not how it's done." Tim said, "The person behind wants the benefits from Cobpot Group—just need to get rid of Cobpot. Going after his mother would only push him over the edge, leading to mutual destruction where nobody wins."

"The key is to make Cobpot feel he can no longer lead the group, that he should go to a mental hospital for treatment and voluntarily hand over his authority. That way, the person taking over would have legitimate standing and could better lead Cobpot Group."

"Also, if it were a forcible takeover, Brainiac wouldn't agree. Now every group is Brainiac Group—he doesn't nod, nobody dares to hand over power. But if Cobpot steps down voluntarily, it's different—Brainiac won't make things hard for the mentally ill, naturally arranging treatment and then having someone familiar with the group's business take over his position."

"And approaching Victor to ask for that much ice was to make Victor confirm Cobpot's condition, and also to exaggerate Cobpot's condition. After all, being able to pull this off without memory—if he ever had an episode, the danger would still be significant. Even if Cobpot didn't want to go, Brainiac might still force him to get treatment, with the same result."

"As expected, Victor dragged Cobpot to see a doctor. But the problem lies with the doctor—you that unpromising student… or rather, unlucky follower—he can't handle this kind of illness at all, can only laugh it off, saying 'no problem' regardless of whether there is or isn't."

"And as long as you can prove my reasoning above is correct, then you haven't delayed Cobpot's condition—on the contrary, you've helped him. Cobpot going to see a doctor proves he's already doubted himself. If truly diagnosed, then that person really succeeded."

Brand nodded repeatedly. Speaking from a professional standpoint, he said: "A certain degree of memory loss is indeed an early symptom of schizophrenia. But during the onset—meaning during that period of lost memory—people find it very hard to communicate normally, let alone contact people to transport 200 tons of ice..."

"Wait." Tim suddenly stopped writing, he looked at Brand and said, "What did you just say?"

"I said, patients with schizophrenia onset cannot socialize normally..."

"That last sentence."

"If Cobpot really had an onset, he couldn't possibly find someone to help him transport 200 tons of ice..."

Tim threw his pen down directly, he said: "No need to find Victor—we're going to find someone else. Brainiac, what's Jack doing?"

"Playing cards in the Northern Shelter." Brainiac replied.

Tim walked out, put on his coat, Brand followed behind. Tim checked his sidearm, then said: "Are you riding in my car, or flying directly?"

"I can't fly." Brand said, "Let's go."

The two drove north again. At this moment, the Northern Public Shelter was lively, people in small groups sitting on villa floors eating, chatting, or playing cards. Tim stepped inside, and people immediately started shouting.

"Police are here, police are here, make way!"

"How come these cops again…… I mean, how did the police come here? I haven't done anything lately!"

"Damn blue-skinned dog, you…… uh, sorry, habit, why do you look so unfamiliar to me? Intern?"

Tim was made dizzy by these Gotham people—this villa seems to gather mostly truck drivers, and these people used to be gang members, with poor relations to police, habitually sharp-tongued.

Tim pushed through the crowd and found Joker Jack leaning against the wall, flinging cards out. He slammed the cards hard onto the ground: "Big and small jokers! Your flush is useless too! Hurry up and put them away!"

They were playing a Gotham traditional card game called "Dock Cards," not just comparing numbers but also suits—mismatched suits can't beat each other, but big and small jokers are still the highest.

Jack saw those police boots, looked up, opened his mouth to curse the police, saw it was Tim, swallowed it back, and nearly choked himself: "Cough cough cough, you wait a moment."

Jack began waving his hand asking: "Anyone want more? Anyone want more? If not, this hand is mine!"

The others listlessly waved their hands, obviously Jack won this round. Jack tucked the point cards used as chips from beside him into his pocket, then followed Tim out.

"200 tons of ice." Tim got straight to the point, "Earlier someone should have hired truck drivers to transport 200 tons of ice—you know who?"

"Oh, Cobpot." Jack just pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, seemed to recall something, then put it back. He clicked his tongue and said, "This guy seems not to have given up his idea of opening an ice mountain restaurant—he forcibly hauled over 200 tons of ice from Gotham University. Transporting this stuff is a hassle—it took ten big trucks to finish."

"Was it Cobpot who personally came to you?"

"No, he came to another truck driver. I also don't know why he went to someone else." Jack shook his head and said, "Clearly I used to run trucks for Cobpot Group too, but he didn't contact me first—maybe he knew this job was tough. Unloading at the underground cold storage was freezing cold, nearly turned those drivers into grandsons—lucky I didn't go."

Tim showed a "as expected" expression.

"Was it Cobpot who personally contacted that person?"

"Of course not—he's a big boss, who has that much time? Should've been his subordinate who went."

"What's the name of the subordinate who usually contacts you?"

"Ogwe." Jack replied, "A tall, thin man, not too talkative, seems to be Coppert's right-hand man."

"Indeed." Tim said.