Chapter 621

In 1989, investigating a case was extremely difficult, because many technological tools had not yet been developed; even Metropolis, one of the world's most advanced cities, had fewer than 1% of the cameras and dashcams it would have after the 21st century.

This meant that surveillance footage offering direct clues mostly came from obscure corners.

And because Metropolis's crime rate had long been low, many cameras went unused and were never maintained; Lex had only recently taken over the Luthor family, and he had no time to install cameras in every corner of Gotham the way Bruce did, let alone spend years maintaining them.

As a result, their investigative methods leaned heavily on old-school detective work: field inspections, witness interviews, narrowing down suspects, then gathering them for individual interrogations to extract clues from their statements.

While Bruce conducted on-site investigations at three companies, Lex arrived at the Metropolis Police Department and watched professional interrogators question suspects in the monitoring room.

Among them were three janitors, one bank employee, a guard from Parlo Company, and a security officer near the bank president's villa—all of whom were the final witnesses and the first eyewitnesses to the crime scenes.

The Metropolis Police Department was far more spacious and bright, its walls free of peeling stains, and even the interrogation specialists were relatively friendly, using their academic training to repeat certain questions in sequence, prompting suspects to recall more details.

Lex sat with the police chief in the back monitoring room and turned to him: "This damn killer cost Luthor Group a major contract. The president took my money and died—I won't let him get away with it."

"Mr. Luthor, rest assured, such a heinous case in Metropolis has surely drawn Congress's attention. More specialized personnel will be assigned to handle it."

"I only want results." Lex said, expressionless. "Luthor Group expects a return on every investment. If there isn't one…"

Lex turned to look at the police chief, who understood exactly what he meant—because he too had taken Luthor Group's money. If he failed to resolve this for them, Lex had plenty of ways to make his life miserable.

At that moment, a rapid series of footsteps echoed outside—steady, each step evenly spaced, clearly from someone highly trained.

"Thud. Thud. Thud." The door knocked. The officer beside it opened it, and in walked a sharp-featured female detective. She shook hands with the police chief, who smiled and introduced Lex: "This is Detective Angela Dodson, a native of Metropolis. She's rotated through police departments across the country and solved multiple serial murder cases. I specifically brought her in as my key assistant."

Seeing Lex, the detective named Angela frowned—his appearance was that of a teenager, utterly out of place here. The police chief quickly added: "This is Mr. Luthor. He's contributed significantly to the Metropolis Police Department's work."

"The murdered bank president was his friend. They had business ties, so he's deeply concerned and requested to come here and observe…"

"You know the interrogation room's back monitoring area isn't open to just anyone, right?" Angela cut in coldly, turning to the police chief. The chief stepped back half a pace, smiling awkwardly: "I'll escort him out right away."

After taking Lex out, he sighed and rolled his eyes. Lex asked him: "Why are you so afraid of her? You're the chief. She's just a detective. What can she do to you?"

The police chief quickly glanced around, signaling Lex to lower his voice. "You don't know how dangerous this woman is. She's a renowned detective specializing in tracking serial killers."

"She's been involved in every major case in Star City, Central City, Metropolis—every major crime across the country has drawn her in."

The police chief sighed. "Mr. Luthor, I know you have high expectations for me, but Metropolis has been too peaceful for too long. My team and I are clueless facing a case like this. Without bringing in a professional, we might never solve it."

Lex sighed too, walking out with the chief. "This deal is the most important one I've taken on since inheriting Luthor Group. Now it's been struck hard—I'm under immense pressure."

The police chief patted his shoulder, then heard Lex ask: "I heard the second victim was the female CEO of Parlo Company. I've heard of them—they specialize in cleaning agent chemicals. What's the connection between her and the president?"

The police chief shook his head. "It's about that new chemical plant. Haven't you heard? Snow Mountain Cleaning and many other cleaning companies placed huge orders with Parlo. But with demand surging, their production couldn't keep up, so Parlo planned to build a chemical plant in Metropolis's western suburbs."

"You know that location, right? It used to be a psychiatric hospital. Parlo bought the land, secured the loan, ready to convert it—then their CEO was suddenly killed…"

The police chief shook his head, looking regretful. Lex silently noted the details. After leaving the police station, he returned to the underground lab beneath Luthor Manor—where Bruce was already waiting.

Bruce plugged an information storage device into the computer, containing the clues he'd gathered during his investigations.

As he played the images and text, Bruce explained: "I went to Snow Mountain Cleaning first. Their security system was even more negligent—only three cameras in the entire company, two broken, the monitoring room pure decoration."

"Of their nearly 2,000 employees, over half are janitors. Too many to know each other. Work is split into indoor and outdoor teams. Those with and without height-work certification don't mix. Plus, many are freelance technicians. HR is a mess."

"So if a stranger slipped in, no one would notice?" Lex asked.

Bruce nodded. "Drivers and technicians all wear identical uniforms. Impersonating one is easy—they have no fixed teams and don't know the janitors at all."

"Snow Mountain has no issues. I checked their finances and leadership's personal wealth—all normal." Bruce concluded.

"As for Parlo Company…" Bruce paused. "Everything else is the same—but they have zero cameras. No way to trace how the killer transported the body to the roof and dropped it."

"But while reviewing their finances, I noticed a sudden spike in orders. Many cleaning companies, Snow Mountain included, bought cleaning agent raw materials from them."

"So they applied for a bank loan to convert the psychiatric hospital in Metropolis's western suburbs into a new chemical plant," Lex continued.

Both fell silent. Then Bruce spoke again: "All clues point to the transaction between the bank, Parlo, and Snow Mountain. That transaction leads to the planned chemical plant. And the plant leads to the psychiatric hospital."

"If the killer wants us to go to that hospital, what's hidden there?" Lex asked.

"Grab your gear. Let's go. I suspect it hides a secret—one so dangerous the killer risked multiple murders to protect it."

The car sped through Metropolis's night, past bright lights, then into the dark outskirts.

A faint brake sound. Bruce stepped out and said: "Your car is terrible. Absolutely terrible."

Lex stepped out too, glancing at his luxury car, recalling Bruce's Batmobile.

Rarely, he didn't argue. He was thinking: he'd get himself a Batmobile too. This car was fine for showing off—but in practicality, it couldn't match the Batmobile.

Batman walked forward, glanced at the mud beneath his boots—the soil was unusually damp, likely due to excessive groundwater near the coast.

Ahead, the psychiatric hospital came into view. It looked newly built, still relatively modern. Only a few windows glowed; most were pitch black.

As they neared, Bruce noticed something wrong. He halted Lex. "Look there—armed guards… that's not normal."

"A psychiatric hospital in the remote suburbs? Why does it have better security than banks and corporate towers downtown?" Bruce narrowed his eyes at the building. "Come on. We enter through the side gate."

Meanwhile, in the interrogation room's monitoring suite, Detective Angela heard a flurry of running footsteps. The door burst open. An officer rushed in, shouting: "T… Third! Third murder… Snow Mountain… Quick!"

Angela instantly drew her sidearm, chambered a round, and sprinted out of the police station, leaping into a patrol car. Sirens wailed, lights flashing, as it screeched to a stop before Snow Mountain's building.

A figure sat in the center of the road—again, no arms, again, the upper body secured to the chair back with wire.

Officers poured from the car, surrounding the body. Angela stepped out and rushed forward—when suddenly, everyone saw the corpse twitch.

Angela froze, both hands gripping her gun, advancing slowly. Only when she reached the steps did she realize: the man with no arms, bound to the chair, wasn't dead—he was still alive.

His mouth and neck were swollen, packed full of something. His lips were sewn shut with wire.

His face was blue-purple, suffocating. His abdomen swelled grotesquely, as if something inside were moving.

He writhed in agony, gasping "huh… huh…" Angela rushed forward to save him—until, when she was within a meter, his abdomen exploded.

Flesh and blood sprayed outward, landing precisely ten centimeters in front of her. The killer had calculated the distance perfectly—not a single drop touched the detective.

As the abdominal cavity ruptured, Angela clearly saw the bulging mass inside: countless rats.