Chapter 52: A World Where Only the Romans Get Hurt

A .22 Caliber pistol with its serial number filed off, eleven glittering metal cartridge cases, a shattered baby pacifier, and a cornucopia of bright red and blue on the table.

The roast turkey on the dining table remained uncut, the gourmet dishes were overturned and spilled, and the high-end red wine splashed on the floor blended with the viscous blood, making it look even more vivid.

And finally, surrounding the table, lay five cold corpses dressed in tailored suits.

The same *modus operandi*, the same signature, the same murder weapon, resulting in the same death. Looking at the five men with blown-out brains in the newspaper, Gordon fell into a long, deep contemplation.

......

"Ring—ring—ring—"

The telephone's ringing woke Harvey Dent, who had been dozing by the window. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, walked with weary steps softly out of the room, and picked up the phone.

"Harvey? Where are you?"

"Gordon? I'm at the hospital. Gilda just woke up this morning."

"You stayed there all night? Sigh, anyway, thank God. At least there's finally some good news this morning."

Noticing that Police Commissioner Gordon's voice sounded somewhat unusual, Harvey asked directly, "Did something happen?"

"Five members of the Irish mob went to the private dining room of the Astoria Tower Hotel last night to feast and drink, and then got their heads blown off by the 'Holiday Killer'."

"The Holiday Killer..." Harvey's gaze abruptly froze as he caught sight of Gilda's smooth neck across the room.

There was no cross necklace there.

"Those five men had the money to splurge at the Astoria Tower Hotel, which means they made a tidy sum—earned off of me."

"...... That's right."

"So that's why you asked me where I was last night."

"Harvey, I just wanted to rule out the possibility of it being you."

"Gordon, we're old friends. I won't hold a grudge against you over something like this, but to be honest, I can't help wanting to cheer for the guy who pulled this off—"

"Harvey Dent." Gordon cut him off. "You are the District Attorney of Gotham City. You represent the law and justice."

Powerless justice...

Harvey couldn't help thinking, but immediately shook his head hard, casting the thought to the back of his mind.

I am the District Attorney of Gotham City, and I must represent the law and justice.

"Gordon, all I can tell you is that I stayed by Gilda's side all night. She didn't wake up once, and I slept by the hospital bed all night too."

"I'm sorry, Harvey. Get some rest. If you need, I can take a day off and watch Gilda for you so you can find somewhere to sleep."

"No need, Gordon. Attend to your own matters." Harvey rejected Gordon's offer. "I still have things to investigate."

He hung up the phone, confirmed that Gilda was not waking up anytime soon, and then pulled back the curtain to look at the neighboring beds.

There had originally been another patient and a family member here last night, but his bed had already been cleared out. Clearly, he had been discharged either last night or this morning.

Could it be this patient?

After a brief moment of thought, he turned around to find a nurse.

"Hello, I am Harvey Dent, the District Attorney of Gotham City. I'd like the hospital administration to pull up the surveillance footage of my wife's hospital room... Yes, this may be related to an important case......"

......

Ma Zhaodi's life had been going pretty well lately.

His living expenses had decreased thanks to the Cornucopia; he now only needed to buy a little meat for cooking, or even eat a purely vegetarian diet—the ingredients produced within the Cornucopia were of exceptionally high quality, and even when eaten raw, they tasted far better than many improperly cooked hot meals.

Nowadays, he walked around carrying a fruit in his hand every day, crunching into it heartily because it genuinely tasted delicious.

The phrase "improperly cooked" was now entirely foreign to him. Having completed the "blocking is worse than dredging" task, Master Culinary Arts had become the only advanced skill he currently possessed. Combined with the Cornucopia, even if every single meal turned out to be a purely vegetarian feast, there was simply no possibility of ever getting tired of it.

"With this level of cooking skill, maybe I could apply directly to become the head chef for the Falcone family? Wouldn't my salary skyrocket?"

At the thought of his bright future, he couldn't help humming softly while gnawing on a fruit.

"Oh wait, suddenly remembering, there's still one thing I haven't settled yet."

......

The second he saw the surveillance monitor turn into static snow, Harvey's fists tightened noticeably.

Although it only lasted for a little over ten seconds, he could be certain that only during this brief window of time was it possible for someone to enter his room and take the necklace from Gilda's neck, because whenever anyone else entered the room and approached the hospital bed, he had been wide awake.

Only these dozen or so seconds were missing, and the patient and family member in the neighboring bed had been fast asleep according to the footage; they hadn't seen who did it at all.

This person also possessed a certain level of hacking skills, Harvey thought silently, as they had precisely blocked out the dozen seconds he appeared on camera. They also knew that the hospital hallway's surveillance didn't cover the doorway area of his room.

"Ring—ring—ring—"

The telephone rang once more. The caller ID displayed no name. Harvey raised an eyebrow, his guard instantly spiking.

"Prosecutor Harvey, congratulations on surviving."

"What on earth do you want?"

"Splitting the spoils, Mr. Harvey. It's time to split the loot now. Falcone's bounty is quite substantial; rather than letting it go to the Irish mob, we might as well use it to cover your damages. What do you think?"

"You stole their bounty?"

"That's right, and I've already used a portion of it to anonymously pay for the repairs to your house. However, as you can see, Falcone really, really wants you dead, so there's still a massive chunk of the bounty left over."

"You can do whatever you want with it. Frankly, even if you went through the proper legal procedures to confiscate it, it would still look less than legitimate. But if you take my suggestion—since it's blood money meant for your head anyway, it's entirely reasonable for you to take it. US dollars from someone like Falcone would only turn into criminal funds if left with him, right?"

"A very persuasive argument." Harvey remained noncommittal.

"Anyway, I spent nine thousand dollars, so I took nine thousand dollars. The rest is buried in your basement. What you do with it is entirely up to you."

"And one more thing, I didn't kill those guys from the Irish mob."

"If we're lucky, farewell, Prosecutor Harvey."

"Beep—beep—beep—"

Harvey Dent put down the phone, his mind tangled with complex thoughts.

This guy harbored no malice toward him, showed no greed for the money, and seemed to have no reason to lie, because he could easily have just chosen not to contact him at all.

Then, if it wasn't him, who on earth killed the five members of the Irish mob? Who truly was the Holiday Killer?

And furthermore, how on earth should he deal with that bounty hidden in his basement?

Morning light streamed through the window into the room, bathing the hospital bed in warmth. Gilda's eyelids twitched slightly, and then she slowly opened her eyes, seeing Harvey standing beside the bed with furrowed brows.

At that moment, she reached out to take his hand, and his furrowed brows gently unknotted.