The Death Knell

Once Holloway got into action, he was indeed the best surgeon in New York.

He, who was so excited just now that he couldn't control himself, immediately lifted the body and placed it on the dissecting table without even trembling in the hand holding the knife.

Under the pale shadowless light, he avoided the bullet holes in the chest of the corpse and made a standard Y-shaped incision. Then he reached into the chest cavity to search for traces of organs or bones.

Maybe it was a piece of shrapnel, maybe it was a scratch on the bone. He didn't know what he was looking for, but the tools for taking people's lives in this era were actually relatively simple.

Su Ming was still smoking aside. He calmly watched the flesh, flesh and fat tumbling under the silver blade.

In these years, he had only controlled his bloodlust through limited killings and music, but soon he would be able to go on a killing spree, and he felt some anticipation in his heart.

Dr. Holloway didn't notice the strange expression on Su Ming's face. He was concentrating on looking between his hands.

Phantom Bullet was shot five times in total in the chest. There were no burn marks near the wound, indicating that it was fired from a long distance.

The bullet hit area is relatively dense, and the five shots are almost spread out in an area less than the size of a fist, which shows that the killer's marksmanship is superb.

One shot hit the heart, and then all four shots hit the aorta or pulmonary artery, and Phantom Bullet fell down.

All the bullets hit the chest and passed through the back. This made the doctor relieved. At least the hero was not killed by someone he trusted.

But now it is impossible to explain the surprised expression on Phantom Bullet's face, and why he was unable to fight back. There was no smoke reaction in the corpse's hand, and he did not fire a single shot.

But fortunately, the doctor is not alone now. He has only been around for such a short time that he has never even thought that masked people can actually cooperate with others.

The appearance of Deathstroke opened a new door for him, such as a small team. Like-minded masked men can unite and learn from each other's strengths.

Of course, the less cooperation with government scavengers, the better...

Now he just needs to gather his findings, tell Deathstroke some results and data, and then see what he thinks.

After sorting and suturing the wound, he pulled over the nozzle to clean various parts of the body, and collected the aqueous solution for chemical analysis.

Also moves quickly.

Su Ming originally planned to give him half an hour, but in fact it was only a little over ten minutes before Holloway put the body back in the corpse storage cabinet.

"Is there any result?"

Su Ming took the stack of papers he handed over. Is this an occupational disease for doctors? In fact, just dictating the conclusion is enough. Why did you give me a paper report?

What do the charts and values ​​above mean? Who can understand them?

Holloway also shrugged. He followed the forensic procedures exactly, and only after finishing did he realize that he was still wearing a mask.

"The professional killer shot from the front. The modified firearm fired five shots in an instant. The bullet should be 9mm. It was very clean. There were no clues from the body." He paused, looked at the cabinet where the body was placed again, and sighed. : "The body showed signs of being moved. That was the scene where the body was dumped, but I found clues in his hair and the soles of his shoes."

Su Ming raised his chin and motioned for the two of them to return to the roof and evacuate: "Tell me, what did you find?"

"There was a piece of rust on his cloak. I tested and observed it. It contained halogen and several dead algae cells." Holloway looked serious, and the two of them walked quickly in the empty stairwell: "And the soles of his shoes. He stepped on a special compound, carbonamide."

Su Ming stubbed out the cigarette butt and put it away, then put on his mask again: "If I remember correctly, this seems to be a kind of fertilizer?"

Holloway nodded. Not many people knew about this thing, but Deathstroke was right: "Yes, cn2h4o, commonly known as urea."

"Interesting, there are many uses for chemical fertilizers, but the most famous use of nitrogen fertilizers is to make explosives. Maybe he found someone on the beach or on a boat who was planning to do something big."

They returned to the roof, Su Ming threw the hook again, and the two moved around on the roof.

"It doesn't have to be on the beach or on a boat. New York is a coastal city. These algae cells are widely distributed in various water bodies. I am not an expert in algae biology and cannot give a more detailed classification. Moreover, if there is heavy rain or strong wind, they will It can even be blown almost anywhere by the wind.”

Dr. Holloway added that if he wanted to pursue clues, he thought it would be better to see if he could find fertilizers from the same batch. They were easier to locate than algae.

Su Ming shook his head. He originally wanted to find some direct evidence from the corpse, such as a killing method or weapon with personal characteristics.

But whether it's seaweed or chemical fertilizers, these two clues are like looking for a needle in a haystack and are simply not enough to investigate, at least the current level of science and technology does not support their investigation.

"We don't follow these two clues. The other one you mentioned first is the most useful."

Su Ming had actually seen the reporter's name in comics, but it was completely different from the current one.

Past intelligence can only be used selectively. Holloway and the Torchbearer were found only after multiple confirmations, and they were the same people in the impression before further contact was made.

Now only the information that I have investigated is credible.

Dr. Holloway pondered for a moment: "You mean his true identity?"

"Yes, although I don't know him, I once led another reporter on an operation for a while. She liked to write down things and clues in her little notebook, even if she had a camera and a voice recorder."

Su Ming and the doctor returned to the car, and Gin drove away. The scenery outside the car window flew by quickly. The two began to change out of their uniforms, and they needed to keep a low profile next.

"What it is?"

Holloway looked confused. Is the camera the kind of big thing used for filming movies? Can a female reporter carry that? And what is a voice recorder? No matter how you think about it, recording and pen are incompatible things.

"Don't worry about those details." Su Ming waved his hand, indicating that he should stop thinking about it. Since the two-gun man never mentioned these things, he didn't want to explain it to the doctor: "In short, this is an occupational disease of journalists. They must all have a little notebook. , recording one’s whereabouts and tasks.”

"I didn't find it on him just now." Holloway showed an excited expression. In the past, reporters did hold notebooks when interviewing him.

"So now that you know his real name, we can find his address. Now the book is not on him. It's either in the Daily Bugle's editorial office or at his home."

Su Ming changed back into his suit and coat, arranged his hair, and resumed his rich man's demeanor. He picked up a drink and toasted to the doctor.

Holloway also raised his glass. He really needed a sip to calm down.

"It's almost impossible in a newspaper office. You have to know that office struggles are very fierce. If you write down the news you follow in a notebook and put it in an office shared by dozens of people, then the news will soon have nothing to do with you. "

The doctor reminded that there is hidden competition in any industry, let alone a time-sensitive profession like journalism.

News is money. If there is no news, you will be hungry. This struggle is much more intense.

Su Ming also nodded and praised Holloway. He was much better than those in Zhenglian. At least he could think independently, right?

He smiled and raised the cup filled with golden wine to clink with the doctor: "Yes, so now let's go back to my territory and see if this poor reporter is my client."