Chapter 1 - The Slaying Begins
'Why, whatever could it mean Master Bruce?'
'It's simple Alfred,' Bruce Wayne answered still dressed in the garb of his crime-fighting alter ego in the darkness of his batcave. 'The killer wants us to help him. Many of these killers like to believe that it's not them doing the killing but something else that is beyond their control. It shifts the guilt from their shoulders onto someone else. Also this way they like to believe that they've told the police about their intentions and if they kill again then the police are to blame.'
Bruce Wayne was examining pictures of the crime scene that Gordon had given him. He had taken some samples of the grass and of the blood of the victim. In his mind he still knew it: Something was missing..
'I didn't know him personally Alfred; I'd met him a few times at Fundraisers. He was a good friend of Lucius. He was a good man. Lucius would vouch for him and you know how highly I appraise Lucius. He didn't deserve to die like that.'
'Does anyone sir?'
Bruce Wayne was silent. In his mind he went back to the night his parents died. He could smell their blood, smell the gunpowder in the air, could see the chalk outlines that remained once the Police took their bodies. That night he swore to destroy the evil that took away his parents. Years later he did. He was faced with an important decision. to continue his mission or to stop, now that he had avenged his parents. He decided that his mission had become more important than one mans revenge, for the people of Gotham he had become a symbol of darkness fighting to bring about the light.
Alfred left a tray of sandwiches and warm milk on the table near the beakers so that his busy employer may sleep, in vain.
Bruce Wayne would spend the night analysing the grass, the blood, the photographs all night long but would not find the one thing missing: Motive.
Why would anyone want to kill this benevolent old man in such a violent manner? He had no children, never married. His wealth was to go to the City and the Wayne Foundation. No one person was to benefit from this mans death. Yet someone took the trouble to kill him in so exacting a manner. He was made to stand on his knees as if in prayer. Then he was made to lean forward and his head was cut off. There were tears on the ground suggesting that he probably begged for his life and for mercy which was never given to him.
After killing him the monster, took his clothes off and using a blunt serrated knife inscribed those words on his chest. The weapon that was used to cut off the victims head was probably a large axe. It had to be very heavy to cut through the neck and bone in one swoop which would mean that the bearer of the axe had to be very strong indeed. Very tall and very strong.
'Why, whatever could it mean Master Bruce?'
'It's simple Alfred,' Bruce Wayne answered still dressed in the garb of his crime-fighting alter ego in the darkness of his batcave. 'The killer wants us to help him. Many of these killers like to believe that it's not them doing the killing but something else that is beyond their control. It shifts the guilt from their shoulders onto someone else. Also this way they like to believe that they've told the police about their intentions and if they kill again then the police are to blame.'
Bruce Wayne was examining pictures of the crime scene that Gordon had given him. He had taken some samples of the grass and of the blood of the victim. In his mind he still knew it: Something was missing..
'I didn't know him personally Alfred; I'd met him a few times at Fundraisers. He was a good friend of Lucius. He was a good man. Lucius would vouch for him and you know how highly I appraise Lucius. He didn't deserve to die like that.'
'Does anyone sir?'
Bruce Wayne was silent. In his mind he went back to the night his parents died. He could smell their blood, smell the gunpowder in the air, could see the chalk outlines that remained once the Police took their bodies. That night he swore to destroy the evil that took away his parents. Years later he did. He was faced with an important decision. to continue his mission or to stop, now that he had avenged his parents. He decided that his mission had become more important than one mans revenge, for the people of Gotham he had become a symbol of darkness fighting to bring about the light.
Alfred left a tray of sandwiches and warm milk on the table near the beakers so that his busy employer may sleep, in vain.
Bruce Wayne would spend the night analysing the grass, the blood, the photographs all night long but would not find the one thing missing: Motive.
Why would anyone want to kill this benevolent old man in such a violent manner? He had no children, never married. His wealth was to go to the City and the Wayne Foundation. No one person was to benefit from this mans death. Yet someone took the trouble to kill him in so exacting a manner. He was made to stand on his knees as if in prayer. Then he was made to lean forward and his head was cut off. There were tears on the ground suggesting that he probably begged for his life and for mercy which was never given to him.
After killing him the monster, took his clothes off and using a blunt serrated knife inscribed those words on his chest. The weapon that was used to cut off the victims head was probably a large axe. It had to be very heavy to cut through the neck and bone in one swoop which would mean that the bearer of the axe had to be very strong indeed. Very tall and very strong.