The mood of the service was somber, and admittedly a little off-putting. Wearing civilian clothes and glasses to avoid being identified, Bruce Wayne sat through the commemorative service of the life of Christopher Marlowe, the Heavenly Avengers' latest victim. The last time he had been in a church service was before his parents' murder, so naturally, Bruce was unaccustomed to the functioning of such a religious ceremony. All he knew was that the priest was talking for an awfully long period of time. He also knew that the bread and wine offered for communion seemed a little past their use-by dates, though that wasn't his main concern. The main objective was to locate Father Robert Harris, an elder in the church he had paid a visit to: Gotham Baptist. Through considerable detective work, Bruce had discovered Fr. Harris had been friends with Judas Moorworth before he had broken away from the priesthood and become a murderer. At any rate, it was worth a chance to find out other reasons for Moorworth's descent into madness.

The service concluded after about ninety minutes; Bruce silently pondered if this was a record for a funeral. He walked up to the pulpit to face the priest looking sympathetically down at him.

"Are you a friend of the deceased?" the genteel parishioner asked. Bruce shook his head in a vague attempt to feel some sort of emotion. "I'm here to speak with Fr. Harris," he replied.

"Oh? Are you looking to repent for any past sins and restoring your relationship with the Lord?"

"No... I have private matters to talk with him about. It's about the Marlowe murder."

The priest paused. "He is available. Just go down the hallway, and to the right." Bruce did so, and before long the man he was after sat before him. He was poring over Scriptures when he found him.

"Father..." Bruce began. The priest's head shot up at the source of the disturbance. "I've come to talk with you about a serious matter." Fr. Harris continued reading the Gospels, ignoring him.

Bruce was undeterred. "The Marlowe case... I have reason to believe that the killer was an associate of yours."

"You speak slanderous lies!" snapped Harris, turning to face him. "I would not dare to associate with... with... a heathen! What impure devil has possessed you to ask such a horrible question?"

"Father, I have the best of intentions. I'm a journalist trying to uncover the case." He had to admit that the disguise wasn't exactly subtle, but it had to do. Fortunately, Fr. Harris didn't seem to notice. "Does the name Judas Moorworth ring any bell?"

Silence hung in the air. Robert Harris drew in a laboured breath, and closed his eyes.

"He... he was an apprentice of mine. He helped collect the offering trays, he proofread my sermons for Sunday, he did some administrative duties... Then he left for another church. The last time I saw him, he seemed furious with the world. He told me he'd put things right... I have no idea what he meant..."

"Judas became involved with a cult known as the Heavenly Avengers. They're a group of religiously motivated assassins who kill those who publicly break the Ten Commandments. He adopted the alias 'Frollo'. I have a feeling he was behind the murder of Christopher Marlowe."

"He was always saying that Mosaic Law had to govern this city," Harris remarked. "I thought he was saying it in jest, but perhaps he had somewhat of an ulterior motive..."

It was at that moment that Bruce saw the red dot of a sniper's gun at the back of Harris's head. "Get down!" he shouted.

As both men ducked for cover, a deafening blast reverberated around the confines of the chapel. As the two men crawled to the rear door, bullets whizzed above their heads like firecrackers.

"Why would they be after me?" cried Harris in alarm. "I didn't do anything!"

"Someone must have known somebody was coming to investigate," Bruce replied. "The Heavenly Avengers want to cover up the murder, most likely."

Shots continued to ring out as the men leaped for safety, and into the darkness. "That was a close call..." Harris began.

BANG.

Harris's body slumped onto the cold pavement below, blood pooling quickly around his head.

"A shame," a voice murmured behind Bruce. "A holy life, lost to the mists of time." The assassin kicked Bruce onto the sidewalk. "Uncovering the truth leads to an early grave..."

To be continued...