Gordon suppressed the urge to vent his frustration, doing his best to maintain the serious demeanor expected of a Police officer.
After a moment of thought, Gordon continued, "Miss Brucey, since you remember the details of the robber's clothing so clearly, you must also have an impression of his appearance, right?"
Brucey could even remember the color of the robber's socks, so she could definitely provide many clues about his appearance.
Brucey pondered for a moment, then looked at Alfred, who was not far away.
To Gordon's horror, Alfred had, at some unknown point, prepared a drawing board and pencils.
Sensing Brucey's gaze, Alfred quickly stepped forward and handed the prepared drawing board and pencils to Brucey.
Brucey took the tools, and the pencil tip danced rapidly across the drawing board, making a "shua shua" sound.
In a short while, the image of a ferocious robber appeared vividly on the paper.
Beneath thick eyebrows, a pair of triangular eyes gleamed with malice, he wore a hood, and in his hand was a handgun with right-side ejection.
He not only looked fierce but also possessed an aura of embracing death.
Thinking of this, Gordon couldn't help but be startled; he hadn't expected himself to feel that a suspect had a 'death-embracing' quality.
Oh, right, robbing in Gotham meant either you shot someone dead, or someone shot you dead.
When Gordon reached out to take the drawing board, looking at the clear portrait before him, his heart was filled with mixed emotions.
It should have been a very tricky case, but he didn't know why, after only just arriving at the witness's home to gather information, it felt as if all the evidence was almost complete?
Gordon held the robber's portrait and glanced at his notes detailing the robber's clothing, confirming that he had recorded almost everything he wanted to know, then stood up to bid everyone farewell.
"Well, Wayne Family, we have gathered the information we sought, so we won't disturb your rest any further."
Just as Gordon and Brock stood up, preparing to leave, Gwen suddenly called out to them, "Officer James, Officer Harvey, please wait a moment."
Then he turned to Brucey, "Brucey, did the robber steal our parents' necklace and wallet?"
Gordon paused, stopping in his tracks, while Brucey answered without hesitation, "That's right, after he took the wallet and necklace, he ignored me and fled in a panic."
"Ah, this makes things easier." Then, under the puzzled gazes of Gordon and Brock, Gwen pulled out a device similar to a PSP from his pocket and handed it to Gordon, "Those two items are actually high-tech products currently being developed by Wayne Group, with built-in GPS functionality. This is the accompanying tracking device. As long as they are still active, you can find their exact location through it."
Gordon took the device and exchanged a look with Brock, their eyes filled with astonishment.
In a short time, a clear portrait of the criminal, detailed witness descriptions, plus this device that could directly locate the evidence—all the human, physical, and circumstantial evidence seemed to be complete.
One must know that even outside of Gotham, the Police in America had never fought such a well-resourced battle.
After bidding farewell again, the two Police officers walked out of Wayne Manor, seen off by the three.
As the grand gates slowly closed behind them, the two finally snapped out of their dazed state.
Brock's gaze fell on the portrait, notes, and the tracking device in Gordon's arms, and he pursed his lips, "Jim, you've collected these three clues… should we go directly to apprehend the suspect, or should we go to the gang's hideout with me this afternoon?"
Gordon stroked his chin, which was starting to sprout stubble, and said in an uncertain tone, "How about… we still go?"
"Alright then."
...Afternoon.
Thick, inky black clouds layered heavily over the city, as if a slight push could crush it.
At the back door of a bar in the city center, Gordon, in his suit, pushed open the door and rushed in.
But as he tried to walk further into the bar, he found three burly men in sharp suits, like cold-faced killers emerging from the darkness, instantly blocking his path completely.
The leader of the burly men had slicked-back, shiny hair, a corner of a tattoo subtly visible on his neck, and muscles bulging under his suit, stretching the expensive fabric taut and outlining his robust physique.
His gaze was cold, and he scrutinized Gordon from head to toe with an unfriendly expression.
Brock, who had deliberately lagged a step behind, saw this from a distance and knew he couldn't wait any longer.
He rushed forward frantically, running in front of everyone and standing between the burly man and Gordon.
Brock's face instantly broke into a wide smile, his eyes narrowing into slits, "Brothers, a misunderstanding, it's all a misunderstanding! This is my stubborn partner, young and impetuous, without much discretion in his actions. I hope you'll be lenient."
As he spoke, his hand swiftly reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a small stack of banknotes, and skillfully slipped them into the hand of the leading burly man, out of sight of the other strong men.
The burly man lowered his head to glance at the money, the flesh on his face quivering slightly, and he nodded gently.
Brock watched as the other man quickly tucked the money into his pocket, then immediately continued, "Brother, I'd like to see Mr. Alberto. Please inform him that Harvey from the Police Department is here to visit."
The burly man said nothing, merely turned and whispered a few instructions to his subordinates, then strode into the tavern.
A few minutes later, the burly man walked out of the tavern with a blank expression, "Mr. Alberto agrees to see you. Follow me."
Brock's face was wreathed in smiles as he repeatedly thanked him, then reached out and gently patted Gordon's shoulder, signaling him to follow.
The two followed the burly man and slowly entered the tavern.
Before long, the three arrived in the main hall of the bar.
Clearly, daytime was not the bar's normal operating hours.
The vast hall was empty, with only one person enjoying a drink there.
Beside an ornate round table in the center of the main hall sat a slender Italian-American man.
The man wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, a dramatically shaped diamond brooch pinned to his shirt collar, and his dark hair was neatly combed back.
Seeing Gordon and Brock enter, his lips curved into a deliberate smile, and he greeted them in a feigned elegant tone, "Welcome, gentlemen."
But when Gordon saw the other's behavior, he subtly raised an eyebrow.
Although the other person presented himself with an air of elegance and composure, Gordon could tell that his every gesture seemed to be deliberately imitating someone else.
However, despite the man's efforts to imitate, he consistently lacked that awe-inspiring presence, and his every move resembled a clumsy imitation, exuding an air of comical awkwardness.