I Become Deathstroke

Chapter 781: Chapter 739: Murder Suspect

"Name."

In the dark interrogation room, only a beam of strong light shone on Su Ming’s face. He held his head low, unable to discern which figure in the shadows was questioning him. freeweɓnøvel.com

But he knew he was now tightly handcuffed to the chair, and there were definitely armed police guarding the door, all loaded and ready.

"Slade."

A murmur emerged in the darkness, too faint to be understood, quickly followed by a clear question.

"Age."

Su Ming turned his head to avoid the light, but someone controlled it, keeping the beam firmly on his face.

"25."

"Where were you born?" The voice, filled with disgust, as if speaking to a pile of excrement, persisted.

Su Ming recalled his childhood memories, many had faded, but at least he knew where his home was.

"Gotham."

"Tsk tsk tsk, so it is Gotham, that dump breeds nothing but trash, polluting our city."

Unclear what actions the figure in the dark took, after lamenting Gothamites as garbage, all the lights in the interrogation room suddenly switched on.

One meter away from Su Ming, two police officers stood like fat pigs, one had just turned off the spotlight.

Their badges were pinned to the pockets of their suit coats, squeezed to distortion by their massive ’chest muscles,’ the chairs emitted metallic fatigue noises as they leaned forward.

Nonetheless, the officers didn’t mind, placing heavy hands on the table with a ’bang.’

"Confess, how did you kill the editor’s family last night?"

A different voice from before asked, grooming his suit and smugly stroking his small mustache.

"I didn’t kill anyone, I haven’t even killed a chicken."

"Bang!" Another officer slammed the table, sending a paper cup of coffee flying to the ceiling: "Stop pretending! We have enough evidence to prove you’re the killer!"

"Yes, it’s the way you’re looking at us now!" said the other officer as well, pointing two thick sausage-like fingers at Su Ming’s eyes: "It’s the gaze of a twisted killer. What? Planning to kill us too?!"

"...."

Su Ming looked baffled, cuffed with a black sack over his head as soon as he stepped outside, escorted here, unaware of what had transpired.

Just merely exploring them with his eyes, how did it turn into the gaze of a killer?

The interrogation room fell silent, the officers casting looks as if perceiving something filthy.

"It’s fine if you don’t confess, we have your file." One officer said, loosening his tie and shifting his position: "Let me see, destitute, graduated from an art school, paparazzi... Bang!!! Isn’t this the profile of a twisted killer!"

His mouse pad-sized hand slammed the file onto the table, fixing Su Ming with a penetrating gaze full of resolve and righteousness, standing tall and looking down at Su Ming with contempt.

"I’m not involved in any murder cases you’re talking about!" Su Ming tried moving his hands but was securely fastened by two pairs of handcuffs.

"Still denying, huh? Hmph!" The other fat officer took the file, dragging the table to Su Ming’s side, sitting on it himself, wetting his thumb with saliva, pulling some photos: "Take a good look, familiar?"

Hearing his words, Su Ming naturally looked down, but what he saw in the photos nearly made him retch.

The person in the photo was certainly familiar, but shouldn’t be like this.

It was a grotesquely bloody corpse, not only disemboweled but also strangled by its own intestines, its silk pajamas had turned blood red, and the photos seemed to still bleed.

It was clear the corpse was hung from the iron railing of a rooftop, the editor was an old Black man, now resembling a gingerbread man you’d hang on a Christmas tree.

Each photo showed different angles, yet in all of them, the editor’s face bore an expression of sheer terror, surely witnessing immense horror before death.

"Ugh...." Su Ming bent over, dry heaving onto the floor.

After the initial shock passed, all Su Ming felt was nausea, wondering what kind of person would employ such a cruel method to kill.

"Still pretending?"

The fat officer shook his head, chuckling coldly, like laying down a straight flush on the poker table, splaying out a thick stack of photos before Su Ming.

Then he grabbed Su Ming’s head, forcing his face close to those photos.

"Yes, open your eyes and look, isn’t this your masterpiece? An entire family of seven, how long did it take you to kill them? Five minutes? Ten minutes?"

"No, I don’t want to see! I did not kill anyone!" Su Ming struggled, but he didn’t have more strength than the officer, his cheek pressed onto the table, eyes facing the photos.

Undoubtedly, all the photos’ backgrounds were red.

"Denying doesn’t help, tell us, do you enjoy killing people? Did you do something disgusting to the corpse?"

"What?! No, I did not!"

Another fat police officer stood up, snapping his fingers twice at the large mirror on the interrogation room’s side, but maybe because of the excess flesh on his palm, it made no sound. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Outside the door, there were certainly people familiar with him. Following this action, the small red light on the surveillance camera in the corner of the interrogation room went out.

Fatty walked over, grabbed Su Ming’s hair, and punched him in the face. Immediately, there was another punch to his chest.

"Cough... cough..."

The punches were too heavy. Not only did he see stars, but he couldn’t catch his breath, and his vision went black for a moment.

The fat police officer seemed to be getting into his stride, treating Su Ming like a punching bag with a series of combo punches, cursing as he hit.

"I love beating freaks like you, especially ones like you—it’s freaks who can’t afford a lawyer! You son of a bitch!"

Su Ming’s mouth was filled with the taste of blood, he could hardly hear anything, and could only passively take the beating.

"Hey... that’s enough, don’t kill him." Another police officer started playing the good cop. This is an interrogation tactic.

The boxer cop rolled his neck, his fat face showing a smug smile, adjusting his sleeves while panting heavily: "No problem, the lawyers, prosecutor’s office, court—all those are righteous people. Killing a freak like this is just doing society a favor."

The other cop quickly went over to stop him, pretending to push and shove, while turning his head to Su Ming and saying, "You’d better speak up, and you won’t have to take the beating."

"I... I didn’t kill anyone..." Su Ming lowered his head, spitting out blood.

The two listening cops immediately began to argue again, one seemed ready to rush over, while the other desperately held him back, twisting into a mess.

"Enough, leave now." Just when the farce was becoming uncontrollable, the interrogation room door opened.

A slim figure in a suit walked in, her hair styled atop her head, with black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, face expressionless, clearly a very serious type.

The woman didn’t appear to be very old, as her face didn’t even have a wrinkle.

"Inspector."

The two fat police officers hung their heads in disappointment. They had clues but lacked key evidence, and the suspect refused to confess, making them lose face.

Before arrest and interrogation, they had examined the file; Su Ming’s past was simple. They had thought they could easily break his defenses, but now found themselves stuck after trying various methods.

They couldn’t resort to torture—some light beating might be okay, but any more would bring the Ministry of Internal Affairs to the door.

"It’s not your business anymore, I’m taking over." The female police officer pushed her glasses up.

She was the inspector. The two fatties were just agents.

The fatties left, closing the door. The female cop took out a handkerchief, squatting down to wipe Su Ming’s face, and once she confirmed there were no visible marks, she returned behind the table, pulled up a chair and sat down.

At this moment, the room’s recording camera resumed operation.

"Mr. Wilson, how well do you recall?" Her voice was icy cold, convinced he was a perverse killer.

"I didn’t kill anyone." Su Ming had recovered a bit, spitting to one side.

"But the bodies are right there: not only Feisher, the editor who was kind to you, but also his bedridden wife, his son, daughter-in-law, and three grandchildren. You killed them all."

The female officer picked up the stack of photos, placing them one by one before Su Ming.

It must be said, these people died horrifically. Even without considering the bloodstains and flesh, just looking at their expressions, one could see they endured terrifying torment and endless fear.

"It wasn’t me."

The female police officer’s face twitched, her pretty face twisting slightly, as she snorted from her nose, seemingly suppressing inner anger, sitting heavily atop the table, leaning over him.

"Let me reintroduce myself. I am Kara Danvers, the inspector of the homicide division at the Metropolitan Central Police Station. Don’t think just because I’m a woman, you can easily deceive me. In my career, over a hundred criminals have been brought to justice by me; you are no match for me."

"But I really didn’t kill anyone." Su Ming didn’t know what else to say. All he could do was repeatedly emphasize he wasn’t the murderer. He had no grudge against the editor, so why kill his entire family?

"Alright." Kara pulled back, began taking out other reports from the folder: "According to witnesses, yesterday during the day, you and the editor had a conflict, and you threatened to kill his family. Is that true?"

"This... yes, but it wasn’t a conflict, just a joke."

Su Ming indeed said such things yesterday. At the time, the editor had told him: "If you can’t find news with value soon, get out of the editorial department and go sell your ass while you’re young."

He was used to the editor’s foul mouth, so he casually retorted: "Then aren’t you my regular client?"

The editor laughed and drove him out of the office: "If you keep talking nonsense, if my wife hears, I’ll have to kill your entire family to silence you!"

Su Ming left laughing: "Don’t, then I’d have to strike first, kill your whole family, because it’d be a pity if my girlfriend got hurt, being so beautiful."

The editor closed his office door: "Quickly go find some news!"

That conversation was heard by quite a few colleagues, but everyone was used to it. The editorial department doesn’t only have Su Ming joking with the editor like this; on the contrary, everyone’s work pressure is so high that swearing is a daily relief.

Someone even said they’d dig up the editor’s old mother’s skeleton from the ground and make coffee mate from the powder. But how could that be taken seriously?

If he really was the murderer, what kind of killer would forewarn their crime face-to-face? That would just be asking to be caught.