Adam was in agony. When he'd chatted with Jason earlier, he had mentioned Gordon's daughter Barbara, but all he said was that she was talented and likely to become a high-IQ genius one day.
How could Jason twist it into that?
Now that Gordon had him by the neck, there was no room for lengthy explanations. Desperate, Adam choked out:
"Easy there... Jim! I swear, I've never had any funny ideas about your daughter! Really!"
"And besides… shouldn't we focus on the investigation now? Could you maybe, um, lower the gun first?"
He said this because he'd just realized something hard and cylindrical was pressing into his lower body. Judging by the shape and position, it had to be Gordon's gun. Understandable... when a father hears someone might be interested in his daughter, instinct kicks in: draw the gun and blow the bastard's kneecaps off.
Fortunately, Gordon seemed to realize his priorities. With a cold snort, he released Adam and strode into the campus. Still shaken, Adam yanked Jason over and said angrily, "What the hell were you talking about, you little gremlin?! You nearly got me killed! When did I ever say Barbara was pretty?!"
Jason, entirely unfazed, shot back matter-of-factly, "Hmph! You were the one who compared me to Holmes' Baker Street Irregulars. I had to fire back somehow! And besides… you just said Barbara wasn't pretty? I'll be sure to pass that along to Chief Gordon next time…"
Adam's face turned pale. He cut Jason off immediately, switching topics cheerily, "Okay, okay! Nothing wrong with being compared to the Baker Street gang! They're iconic literary figures—legends, really. Nothing to be offended about, right?"
Jason extended his hand seriously and replied, "Holmes paid them every time they helped. When have you ever paid me for my work? Don't say we're the same unless you're willing to back it up."
Adam blinked, then sighed. He pulled out his wallet and shoved a few bills into Jason's hand. The kid was clever and had promise. There was no point souring their relationship over pocket change. Still, he couldn't help grumbling, "Unbelievable… this whole thing was about money?! You lied and slandered me for cash? Where did you learn to be so shameless?!"
Jason pocketed the bills and gave Adam a look that clearly said: You taught me well.
Meanwhile, Inside Gotham University…
While Adam's farce played out at the gate, inside the university, a tall, thin man was pacing nervously in his lab. His eyes darted toward the window where police cars had gathered—red and blue lights flashing ominously in the rain. Dozens of officers had entered the campus.
The man, Professor Jonathan Crane, loosened the tie at his neck. His gold-rimmed glasses had fogged over with sweat, and droplets trickled steadily from his temples. The calm, academic demeanor he typically wore had completely unraveled.
He took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his face slowly returned to composure. Delicately, he wiped his glasses with a cloth, as if doing so could erase the chaos outside.
Just then, a knock echoed at the door. It wasn't loud, but it jolted him.
He paused, fixed his expression once more, then calmly opened the door.
A group of officers stood on the other side.
"Good afternoon, Professor Jonathan Crane," one of them said. "We need to search the premises."
"This is a private lab, officer," Professor Crane replied coolly, with the barest hint of contempt. "There are delicate instruments in here. Any mishandling could cause irreparable damage. I'm afraid I can't let you—"
He stopped mid-sentence as Adam appeared behind the officers, flashing a document.
"So sorry, Professor Crane," Adam said with a disarmingly polite smile. "This is a Gotham City Special Search Warrant. We're authorized to inspect all private locations. Officer Pete, go ahead."
Without hesitation, the officers poured into the lab, flipping equipment covers and checking cabinets. One of them even shoved past Klein, nearly knocking him off balance.
Klein bristled with restrained fury.
"Officer," he said, voice rising. "This is Gotham's premier academic institution, not a playground for bullies with badges. If you find nothing, I will be filing a formal complaint. I've built my reputation here over decades. I won't let it be smeared so easily."
Adam only shrugged, unimpressed.
After some time, the officers regrouped and reported, "Detective, we didn't find anything unusual."
Crane seized the moment. He stormed toward Adam angrily and shouted, "You see?! There's nothing here! Yet you burst into my lab, humiliated me in front of my peers, and branded me a suspect!"
"This is defamation, Detective Adam! You owe me a public apology or you'll be hearing from my lawyers all the way in Washington!"
Adam didn't flinch. He merely smiled and snapped his fingers.
Jason ran in, carrying a cardboard box.
"Nicely performed, Professor," Adam said. "But if you're innocent, then why did you throw these away in a trash bin two buildings away?"
He opened the box.
Inside was a ragged linen outfit and a crude, stitched burlap mask—an unmistakable scarecrow costume.
"Funny, isn't it? Your lab's in Building 2, Section F… but you dumped these in a garbage can behind Building 6. Trying to hide them from us, maybe?"
The gathered officers leaned in for a closer look. The scarecrow mask was horrific, like something out of a low-budget horror film.
Crane's face tightened, but he didn't flinch.
"This is ridiculous," he said coldly. "You planted those. I've never seen them before. You're fabricating evidence, and I'll sue you for defamation."
He knew the risk he'd taken. He had ditched the mask hastily during the chaos. He wore gloves, made sure not to leave fingerprints or DNA, and dumped the evidence outside any known camera ranges. With no hard proof, he could claim innocence and rely on his academic prestige to portray himself as a wrongfully accused man.
Adam nodded thoughtfully—then put on a pair of rubber gloves and lifted the scarecrow mask.
"That's fair," he said casually. "So just one question, Professor Crane…"
He held the mask closer, raising an eyebrow.
"Why does the polymer filter inside this mask contain your saliva?"
—
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