Mary Jane Watson was officially on the reporter track for her Daily Bugle internship, but she knew her current assignment was glorified busywork. Ned Leeds had already combed through these files once; having her cross-reference the data was just a way to keep her occupied.
But Mary Jane didn't skim. She read through every single page of the information Ned had compiled.
"Here is the victim profile," Mary Jane said, sliding a manila folder across the wobbly cafe table. "A family of three. Parents and a child. The kid was only eight years old."
Peter looked down at the glossy crime scene photograph and scanned Mary Jane's notes. They were an ordinary family of Irish descent. Nothing about their employment records or their neighborhood pointed to organized crime, corporate espionage, or any underground syndicates. It was a complete dead end for standard police profiling.
Peter dragged a finger along the edge of his coffee mug. "The restaurant windows didn't shatter outward," he noted, pointing at the blast radius. "We can definitively conclude the explosive was detonated inside the dining room."
"And that restaurant doesn't take reservations," Mary Jane added thoughtfully, leaning her chin on her hand. "In other words, the killer couldn't have known where they were sitting beforehand. They couldn't have pre-planted the bomb and walked away. The killer had to be at the scene when it went off."
"Exactly. It's a very simple deduction," Peter said, keeping his voice low. "And the NYPD definitely knows it. There are ATM security cameras directly across the street from that restaurant. The police could roughly identify the suspect just by pulling the surveillance footage and seeing who slipped out the front door right before the flash."
Peter took a sip of his coffee. New Yorkers were notoriously paranoid about the surveillance state. Ordinary citizens hated the idea of sacrificing their privacy for government security. Nobody actually believed street cameras were installed strictly for crime prevention; they assumed it was the White House or the military quietly spying on their daily lives.
Ironically, the public trusted independent, brightly colored superheroes far more than the government. Superheroes didn't have official backing; they were clean, and they didn't unnecessarily intrude on ordinary lives.
"The police could easily narrow down the search," Peter continued. "They just need to check the tapes to see who walked out."
Mary Jane's shoulders slumped, her expression turning incredibly disheartened. "How can the police just do nothing? Three people died there. The owner said their bodies were charred beyond recognition, and the cops are just letting the case turn cold?"
"Actually, that is incredibly useful intelligence," Peter said.
Mary Jane blinked, sitting up straighter.
"If the perpetrator was just a capricious, chaotic madman, the police brass certainly wouldn't be willing to stick their necks out to protect him," Peter explained, tapping the file. "And if he just wanted to kill random people for fun, there would be no need to use a highly experimental, completely silent bomb that no one has ever seen before. This means the killer had a specific purpose. He deliberately targeted this family. This new bomb was just the cleanest way to eliminate them."
Internally, Peter's mind was racing. If the killer was the Hobgoblin, the motive was obvious: he was tying up loose ends. The victims knew something, or saw something, that could expose the Goblin's true civilian identity. The Hobgoblin was incredibly cunning. He was using Ned Leeds' investigation as a shield and utilizing the silent bombs to completely erase his tracks.
Furthermore, this proved the Hobgoblin didn't have massive underworld ties. A mob boss wouldn't bother with a silent bomb in a diner; they would just hire gangsters to handle the problem. The Goblin was operating from the legitimate, corporate world. He had enough systemic power to quietly threaten the NYPD into burying a double homicide, but he lacked the street-level muscle of someone like the Kingpin.
Mary Jane's blue eyes lit up as she followed the logic. "Could the victims be connected to any celebrities, government officials, or corporate executives?"
Peter nodded quickly. "Exactly. Once you finish organizing that angle, hand the information back to the reporter in charge. He'll definitely publish it."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Mary Jane countered, shaking her head. "Mr. Leeds might not be as fast at deductions as you, but he's a veteran reporter with deep connections inside the police force. He already recruited several officers to ask why the Avengers hadn't been called in, and the brass told them all to drop it."
She crossed her arms, her jaw setting stubbornly. "He can easily deduce what we just did: the killer is a powerful person without underworld connections, who knew the victims, and was inside the restaurant that day. But he chose not to continue the investigation. Why? He must know something. He gave me the file so he could officially wash his hands of it. But I'm not going to let him bury this. I'll give the materials to Urich, or straight to Jameson. They aren't afraid to print it."
Peter's stomach dropped. She's right, but she's completely misreading the board.
If Mary Jane bypassed Ned and went to J. Jonah Jameson, they would just be publishing speculation. It would only alert the enemy.
But worse. The real mastermind was brainwashing Ned Leeds. If Ned was re-assigned, and the real killer felt the Daily Bugle closing in, the Goblin would instantly trigger his contingency plan. He would frame Ned for the murders. The narrative would write itself: a veteran journalist committing the bombings and then actively suppressing the investigation to cover his own tracks.
"You don't have hard evidence that Mr. Leeds is intentionally burying the story, MJ," Peter said carefully. "Maybe he really did try to investigate, but just hit a bureaucratic wall he couldn't break through."
"Absolutely impossible," Mary Jane said firmly. She reached into her pocket and placed two jagged pieces of orange plastic on the table. "I swept these out from under a booth at the crime scene. There were only a few pieces left. Mr. Leeds crossed the police line and took the rest of the fragments back with him. He had a reason for taking them."
Peter stared at the plastic. The outer shell of the pumpkin bomb. It was an exact match to the ordnance he had seen stacked in Ned's closet.
The trap was already sprung. The Goblin had handed Ned the physical evidence to ensure his guilt.
"Just... be careful, Mary Jane," Peter said, keeping his face perfectly neutral. "Don't make any hasty judgments yet."
Peter looked out the cafe window, his jaw tightening. He couldn't wait anymore.
Sorry, Ned, Peter thought grimly. You're probably going to jail tonight. It was the only way to keep him alive.