This is set a few years in the future, when Dick Grayson is a Lieutenant in the Bludhaven police force Chapter One

Dick Grayson was slumped on the floor. He looked about him again. He tried to huddle up for warmth. Damn it was cold here. Why was it always so cold here? He reached a hand up to his head. His head had healed up but blood still coated the side of his face. He could hear doors slamming in the rooms around him. Roll call.

He got to his feet and winced. The bruises from the beating he had gotten on the first day were still there and he could still feel them.

Now he was just Grayson, R 543543.

Bruce Wayne had visited him on the first day inside. He had assured him he would get the best lawyers. That didn't protect him here. Since he was a "special case" they had given him his own cell. Police officers, even ex police officers were not exactly treated nicely here.

On the first day he had met several villains he had personally arrested and several more he had captured as Nightwing. Fortunately he was not recognised as Nightwing but he was recognised as a police officer. About a dozen of them had jumped him in the exercise yard. He gave several of them a few punches to remember him by but in the end he just got overwhelmed. The prison guards just stood by and chuckled until he had been beaten unconscious.

He remembered Bruce Wayne's face again. He had his normal chirpy millionaire playboy look about him but something in Bruce Wayne's eyes betrayed his feelings. He thought Dick Grayson was guilty. It wouldn't stop him trying to help him but… The feeling carried on. If his oldest friends thought he was guilty what chance did he have in a court of law? Was he guilty? His memory of the incident was kind of hazy now. Had he hit him too hard? If anyone deserved it, he did. Has something he had done killed him? He shuddered. He always played rough; he had always been trained to. But what if something he had done had killed someone? The door in front of him slammed open and the guard was there.

"Come on, Grayson. Exercise. Get your ass out of there."

Dick Grayson shuddered and then walked out of the cell.

It had been a standard homicide he had been investigating in Bludhaven. Dick Grayson had received his call and he had gone to the site. It was a small park dedicated to the veterans of Bludhaven. Those soldiers who had lost their lives in the World Wars. Another life had been snuffed out in the park. The area had already been cordoned off as a crime scene and an intense search was being done in the area. The woman was dead. There was no doubt about that. She had been stabbed in the back several times. They hadn't found the murder weapon yet but they were still searching.

Dick Grayson walked up to the body. One of the first things Bruce Wayne had taught him, as a detective was it is not what is there at the scene but often what isn't there. It can tell you a lot about the murder. Her phone was there. It was a new Nokia clam shell phone. They were selling for more than $400. Her handbag was there as well. She was still wearing her clothes. Not sexually motivated then. The contents of her handbag were strewn about the sidewalk including money. Not financially motivated then. He looked at her fingers. She was tanned, obviously been on holiday recently, and there was a white patch on her finger. Someone had taken her ring, or she had taken her ring off recently. House keys. Where were her house keys? He looked about the sidewalk. No sign of anything. Why take the ring and leave the phone?

"Hey Bill," Dick called to scenes of crime officer. "You find any keys on the victim?"

"Nope. What you see is what you get el tee."

"What about a ring?"

"Nope."

"You got an ID on the victim?"

"Names Susan Sarandon. PA at the Bludhaven City Bank."

"Next of kin been informed?"

"Hey we're just grunts, that's your job, sir."

Grayson chuckled, although he didn't feel less like laughing. "Let me know what forensics come up with." He walked up to his car. The wind was blowing the remains of a paper past him. He grimaced. The front cover was showing a silhouette of a Bat like creature swooping through the heavens in Gotham City. Bruce would not be pleased with that. If a journalist was sniffing round him looking for pictures or a story he might get a visit from Batman at some unsociable hour.

He got in the car and switched on his police radio. "This is Lieutenant Grayson. Get me the address for Susan Sarandon. Also get me details of her next of kin."

Grayson drove carefully through the streets towards the address given. It was a poor part of downtown Bludhaven. Obviously being a PA at a bank doesn't give you the keys to some of the plushest apartments. He parked up outside, got out and walked towards the building. The area stank of rubbish. The garbage men had been on strike for more pay for the past two weeks and the fetid stink of humanity was starting to encroach everywhere. Rats that had been feeding in the some of the bin bags on the street scuttled away at his approach. Nice area.

He looked at the information he had scrawled down. "Apartment 32" He walked up the stairs to the third floor, the lift was broken. The way it smelt he fancied a walk anyway. He didn't know why he went to her apartment first rather than her next of kin. Something about the whole murder just didn't ring true. He heard an argument going on in Apartment 29. Apartment 30 an old lady had her door open on the latch and she was holding a mop handle. Dick gave her a half smile as he walked past. Apartment 31 the door was broken down and it looked like squatters were using it. Apartment 32. Well the door was slightly open. He tapped it with his foot. It swung open. The lock had been jemmied open. Noiselessly he drew his pistol from his side holster. He crept in. The apartment, in spite of the neighbourhood, was nicely kept. Pictures on the wall. Fresh flowers in a vase. There was little she could do about the damp patch on the ceiling but it wasn't bad.

There was a crashing sound from the room next to him. Damn. He should have let the station know where he was. That was Nightwing all over, act first and thinks later. He was thinking he was in the Nightwing costume again. He took a deep breath and looked round the corner. The window was open. It was crashing against the frame making the noise. He walked up to it. Damn it! A man was running down the fire escape. He had obviously heard him come in. He had a bag over his shoulder.

Grayson jumped out the window and landed on the fire escape. The perp was three floors below just about to jump into the alley. Dick leapt off the fire escape. He had no utility belt.

No costume.

No line.

He didn't need them. He grabbed the ladder as he fell and threw himself into a forward roll in mid air. He hooked one ankle round the bottom fire escape, spun himself round to slow his ascent and landed agilely on the ground. The perp had missed all this as he was still running. Grayson started running after him

Dick Grayson grabbed his communicator. "This is Grayson at the Nair House Apartment block. I am pursuing a suspect East on foot. He is wanted in connection with the Sarandon homicide." The guy in front was slow. Dick Grayson was a superb athlete. He soon caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder. The man whipped around with a knife in his hand. Grayson caught his knife hand and swept his legs away from under him sending him to the ground with a heavy crash.

"Hey what gives man?"

"I'm arresting you for breaking and entering."

"This is assault man!"

"This is an arrest man." Grayson read him his rights. He cuffed him and dragged him to his car. He spoke into his communicator. "I'm bringing in a robbery suspect."

The suspect in the back of the car was complaining about being set up. God, whatever happened to the criminals who just confessed all? Again there was something about this that just didn't ring true? The murderer stole her keys. This guy broke into her apartment. Using a crowbar or a jemmy by all accounts.

Grayson drove the perp down to the station and got him signed in. Damn. He still hadn't spoken to Sarandon's parents. He would have to wait before he interviewed him.

He picked up a female officer. Bludhaven's police always recommended a female presence on these sorts of all too common situations.

Her name was Melanie Wilkinson. She was about 5' 6" medium build, blonde hair. Jeez he looked at her like she was a suspect. She had been with the force for several years but Grayson had not really noticed her. Too busy with work during the day and Nightwing in the evening.

They got in the car and drove sedately away. No point in hurrying this meeting. Melanie was all business. Good. He didn't really feel like talking. "What happened to Susan Sarandon?"

"Stabbed in the back."

"Motive?"

"None that I could see."

"What do we know about her folks?"

Grayson looked down at the paperwork he had picked up in the station. "Father's a doctor. Mother is a receptionist at the local doctors." He put the paperwork down and carried on driving.

They pulled into the road next to the house. It was a nice house in the suburbs. The path to the front door wound through some nice topiary work and even had a small bridge over a pond. God he hated this bit.

He rang the bell. A ringing sound was heard deep inside the house. A scuffling sound started at the front door and he could see a small dog peering at them. It started barking and then the door opened. Mrs Sarandon was a small petite lady with bleached blonde hair and bright red lipstick. She was busy holding the dog by the collar and trying to look at the visitors.

"What is it dear? Are you selling something? Didn't you see the sign saying no door-to-door sellers? You're not a Jehovah's witness are you?"

"No ma'am. We are with the police. I'm afraid we've got some bad news for you…"

It never got any easier. There were always the old cops who said it only got easier when you stopped caring. Sometimes he thought it would be easier if he had stopped caring. After ten minutes trying to comfort her and assuring her that her daughter had died quickly and without pain (how did he know?) he made to walk out the door.

"One more thing," he said. He mentally cursed himself. He sounded like Columbo! "Was your daughter ever married or engaged?"

"No."

"Any boy friends that you know of?"

"No." Her mascara was running where she had been crying.

Melanie, after making sure that some friends were coming round to comfort Mrs Sarandon, followed him out.

"What was all that about?"

"What?"

"Asking about her boyfriends. She's just lost her daughter for God's sake! Haven't you any tact?"

"I need to find her murderer. She'd been wearing a ring. Find the ring, might find the murderer. Fiancés and boy friends give rings. Maybe they took it before they killed her."

"Couldn't that question have waited?"

He stopped and gave her a long slow studied look. "No." He carried on walking to the car.

"You are one cold bastard."

"Sir," he added.

"What?"

"I'm your boss. If you are going to insult me at least treat me with courtesy."

"Why? You didn't show her any?"

He gave her another appraising look. The kind of look that had made many a criminal start wimpering. Nothing. "I'm sorry, I kinda want get this guy before he kills again."

"How do you know he is a guy?"

"What?"

"That poor girl got murdered. We know that. How do we know it was a guy who killed her?"

"It's a supposition."

"Jeez, the way people talk about you they reckon you are the best detective in Bludhaven. You are talking about a supposition?"

"The body was on a gravel path. The only blood stains were underneath her showing she had fallen where she was stabbed. Blood spray was minimum indicating a stab wound to the heart killing her pretty much instantly. She was wearing heavy winter clothes. Difficult to stab through, indicating strength needed. She was also stabbed high on the shoulder, indicating the murderer was tall. She had her back to the murderer but she was on a gravel path so she must have heard him coming along unless she wasn't afraid of him or knew him. She didn't look like she had been running. I think she knew the murderer. So yes it is a supposition, I'm sorry, I'm not perfect."

"Okay so where are we going next?"

"What's this 'we'. There is not 'we' there is only me."

"Chief Inspector Corrigon said I was with you till the end of the day."

"Great. Well I don't need you trailing me like some mangy mutt."

Now it was her turn to look insulted. "Mangy mutt! I'm your colleague, sir."

Maybe he had gone too far. Too many years hanging round lowlifes and scum had eroded his personal skills. "I'm sorry Wilkinson, we got off on the wrong foot. We've got to interview this perp I arrested this morning in her apartment. You got interview skills?"

"I'm in the domestic division. We interview people all the time."

Grayson chuckled. "A few people throwing pots and pans at each other. I'm talking homicide. You keep quiet."

"You are so full of it."

He glanced over at her as he drove. She was starting to go an interesting shade of red. "How long have you been with the force?"

"Three years, sir."

God he was terrible at small talk. "You got any outside interests?"

Now it was her turn to smile. "This idea of interview technique?"

"Just making conversation."

"Just keep driving." She glanced over at him obviously thinking. "Why do you think she was engaged if she had been wearing a ring?"

"Women often wear a ring when they are engaged."

"You don't know women that well do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"She might just wear a ring sometimes to stop being hit on. Was she a looker?"

He thought back for a moment. She had nice bone structure a trim figure. "Yeah she was kinda nice."

"Did her flat have any signs of a man staying there?"

"I chased a guy out of her flat. That is who we are going to see."

She shook her head. "No I mean stuff like a Playstation, video games, shaving cream, condoms…"

Now it was his turn to go red. "I didn't check."

"So much for the great detective."

They pulled into the police station. He flashed his card and drove into the underground car park. In the corner several police cars were having bullet holes panel beaten out of them by a team of engineers. Pretty much a full time job for them.

They got out the car and walked into the station. In Interview room 12 their perp was waiting.

"Interview started at 10:32 am. Detectives Grayson and Wilkinson attending," he said into as he started the tape. "For the record could you say your name, sir?"

"Danny Goodyear… Daniel James Goodyear."

"Thank you Mr Goodyear. Do you know why you are here?"

He was a small thickset man with black hair and about two days growth of beard on his chin. He was missing one front tooth and his other had a gold filling. He even looked untrustworthy. Poor sucker, going through life with a face like that.

"Yeah I know why I'm here. Breakin' and enterin'. Just caution me and let me go, I'm a busy guy."

So much for all the interview classes he had been in. "Why did you choose that apartment Mr Goodyear?"

"I'm livin'next door to the broad who lives there." God do people actually call women broads? "I seen her go out in the mornin'. Some guy comes along a bit later, let's himself in. I hear him leave a few minutes later so I think, I'll help myself. It ain't right she should have nice stuff and I live in a dump. It ain't right at all."

"Do you know much about Susan Sarandon?"

"I know she is a snooty bitch. Never says "hi" to me. Treats me like dirt."

"Do you know if she has a boyfriend?" Jeez it makes her sound like a high school kid.

"I dunno. I know I ain't seen a guy round there for weeks."

"You had done before?" Said Melanie.

Grayson glanced at her. This was his interview. "Yeah I seen some guy there before."

"Was he the same man who went in her apartment this morning?"

"Yeah possibly I only saw the back of his head this morning."

"What did he look like?" She continued.

"Expensive suit, nice rolex, didn't look fake, nokia 7650. Real piece of work, if you know what I mean? Too good for our area."

Grayson butted in. "We mean physical description, sir. Endomorph, exomorph, ectomorph. Skin colour. Hair colour. Glasses. Not glasses. Distinguishing features like scars, tattoos, what colour suit?"

"Endo what? He weren't no alien."

Melanie glared at Grayson. "Was he fat or slim, sir."

"Slim. Dark brown hair. He was white or sorry is it caucasian? Suit looked like a real city slicker job. Pin stripe. Equilibro if I'm any judge. "

"What's equilibro?"

Now it was his turn to look at them with disgust. "Just because I live in a dive now don't mean I did always. I used to work in the stock market. Snorted all the money up my nose. Lost my house, car, wife and job. In pretty much that order. Yeah I know my suits."

Grayson said. "Thank you, sir. You'll be bound over and bailed. We'll mention to the court you have been co-operative. Interview terminated at 10:40 am."

Twenty minutes later Dick Grayson and Melanie Wilkinson were back on the road.

Melanie was uncommonly cheerful. "So what's the next plan chief?"

"Haven't you got another case you should be working on?" Growled Grayson.

"No, I'm with you all day."

"Well we're gonna check her apartment out now. Forensics have been taking prints, imprints and looking for any DNA traces of our new suspect. We need to see if they find any others."

They drove back to Susan Sarandon's apartment in silence. Dick growled monosyllabic answers to all Melanie's questions.

Smoke just started to pump out of the apartment block from the third floor.

"Oh my god!" Said Melanie.

Grayson picked up the radio and called it in. "I'm at the Nair house apartment block. There is a fire in Susan Sarandon's apartment. Please tell me the forensic team are not there."

"We've got two operatives covering the scene now, Lootenant." Came back the voice.

"Get the fire service and ambulance here right away. There will be casualties."

Dick parked at an angle outside the building and raced towards the door. Melanie was behind him. There were people trapped in the building. Possibly the police forensic team. He jabbed the fire alarm as he passed. Nothing. Figures it's broken like everything else in this damm building.

He turned back to Melanie. "Clear these apartments. Make sure everyone knows." He turned back to run up the stairs.

"Wait! Wait! Where are you going?"

He turned back. "To check on Sarandon's apartment. There is a police forensics team in there."

He ran along the corridor banging on each door with his hand in passing and shouting "Fire! Fire!" Her apartment was at the end. The door was closed. Police tape was covering it. Underneath the door could be seen the hellish glow of a fire. Black smoke was just starting to seep into the corridor. He really didn't want to but he knew he had to check the apartment. He opened the door with his foot and the corridor filled with evil smelling black smoke. In time honoured fashion he put a hanky over his mouth and walked into the apartment.

He could see nothing. Smoke filled the air. He couldn't see the source of the fire yet. His eyes started to weep due to the smoke and he started to cough. There on the floor. One of the forensic team. He had been hit on the head. He didn't have time to check for other injuries so he grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the corridor.

There was one more in there. They always worked in pairs in crime scenes in case the perpetrator came back. This time he had and not even two armed policemen had been able to stop him. If it was a him he corrected himself, thinking of Melanie's earlier comments.

A foot came lancing out of the smoke and hit him in the stomach. If it wasn't for his years of on the job training and stomach muscles like iron he would have collapsed on the floor and been trying to work out how to breathe. Even with those advantages the kick pushed him against a wall and through a china cabinet. He rolled to his feet just before a baseball bat nearly took his head off.

He was coughing in the smoke and the perp who was trying to rearrange his face was wearing a gas mask. The next time the bat came whistling towards him he caught the bat and wrenched it from the thug's grasp. He then sent a scissor kick towards the man's stomach and was shocked when the thug grabbed his foot and span him to the floor.

He had underestimated him. If he did that again he would be dead. The smoke was getting in his lungs and slowing him down. He aimed a left punch at the man's stomach, was pleased to see the thug block it since he also punched his right fist through the man's gas mask and sent him flying through the flames and smoke of the apartment.

He had a rebreather in his utility belt. He was coughing badly and starting to see black spots in his vision. His questing hands found his rebreather and he was just about to put it in his mouth when the thug came looming through the smoke again and tried to kick him in the head. He blocked the kick but dropped the rebreather. The soles of his shoes were starting to melt in the fire.

He was having real trouble breathing and was slowing down. Another kick sent him crashing against the window. He hunched up and tried to block another punch but he was too slow and didn't see the punch that sent him crashing through the window and towards the street below…