Ch. 3
The next day arrived unceremoniously and Jim Gordon was thankful for it. He tasked John Blake with assisting him in trying to get a hold of someone in the know at the Department of Water and Power. Detectives Crowe and Davies had located the remaining stolen jewelry from Alessandro Sforza's penthouse, which were now sitting in the evidence lockup, unlikely to be released anytime soon due to their relevance to the imminent criminal trial.
Gordon was out of the office most of the morning. He'd been attending a City Council meeting during which he was required to speak about the impending installations of cameras on traffic signals to catch drivers who ran red lights. The rest of the time he spent listening to citizens' concerns since it was a public hearing, sipping on tea because the coffee was even worse, and chewing on a bagel that could have passed for tire rubber. It was, therefore, a relief to return to the buzzing activity of the police station despite the fact that there was always still paperwork to complete.
"Any word from DWP about the sewer project?" asked Gordon, shrugging off his coat as he slowed his pace.
John Blake glanced up from his desk.
"The admin staff were extremely helpful, passed me from person to person until I realized they were basically giving me the run-around. I was somehow transferred to the head engineer. I asked him why there was such a massive repair project for the sewers and he sounded surprised. He said he wasn't aware of any such project and that there's nothing wrong with the current system. It definitely feels like there's something they don't want us to know, but when I asked them if they could email me an electronic copy of the map of the sewer tunnels, they agreed pretty easily."
"Finally," Gordon exclaimed. Getting definitive information out of absolutely anyone had been like pulling teeth, even more so than dealing with the usual bureaucratic types. "Print them. I wanna have a look."
"Okay, gimme a minute."
Gordon stood in front of Blake's desk, feeling a sense of déjà vu from the way Blake leaned forward to stare at his computer screen. He clicked his mouse a few times and scooted his rolling chair backward until he could reach the large printer behind him where the blueprints were spat out.
Had he ever been that young? Gordon wondered.
"Here you are, Commissioner. Could you tell me what this is all about?"
"I will, once I myself know what I'm looking for. Hold onto your copy, I have a hunch you'll need it."
"Why?" Blake asked.
"Only time will tell, rookie." He said gruffly, turning the map right side up. "I have to pay a visit to the head office of Daggett Industries."
He turned to walk back to his office when Blake called out to him.
"Commissioner, I think I should come with you. Whatever you're thinking is probably really important and I want to help. I mean, you're always telling me to take more initiative, right?"
Gordon looked at the young policeman, in his freshly pressed uniform with his badge gleaming in the light. He was reminded of himself at that age. Blake's earnestness was something that the department sorely lacked in the inevitable complacency that came hand in hand with peace in Gotham.
"You're driving then, rookie," he pointed a finger at Blake, leaving the young man grinning at his desk.
Daggett Industries headquarters was located near the Financial District in the southernmost part of the city. It was an ugly building, at odds with the ornate façades of the nearby City Hall buildings with its black glass walls and sleek appearance. Nonetheless, it was certainly an imposing building and that was undoubtedly the goal of its CEO when he tore down his father's building and replaced it with this eyesore. Blake parked the car on the street, one of the privileges that came with driving a squad car, and both of them got out and walked toward the entrance.
Flashing their badges when the armed guards stepped forward to block them, Gordon wondered if Blake felt as confident on the inside as he looked on the outside. They were about to go toe-to-toe with a brilliant but arrogant businessman who was more likely to shoot rainbows out of his ass than fall for any bait they could possibly throw regarding the attempted murder of Giulia Sforza or the sewer tunnel project.
There was a woman at the front desk whose treatment of them hardly changed when they flashed their badges again in response to her question of "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Daggett today?"
She simply told them which floor to hit when they were in the elevator to which they were consequently escorted by another armed guard.
Blake and Gordon stood side by side without looking at one another as the elevator picked up speed, hurtling ever upward to get to the CEO's floor. Because an executive office wasn't enough, a chief executive officer had to have an entire floor of their own apparently, Gordon thought with no small amount of sarcasm.
The elevator doors parted upon arrival at the top floor. The guard exited first and wordlessly began walking, automatically assuming that the Commissioner and his sidekick would follow. Gordon buttoned up his trench coat as he went, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious as they traversed the elegant hallway. Their shoes were especially noisy on the polished marble floors.
"Who knew construction paid so well?" Blake quipped under his breath, for which Gordon glared at him.
The guard arrived at a small numberpad at the side of the glass door and punched in a code with precision.
"Here you are, Police Commissioner."
Gordon stepped through the threshold with a murmured 'thanks', followed by Blake.
The view from the top was astonishing. They were afforded with an overview of everything uptown, and Wayne Tower was starkly visible above all other skyscrapers. Gordon looked around to find none other than Daggett perched against the corner of his mahogany wood desk. The office was clean and minimal with Spartan black leather furniture and a streamlined computer set up. There were multiple television sets situated throughout the room that were tuned into GCN, Bloomberg Financial News, CNBC, and Reuters. The stock and commodities prices cycled through in dizzying sequence while reporters gabbed away about the events that moved the market that day were clearly part and parcel of a job like Daggett's.
John Daggett had the mien of an Ivy League grad who'd had his education financed by his parents. His arrogance was thinly veiled beneath the veneer of philanthropic benevolence that was supposed to convince the world of his goodness, and by extension, his corporation's.
Never mind the fact that his job was handed to him by his father who'd founded the company, Daggett was a man whose gift for playing the market left him and his investors a wealthy people when the rest of the construction industry collapsed under the recent recession.
Today he wore a black turtleneck beneath a brown blazer and black slacks, looking every bit like a spoiled CEO. Physically, he resembled one of Jimmy's math teachers from the third grade he didn't particularly care for. Gordon repressed a snort at the thought.
"Commissioner Gordon, what a surprise! What can I do for you today, do you want coffee? Tea? My wife's on my case about drinking more green tea but frankly I can't stand the stuff." The man blathered but his eyes were sharp.
"Thank you Mr. Daggett but I'm afraid my purpose is all business today. We wonder if you have time to spare to sit down with us? It is a bit short notice but we've come into some information that needs to be clarified for an ongoing investigation." Gordon moved to stand in front of Daggett.
"Ask away, gentlemen. I only planned to eat my lunch before trading starts again at two."
At Gordon's nod, Blake stepped forward and pulled a copy of the sewer tunnel map from out of his uniform jacket and held it out toward the CEO. Gordon observed Daggett's demeanor for the slightest betrayal of his outwardly casual persona. He saw a dawning comprehension, signaling that there was far more to this project than met the passive eye. He knew with growing certainty that the project had something to do with the Sforzas, a connection that he was determined to discover.
"Mr. Daggett there's a problem with your building permits for the repairs that the city contracted your company for. It turns out that DWP didn't authorize any projects having to do with the sewer on account of, oh...well—there's actually nothing wrong with them." Blake ended on a note that bordered on insolence.
"Would you be so kind as to mark where your crews are working? The Department of Water and Power has recommended that they as well as GCPD inspect all of the locations under repair."
Jim Gordon knew a rat when he saw one. Daggett's entire attitude went from cavalier businessman to twitchy jackass in less than a minute.
Daggett exhaled with a smile, laughing nonchalantly at both officers.
"It's an environmental project that Miranda Tate and I have collaborated on, along with certain other...investors, shall we say? We had our own people, hers from Wayne Industries as well as my own, take a look at the underground system and they agree that it's time to make Gotham's sewage system more efficient. This city has been responsible for fifteen percent of the pollution of the northern state beach parks and accidental contamination of fresh water. We're seeking to minimize the damage while keep costs down as much as possible."
It made a beautiful story if only it wasn't common knowledge that people who were good at things didn't do them for free, and that if something's too good to be true, it most likely is.
"Nonetheless sir, we need you to mark down the locations of all underground construction sites. Or we could always get a search warrant for the original blueprints. That's a lot of legal hassle though, and if there's one thing that could tank a company's stock price, it would be problems with law enforcement." Blake said as Daggett yanked the map out of his hands.
"That's quite enough, gentlemen. You barge in here with your demands, without telling me anything about a criminal case requiring my testimony? I'll show you the construction sites, don't you worry…"
Gordon and Blake waited as the other man rushed behind his desk to pull out a pen and begin to draw x's that denoted a site. After a full minute, the city map was covered and Daggett handed it back to Blake defiantly. The near total recall the CEO had for these construction sites was an interesting fact in and of itself.
"Excellent," Gordon said dryly. Blake rolled up the map and stuck it back into his jacket pocket.
"Now, is there anything else I can…help you with?" This time the annoyance was blatant in the CEO's voice.
"In fact, there is. I'm glad you asked," Gordon said, leaning forward and planting both hands on the desktop. "It concerns your assistant Philip Stryver. Two of his guns have made their way into GCPD. You wouldn't happen to know anything about how that might be, would you?
Daggett held the Commissioner's steely gaze admirably, but in the end he caved.
"I might…but consider this. Stryver's always been a little free with his penchant for collecting guns. That sort of whimsy is what made him such a formidable trader, and a ruthless Vice President. We wouldn't want that particular brand of ruthlessness unleashed now, would we?" Daggett murmured dangerously in a mocking rendition of Gordon's question. "I'd hate to think of what might happen if you cross me, Commissioner Gordon."
Blake had had enough. All pretenses were over.
"Did you just threaten a senior rank police officer?" The younger man growled.
The air was nearly combusting with the tension. Gordon held his position fiercely, staring Daggett down with the authority vested in him by the Mayor of Gotham City.
After a suspenseful moment, Daggett broke under the pressure.
"Alright, alright Gordon. How about we let this little incident go, I'm sure that you wouldn't want to get bogged down by any lawsuits I could have drawn up at a drop of my hat. We can work something out."
Blake's eyes widened as Daggett reached over and opened his top left desk drawer, pulling out what looked like two movie tickets.
"For tonight's eight o'clock showing of Giselle. The Conservatory's outdone itself this year, the Times is calling it the performance of the decade. I figure since there are two of you, it'd be perfect to…you know, take in a little culture. Since, clearly, opportunities like this for you are rather sadly limited." Daggett's backhanded insult riled Blake up even more but Gordon shot him a look.
"Who's playing Giselle?" asked Gordon.
Daggett hesitated momentarily before he responded, "La bella Sforza, as they call her. She's really quite something as the principal dancer. Baryshnikov directed it as a guest of the Conservatory. Don't worry, I'll make it up to my wife somehow." The last few words were bit out tauntingly.
Gordon ignored the not-too-subtle jibe and glanced at where the tickets had been pushed forward. He picked them up and pocketed them, without another word he turned and made to exit the office. Just before leaving, he looked back at Daggett and said, "If I were you, I'd watch my steps from here on out Daggett."
With that, Gordon motioned to Blake that it was time to leave with a subtle tilt of his head. They waited as the guard let them out and escorted them back to the lobby.
When they got back into the car, Blake laid into Gordon about everything that just happened.
"You accepted a bribe! You, Commissioner Gordon, took a bribe in return for your silence. Of all the underhanded, des—"
"Son, cool your jets. You have to learn when to cut your losses. Daggett wasn't going to reveal anything more to us and it was a miracle that he even agreed to mark down the locations of where his crews are working. And now we know that he circumvented DWP entirely. What we need to do is ascertain the extent of Miranda Tate's involvement."
Blake took all of this in thoughtfully as he put the key in the ignition and started the car.
"Tickets to the ballet? Are we really gonna go?"
"Don't you think it was a bit too much of a coincidence that these are tickets to see Giulia Sforza? What could he have planned for her on the opening night of the production, that he would go through the trouble of obtaining seats practically in the orchestra pit?"
Blake went quiet and then nodded in comprehension but still a bit disgruntled that Gordon let Daggett think he was bribing him.
"I hope you have a suit at the office," Gordon remarked, sotto voce, while Blake merged into the flow of the midday city traffic.
The nights were getting colder while the sun set a little earlier each day as autumn rolled into Gotham. Jim Gordon donned a simple grey suit with a white dress shirt and black tie. He hadn't been to Vauxhall Opera House in years since Barbara insisted they see a Christmas production of The Nutcracker when the kids were young. He'd forgotten if his attire was entirely suitable. There was only Blake, and he was sure that between the two of them, no sartorial genius was about to erupt.
Blake at least had the sort of physique that ensured he looked good in almost anything. Gordon was fifty four years old and maintained a fitness routine that ensured he could at least successfully carry out a spontaneous police chase if need be, but he was no Olympian. The fact remained that he was a middle-aged man and a certain fatigue when it came to working out was perhaps to be expected.
Grand Avenue of the Theatre District was an area Gordon preferred to avoid due to the hordes of tourists, shady street vendors and excessive traffic but tonight was an exception. The flashing lights and billboards of the newer shows couldn't detract from the stately architecture of the old operahouse, still standing almost a hundred years after its creation. Other audience members were steadily streaming in, dressed elegantly as such a venue required. Women in silk and satin, men in tuxedos. The environment smacked of Old Gotham, when these events were less about watching the performers and more about being seen out and about with illustrious members of society.
They arrived half an hour before the show was to begin so they could find their seats. Daggett had purchased seats on the ground floor, just one row behind the orchestra pit. As their usher showed them to their seats, she innocently added, "I hope you and your boyfriend enjoy the show."
The two men sat down, Blake in the aisle seat and Gordon on his right. Blake stared at his boss with barely concealed humor in his eyes.
"Not. A. Word." Gordon said, casually thumbing through the evening's program.
Blake opened up his program to read the synopsis of the story since he was unfamiliar with it. Gordon already knew the story because of his daughter's lifelong obsession with the ballet and her compulsive need to tell all in the family what she knew.
Giselle was a young maiden in Rhineland who fell in love with a nobleman who was, as always in these sorts of tales, already engaged to another woman of similar social standing. Giselle dies of heartache and turns into an ethereal spirit. She protects her duplicitous lover from the vengeful spirits of jilted brides who met a similar end to that of Giselle's. Her complete forgiveness of her lover's betrayal saves him from death, as she dances with him until the dawn when the spirits retreat back to their graves.
"Morbid, isn't it?" Blake asked when he finished.
Gordon paid him no mind as he read the biographies of the principal dancers. Well, there was only one that he was truly looking for.
Born in Milan, Italy, Giulia Sforza began her study of ballet at the prestigious La Scala Ballet Theatre at the age of seven. She trained under renowned French ballerina Sylvie Guillem, who first directed her as Giselle in her 2004 London production, among many others. She has reprised her role as the doomed maiden with Gotham Conservatory of Dance and the School of Classical Ballet.
This will be Sforza's penultimate performance with the Conservatory, where she has been a member of the ballet company since her transfer from La Scala, although her haunting portrayal of Giselle will never be forgotten.
The accompanying photo was true to her appearance, he saw her half-smile that hinted at secret thoughts no one would ever be privy to.
"Boss, it's starting!" Blake whispered rather redundantly since the orchestra began to tune their instruments, signalling the imminent beginning of the performance. The lights dimmed and a hush fell over the audience. The series of red velvet curtains lifted and the stage lights brightened until the set was visible—a quaint village that hinted at rolling green hills and the summer grape harvest. There were facades of wooden cottages, and some trees scattered about the stage.
Albrecht, the duke disguised as the peasant Loys, schemed to flirt with the maiden who lived within the main cottage, against the advice of his hapless squire. Blake shifted in his seat, a little discomfited by seeing a man in tights, no matter how graceful a dancer he was. Just then, after 'Albrecht' pantomimed a knock on the door, he stepped back to hide around the corner of the cottage wall and the orchestra struck a lively, floating tune.
The door suddenly opened and out ran Giulia Sforza light on her feet, dressed in the costume of a spring maiden. Her hair flowed down her back, and her happy smile didn't look contrived. She executed a series of jumps in a joyous circle about the stage, looking for Albrecht whom she suspected was the one who knocked on her door. The story progressed until the time came for Albrecht's true identity to be revealed. Giulia Sforza's eyes welled with tears at the sight of her lover with the elegant woman to whom he was truly betrothed.
Her death scene was unsettling in its raw honesty. Her every movement affected such sadness that it was at times difficult to remember that the staging and choreography had already been rehearsed hundreds of times before. There was a moment when she simply stood in first position, staring bleakly out into the audience, her vision probably obscured by the bright stage lights. Gordon knew she couldn't see him yet he was struck by her devastation. Despite what any critic might say, and as far as Gordon could tell, she was by all accounts a talented artist and a very gifted dancer. When she danced the pas-de-deux with Albrecht, now dressed in a voluminous white dress, it became challenging to remember that the reason he and Blake were here was to be on the lookout for suspicious activity that might affect her.
The scene where ghost-Giselle saved Albrecht's life allowed Giulia Sforza to really become her character—every arabesque, every pirouette was done with such anguish. Watching her was like escaping the forces that bound one to the earth. The emotions that chased over her features were visible from where they were sitting.
Once again, he'd forgotten how it felt to watch her dance. Back when she inhabited the role of Odette, he didn't appreciate the art that went into it. He was only obliging his young daughter's fancy and trying to get his son to sit quietly, with thoughts of his latest case lingering through his mind. Now, he saw as if for the first time the fluid lines of her lean dancer's body, the positioning of her delicate hands and arms. The music swelled with her despair, eased with her peaceful acceptance. Somehow, he got the sense that the shimmering tears in her eyes weren't feigned.
During the final curtain call, he was unashamed to applaud vigorously in spite of Blake's scrutiny beside him.
They left the theatre silently, moving with the crowds. When they exited into the chilly night, Gordon told Blake that they should pay their compliments to Mrs. Sforza backstage. Blake agreed and they set about finding the backstage entrance. Walking through the alleyway and around, they caught sight of some of the ensemble cast leaving.
Just before the heavy door shut, Gordon pushed it open and went inside. With Blake at his shoulder, they made their way past members of the cast and crew who were busy cleaning the set and dressing rooms. Right when Gordon reached the end of the hallway near the stage door that was left slightly ajar, Giulia Sforza emerged, still fully made-up and costumed. The illusion of the young spring maiden had slowly evaporated as she rejoined the world. Gordon felt a pang of sadness that it had to be so.
"Commissioner! What on earth are you doing here?"
"We had the honor of watching tonight's performance, courtesy of John Daggett."
Her eyes clouded over at the mention of that name.
"Here to protect me from a bogey man?"
"Let us escort you home at least." Gordon pleaded softly.
In the interest of deflecting any wayward attention from her fellow cast members, she relented.
"I need to change. You can wait for me out there."
Gordon nodded, giving Blake a look that beckoned him out of the theatre. Their backs were turned as they exited the now near empty hallway, so neither of them noticed the hooded figure at the other end. Mrs. Sforza didn't either, as she shut and locked her dressing room door. The dark figure hesitated for a moment, before slinking out the door that led to the wing on stage left.
It took her only fifteen minutes to remove all of her stage makeup and don street clothes. The costume she left behind in the dressing room for the final performance the following night. Gordon carried her gym bag full of her pointe shoes and who knows what else, while Blake hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine.
He sat next to her in the back of the car. Taking in her post-performance appearance, Gordon thought she looked drained. Because of the depth of emotion she'd needed to make her role convincing, she was quiet and pensive now, staring but not seeing. Like the life had seeped out of her and she needed to recuperate. Not many people, Gordon included, realized how challenging it was to be a regularly employed dancer for a major company. Her posture was slack, for once she was allowing herself to lean back into the seat.
"It was really something, how you danced tonight," he said plainly.
Turning from the car window, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him.
"I'm touched that you would sit through an entire performance just to escort me home, Commissioner. And I rather thought you'd bring your daughter, not your Officer Blake, with you."
Blake heard her and chuckled.
"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Sforza. You're a great dancer."
"Thank you, officer." She accepted his praise humbly. She focused her attention back at Gordon. "Did you find out anything new?"
Gordon met her eyes and nodded.
"John Daggett is up to something with the underground tunnel system of the city and refuses to come clean about what he's really trying to do. Our next step is to sit down with Miranda Tate."
"Miranda? She's an old friend of mine. We met in Zurich when she came to see me in a production of Firebird. She can't possibly be involved."
"We don't know anything definitively," He demurred.
"Why don't you have more people working on this other than the both of you?"
It was a valid question. If the Police Commissioner felt it was important enough to warrant a full-scale investigation, he would assemble a fully-equipped task force but he felt it best to fly under the radar for now while they gathered information. There were too many holes that needed to be filled before that happened.
"I like to set up the chess board in my favor before the enemy realizes what's happening."
"At this point, Commissioner, I feel like a pawn in your game. A well-looked after, secure pawn but a pawn nevertheless. I do not like to be manipulated, you should know that about me."
He didn't know what drove him to do it, but he placed his hand on her bare forearm to placate her. Her skin was warm beneath his own, it was the second time he'd ever touched her. Gordon wondered if he was going to make a habit of it. She stared expressionlessly at his hand and then at his face.
"Mrs. Sforza, we're on your side. You have to trust us for a little while longer and I promise you that you'll never have a reason to fear for your life again."
It was enough. She released her breath as if she didn't know she's been holding it, and he realized his hand was still on her arm. He stroked her gently with his thumb before he scooted further away to his side of the seat. Blake observed the exchange surreptitiously through the rearview mirror.
Some minutes later, they pulled up on her street and stopped in front of her steps.
"Thank you for the ride home, Officer Blake. Goodnight, Commissioner Gordon."
Without another word, she tugged her gym bag out of Gordon's hands and flew over the steps to her front door. They waited patiently for her to get her key out, open the door and go inside, disappearing from their sight. Gordon got out of the back and took the passenger's seat.
"Commissioner, don't take this the wrong way but I think…"
"What, rookie?" His tone held a note of warning.
"I think you're a little sweet on her."
"Don't be stupid. That would breach protocol and violate several of GCPD's ethical codes. Not to mention my own personal principles."
"If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, quacks like a duck then it probably IS a duck. I'm just calling it like I see it, sir."
Blake's tone was jaunty and Gordon realized that his immediate denial hinted at the polar opposite of what he meant to say.
"One more word and I'll suspend you without pay."
There was blessed silence the rest of the way back to GCPD headquarters.
Author's Note: I revised like crazy but I'm still not sure about this chapter...Although I have to admit I had fun writing about Gordon and Blake at a ballet. :P Never thought I'd plunk those two into a situation like that, but the opportunity presented itself. If you would like to see the performance that inspired the way I wrote the dance scene, go to youtube and look up Alina Cojocaru as Giselle. That death is scene really is devastating. This was one of the shorter chapters but I promise I'll make up for it in the next one. As always, please don't hesitate in dropping me a review and letting me know what you think! Thank you for your support, those of you that have already reviewed, especially IcyWaters!