A/N: Thank you to everyone who's commented so far, and especially to the guest reviewers since I can't respond to you guys personally. A few of you have left some really amazing feedback which totally made my day so thank you. :)
Now, a few people have asked me about my update schedule and since some of those were guest reviewers, I've decided to leave a note here. I am planning to update weekly. This story is 7/8 chapters long (depends on how chapter 6 which I'm currently working on pans out). The first five chapters are all finished but I'm posting weekly to try and give myself time to finish the last 2/3 (because writing present tense is a nightmare! Seriously, what was I thinking?!). Hope that answers everyone's question.
Have a lovely weekend everyone and happy reading. :)
oOo
The hotel manager isn't happy to see them; Jim can tell by the way he's pursing his lips. He supposes he can't blame him – it's not good for business when a child disappears from your hotel, especially one as high profile as Dick Grayson.
"Captain Gordon, how nice to see you again," the manager greets him, his agitated demeanour contradicting his words. Twitchy eyes dart between them and the lobby, clearly scanning for any hotel guests who might see the police.
And okay, that annoys Jim because it's the middle of the night. Who the hell is going to see them at this hour?!
But he forces himself to swallow his disgust. They can't afford to alienate him when they need his cooperation. Plastering a smile on his face, he holds out his hand. "Thanks for coming in at this hour, Mr. Walsh. We really appreciate it."
"Of course, anything to help the police," the manager simpers, shaking his hand. "Now, Mr. Poteet mentioned that you need Freddie Arlow's address?"
"Yes, we do." Jim shoots a dirty look at the night porter standing behind the reception desk. The man had refused to cooperate with Bullock and Montoya, insisting that he couldn't call the hotel manager in the middle of the night for anything short of an emergency. It had finally taken the appearance of the police captain to drill it into his thick skull that this is an emergency.
The hotel manager catches Jim's glance. "Please don't be angry with Mr. Poteet, Captain. He was only doing his job."
Jim doesn't doubt that for a second. In fact, he strongly suspects every member of staff has been coached on how to handle Dick's abduction from the hotel. "He said the staff files were in your office and that you have the only key."
"That's correct," the manager answers, the smooth English voice carrying an edge to it. "But, Captain, I'm rather uncomfortable breaching an employee's personnel records. May I ask why you need Mr. Arlow's address?"
"He's a person of interest in our investigation and Mr. Poteet informed us that he no longer works here." Remove Arlow's connection to the hotel and maybe they can move this along faster.
But it has the opposite effect as the manager's eyes widen. "Mr. Arlow gave his notice a full two weeks before the charity ball! If a member of staff had quit so suddenly after Richard's abduction, I assure you, Captain, I would have notified you at once! I–"
"Of course you would have," Jim soothes. "This has nothing to do with the hotel. We just really need to speak with Mr. Arlow." The manager's concern for the hotel's reputation over the missing child is sickening Jim, but he can't let it show in case the manager refuses to give them the address without a warrant. At this time of night, a warrant would take too long and Dick doesn't have that kind of time.
Looking distinctly unhappy, the manager nods. "Very well. Please wait here and I'll get the address."
The manager disappears down a corridor and Bullock nudges Jim. "You get the impression he don't want us here?"
"He's trying to protect the hotel. If it gets out that a member of staff abducted Dick, it will seriously hurt the hotel's reputation."
"Who cares?" says Bullock dismissively, chewing on a toothpick. "Findin' the kid's more important than some ratty hotel's rep."
His detective is clearly pissed with the hotel manager's attitude because the Hilton is Gotham's most high-end hotel – ratty is definitely not a word that can be associated with it. "You're not wrong, Bullock, but we need this guy on our side if the address doesn't pan out."
"You mean we need him nice an' co-operative in case we gotta question his staff again."
Jim nods. "They might know something about Arlow that will lead us to him."
The detective scowls. "Let's hope that address pans out 'cause I don't think we're gonna get much help from anyone here."
He jerks a thumb meaningfully towards the night porter watching them cautiously, and Jim purses his lips. So Bullock suspects the staff have been coached as well. Jim hopes that won't become a problem. He doesn't think he'll be able to keep his temper if anyone starts stonewalling in order to protect the hotel.
They wait in silence for the hotel manager to return, Jim mulling over the situation in his head. He hasn't been able to get the dead boy – Daniel Martin – out of his mind since reading the coroner's report detailing the slow, painful death the child suffered. Despite all his years on the force in a city like Gotham, Jim has never witnessed this kind of brutality and violence towards children. Oh, he's seen some horrific cases of abuse that left him unable to sleep for weeks, but this…this is a sadistic, prolonged form of torture on a level that he's never encountered before.
Jim is finding it difficult to reconcile the brutality this man is inflicting on children with a boy he knows, a boy he's fond of. Not to mention he has no idea how to explain this to his daughter – something he can't exactly avoid. Barbara's hardly slept since her friend disappeared, and has been calling Jim incessantly for updates. But how's he supposed to explain the actions of a sick, depraved sadist when he can't get his own head around them? He's absolutely dreading telling Bruce Wayne.
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. When the FBI had shown up and told him about the red flag Daniel Martin's body had sent up in their system, Jim had been chilled to realize that, except for his background, Dick Grayson fit the victim profile perfectly. Jim had clung to the hope that the fact Dick wasn't a street kid meant he couldn't be one of this man's victims. It was why he hadn't told Bruce when he'd shown up at the station: why scare a stressed, frightened father even more when they had no proof?
Of course, now that they know he has Dick…
"Captain." Bullock nudges him, and Jim looks up to see the hotel manager returning with a piece of paper between his fingers.
"Mr. Arlow's address, Captain," says Mr. Walsh, proffering the paper.
Jim takes one look at it and feels his heart sink. He knows that area very well and he's almost certain there's no residential housing on that street.
Bullock, peering over his shoulder at the address, snorts. "That's a fake, Captain. Ain't been any apartments on that street for almost fifteen years."
The manager bristles at once. "Are you insinuating something, Detective? Because I assure you, that is the address Mr. Arlow gave me."
"Hold your horses, Jeeves," Bullock retorts. "No one's accusin' ya of anything."
"Well, it certainly sounds like–"
"Detective Bullock is right," Jim cuts across the manager smoothly. "We're not accusing you of anything. Arlow probably gave a fake address. But, Detective," he turns to the man and pointedly hands him the slip of paper, "we still need to check out the address. Take Montoya with you."
The detective takes the hint. "Sure thing, Cap."
As Bullock leaves, Jim turns back to the hotel manager. "Mr. Walsh, did Arlow ever mention any particular hangouts he visited?"
"I'm afraid I wasn't acquainted with Mr. Arlow beyond the odd, casual interaction. He was hired by and reported to Ms. Landon, our head of housekeeping. And she's currently on vacation in Florida for her sister's wedding."
"Damn." Jim glances at his watch. "It's after four now. What time do the rest of the staff come on duty?"
"The breakfast chefs start at six and the first wait staff start at six-thirty. Why?"
"We need to talk to them as they come in, see if they know anything about Arlow or his hangouts."
The hotel manager actually turns pale. "Captain, is that really necessary? Couldn't they come and speak with you at the station after work instead?"
Jim has to work really hard to restrain himself from decking the asshole.
oOo
It's sometime past noon when Jim and Bullock traipse into a greasy spoon café in the meat-packing district. Both officers are discouraged from hours of fruitless investigation.
After interviewing the Hilton staff and identifying some of Arlow's hangouts, Jim dispatched units to those places, and several more to the surrounding areas. When that was unsuccessful, he extended the search to a ten-block radius for each one. The large area called for all-hands-on-deck, with several officers coming in on their days off to aid in the search for Arlow.
Jim has joined them, pounding the streets in a way he hasn't done since his beat cop days. His involvement has surprised several of his officers, but he refuses to let that stop him. Dick is running out of time and the only way they're going to find him is the old-fashioned way. Running Arlow's picture on the news isn't an option, not after Teresa McCall's warning that Arlow would kill Dick if they did.
But hours of visiting businesses and apartment blocks to show Arlow's picture have turned up nothing and Jim is starting to lose hope. If they don't find him by tonight, Jim might be forced to choose between Dick's life and letting a serial child murder get away. This monster only ever takes two victims per area, and no one wants him in the wind again to brutally destroy more children.
Jim is kind of surprised that the FBI agents haven't already shown Arlow's picture to the public, but he guesses the veritable shitstorm that would come down on their heads if they got Bruce Wayne's only child killed is restraining them for now. Jim knows there's a certain unfairness to that – one child's life shouldn't be worth more than any other – but he can't help feeling relief that Bruce's name is buying Dick more time. And not just for the sake of Barbara, who was in tears when she rang Jim an hour ago, but for Bruce as well. This is a man who's given more to this city than anyone, despite it once taking everything from him. As for Dick…
Jim's stomach twists. It's making him ill to think of what the boy might be suffering right at this minute. He literally can't bear the thought of the cheerful, talkative child being tortured in such a manner.
"What can I get you boys?" drawls the waitress when they reach the counter. She looks like a walking cliché, chewing a wad of gum in a pink, diner-style uniform and sporting some impressive beehive hair.
"We're with the police department," says Jim, withdrawing his badge and the image of Arlow's face taken from the security footage. "We're looking for this man. Have you ever seen him before?"
The waitress glances at the picture with disinterest. "Nope."
"Would you mind looking a little closer?" Jim asks, despair starting to bubble because this café is the last location on their list, and he's fairly certain the other units are reaching the end of their lists as well. They're running out of options and time.
The waitress smacks her gum and looks again before shrugging. "No. Sorry. But I can ask Johnny and Marla if you want?"
"Johnny and Marla?"
"They work here."
"Please," Jim replies.
Taking Arlow's picture, she disappears into the kitchen at the back. Jim rubs his eyes and turns to Bullock, who's checking his phone. "Any word from the other units?"
The detective shakes his head. "If nobody finds anything, you gonna extend the search again?"
"I don't know. It may not be an option."
"You mean with the FBI an' all?"
Jim sighs and nods, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily.
"Damn." Scowling, Bullock scratches his head. "Still can't believe the kid was in the freakin' trash the whole time. We shudda brought in the scent dogs."
"They would have been useless. You know we had nothing with Dick's scent for them to track."
It's a knowledge that makes Jim burn with helpless frustration, knowing that if only they'd had something with Dick's scent… But the boy had gone straight from car to venue, and so hadn't brought a coat. Nor had there been any dirty laundry at the manor because the old butler runs such a tight ship.
Jim guesses that last one is eating at both Bruce and Alfred. It'll probably haunt them forever once they find out Dick was on the premises the whole time. Jim suspects that if Bruce gets Dick back, he'll be keeping a large stock of Dick's dirty clothes for the future…just in case. Heck, after Dick's cell was found dumped in the restroom trash, Jim wouldn't be surprised if he has some kind of personal LoJack installed in the boy! Bruce Wayne is more paranoid and security conscious than Gotham gives him credit for. It's the reason he spotted the boy's disappearance from the charity ball so quickly.
The waitress returns from the kitchen and slides the picture back across the counter, saying, "Johnny's never seen him before."
"And Marla?" Jim asks, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.
"Outside having a– there she is. Hey, Marla!"
They turn and see an overweight woman with shocking red hair hanging up her coat. Marla looks to be in her fifties and has the grizzled, hard look of someone who's lived in Gotham her whole life.
"What?" she snaps, coming towards them in a waft of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. Jim makes a mental note to never eat here.
The other waitress gestures to Jim and Bullock. "These cops are lookin' for someone."
"Ain't we all?" Marla snipes.
The other waitress shrugs, then grabs a coffee pot and moves to the other side of the counter, where a man in grubby clothes is waving at her for a refill.
"So," Marla eyes Jim and Bullock with dislike, "who're you lookin' for?"
"This man," Jim says, handing her his picture. "Have you ever seen him in here?"
Marla squints at the picture, frowning. "Mebbe. What he do?"
"Kidnapped a kid," Bullock replies.
Her eyes narrow. "He some kinda kiddie-fiddler?"
"No, but he has hurt a lot of children," Jim answers quietly. "So if you could help in any way…"
Her antagonistic attitude vanishes, and after a minute of staring at the picture she looks up. "Yeah, he's been here. But I ain't seen him for 'bout a week – mebbe longer."
"What can you tell us about him?" demands Jim urgently, feeling a small rush of hope.
"He came in coupla times over the last two months. Deadbeat had a bad attitude – talked to us like dogs, never tipped…stank somethin' awful as well. I ain't never smelled breath that bad–"
"Do you know where we might find him?" Jim cuts in.
"No… But Charlie swears he saw him go in the old water-treatment place 'bout two-weeks ago."
"Who's Charlie?" asks Jim, heart beating faster. The old water-treatment plant isn't far from here and hasn't been operational since the seventies. Gotham needed a bigger, more efficient system as the city expanded and the old building was shut down, then condemned, years ago.
"One a' the cooks. He's off today, but he was on the last night that bum was in here…guy looked like he'd been wrestlin' with wildcats, hands all scratched to hell. That's how we started talkin' bout him an' it's when Charlie mentioned seein' him down the water-treatment place."
Jim glances at Bullock. "Get an officer down here now. One not in uniform. I want them to stay here in case this guy comes back. And send a unit to the plant as well – we might need back up. Marla…" he turns back to the waitress, "if this guy comes in before my officer arrives, you think you can keep him here?"
"I'll hit him over the head if I needa. I don't like creeps who hurt kids."
Jim ignores her threat of physical violence. He knows he shouldn't, but it's hard not to agree in this instance. "Thank you, Marla. Bullock," he gestures to the detective who's now on the phone with the station, and jerks his head towards the door.
They hurry out of the café and Jim feels a raw, nervous excitement. This is the biggest lead they've had since Dick disappeared, and he prays it won't result in a dead end.
Or worse, a dead body.
oOo
The other unit hasn't arrived by the time they pull up outside the dilapidated water-treatment plant and Jim decides not to wait, even though it's been a long time since he was this active in the field – being captain confines him mostly to the station and politics. But he won't let that stop him when a child's life is on the line.
"You go 'round back," he tells Bullock. "I'll go in the front."
They get out of the car. Jim's not a praying man, but he prays they'll find Dick. He knows it's wrong, but if he has the choice between finding this guy and finding Dick, he wants to find Dick. It would be easier to let a child murderer escape than to have to break the news to Bruce and Barbara that Dick is dead.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bullock disappear around the side of the building. It occurs to him that maybe he should have taken a second to warn his detective that if he needs to shoot, try not to kill. Bullock is a good cop but he doesn't always do things by the book, and cases involving kids tend to push his buttons the wrong way.
Jim reaches the front door, which bears the signs of multiple forced entries. It makes it easy for him to force his own silent entry, taking out his gun as he enters the building. The place reeks of mould and damp, even out here in the reception area. He keeps his gun ready and senses alert as he prowls towards the door that leads into the main body of the plant: a large, galvanized monstrosity that's half hanging off its hinges. He ducks under it and moves into the huge open area beyond.
He takes a moment to survey the facility. The massive iron tanks and large, high windows mean it's a strange mixture of light and dark. Some kind of green slime glistens on parts of the floor, while the sound of dripping water is loud and echoing, adding to the eerie air of the place. He's just debating what direction to take when he hears a faint noise that isn't dripping water. Listening hard, he discerns that it's coming from his left, and moves cautiously in that direction.
Careful to stay out of the strips of sunlight streaming through the windows, Jim slinks in and out between the water filtration tanks. Gradually the noise becomes clearer, morphing into a male voice.
"-ing do it."
Several wet, choking gasps echo.
"Start begging, you little shit! Or do you want me to get the belt again?"
There's a barely audible whimper and a red rage sweeps over Jim. He hurtles out from behind the tanks to find a large man straddling the small body of a child, his hands around the boy's neck. The man's head jerks up and Jim recognizes Freddie Arlow.
"POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!" he screams, barely able to contain his fury.
Looking shocked, the man complies. Beneath him, the small figure coughs and chokes, desperately sucking in broken gasps of air.
"Get off that boy! Get off him right now!" Jim literally snarls, approaching slowly.
The man doesn't respond.
"MOVE!" Jim roars. He's trembling with rage, fingers itching to pull the trigger. He'd been worried about Bullock…turns out he should have worried about himself. It's taking everything he has not to shoot this bastard.
The man finally stands up, allowing the child to curl onto his side, still choking and gasping and trying to catch his breath. The boy is perpendicular to him so Jim can't tell if it's Dick, and he refrains from checking until he has this monster subdued.
"Take five steps to your left, then turn and face the wall behind you," Jim barks, keeping his gun on the man while he obeys. "Now, get on your knees and lace your fingers behind your head."
The man stumbles awkwardly to his knees. He's just lacing his fingers behind his head when Bullock's voice calls, "Captain?"
"Over here," Jim manages to get out, still struggling not to shoot as the boy's wet, miserable gasps tear through him.
The detective approaches from behind. "I could hear ya' yellin'."
Jim ignores the comment. "Cuff him and take him to the car. Then call an ambulance."
"Sure thing, Cap."
Goddammed fucking bastard! Jim seethes, keeping his gun on Arlow while Bullock none-too-gently cuffs him. The police captain has never before experienced rage like this – it's an actual physical sensation that he's struggling to contain, much like the urge to be sick.
Bullock closes the second cuff with a brusque "On yer feet, creep!", allowing Jim to holster his gun and dash over to the boy.
He drops to his knees beside the trembling child and feels a brief flash of relief when he recognizes Dick, before horror sets in at the state of the boy. He's absolutely filthy – his skin, hair and clothes littered with blood, dirt and green slime. Bruises are visible on his torso through his torn shirt, and his neck is a mangled mess of bruised, broken, and welted flesh
"Jesus," Jim whispers, momentarily frozen. Even the body of Daniel Martin hadn't prepared him for the reality of a live victim, especially not one that he knows.
He does his best to shake off the shock and addresses the still-coughing child. "Dick, it's Captain Gordon." He reaches to unwrap the layers of tape around his eyes and is taken aback when the boy whimpers, flinching away from him.
Jim immediately removes his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you, Dick. Shhhhh, it's alright…"
Except it's not alright and Jim wants to murder the son-of-a-bitch who's done this.
"It's okay, Dick," he continues soothingly in a slightly louder voice. "You're safe now. We're going to get you back to Bruce, okay?"
At the mention of his guardian's name, Dick says something that Jim thinks might be Bruce's name, but his voice is so low it's hard to tell.
"That's right, Dick – Bruce. Now, let's get this tape off you."
Dick doesn't respond, but he stops cringing and Jim takes it as a sign that he's understood. He reaches for the tape again, and feels relief when the boy doesn't flinch. Very, very carefully, he starts to peel the tape off. Neck injuries aside, Dick's face is swollen and heavily bruised, and Jim is concerned there might be some form of head trauma.
While he works, Jim notices that although Dick is no longer gasping for air, his breathing sounds strained and there's an awful rattle to his lungs. He's also ice cold to the touch. Jim hopes the ambulance gets here soon because if it doesn't, he's going to load Dick up in his cruiser and drive him to the hospital himself.
After several minutes, he peels off the last of the sticky layers. Dick immediately squeezes his eyes shut and throws his hands over them. Jim has to bite back a growl of fury: three fingers on the right hand are clearly broken, and the zip-ties around his wrists are partially embedded in the flesh, leaving it weeping and bloody.
Jim really fucking wishes Gotham had the death penalty. Bastards who brutalize and torture children don't deserve the mercy of justice.
His own hands are shaking as he starts loosening the ties, wincing at the pained little noises Dick makes as Jim literally peels the hard plastic out from his skin. He has a horrible feeling that he's going to have nightmares about this. He can only imagine the nightmares the boy is going to have.
"Captain," Bullock's voice sounds and he whips around.
"Bullock! What are you doing! Arlow–"
"Stenson an' Maddock are outside," the detective interrupts. "They're gonna take the creep in."
"What about the ambulance?"
"There was one a coupla blocks out. Should be here any min– aww, hell!" he exclaims, catching sight of Dick. The boy flinches at his loud tone.
"Easy, Bullock," Jim cautions. Dick is traumatized all to hell and he doesn't want to spook him.
"Sorry, Cap," says the detective in a much softer voice. "What can I do?"
"See if there's a blanket in the car," Jim answers, still working on getting those damn zip-ties off.
The detective doesn't leave. Instead, he stuns Jim by shrugging off his coat and laying it over the shaking child. "What?" says Bullock gruffly at his expression. "Kid's cold, I'm not."
"Thank you, Bullock," says Jim, finally working the last of the hard plastic out from Dick's skin and slowly easing the zip-ties off. "Dick?" he says, taking the boy's hands and gently guiding them down from his eyes to tuck them beneath Bullock's coat. Christ, he's freezing.
Dick's eyes are still closed, but the violent shaking and panicked breathing suggest he's conscious. However, he's not really acknowledging Jim and that concerns him. "Dick?" he tries again, carefully squeezing the boy's left hand. It finally prompts a response and he opens his eyes.
Horror hits him so hard Jim thinks he might be sick – the whites of Dick's eyes are red. He's been strangled so violently the blood vessels in his eyes have burst.
The ball of disgust, fury and horror raging in his throat nearly chokes him and Jim swallows hard. Behind him, he can hear Bullock swearing under his breath.
Dick's forehead creases in recognition and he mouths something that looks like 'Captain Gordon?'
Jim hides a wince at his non-existent voice. "That's right, Dick, I've got you. You're safe now."
"Wanna go…home…" he mouths, parched lips sticking together.
"We need to take you to the hospital first," Jim reminds him gently. "But I'll call Bruce and he'll meet you there, okay?"
Dick doesn't respond and tears slide down his cheeks. Jim's heart aches for the child because fuck! How's he supposed to get over this?
"Cap, paramedics are here," Bullock's voice announces, and Jim twists to see a man and woman approaching.
He turns back to the boy. "Dick, the paramedics are here. I've got to step back so they can treat you, but I'll ride with you to the hospital, okay?"
Again Dick doesn't respond. But as Jim releases his hand to get out of the paramedics' way, the boy grabs his sleeve. "What is it, Dick?"
Eyes still teary, Dick mouths, "Thank…you."
Unable to speak past the monumental lump in his throat, Jim responds by squeezing his hand.