Notes: The actual name of the hotel where actor George Reeves met fiancée Lenore Lemon was the Gotham Hotel.
Clark Kent's misfortune following his Ruby Jones interview is eerily similar to other events. Journalist and What's My Line panelist Dorothy Kilgallen was murdered soon after Jack Ruby confided in her about his part in the JFK murder. Authorities passed Kilgallen's death off as an accidental barbiturate overdose, a cause to which they would soon attribute Marilyn Monroe's death, also. Oddly, both womens' journals disappeared the night of their deaths – before they could be made public.
On with our story…
Commissioner Gordon and Chief O'Hara glanced up as they heard the window open. Framed in the moonlit opening: the silhouette of America's #1 Lycra-wearing crimefighter. Batgirl hopped down, her eyes quickly taking stock of the scene.
"I came as soon as I received your call, Commissioner."
"I apologize for the pre-sunrise summons, Batgirl. I was about to send the witnesses home for the evening, but Lane and Olsen insisted we try to resolve the whole affair tonight."
O'Hara spoke up. "We're still waitin' for the deceased's fiancée - Greta…Greta Grapefruit. Something like that."
"Laura Lime was the name, I believe," Gordon said.
"Well, Officer Mooney took her to get some coffee and fresh air." The Police Chief looked at his watch. "Where are Lane and Olsen?"
The Commissioner nodded. "Yes. Did they suddenly find a more interesting story?"
Jimmy Olson sat in the lobby of the Gotham Hotel. He was waiting for some sign of action from reporter Lois Lane, who sat cradling her face in her hands.
Jimmy looked at the elevator. "Shouldn't we go back up?"
Lois ran a hand though her hair. "I don't know if I can go back in there. That face under the sheet is all I'll see in my dreams tonight."
"I won't sleep so good, either," said Jimmy. "Mr. Kent was like a big brother to me."
"He was like a brother to me too, Jimmy - maybe a little more." Under her breath, Lois muttered, "Maybe he should have been a lot more."
"There you two are." The Daily Planet reporters looked up to see Barry Brown watching them. "The fiancée just got back. Hurry up, everyone's waiting for you. What's the matter - guilty conscience?"
Jimmy's mouth dropped open. "Hey! What do we have to feel guilty about?"
Brown smiled. "Well, you two were supposed to be his best friends, but I didn't see you here last night."
Lois shook her head, as if she hadn't heard right.
"Wait a minute, Barry. You were here with Clark last night?!"
"Sure, I'm always there for my journalist brethren. I stopped by about 11:30 to ask about that interview with Ruby Jones. Poor guy was all out of sorts about his evening. To calm him down, I had room service bring up a couple of bottles."
"Mister Kent doesn't drink!" Olsen declared indignantly.
"Not very well, that's for sure," Brown agreed. "His fiancée can really put it away, though."
Lois stood and motioned to Jimmy. "If you'll excuse us, Mister Brown, Jimmy and I are late for an inquiry into our partner's death." The pair strode past Brown as if he wasn't there and entered the elevator.
(Bat Spin)
"Now then," Commissioner Gordon addressed the assembled group, "what we've established so far is that Mr. Kent returned to his hotel room around 10:45 p.m.. Just over half an hour later, Barry Brown came calling, and despite the late hour, Ms. Lime let him in. Clark had already gone to bed, but he came out to join the pair for drinks."
Lois folded your arms. "And your theory is, after just getting an exclusive with someone connected to the Governor's assassination, Clark suddenly decided he'd rather kill himself than get his story in print?"
"The guy seemed really down for someone who'd just gotten the interview of the century," said Brown. "I got the impression the interview with Jones was a bust - that he didn't get anything good out of her."
"We'll never know, now," said Lois.
Brown continued. "He was morose about things in general - said now that he was in Kellogg's advertisements, he was starting to regret being in the phone book. I guess kids kept calling him and hanging up when he answered."
Jimmy nodded. "He did mention that a few times. He hadn't been too happy with his work assignments, either."
"I know he wasn't happy about being told to compete in a publicity boxing exhibition," said Lois.
Laura swallowed hard. "That's right," she whispered.
"Was there a suicide note?" asked Batgirl.
"Not a trace of one," said O'Hara.
Lois shook her head. "I think the obvious conclusion is Clark learned something in that interview which got him killed – perhaps as a warning to Ruby to keep quiet. Come to think of it, maybe that car accident of Clark's wasn't an accident at all!"
"Come on," Brown said. "That occurred well before the assassination; before Kent even left Metropolis."
The Commissioner cut in. "The crash may have left him in considerable pain. That may have influenced his behavior."
"The lock on his apartment door is broken," Lois said. "Anyone could have snuck in to the room at any time."
"Who could have known that...besides you, Lois?" asked Brown.
Batgirl flipped through a stack of travelers' checks sitting on the bureau. "But of all people, why would a man who just got engaged take his own life?"
"I think I may know the answer to that," Barry said. "Last year, I was covering a presentation on meteors with Clark. To kill time, we were playing twenty questions. I said 'Name a girl.' Clark said 'Lana Lang.'"
Lois sighed. "Oh, please, not her again."
"Then I asked him to name a woman off the top of his head. He said 'Lois Lane.' You know, the first woman that comes to a man's mind is always the one he's fondest of." Lois suddenly felt very aware of everyone staring at her.
Brown continued. "And now we've got Laura Lime. I have a theory that Kent had a compulsive desire for women with the initials 'L.L.'. What was so tragic, what kept him eternally lonely, was the fact he could never really marry any of them. Because if he did, they would instantly become an 'L.K.' and they'd no longer hold any allure."
Batgirl leaned over to whisper in her father's ear. "It's a good thing he never met the Bookworm's moll."
"Lydia Limpet? Yes, I see what you mean." Gordon turned back to face Brown. "So, you suspect Clark's realization that he couldn't follow through with any of his romances sent him into a downward spiral of despair?"
"That's right. As a matter of fact, as Clark was heading back to bed - for what turned out to be the last time - I told Laura that next time I'd show Clark my microphone collection, and she looked at the bedroom and said, 'You'll probably never see him again.' And I didn't. I was just leaving when Laura came running out in the hall and called me back to the room."
Laura nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. "When I went into the bedroom, I found him lying there on the floor. His cold palm lay a few inches away from the empty beaker."
"That's odd he wasn't in bed. Do either of you have any idea where he obtained this mysterious poison?" Batgirl asked. Brown and Lime both shook their heads.
"I just don't get it!" Jimmy exclaimed. "The Mr. Kent I knew was the most easy-going guy on the face of the Earth. He was the last person who'd ever kill himself!"
"Who did he spend his time with, besides Ms. Lime?" asked the Commissioner. "Who were his friends?"
After a pause, Jimmy looked at Lois. "Mostly us, I guess."
"You never saw him exhibit any odd behavior?"
Jimmy thought hard. "Well, occasionally Mister Kent would get light-headed around certain types of rocks."
"Around rocks?"
"Yeah, and he was always having to stop by a seamstress on the way home from work to get shirt buttons sewed back on."
Lois nodded. "At least four times a week. I don't know how Clark removed his shirts, but he never quite got the hang of it."
Jimmy continued. "And sometimes Mr. Kent would say something weird like, 'I just got back from Germany.' Since I'd have just seen him in the office that morning, I'd ask how that could be, and he'd say it was just a figure of speech or something."
Gordon turned to his aide-de-camp. "What do you make of that, Chief?"
Chief O'Hara, considered the foremost psychiatric expert on the force, twirled his finger next to his head - the universally-recognized signal for 'nutso.' "Sounds pretty squirrelly to me."
"I daresay it suggests a history of mental instability," Gordon agreed. "Coupled with his recent unhappiness, suicide seems to be the likeliest conclusion. While we can't rule it out, I'm not hearing anything to make me suspect murder. All right, I thank everyone for their time. Why don't we all try to get some sleep?"
In the hallway, Lois pulled the junior photographer aside. "This doesn't add up, Jimmy. We're Clark's best friends. I don't care how fast this Laura Lime romance happened; don't you think he would have told us?"
"Yeah! I'm not sure I like the smell of that, either. This ex-flimflam artist comes out of nowhere and announces she's engaged to Mr. Kent."
Lois nodded. "I think one thing's for certain: his death and the Governor's are connected. Solve one, maybe we solve them both."
"Yeah, but try convincing Commissioner Gordon of that."
"Don't forget, he's a suspect in Klintody's death himself. It may be in his interest to bury this case." Lois thought for a moment. "Did you get a good look at any of those protest signs in the crowd when Governor Klintody's limo drove through?"
"No."
"Why don't you check your photographs; see if you find any images clear enough for us to read the picket signs and maybe make out some faces? And, Jimmy, do it quickly. I have the feeling evidence is vanishing quickly around here."
(Bat Spin)
In the deep recesses of Bruce Wayne's mind, The Dream was playing out all over. He was once again nine years old, strolling home with his parents. His father, Doctor Thomas Wayne, and his mother, Martha, were clad in formal evening wear. The three had just come from a movie and were wandering around in search of a shortcut home.
The Wayne family passed through a narrow alley, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the brick walls. As they reached the mouth of the alley, a large figure stepped from the shadows. Bruce recognized the man as mobster Lou Cranek.
The gangster's hand emerged from a pocket. Everything suddenly seemed to plunge into slow motion. Cranek's arm extended. A finger pointed directly at young Bruce.
"You're a spoiled sissy, Brucie," the gravelly voice boomed, "and you'll never climb Mount Heralaya!"
"Noooooo!!"
The voice was surprisingly strong, considering the throat uttering the word had two hands clenched around it. The limp body Mercury was busy throttling had suddenly returned to life. Legs, which only a moment before slumped lifelessly, now kicked up with such ferocity they separated the table-top from its cast-iron base. The pressure from three hoods pressing on this cracked table-top from different directions only caused the whole thing to splinter into numerous sections.
With the three men in front momentarily flummoxed, the stranger shot off his seat, springing up so quickly that Mercury took a head-butt in the face. He released the stranger's neck and put his hands to his aching nose. Who was this Gary Allen?
The stranger suddenly reeled off three quick roundhouse punches in a row, each snapping Mercury's head to the side.
POW!
SMACK!
ZAPPO!
He lifted Mercury off the floor, spun him, and heaved him like a sack of flour onto two other cronies.
BOOM!
As his blind fit of rage subsided, Bruce became aware of his surroundings once again. His breathing slowed, became more controlled, and he took stock of his situation. He was in disguise…not as Batman, but as Gary Allen.
He had returned here to visit crime boss Lou Cranek for a lead on the Governor's death; Cranek, who years earlier had been a driving force in the path his life had taken. Being mocked by the mobster (and, to some extent, seeing his parents gunned down before his eyes) had driven him to devote his life to fighting crime. Though occurring years apart, the two ugly incidents often melded into a single occurrence in his dreams.
Now Cranek had given him the lead he needed: that the mysterious 'Kent' involved in the assassination was none other than Harvey Dent. Outnumbered as he was, though, he had to find a way to get the information out.
A punch from his blind side sent the wig flying from his head. Touching his smarting jaw, he discovered his makeup was smearing.
He faked a charge into the midst of the other hoodlums, who all reflexively braced themselves. This provided all the time Bruce needed to sprint down a hallway leading to several rooms. He chose one on the right and slammed the door. He pushed a heavy desk up against it to act as a brace, and snatched a phone receiver off the desktop. Footsteps were already stopping outside the door as he dialed a phone number.
"Batcave. Robin speaking," came his trusted sidekick's voice.
"This is Batman. Brace yourself, Robin. Our 'Kent' is none other than Harvey Dent!"
"Holy Double Jeopardy! You mean the District Attorney bought those twin Penguin statues?!"
"Yes, and he tried to obtain Marc Andrew's bi-plane as well."
"But…but that can't be right. Mr. Dent's helped us out a bunch of times!"
"Nevertheless, I got the information straight from Lou Cranek himself."
"Why would Cranek know?"
"No time to ponder that question, I'm afraid. I want you to get on Harvey's trail and find out what he's doing – ASAP."
"As-Soon-As-Possible," Robin interpreted. "Should I come pick you up in the Batmobile?"
Bruce glanced up. There were cries of outrage and pounding at the door. "No. Tracking Dent is your only priority right now."
"Yes, sir, but…"
Bruce hung up the receiver as the desk it rested on shuddered under the pressure of the hoodlums in the hallway. Four shoulders slammed against the door, knocking the desk backwards. The goons muscled their way inside and immediately eyed the closet in the corner of the room.
Without warning, Bruce jumped up from behind the desk. Whipping the phone around on its cord like a bolo, he clocked all four in one brutally-effective swing.
RA-DINNG!!
They all crouched forward, rubbing their smarting jaws. Using the desk as a springboard, Bruce timed his leap perfectly. In the single second that the four heads ducked, he sailed overhead and came to a perfect landing behind them. He raced down the hallway in the opposite direction from which he'd just come. He dove forward as he reached the end of the hall, sliding under the nearest booth before the crooks in the showroom were aware he'd returned.
The four bruised thugs were already charging back into the room, furious at having been outmaneuvered. Wayne peered through thick pairs of legs stomping around the room. He spied the large crate Cranek had bragged about minutes earlier.
"The Mind Machine! If it's indeed operational, I can't leave without disabling it."
Jumping to his feet, he heaved his table in the middle of the thugs and made his move. Dodging between several startled crooks, he made straight for the crate.
"Now this…" he said, lifting it from the floor, "…should made some lucky girl or boy very happy."
"Stop him!" Cranek yelled. "Kill him!"
Holding the crate before him like a tackling dummy, Wayne charged across the showroom.
WHA-BAM!
Hoods went sprawling like bowling pins. The disguised detective made a beeline for the front door. It buckled, but held on its hinges as the crate collided against it. Bruce ignored a volley of bullets which narrowly missed his head. He rammed the door with renewed passion. This time, it collapsed. He was out on the landing just ahead of a second lead fusillade.
He fell forward as he reached the flight of stairs, and rode the crate like a surf board down to the bottom. He heard a crashing sound within the box as it bounced to a stop in the concrete parking lot. He kept the crumpled receptacle between him and the mobsters as he headed for the shadows of the alley. More shots rang out. The cracking of glass indicated several bullets had done further damage to the box. As he put the place behind him, Bruce heard Cranek's angry swearing.
"I'll get you, you dirty weasel! Don't think you can get away! I got a good look at you!"