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A/N: I don't own Batman or any other character affiliated with DC Comics.
As Gotham City's newest District Attorney, Janice Porter had been more or less baptized by fire. Thrown in the deep end and left to fend for herself. Following the murders of the city's top two prosecutors she'd more or less inherited the job. Months later and her title was still merely the interim DA, holding the office only until the City Council finally got around to organizing another election for the position.
An election she probably wouldn't be able to win.
Without the money, supporters, or charisma of Finch or Dent she didn't have the political muscle to sustain a campaign. The only claim he'd be able to make for the job was going to be her record and experience. She had been the one to put The Joker in Arkham, but in all honesty that trial had been a mere formality. Everyone knew he was insane. This town never hurt for bad deeds and big cases though.
She leaned against one of the giant concrete columns that graced the entrance to Gotham's Classical styled Superior Court building, adjusting her sunglasses before recrossing her arms over her chest.
Oddly enough, it was a was a civil case that brought her downtown today, Falcone vs. Sabatino, as the docket proclaimed. Since it wasn't a criminal trial there was no need for Gotham's District Attorney to have been there watching other than professional curiosity or the fact that depending upon the outcome she could very well be the one to face the resulting whirlwind.
It was a possibility that was looking pretty likely at the moment.
Both men had employed some top of the line legal talent to argue their case, Alberto even importing some in from Los Angeles. Janice had to hand it to the man, he had balls. Not many people were willing to go toe to toe with the head of the Galante Family in the courtroom, or really anywhere for that matter. That the young man was doing this because of some kind of far-fetched idealism was something completely foreign to Gotham and its chief prosecutor. He certainly didn't need the money, so what else did that leave? The District Attorney still had a tough time believing anyone would willingly risk their own life merely out of some sense of justice. Admirable though it might be, it was also incredibly adverse to living a long, healthy life.
Porter did it as little as she could, attempting to stick her neck out only when she had a near certain conviction. Despite having noble goals and an honest desire to clean up her hometown she also had no intention of facing a similar fate as the last two DA's. Janice liked her head right where it was thank you. She was hoping to reverse the trend and start expanding the life expectancy of Gotham City's prosecutors rather than shrinking it.
By the end of the day blood had won out over the status quo and how things in Gotham were normally done and Alberto Falcone had surprisingly been awarded ownership of seventy percent of his father's old business holdings. All those properties he could legally prove his father had owned. It probably helped his cause that the Italians no longer had practically every Circuit and Superior Court Judge in their pocket. Porter hoped those days were permanently in the past.
At the announcement most of the spectators on hand had taken off for the exits, the reporters angling to try and be the first to get the verdict to their editors. They were outside with Porter now, waiting alongside the always hovering paparazzi to catch the participants as they left. No doubt hoping for an interview or quick sound bite to finish things off.
They were also probably waiting to see if the Italian Boss would attack Falcone right there on the Courthouse steps too. That would certainly prove plenty sensational and would certainly provide the photographers one hell of a picture.
She didn't hold out any hope of that happening though. Despite his infamous reputation Johnny Sabatino didn't have the temper that some of his predecessors possessed. Or at least he had the ability to control it to a greater degree.
As expected Sabatino looked like he was about ready to explode when he emerged from the huge wooden doors, his face darkly reddened and tense as he shuffled out of the grand old building and down the stairs stiffly and without comment, slipping away in his black town car. Janice couldn't help but smirk. It was likely he'd been well coached by his legal team to give away nothing. No statements, nothing to give the circling vultures something to feed on.
No reason to make yourself the prime suspect if Alberto were to wind up dead either. Not that he wouldn't be anyway.
Falcone and his legal dream team exited a few minutes later, looking pretty much directly opposite of his opponent. The proverbial cat who'd eaten the canary, judging by the wide grin radiating on his face.
Also unlike Sabatino he was more than willing to mug for the cameras, patiently answering practically any question thrown his way from the gathered media as they crowded around him.
Porter had stuck around to see the spectacle that would follow the trial as much as anything else. She already knew all the answers Falcone would give. Hell, even the members of the press knew them, but they'd play their little game anyway. He'd just regurgitate the same sound bites he'd said on nearly every Gotham news talk show he could get on about wanting to do the right thing and repairing his family's legacy in Gotham.
Janice also wanted to get a better sense of the man himself. Why any man would choose to leave the Mediterranean Coast for Gotham's dingy shores was a mystery to her. Why that same man would then willingly piss off one of the biggest, most dangerous dogs on the block for items of little worth to himself just made things even more curious.
Apparently the man wasn't completely crazy though, judging by the trio of giants that had joined his party when they left the confines of the building. Given their size, the three looked like they should have played linebacker for the Knights, huge...but with a sureness...an athleticism and posture that instantly let everyone know that they knew their business. Even by Gotham standards they were heavily armed too, machine pistols and handguns very apparent beneath suit jackets that looked almost comical given the circumference of their arms.
"And you think that the citizens of Gotham are ready to believe that a Falcone could be genuinely concerned with their well-being?" One female reporter was shouting the question at him while the whole crowd strained forward to get their cameras and tape recorders closer.
Falcone smiled, flashing white teeth to the onlookers. "I don't expect to win anyone's hearts and minds simply by talking about it," he replied. "It's true, my family has been a blight upon this city since before my father's time. I haven't denied that, it's common knowledge. All I'm asking from the good people of Gotham is an open mind and a chance...a chance for me to prove that a Falcone can do good instead of evil."
"And you think the Galante Family is just going to waltz away and hide after what just happened to them? Aren't you scared?" The question came from an overweight red faced man in an ill-fitting suit.
"Oh, I'm all too familiar with the fact that I'm only human so of course I worry about my safety. Nobody actually goes around looking to be a martyr after all. I trust the Gotham Police Department implicitly though. Those brave men and women have been fighting this battle alone and for far longer than anyone should have to. I just think it's about time they had some help...and I'm only too glad to offer what assistance I can." He smiled again for the assembled onlookers, prompting another round of flashbulbs to go off. "Ladies and gentlemen...I'm sorry, but if you'll excuse me."
Three large black SUV's pulled up to the curb as Falcone finished with the reporters, swallowing his entire group quickly and efficiently before heading east into the growing rush hour traffic.
Janice Porter shrugged and started down the stairs for the sidewalk. She could at least catch the six train before it got dark if she made it to the station fast enough. She still needed to review quite a few witness statements for one of her pending cases before she could call it a day. It was certain to be another late night for her.
Trudging up the street she reflected that at least the man was taking precautions. He obviously held some value for his life. Still, she wouldn't want to be taking on the Italians no matter what preparations were made. Sure, it was noble and all, but to her it still just made no damn sense.
There just wasn't any profit to be gained from any of it that she could see.
"Would it really be asking too much for a kitchen in your lair?" Bruce looked up to see Alfred stepping away from the old elevator carrying a tray with his lunch on it. "It becomes a bit repetitive to continue bringing you meals down here day after day. Perhaps if you didn't find it quite so impossible to come upstairs and feed yourself..."
Bruce dropped the police file he'd been skimming, his feet propped up on the nearby work table. "Alfred, tell me...when exactly did you become such a whiner?"
"Ah, yes, snark...how wonderfully refreshing," the older man remarked, setting down the tray next to the files at Bruce's feet. "As though I needed more reasons to allow you to starve to death, sir."
Bruce just grinned and shook his head, glancing back over his shoulder where the computers were still compiling data on the toxin samples Ramirez had provided. Like the police lab had discovered, it was something...else. Highly complex, highly fatal, and highly...organic. In fact, the few ingredients he'd been able to identify were all plant extracts or derivatives thereof. An oddity considering most poisonous substances these days were highly manufactured and constructed from scratch in order to maximize their effectiveness. That this seemed to be completely natural meant it was all the more complex and difficult to create. That fact was why Bruce now had the computer running through every botanical database it could access looking for answers.
That was one thing the police lab couldn't do.
"The latest shipment of wigs will be arriving tomorrow, sir. I thought I'd go pick them up once they arrived in town."
"Hmmm?" Bruce asked, picking another folder off the pile and flipping through it absently. "Yeah, fine. We can get started on them tomorrow night then."
They'd been continuously testing every red haired wig they could get their hands on since Councilman Vargas' murder several months previous at the hands of a mysterious redheaded individual. Comparing fiber strands to those he'd collected at the crime scene was monotonous, time consuming, and a long shot, but besides that and the ongoing analysis of the poison they really didn't have any other moves to make in investigating the murders. You simply couldn't discern motive or a pattern from just the two acts. There was just no way to make that a big enough sample size.
Out of habit Alfred started straightening up some of the files that littered the work table off to one side, carefully organizing and stacking them. "The Riley shooting, sir?"
Bruce stood up and stretched, coaxing his aching muscles to respond despite the dull pain. "Yeah, just going over it again. Still trying to get my head around it."
"So, you still believe the detective's account of the circumstances surrounding Mister Riley's demise?" Bruce didn't respond, just pursing his lips and watching Alfred straighten up the work area. "The simpler conclusion would be that he's merely lying."
"Believe me," Bruce sighed, "I wish I thought he was. If it was just a case of a cop taking the law into his own hands then it'd be easy. Unfortunately, no...I believe him, which makes it one hell of a head-scratching story."
"So, you're assuming our mysterious gunman didn't simply...miss?"
Bruce nodded, crossing back to the table and picking up the police analysis of the mystery gunshot. The crime scene techs had been able to discern from its trajectory that it had originated from the roof of an office building two blocks over from where Riley had been shot. An office building that also happened to have terrific line of sight to both the restaurant the police had raided as well as most of the surrounding alleyways.
"Look at it this way...if the shooter had missed and was trying to kill Detective Petit then he'd have had ample time to fire more than just the one round. In his statement Petit admitted to standing completely still after he'd killed Riley rather than react to the shooter." Bruce looked back up at his butler, closing the file. "I can't think of an easier target. If our gunman is good enough to get a bullet within an inch of him at that distance when he was still moving...albeit slowly...then he should have been able to hit him once he was stationary. I think our mystery man wanted to miss and I think he was trying to make sure it was Petit that pulled the trigger."
Alfred hesitated, frowning. "To what end, sir?"
"Dunno...not yet, anyway. Petit's not an easy scare though," Bruce replied, picking up another file. This time the personnel file on Detective William Petit. "He's a decorated ex-Marine with over a decade on the force." He paused, flipping pages and studying the notations. "He's seen plenty of action in his day, both with the military and the GCPD. Various letters of commendation...a couple of medals for valor...and some red flags for excessive force too. Looks like Internal Affairs has had a look at him a couple times, but never for corruption. In the end it paints the portrait of a man that wouldn't be easily rattled." He tossed the file back on the top of the stack. "Someone who has good trigger discipline, even in the heat of battle."
"So, you're implying that it would certainly take a lot to make the man flinch as he said he did? Given his history of excessive force and predilection to stay calm under fire, then wouldn't that support the theory that he's simply lying?"
Bruce frowned and just stared at his butler. Alfred had a point.
"Okay, for the moment, let's operate under the belief that he's telling the truth though," Bruce said, waiting for Alfred to nod in understanding before going on. "So, now it's gone from a good shot to an exceptional one. Putting a bullet that close to a man's ear intentionally, but still missing...that's not easy."
"Yes sir."
"Plus, he had to know about the raid ahead of time in order to be in position to take his shot. He couldn't have predicted exactly what was going to happen though, which is why he chose the top of that particular building...best line of sight. So he could react to a fluid situation."
"I see," Alfred said, interlacing his fingers in front of him as he sat down across from the younger man. "Our mystery man could have gotten his information from a source within the police department? Obviously that wouldn't come as especially novel or shocking, seeing as how the precedent has been set before."
"I thought of that, hence all the personnel files." Bruce gestured to a second stack of files, the same one from which he'd picked out Petit's biography earlier. "Nothing jumps out at me...no large debts, suspicious deposits, family troubles, or personal weaknesses to speak of. Gordon pieced the MCU back together personally with cops he felt he could trust." Bruce paused, staring at the neat stack of paper. "Granted, I've been wrong about this before, but for the moment I'm looking at a different theory."
"And that theory would be?"
"Tell me this...off the top of your head...who do we know that could make that shot?" Bruce asked.
Alfred didn't even hesitate with his answer. "I assume you're referring to our disgusting little friend in the beanie?"
"I am." Bruce stood and began pacing back and forth slowly, allowing himself a moment to think before he explained his theory to his trusted friend. "The Riddler would have access to Riley's plans as well as any deals that were going down. What if he was the one that alerted Gordon and the police? What if he then made the call to Ian Riley warning him that the cops were on their way? It would give him all the chaos he needed to make sure Riley ended up dead."
"It makes sense, Master Wayne," Alfred replied, "but it unfortunately raises more questions. Why kill Mister Riley when his father is Nigma's employer? And, if he was going to kill his son, then why not do it himself? Why go to the trouble of having Petit commit the killing?"
Bruce stopped pacing, considering it for a moment. "He might be getting paid by Riley, but I don't think Riley is Nigma's employer."
"And you're again referring back to this Black Mask person, I take it?"
He nodded. "Killing Ian and the rest of those men, plus the other arrests from that night weakens the Irish substantially. Blame his murder on the GCPD and you can be all but certain that Sean will retaliate. It weakens two groups that Black Mask will have to deal with eventually. It also keeps the attention off of him." He groaned, threading his hands through his hair as he sat heavily down across from his ever placid butler. "The tricky part is proving any of that though. Nigma knows what he's doing. He's not going to make many dumb mistakes."
Alfred's brow furrowed, apparently considering their options while Bruce stared off into the depths of the cave, himself in thought as well. "According to your theory Nigma had to contact both Lieutenant Bullock and Mister Riley in order to execute his plan, correct?" Bruce focused across the table at the older man, curiously nodding after a second. "I hesitate to point this out, but both men's cellular phones may be a good place to start, sir. Wouldn't they most likely be in police custody?"
Bruce blinked. Link the two phone calls and you could at least prove that the same person made both calls. That would give his theory more weight and at least remove the specter that there were more dirty cops within the MCU.
He nodded, still deep in thought and already planning his next move, but unable to help the smile that spread across his face after a moment. "Alfred, you're a genius," he said, looking back up at him.
"I do try, sir."
"I'll get started tonight."
Alfred's eyebrows arched high on his forehead in response. "Planning to knock on the door to the police evidence room in cape and cowl then, Master Wayne? I hardly consider that prudent."
Bruce smirked. "Actually, I was thinking of something a little more subtle, Alfred. I'm going to ask Ramirez for her help again. See if she can't get access to the evidence and make copies of the SIM cards from Bullock and Riley's cellphones. I'll give her the equipment she'll need and we can..."
The shrill beep of the computer interrupted him, powering up out of standby mode to display the results of the comprehensive botanical search he'd had it running. A window popped up over the top of the listing in the central monitor.
Matches Found
"Hold that thought," Bruce said absently to Alfred, striding over to the swivel chair in front of the monitors where he sat down heavily, wheeling himself over to the keyboard. Alfred stayed where he was, but once again he began straightening the table.
"Huh," Bruce muttered.
"Sir?" Bruce didn't answer, his concentration fully on the data in front of him as he opened up further search windows to cross reference the findings. Alfred rolled his eyes at his employer's single mindedness. "Shall I assume that means you've found something then, Master Wayne?"
"What? Oh, sorry, Alfred. It's just...well, I know why the techs didn't find anything when they checked it against known pathogens and toxins." Alfred rose and crossed to the computer station, standing behind Bruce and watching the information over his shoulder. "None of the ingredients the computer identified are toxic...well, they are...but they're not fatal. Not really, not in normal doses. Nerium oleander, Dieffenbachia maculata to name a few...and a ton of...Toxicodendron radicans from the looks of it."
"Poison ivy, sir?"
Bruce nodded without looking back at the man, continuing to scroll down the screen. "Or at least a highly concentrated version of its oils. Put together enough of these and concentrate them like this and it would definitely prove quickly fatal if ingested...probably attacking multiple body systems given the mix of ingredients. Some of these are rare strains though, possibly cultivated and crossed with others to achieve something far more dangerous than what would normally occur in nature." He frowned, reaching the end of the list. "Most of the ones I recognize are incredibly common, some even houseplants. There'd be too many of those to try and track them and the cultivated species are probably custom bred and won't show up in a search." He pushed back and leaned back in his chair, his head cocked to the side slightly as he stared at the screen in thought.
"Perhaps," Alfred said, "a search of the species you don't know will turn up something uncommon enough to investigate?"
He leaned forward, keying in the first search string for some kind of obscure Euphorbia cultivar. "It's not perfect, but it's worth a try," he said. "Maybe we'll get lucky and something will pop up I can pursue."
"One can only hope, Master Wayne."
"You know...the thing I don't get is the delivery method though. Rather than putting this in their food or injecting them she actually puts it on her lips and kisses them. The murderer is risking their own life simply for a bit of dramatics."
"Ironically, I've almost voiced that same question many nights myself," Alfred remarked drolly.
"I'm serious, Alfred. She's depending on her kiss getting some of the toxin into their mouths so that they can ingest it. If it's just on the skin it may not be fatal. Not exactly the most effective method unless..." Bruce sat up straight, still staring at the monitors. Before Alfred could mount an inquiry into his reaction he continued, busily entering commands into the computer as he spoke. "Unless it's absorbed through the lips somehow. Poison Ivy affects the skin, being absorbed directly, but that's an allergic reaction. Maybe there's something else here that works through direct contact," Bruce said, stopping the ongoing search program and entering the new parameters. "If we find those then we might narrow down the search."
"I hesitate to bring this up, but should we be looking for an antidote?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's too fast acting for an antidote to be practical and there's no way to inoculate against it without building up individual tolerances to the different plants." He half turned to look back at Alfred. "Are you afraid I'm going to let her kiss me?"
"You do have a habit of sampling the various poisons to be found around Gotham."
"Alfred, once isn't a habit and besides...he blasted me with that," Bruce smirked. "I didn't exactly go out that night looking to find out what the worst stuff I could inhale might be. I promise, I'll try to control myself around her."
A/N: Not the longest or most action packed chapter, I know. Still, it was necessary and I tried to keep it from becoming too long. We're getting to see that detective mind at work here at least. Next chapter promises some fun solo Selina action though (get your head out of the gutters). Thankfully I won't have a holiday weekend to contend with in getting the next update completed either.
By the way, metaphorical cookie to anyone who sees the Burton Batman quote from Chapter 13. Not-So-Subtle-Hint: Selina says it pretty early on in the chapter.