"So, you said Malcolm's in trouble." There was a hint of wry humor in that voice — a low, lovely voice. A calming one. Soothing. Desperately needed after everything that happened the last few days. Last few months, really, Sorcha clarified as she closed the door to Gil's office. "How much trouble is the dope in?"
"I'm calling you for help." Sorcha slowly scanned the room, searching for anywhere Ian Turner might have hidden the files he and her father put together on Nicholas Endicott and Martin Whitly. "Is that any indication of how much trouble my dopes landed himself in?"
"So, Bright-Boy's in it all the way up to his pretty little eyeballs, is he?"
"Yeah," Sorcha breathed out as she made her way over to Gil's desk. "You could say that."
It was by no means an understatement. Her dope was in the middle of a pit of quicksand and sinking, fast. Her and his team were keeping him afloat, but the rope was steadily fraying. Any second he'd go under and they'd have no way to pull him back up.
"Well, I have to give it to Malcolm." Raya's sigh sounded as exhausted as Sorcha felt. "He's at least a consistent disaster."
Being a disaster was one of a handful of things Malcolm Bright was consistent at. Still, Sorcha felt compelled to point out, "He's never been in this kind of trouble before, though."
"He hasn't been the prime suspect in a murder investigation before, no."
"Well, he has been in his own mind." Sorcha checked the cabinets behind Gil's desk. When that turned up nothing, she moved to looking inside the drawers. A definite long shot given how Gil used the cabinets on a daily basis. She could leave no avenue unturned, however. Those files were somewhere in this office. She was sure of it. She just needed to find where. Quickly. "You know as well as I that he holds himself accountable for every one of the murders Martin Whitly committed."
"Yeah, well, I keep telling him he's wrong about that." Sorcha empathized with the resignation in Raya's tone. "Not that that bird brain listens to me any better than the rest of my bird brains when I tell them anything."
Sorcha's lips twitched. "Yours giving you problems, too?"
"Mine are always huge pains in the asses."
"Well, there's a difference between yours and mine." Sorcha checked inside the cabinets. There were plenty of files but none bearing either her father's handwriting or the names she searched for. "Yours aren't accused of murder."
"For once."
Sorcha shut the cabinet and turned back towards the rest of the office. Frustration burned beneath her skin, but she tamped it down. Anger wouldn't find those files or help Malcolm out of his predicament. Something she conveyed to the woman on the phone.
"If we don't prove Mal's innocence in the next few hours he will be joining his father in prison."
There was no need to add how Malcolm wouldn't survive a place like Riker's. Raya was as aware as she about what he'd face if he got sent to prison. No protection from the guards or staff, his father's legacy adding to the bullseye on his back, Malcolm would be lucky to survive an hour.
"Wait..." Raya couldn't quite mask the surprise in her voice. "Martin Whitly is in prison?"
Sorcha couldn't blame her for her reaction. She had been equally as surprised when Gil told her he received word of Whitly being transported to Riker's after attempting to break out of his cell at Claremont.
Raya, her uncle, and her grim mentor had tried to get him transferred to Blackgate for the murder of six Gothamites for over fifteen years.
All to no avail.
Everett Sterling blocked each and every attempt with ruthless precision and cold calculation. Same as he had to squash their every attempt to arrest and charge Raya's father with the murder of her mother.
"He's sitting in Riker's as we speak." Sorcha crouched to check under Gil's desk. A long shot, sure, but it wasn't like she had anything to lose. Every place she looked was one less on the list. "Surprised you didn't hear about it before we did."
"Things have been chaotic here."
"Another prison breakout?" Sorcha grimaced. "Or is the Joker running amuck?"
"More like our moronic mayor has decided to build a supermax prison in the middle of the city."
"He does remember he's the mayor of Gotham, right?"
"Sharp used to be warden of Arkham." Raya harrumphed. "He should know better than any of us how dangerous locking up our criminals in one section of the city is. How he got voted in is beyond all comprehension."
"Friends in low places?"
"Even the roaches hate Sharpie."
Sorcha chuckled softly. "Smart roaches."
"So, how did Doctor Whitly end up in Riker's? Not that it isn't where a monster like him belongs," Raya clarified. "I'd have locked him up simply for what he did to Malcolm if I could have."
"Me too."
She'd love to put the needle in the man's arm for what he did to Malcolm. For what he continues to do to him, Sorcha amended as she checked the bottom drawer. The half-full bottle of whiskey and matching glass tumblers made her smile. She didn't fault Gil for needing an occasional drink. Cops didn't have easy jobs despite what the media and certain groups tried to say. They saw the ugliest of human nature. Dealt with the worst situations. Were there bad cops? Of course. There were bad people in all wakes of life.
Nicholas Endicott a prime example of that. A man of wealth and privilege who used his money and position for evil instead of good.
"We couldn't have made those charges stick any better than we could murder charges."
"You wouldn't have gotten Whitly into Blackgate, anyway."
"Because of his lawyer?"
"Who is now dead."
"Sterling is dead?" Sorcha imagined the shock in Raya's voice was also on her face. "When? How?"
"Thanks to the same man who put Martin Whitly in Riker's." A man who hid his predatory nature behind a smooth, sophisticated facade, and five-thousand-dollar suits. "A man he was working for while he operated as the Surgeon."
"Martin Whitly was working for my father during the time he was the Surgeon..."
Martin Whitly's partnership with Raya's birth father, Matthew Berkeley was how Malcolm ended up meeting Raya and her unusual family in the first place. Well, that, Sorcha amended as Gil entered his office and because Matthew Berkeley tried to have Malcolm killed as revenge for Martin failing to kill Raya and her mother.
"Who is also dead."
A catastrophic earthquake claimed the life of Matthew Berkeley. With his death went any and all possibility of them proving Doctor Whitly was an agent of Berkeley's. The cataclysm also made it impossible for Batman, Commissioner Gordon, and Gil to investigate where the bodies were hidden. The United States government decreeing Gotham as No Man's Land further complicated matters. The only good that came from that was Malcolm being trained in a variety of different fighting styles and weapons by the woman on the other end of the phone.
Not that her danger prone dumbass used any of that training to help save himself.
Sorcha heaved a sigh as she moved to check under the couch for anything resembling a batch of files. "Apparently, Whitly was also working for Nicholas Endicott at the same time he worked for your father."
"Nicholas Endicott? As in the head of the Endowment for the Arts?"
"Yes." Sorcha ran her hand on the underside of the couch, feeling for any bulges. There were none. She sat up, disappointed but not defeated. "I'm going to guess you know him?"
"Bruce does. They're on a number of committees and chair a few different projects, in fact."
Sorcha wasn't surprised about that. Many of the upper crust of society pursued philanthropy as a means of creating a caring, compassionate social image. Jessica Whitly assuaged her guilt over what her ex-husband did by donating money to various charities and organizations.
Nicholas Endicott used his to conceal what a monster he was.
"I believe he's the head of a serial killer ring."
Gil made a sound that was equal parts resignation and amusement. Sorcha shrugged, not seeing the point in concealing anything at this point.
"Why do you think he's head of a serial killer ring?"
"Malcolm's father, John Watkins, Robert Harwood... they all worked for Endicott."
In her ear, Raya made a low, speculative sound. "And they're all serial killers."
"They're just the three we know about." Sorcha had a feeling her father had other names to add to the list. Names none of them would expect to find.
"Uncle Jim believed there were others involved with my father. Never could prove it, though. Not with Sterling acting as legal representative."
"Your father trafficked women, didn't he?"
"Drugs, women, weapons." Raya's voice dropped an octave. "Children."
"So, it wouldn't surprise you to find out your father was part of a serial killer ring."
"My father likely started the damn ring and invited Endicott to join it."
That wouldn't surprise Sorcha.
Nothing involving Martin Whitly, Nicholas Endicott or even Raya's father could shock her at this point. Well, Sorcha amended as keys clacked on the other side of the phone. If we found out the son of a bitch actually has horns, and a tail might freak me out a little...
It just wouldn't come as that big of a jaw-dropper.
Not after everything Endicott had done.
"My father was helping Ian Turner investigate this serial killer ring." Sorcha put the phone on speaker and set it on Gil's desk so she could rummage through the last filing cabinet in the room. Another long shot but one worth taking given the importance of the files in question. "Turner figured out Endicott was connected to it. That's why he was killed."
"Chief Turner came to see me and my uncle, Jim, a few weeks before he was murdered."
Sorcha spun away from the filing cabinet, excitement chasing away her frustration at not finding the files.
"Turner was in Gotham?" Gil placed a hand on his desk as he leaned forward. "Raya, are you sure?"
"I was at the meeting, Gil," Raya replied. "He wanted help with an open investigation that had stalled. Came to ask us to take a look at the evidence and see if we couldn't help him find something to go on."
There was only one open investigation happening at that time that Ian Turner would have been interested in.
"The Junkyard Killer." Sorcha lifted her eyes to Gil's surprised ones. "He brought the Junkyard Killer case to you, didn't he?"
"How did you guess?"
"Why?" Gil asked, frowning. "Did he think there were victims from Gotham attributable to the Junkyard Killer?"
"He had two potentials and one that we could confirm as being one of the victims."
"Who was it you connected to the Junkyard Killer?"
"Marian Carter."
"I know that name." Gil's frown deepened. "I've heard it somewhere before."
"She was the final victim that we believe my father had Martin Whitly kill," Raya supplied. "Marian's remains were found in her missing BMW in a junkyard in your neck of the woods."
"That's how Turner figured out Watkins was working with Martin Whitly," Sorcha said to Gil. "And that Nicholas Endicott was involved." Excitement fired her blood. "He pieced it together through the connection to Gotham."
"Raya," Gil said, face hopeful. "Did Turner have any other file with him?"
"I believe so, why?"
"Because Ian Turner said he left files on Martin Whitly and Nicholas Endicott in a place that has importance to Malcolm, myself, and Dad. Where it all began, he called it." Sorcha took a seat on the edge of Gil's desk. "I translated dad as meaning Gil." Her eyes moved to a photograph sitting on a corner of the desk. "What if dad was simply a code word and the place he means as to where it all began as Gotham? Gil, James Gordon, my father, Bruce Wayne... they all connect to one person."
"Malcolm." A, "Hmm," sounded. Amusing Sorcha and Gil. "You're thinking Chief Turner gave your files to my uncle?"
"I'm thinking he gave them to your uncle to give to the one person even Nicholas Endicott can't intimidate."
"Well, he can certainly try and intimidate Batman." There was humor again in that low, lovely voice. "I just guarantee it won't go well."
"For him."
"Precisely."
"You go ask your mentor if he has those files," Gil ordered as he straightened. "Call me if he does."
"I'll bring them with me when I come to collect your blood samples."
"You're coming to New York?" Gil heaved a sigh. "I'll fill out the paperwork."
"Already done. Check your top drawer."
Gil shook his head, a smile playing about his mouth. "You're just like your mentor."
"Which is good for you… bad for bad guys like Endicott."
"We need something good to happen," Sorcha said with a sigh. "God knows the last few days have been anything but."
"We'll get Malcolm out of this." Every word was coated in velvet steel. "Now, can one of you tell that danger prone dope something for me?"
"Stay out of trouble?" Gil joked. "Bright can't do that any better than you."
"Funny," Raya replied dryly. "No, I want you to tell him something else."
"Sure." Sorcha picked up her phone. "What?"
"Rise."
The call disconnected. Sorcha looked at Gil. "You want to tell him what she said or shall I?"
"I'll let you tell him what she said after I get done skinning his hide for ignoring my orders." Gil headed for the door. "You can take him home in ten minutes. Straight home," he clarified, shooting her a stern look over his shoulder. "Is that clear?"
"Yes, Dad."
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well! I've decided to go ahead and fuse this story with the crossover I have posted on AO3 (same account name as here on FFN). Mirror, Mirror happens sixteen years before the first season of Prodigal Son (Malcolm is 16 in it). Also, for those who don't know Batman, the supermax prison is a reference to the video game, Batman: Arkham City.
I just want to send a special thank you to Rookblonkorules and Duchess of Lantern Waste for their lovely reviews!
