A Different Game: Part 1d



Jim Gordon had managed to call in a few favors so that he, Barbara, Alfred, and Leslie could visit with Dick on Sunday in an attorney conference room. They were sitting in the small room waiting for Dick to be brought in. As the door at the back of the room opened, they saw him walk in wearing an orange jail jumpsuit. His hair was rumpled and he was unshaven. Barbara couldn't help but notice the lack of sparkle in is eyes.

"Hey," he said as he was led to the table by a guard. The guard took him by the shoulders and roughly pushed him down in the chair. The guard handcuffed Dick's left hand to the table securely. As soon as the guard left, Barbara moved over to hug him. Alfred and Leslie followed doing the same. "Have you found Bruce yet?"

"No, Master Dick. No word as of yet."

"He'll call if he can," Leslie added.

"Has it been on the news?" Dick asked.

"Bruce's murder, yes," Barbara replied as her hand stroked his arm. "All over the news. They just haven't released the names of the 'suspects in custody' yet. It's going to be a media circus."

"Has anyone seen Tim?"

"No. JDC will only allow family. His father saw him yesterday."

"Good. Poor kid's scared. He doesn't like to show it, but he is. This is a totally different game than the one we know how to play."

"Yeah, I know. And you don't have to be cryptic, Dad knows everything." Barbara said as her hands stroked his right arm in an effort to comfort him.

Dick looked up at Jim Gordon, "Good. I still have no clue why they arrested us. They have to have some reason! Being Bruce's son is enough to make me a suspect, I know, but not enough alone for them to arrest me. Much less arrest Tim."

"Dick, hopefully this whole nightmare will be over in the morning when the DNA sample comes back negative," Leslie said.

His jaw dropped and he stared at Leslie for a few seconds before slowly asking, "DNA?"

"They're trying to identify the body," Leslie said softly. "That's the only way."

"Oh great," he sighed as he ran his free hand through his hair. "Add that to the fact the state wants to proceed capitally against me and Tim makes this one great weekend. This is a nightmare," Dick stated softly as he shook his head.

"Capitally?" Barbara repeated. She couldn't believe what he had just said. It couldn't be true! "They want to..."

"Yep," Dick said flatly.

"But they can't," she continued, her voice shaking.

"They can," Dick said resigned. "That's one thing I've learned in the last twenty-four hours: the state can do whatever they want."

"Oh my God! Dick, how much worse can this situation get?" she asked as tears filled her eyes.

Jim Gordon moved behind his daughter, placing a supportive and comforting hand on her shoulder. Alfred and Leslie sat across the wooden table from Dick. Leslie slowly moved her hand into Alfred's. Dick looked over at them. He saw the worry on their faces. His heart ached for them. The world was saying the man they had raised as their son was dead, and the two people they considered their grandchildren were accused of the crime. No one should have to go through a situation like this, least of all Alfred and Leslie.

Anger grew inside him as he realized how these accusations were hurting his family. Alfred and Leslie shouldn't have to go through this. Barbara shouldn't have to go through this. Tim certainly shouldn't have to stay in that hell hole called juvenile detention! Tim wasn't a delinquent; he was Robin, one of the good guys. He didn't belong in jail. Neither of them belonged in jail. Bruce wasn't dead! But keeping them locked in here was keeping them from finding Bruce and finding out exactly what was going on. Yet here he sat, handcuffed to the table like a chained dog.

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Dick was brought into Gotham's Superior Courtroom Monday afternoon. As he entered the room, he saw Tim Drake, wearing a matching orange jumpsuit, sitting at the Defendant's table. The guards moved Dick to the same table indicating for Dick to take a seat beside Tim.

"What are you doing here?" Dick asked.

"Juvenile judge transferred me here this morning. I guess I get to go back to jail with you when we leave."

"We're going to get to go home, Tim. Leslie said the DNA tests should be back today and that'll prove Bruce isn't dead."

"I hope so Dick."

Their lawyers approached and took seats on each side of the boys, having Dick and Tim in the middle. Then the bailiff cried out for everyone to stand as the judge entered the courtroom.

"What's this case about?" Judge Vargas asked Peter Reynolds.

"State of Gotham versus Richard Grayson and Timothy Drake. Charges are aggravated assault, conspiracy to commit aggravated assault, felony murder, conspiracy to commit felony murder, first degree premeditated murder, and conspiracy to commit first degree premeditated murder. The state's asking for a Rule 24 conference."

"How old's Drake?"

"Sixteen your honor, but the juvenile judge transferred venue this morning."

"All right, proceed," Judge Vargas said."This is the Bruce Wayne case?"

"Yes your honor."

"Just give me an overview of the evidence you have so far."

"Bruce Wayne was murdered in his Gotham home," Reynolds began. "his body was burned beyond physical recognition, but the DNA results which my office received less than thirty minutes ago conclusively confirm that the body found was indeed Bruce Wayne's."

Dick felt as if he had had all of the wind knocked out of him. All the color had drained from his face and he looked as if he was about to be sick. Tim took Dick's hand in his as Reynolds's continued.

"Blood found on clothing taken from the defendant's apartment, as well as on a shirt sleeve found in the kitchen garbage pail in Defendant Grayson's apartment has been confirmed by the same DNA test results to be that of Bruce Wayne. Our evidence will show that the two defendants were the last people to come to and leave Wayne Manor, and lastly, but certainly not least, your honor, we have a videotape of the two defendants at the crime scene shortly after the murder."

Dick and Tim looked at each other. He had a what? Dick turned to his lawyer, "He can't have anything like that!"

Dick's attorney stood up, "Your honor, I object."

"I can play the tape if the Court wishes."

"That's a good idea Mr. Reynolds."

Peter Reynolds walked from his counsel table, a videocassette in hand, to the VCR and he injected the tape into the player.

The screen showed a color image of Wayne Manor's garage. A door opened and images of Dick and Tim, blood clearly evident on their clothes, emerged on the screen. Reynolds paused the tape and pointed to the T-shirts they were wearing. "As you can see in this tape, Your Honor, these are the clothes that were seized with a search warrant at Mr. Grayson's apartment which the DNA tests were conducted on." He then pushed play and turned up the volume so their conversation could be heard throughout the courtroom.

The videotape showed Dick and Tim walking through the garage toward Dick's car. With Bruce's blood on their clothes, they were laughing and talking about their plans for the weekend, about how they were going to "hit all of Bludhaven's bad spots". They appeared so callous, so uncaring. So guilty.

Dick slowly closed his eyes to block out the image before him. It looked bad. Really bad. They didn't understand, couldn't understand. It was out of context. They'd never understand and their secret would never allow them to fully explain. Opening his eyes, he turned to Tim. The boy was just staring forward shaking his head. Turning to his attorney. Dick managed to whisper, "It's not what it seems, it's ... it's, well... I can explain this ..."

"Not now."

"But --"

"Not now! Dick, this is not good. I know you understand that. We'll talk more after the hearing."

Judge Vargas looked up. "I've heard enough. The state's motion to proceed capitally is allowed."

The two defense attorneys jumped up, objecting to the judge's ruling and inquiring about bail for their clients.

Judge Vargas shook her head. "Gentlemen, this is now a capital case. Both of these young men have quite a substantial fortune at their disposal, even without being able to access Mr. Wayne's estate. If released on bail, they could easily disappear. And why wouldn't they, given what they have to lose? Bail is denied. The defendants are remanded to the custody of Gotham City pending trial."

Tim turned behind him. He caught his father's eyes. He read Jack's disappointment in him, his fear of Tim's situation. But what was worse, Tim felt his father believed he was guilty. "Dad ..." Tim said, desperation in his voice. He couldn't finish his sentence as the bailiff's took him and Dick by the arm, pulling them toward the prisoner door.

Jack Drake sat silently in the courtroom as he watched his son being led away by the guards. He couldn't believe what he had seen on the video. Yet, there it was, in living color, before his eyes. His little boy covered in blood. His little boy covered in Bruce Wayne's blood and laughing about what fun he was going to have. What had happened to Tim? What had he done wrong? What could he do now? Jack looked up when he heard Peter Reynolds ask Tim's attorney to stay and talk with him. Why did he want to talk to Tim's attorney and not Dick's?

Barbara Gordon stared straight ahead. It was not what it seemed, but how could they ever explain. A single tear escaped her eyes as she turned to Alfred. The dignified old man sat erect on the hard courtroom bench. His eyes followed Dick. His hands shaking ever so slightly. Barbara reached for his hands, taking them in her own and squeezing them. But he only turned to face her once Dick was no longer in the room.

"It'll be all right Alfred, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"I fear, Miss Barbara, nothing will ever be all right again."

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Dick and Tim sat, handcuffed, in a conference room as they waited for their attorneys to come in. Dick laid with his head in his hands. The hearing had gone horrible. Everything that could have gone wrong had. And they said Bruce was dead. That they had proof that Bruce was really dead. Dick felt the weight of that statement bear down on him. Could it really be true? Was Bruce really dead? Dick had always felt that the world would stop if Bruce died. Now, they said he was dead -- but the world was continuing.

Maybe it was just Dick's world that had ended. Nothing was right anymore. Dick looked over at Tim. The boy looked so young and so lost. Looking back at the handcuffs, he simply shook his head. If the situation wasn't so serious, he laugh. Dick had envisioned the different ways that their crusade against crime could end -- but this -- Bruce dead and he and Tim in jail for killing him -- had never been one of the ways. That damn videotape. They could never explain that! God, they looked so guilty. Now he understood Jacobs and Reynolds. Now he knew why they were so sure of their case.

Dick's attorney, Jon Walters, entered the room. Placing his briefcase on the table, he sat down with a sigh.

"Where's Mr. Avery?" Tim asked.

Walters looked at the boy and smiled. "He's coming." Then he looked at Dick, "I really think you and I should talk alone."

"Alone? What do you mean?" Dick asked, looking from Walters to a worried Tim.

"We need to have a little attorney/client talk."

"We can do that here. Tim and I are in this together. We need to work on this together."

Wilson Avery entered the conference room with Jack Drake just as Dick was finishing his sentence. "What's going on Jon?"

"Dick thinks we all need to stay together."

Avery looked at Walters, then toward Tim, "I don't agree. Tim, your father and I need to speak to you in private."

"No," Tim said defiantly. "Something's going on here and I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Dick responded. "Why do you want to separate us?"

"You are co-defendants," Jon Walters began, "the state is going to want to try you together. It is possible that in this case, you two will have antagonistic defenses."

"Antagonistic? What do you mean?" Tim asked looking around at the adults in the room. "Whatever you have to say to me, you say in front of Dick." Tim stood up from the table and walked toward the corner of the room. Dick watched him, a look of concern on his face.

Jack Drake walked over to his son, taking Tim by the shoulders. "Son, please, we're only trying to look after your best interests. You are in serious trouble Tim. We are trying to save your life, don't you understand?"

Tim silently turned from his father toward the wall, he didn't want anyone to see the tears in his eyes. It was just too much -- everything that had happened -- and it was just beginning. God he wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare. "I know, but I'm staying here."

Dick looked to the two attorneys, "I need to explain that tape."

Wilson Avery walked around the table, ignoring Dick's words, "I spoke with Peter Reynolds. He's willing to offer you a plea."

"Plea?" Tim questioned, still looking at the wall.

Dick looked at his attorney, his eyebrows raised in a question. Jon Walters whispered to Dick, "I was afraid of this."

Avery continued, "The D.A.'ll let you plead to accessory to first degree murder with a twenty-five year sentence IF you testify against Grayson."

Testify against Dick? Tim felt his entire body shake as he realized what they really meant. He whirled around to face his father and attorney, "Hell No! I. Will. Never. Testify. Against. Dick!" he growled in his very best imitation of The Voice. "We are innocent! We didn't kill Bruce! We'd never kill Bruce! God! How can my own father not know me," Tim said as he looked Jack Drake in the eye. "You think I'm guilty. You think I'm capable of murder. You have NO idea who I really am!"

Jack looked his son in the eye. The evidence seemed overwhelming. But Tim seemed so adamant of his innocence, could he really be? He questioned his own son's innocence. Tim was right, he really didn't know him



To be continued ...