Dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, Bruce sat in front of the computer, gulping down the fresh coffee that Alfred had handed him.
"Oracle," he hailed.
"Go ahead."
"What have you got so far on the Valentine murder?"
"According to the preliminary police report, she went to a club on Mulhaven, called the Two Angels, only three blocks from her apartment. Apparently she's a frequent visitor. Five eyewitness testimonies so far have her leaving with someone at or around 1:30 a.m. Five different descriptions of the man – one even says it was a woman. Best source of information seems to be the bartender, Chance Bartholomew. He remembers a man buying drinks for her all night. Described as 5'10" to 6', medium build, wearing a tux, deeply tanned, dark almost black hair, age 23."
"Approximately?" Bruce asked.
"No, exactly. He had to card him before selling alcohol."
Bruce leaned forward, gripping the arms of his chair. "He saw his ID?"
"That's right."
"Did he get a name?"
"Nothing on the report."
"I think I'll be paying Chance a visit. Any luck on that print?"
"I'm running a matrix applying probable variations, but the possibilities are infinite, and it's mostly pulling in garbage."
"Cross reference with the bartender's description. He's got to be out there."
"Sir," Alfred cut in on the intercom, "there's a call on the house line. Lucas Raven. Shall I ask him to call back?"
"No! I'll take it down here." Disconnecting from Oracle, he picked up the phone on the computer console. "Lucas!" he said brightly. "It's good to hear from you."
"Bruce," the caller replied evenly. "We're getting settled into the penthouse. I'd really like to speak with you. In person. Can you come over? Say, in an hour?" Although phrased as questions, the CEO of Raven Airlines had perfected the art of interrogatory commands. Employees soon learned that 'no' was never an option.
"Of course. Looking forward to it."
"Good," Lucas said tersely and disconnected the call.
The two men stood out on the terrace of the Ravens' enormous penthouse, where Rebecca currently resided and her parents stayed whenever they were in town. Having been a frequent visitor recently, Bruce knew it very well. The fifty-foot balcony spanned the western side of the building and offered an amazing sunset view in the evenings.
Lucas Raven was a large man in both height and girth, whose completely bald head gleamed in the mid afternoon sunlight. He used his dominating presence to his full advantage with underlings and adversaries alike. Standing silently with arms crossed, he watched Bruce like an owl would watch a field mouse.
"Where's Sarah?" Bruce inquired about Lucas' wife.
"She and the maid are unpacking. I thought this meeting was best suited to just the two of us."
Bruce nodded and asked, "How is Rebecca doing?"
"Wonderfully. She'll be coming home tomorrow. Luckily there is only a small hairline fracture of her left cheek that should mend nicely on its own. The doctors say any surface scarring will be able to be buffed out with minimal effort. Her dental work will take about a week to complete. Her nose will require the most repair."
"I was referring to her spirits," Bruce corrected quietly.
"How do you think she's doing?" the other man vented. "Someone tried to disfigure her. She was degraded and humiliated!" He paused for a moment to compose himself and looked out onto the city. "The Commissioner told me about the note and that woman that was killed," he said almost casually.
"Lucas I can't tell you how sorry I am…"
"No you can't. I'll tell you something Bruce, when Rebecca first told us you were starting to date, I was not exactly happy with the idea. I'm well aware of your escapades. But Sarah, God love her, thought it was kismet or something. 'Thomas and Martha's little boy with our baby,' she said. 'Isn't it wonderful?' So I kept my mouth closed and just waited to see. Rebecca's a smart girl; I've never hidden anything from her. She is perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and I'd just hoped she could see something in you I couldn't.
"Son, I knew your father for many years. We roomed together at Princeton and all that time he was a decent hardworking man. Wrote to your mother every day, never looked at another woman. I shudder to think what he'd say about his son's reputation now. I don't know what's more disappointing: how irresponsible you've become or the fact that you don't care how you hurt those around you."
Lucas hung his head, shaking it. "I know it's a little late to close the barn door after the horse has gotten out, but I think it's about time I asked anyway." He looked directly at Bruce. "What are your intentions towards my daughter?"
Bruce was saved from answering as a small silver-haired woman rushed out to greet them. "Brucie!" she cried. "It's so good to see you again." She came forward and threw her arms around him.
"Sarah," he responded warmly. "I'm just sorry it has to be under such grim circumstances."
"Oh, I know," she said sadly and placed a hand to her mouth. Once composed, she smiled again. "Did he offer you anything? Tea? Something to eat?"
Bruce shook his head and replied, "No thank you, I'm fine."
"Sarah, darling," Lucas said, placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back into the apartment. "Bruce and I are conducting business, man to man. We'd really appreciate some privacy."
"All right, dear," she sighed. With a final wave to Bruce she disappeared back inside.
Lucas shook his head and he returned to stand before Bruce. "I haven't told her about your involvement in this mess. I think it'd be better for her right now to keep some of her illusions. Now getting back to what we were discussing before, what are your intentions towards Rebecca?"
"Lucas, I can honestly say I care about her a great deal, but I am not looking to get married right now. I'm sorry."
Lucas Raven sighed and leaned against the terrace rail. "So am I, son, so am I. I think you'd better leave now."
"I'd really like to see Rebecca again, once she gets home."
"If and when she chooses to see you is her business. I won't forbid it, nor will I encourage it," was the only answer he got.
Bruce nodded somberly and let himself out.
Calling the Two Angels a 'club' was being generous by far. Little more than a dive with a fresh coat of paint, it offered karaoke Tuesdays and Thursdays, live bands on Wednesdays, and dancing till dawn with DJ Mixmaster on weekends. Located in an area adjacent to higher end housing, clientele tended to be hip, rich, and young, but that crowd didn't hit in force until well after 10 p.m.
The sun had barely set leaving the city in a mild but beautiful glow as Batman made his way over to Mulhaven and walked into the establishment. At this hour a handful of regular patrons sat scattered at various tables or booths gave the Dark Knight mixed looks ranging from fearful apprehension to jocular amusement. For them the Two Angels was not a social club, but for hardcore drinking and they were putting the quiet time to good use.
Ignoring the customers, Batman walked straight to the bar where a man of about forty with a gruesome burn scar surrounding his left eye was drying glasses unenthusiastically with a dish towel. He wore black pants and a red vest and the look of someone who had just lost his best friend.
"Chance Bartholomew?" Batman asked, surprising the man enough that he almost dropped the glass he was working on.
"Batman," he said with some surprise, but without the cringe of the chronically guilty. "Uh, what can I get you?"
"Information. About Brandy Valentine."
Chance's face immediately closed down. "I've already talked to the cops," he said and resumed his task with far more determination than before.
"And now you'll talk to me," Batman informed him grimly. "You said a man was buying her drinks. What time did he get here?"
Chance lifted a shoulder. "I guess I first noticed him around 11:30."
"And you carded him. What was his name?"
"Look," the bartender said tiredly, spreading out his hands, "all I do is make sure they're legal and that they match the picture. I can't remember everybody's name that comes through here."
"But you remembered his age and a pretty detailed physical description. You were paying attention to him. Why?" Chance looked away. "Why?" he asked again, leaning forward.
"It's always some young, handsome guy," Chance replied softly. "She puts on a show for them. Laughing, touching his arm, dancing in that way that's unfit for public. And he just kept putting the booze in front of her, like she'd need the incentive." He paused and shook his head wearily. "She'd been doing too much of that lately," he said almost sorrowfully.
"Too much of what? Drinking or going home with strange men?"
"Both," Chance answered, meeting the vigilante's eyes in challenge.
"How long has she been like that?"
"I dunno. Eight months or so. You gotta think something happened. Maybe a magazine wouldn't hire her because she was too old or some prick photographer told her she was too fat. Beautiful woman like that, doesn't matter how many times she looks into the mirror, all she sees is the rejection. I guess she hoped the booze would ease the pain and when it didn't she'd look for acceptance in the arms of whatever creep could lay a half-assed line on her first."
Someone put a dollar's worth of quarters in the jukebox and an upbeat disco tune filled the sour air as ludicrously inappropriate background music to the scene at hand. "You loved her," Batman guessed.
"Wha? That's ridiculous. I…" Chance sputtered for a few moments, and then calmed. He set the glass down on the bar, reaching for a bottle from beneath the counter. He paused before pouring. "Sure I can't get you something?" Batman shook his head in silent declination.
After tossing back the drink, Chance started talking again. "She'd come in here two, three nights a week. Most of the time she's dancing and laughing with a group of people, usually with one or two pretty boys panting at her feet. But once in a while she'd just sit there," he nodded to a barstool, "and talk. Not that she was talking to me as a person. It was Chancey the Barkeep, that's what we're here for, right?" he smiled bitterly. "But I got to know a good deal about the person underneath the glitz and glamour, and I'm telling you she really was beautiful, whether or not she believed it." He sighed. "As if a class act like her would ever even look at an old war dog like me." He licked his lips. "But I'm telling you I'd give anything to get my hands on that bastard."
Nodding, Batman replied, "So would I. All I need is a name."
Frustrated, Chance slammed the glass onto the countertop. "I've been racking my brain all day! But every time I come close I just flash back to high school English class. God, I hated that class," he muttered.
"Just keep trying. If you come up with anything, contact Police Commissioner Gordon."
Chance nodded as he plunged the glass back into the soapy water to wash. "I will Batman. Thank y…" When he looked up he was alone.