Detective Penway entered Gordon's office without knocking and tossed a folder on his desk. "Got another one." Jim raised an eyebrow and opened the file almost fearfully. "Body'd been cold for over 36 hours by the time it was found. Doesn't look like anyone was too interested in her well-being. Name's Aleecia St. Germaine, born Alice George, part-time singer, full-time cokehead. Her most well known hit is 'How I slept with the record exec to get a contract'," he quipped maliciously.
"Is that so?" a voice born of nightmares asked from behind.
Penway jumped as the cloaked figure immerged almost as if from the woodwork. "Jeez!" he exclaimed. "Can't you tell him not to do that?"
"He's not so good at taking orders," Jim commented as he flipped through the papers. "Got a note?" he asked with a sick dread in his stomach.
"Yep." Penway pulled the plastic bag out of his coat pocket and tossed it in front of his boss.
Adjusting his glasses, Jim focused on the note card. As with all the others, it was gray and of fairly heavy stock. Nice, but available at any stationery store in the city. "Once poor white trash, always poor white trash. I probably did Brucie a favor by shutting her up. Either way it was a mercy killing. The Trash Man,'" he read out loud. "Great, thanks to the media he's got himself a name," Gordon sighed wearily.
"The note wasn't found right off, which is why we're late getting on it," Penway informed him.
"Any idea how he approached her?" Batman asked.
Penway shot the vigilante an annoyed look. "Drugs. Found a half-gram still lying on her kitchen table. He made sure she was nice and happy first."
"Any evidence he was using?" Jim asked.
"He wouldn't," Batman cut in. "This is all very precise. How he chooses them, how he's hurting them. Drugs aren't in the plan."
"Riiiight and thank you, Dr. Freud," Penway replied sardonically. "But no, Commissioner, no evidence that anyone else was partaking of the goodies. And if I may point out, we don't know how he's choosing them."
Jim nodded sadly. Over fifty women on Wayne's list. They couldn't put them all under protective custody.
"What does he mean by 'shutting her up'?" he asked.
"Word is she's shopping around to write a tell-all book about the music biz. No doubt there'd be a chapter devoted to her tryst with the illustrious Mr. Wayne," he noted dryly. "Consensus is that she couldn't write a postcard though." He smiled. "Maybe Wayne knocked her off to keep her quiet. Hell, maybe he did all of them just to clean up after himself."
"Ridiculous," Gordon growled. "You know he couldn't possibly have attacked Rebecca Raven."
"So he copied the first crime. Why go from rape to murder anyway?"
Jim looked up at the other man sternly. "All the notes have been analyzed. Same handwriting, same perpetrator."
"I'm just saying to write him off so easily is…"
"Enough!" Jim shouted and stood up. "No more of that here or anywhere. Stick to the facts and follow the evidence trail."
Penway scoffed. "What evidence trail? The scene was just as clean as the others. He's playing with us, Commissioner, and I don't like it one bit."
Jim looked down at the picture of the newest victim. Bright red hair spiked out into dangerous looking points, ring through her nose, black lipstick, and a sadness in her eyes of a young woman whose choices have led her to a dead-end in life. "Neither do I."
After slipping away from the two policemen, Batman perched atop a building to think. The latest death only served to prove the theory he'd been postulating to Gordon before the detective had barged in. The killer was using their weaknesses against them - vanity, loneliness, vice. He was studying them. It may not serve to useful in tracking him down, but it helped to get inside his mind, maybe to allow Batman to counter his efforts like blocking the blow of a fighting opponent.
He recalled all he knew of the young singer. In investigating a piracy ring located in the very heart of the record label, he'd needed an excuse to get into the building among the executives. A party celebrating the release of Aleecia's album was the ideal opportunity and what better way to do it than on the arm of the singer herself. Unbeknownst to her, she'd been the perfect mole, offering up all kinds of information during her constant drug-induced high, and to her he was simply another rich man to sponge off of. He'd deftly avoided providing the actual drugs for her, but she managed to score quite well for herself despite his efforts. The last time he'd laid eyes on her she was passed out on a couch in some office.
It was only one very publicized event, but it had the gossipmongers talking for weeks.
One night, he thought darkly. If he hadn't used her, she would still be alive. In one night she'd become another of the Trash Man's victims.
The penthouse was easy enough to access for someone who had both the means and the will. That worried him as he stood watching her sleep in the dark of her bedroom, night vision lenses allowing a full, unencumbered view. He would have left as silently as he came, but she had slept only fitfully since returning home and her eyelids fluttered open under his scrutiny.
Her hand found the bedside lamp and clicked it on. Only the slightest look of surprise washed over her pretty face as she focused on his motionless figure. "So the Boogie Man returns," she whispered, sitting up against the padded headboard.
Not really knowing what else to do, he moved over to the bed and sat down beside her. Her auburn hair, which he had only seen perfectly coifed until recently, was matted against her head from sleep, strands hanging limp in front of her face. He reached out and moved them gently away to the side. She didn't so much as flinch at his touch. "There's been a third death," he heard himself say.
She inhaled sharply. "You're sure it's the same man?" He nodded. "Why is he doing this?" she asked with a cracked voice.
"I wish I knew." Her lip quivered slightly and a tear slipped down her cheek. "I want you to be very careful," he told her.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't leave here alone, don't let anyone in you aren't completely familiar with."
She laughed humorlessly. "I haven't left the apartment since coming home and I'm sure if I did, Dad would have an armed guard follow me around. And no one's getting in here. Except of course a mysterious stranger who waltzes in like he has an open invitation," she finished with a small nod towards him. "Why the house call anyway?" she asked.
His stomach flipped over. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Because you haven't called me and I wanted to see how you were doing, but instead he stood up. "Just be careful."
Too his amazement, she threw off the bed covers and stood as well, facing him. Her hand came up and she touched his chest plate with her fingertips lightly grazing the symbol that was his name's sake. "Sometimes I don't feel like myself anymore," she spoke out loud, though he wasn't entirely sure he was speaking to him. She rocked unsteadily on her feet, and then leaned forward, like she was going to kiss him. His hands grasped her upper arms and held her fast.
"You are Rebecca Simone DeLand Raven, and you're going to survive this."
"You're certain about that?"
"Trust me."
Up close he could see how bloodshot her eyes were and the spider web of scars that remained on her cheeks. Her lips stretched into a thin smile. "I bet you help little old ladies across the street and rescue kittens from trees in your off time."
"Who said I had off time?"
"All work and no play makes…Batman a dull boy," she said, words slurring slightly. A quick glance to the bedside table and he saw the empty tumbler that, from the smell emanating from her, once contained a healthy dose of scotch.
"Dull has its advantages," he said as he gently pushed her to sit down on the bed.
"I don't want to be alone right now," she moaned thickly. "Couldn't you just…?" Her hand reached for him again even as her eyelids drooped.
"Shhh." He pushed the hand away, and then, while gently smoothing her hair back from either side of her face, kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, Becky. It will be better in the morning."
Her eyes were already closed as she laid her head against the pillow. "Bruce," she whimpered softly. "I miss you."
"I miss you too," he found himself responding while he pulled the spread up over her shoulders. "Stay safe." He remained by her side for several minutes to insure she had drifted off to sleep before turning out the light and slipping away with a much heavier heart than he had entered with.