Title: Do Unto Others: Closing In

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

The Bat-Cave, June 29th, 6:31 a.m.

With Barbara's assistance, I had been able to download the file on the car accident from the sheriff's department. It hadn't been the shoddiest work I had seen, but it was close. They had done a fair enough job photographing the scene with a third rate digital camera and had also gone through the process of searching for matches on missing persons or stolen vehicles but neither had resulted in a hit. At the time being, they were making inquiries at the remote residences around the state park, hoping that someone had seen something.

Hope was not a method in solving crime, at least not one I practiced.

After the sheriff's department had made it to the scene in the wee hours of the night, I had departed, already collecting blood samples, photographing the body and taking scans of several boot prints that had led into the woods. The coyotes had obviously dragged the body from the actual kill site, which I had found thirty feet east. Copious amounts of blood splatter and pooling in addition to scattered footprints and drag marks. If I could match them to the previous prints taken, I would have physical connection to the previous murders instead of relying solely on my gut instinct.

I had made it back to the Cave just before six in the morning, Alfred ready and waiting with a breakfast tray and a carafe of fresh coffee. After directing him to set them on the workbench of the computer bay, I took ten minutes to shower and change, hoping to scrub away the fatigue. When I had emerged, he had waited until I had taken a seat before pouring the first of many cups.

"Ms. Selina called last night."

I had been occupied with logging onto the computer, slightly put off when I found that Barbara had signed off already. I had taken the steaming mug from him, sipped carefully and had replied, "I'll call her later."

"Very well, sir. I take it from the determination beaming from your eyes that you have made progress?"

"In a way," I had responded without looking at him, my gaze directed at the screen as I looked through the file Barbara had composed the previous day. Regrettably, Tim and Cassandra had made no headway in their work from the previous night, nor had Dick. I had briefed Alfred on the discovery of another victim at the scene of the odd motor vehicle accident and then voiced my interim plan aloud.

"The suspects the feds have don't match either of the cars. There was no ID on this new victim, so the coroner is going to have to rely on alternative methods of figuring out who she is. If someone reports her missing, that would help, but I can't count on it," I plugged in the vehicle description into the state DMV and linked it to a face recognition from the photos I had taken.

Alfred had cleared his throat at the sight of the ghastly face and said, "Thankfully, we can always count on you, Master Bruce."

While I had waited for the search to hopefully put a name to the face, I had then started another comparison with the new boot prints to those we had on file. Sure enough, a perfect match. Not a second later, the DMV search had completed, with three possible results. One of the young women lived in Newark, the second in a small rural town over a hundred miles away and the last lived in Greeneville.

Just outside of Rockledge.

"This is her, it has to be," I had muttered to myself. Claire Sumner. Aged 23. Blonde and blue, five and one-half feet tall. Corrective contact lenses and she was a registered organ donor. I had the crays bring up whatever else there was on file for the late Claire Sumner and had proceeded to drain the rest of the mug as multiple windows popped up. Two arrests, one two years earlier for public intoxication and the second for indecent exposure. Skimming the police reports, she had just had too much fun for the local police to handle.

"There aren't any bars near the state park," I had muttered.

"Sir?"

"He seems to find them at bars, or near bars. There isn't one for miles out there. She had car trouble, not a drunk driving accident," I had proceeded to think out loud. Rising from the chair, I collected the blood samples and swabs I had taken from her and quickly descended the metal steps to the lab. It would be several hours until the DNA typing, toxicology screen and the Chem-7 metabolic test results were done, but I had plenty to accomplish in the meantime.

Returning to the computer bay, I had been surprised to find Alfred missing. The breakfast tray, however, had still been present, subtly pushed two feet closer to the main keyboard.

Ushering me to eat even in his absence…

As I took a seat, a new window popped up, showing Barbara's less than cheery visage. After a brief yawn, she offered after yawning, "Sorry, had to catch at least an hour of sleep…"

"No apology necessary," I replied, stomaching the urge to yawn myself.

As I brought her up to speed with the very possible identification of the latest victim, Barbara countered with information Tim and Cassandra had come upon from the night before. With Mimi's Bar re-opening soon, they had made security alterations including cameras and better lighting in the parking lot. My two youngest partners had spent pre-dawn hours studying the modifications after checking in on every male that had been in attendance the night of the early June murder. Just before five in the morning, Mimi herself had come in with buckets of paint and two teenaged boys to help paint the interior.

"Robin made his move, confronted her. She seemed genuinely forthcoming that she couldn't remember any more details about that night. By then, I had already told him that the Jeep was possibly the killer's. He asked her if anyone that night was driving a similar model and she said yes. One of the regulars drove a Jeep Cherokee."

"Who?"

"Pete No Name."

"Even if she can't remember his last name, it easily could have been an alias. I doubt he would leave that blatant of a trail."

"Right, Well, I've already started getting a list off of the state and regional states' DMV listings, hopefully we can find something."

Again, hope was something I was short on.

Having yet to sleep, my eyes felt grainy as they stared up at the busy monitor display. Crime scene photos, new and old, an assembled dossier of the late Claire Sumner along with a video window of Barbara's tired face.

I found myself speaking aloud, "Even taking the wild animal interference, this victim suffered extreme assault, more than the others."

"Ferocity," Barbara offered, "He might have caught wind of Caffrey's public address, felt panicked."

"Or … he was proving something. That he's not afraid."

A new window opened on the screen, a result of the media flag system that had already been preprogrammed to bring up any news coverage of the case. Caffrey had decided to host another press conference, interrupting the morning news with an important announcement.

"You seeing this?" Barbara asked.

I nodded but didn't reply, remaining silent as the federal agent declared that the accident in Rockledge resulted in another murder as well as the possible acquirement of the suspect's car. He proceeded to claim that he himself had made the connection after following a hunch and looking further into the crime scene. The reality had been that I had called Gordon directly from the scene before leaving. A reporter boldly asked if any of the suspects questioned the day before were in custody and Caffrey declined to comment.

That single remark led to a barrage of questions insinuating that the federal agent had let a killer loose back on the streets, followed by angry shouts and Caffrey being promptly escorted away from the mob.

I nearly smirked. Nearly.

Barbara sighed before remarking, "I've been working on locating dealerships and used car lots in the state to see if any of the same make and model had been sold in the last five years and if any private parking lots have it listed."

"Anything?"

"I've found about twenty possible matches on the second car within a hundred mile radius of Gotham. Twelve have been registered in new states, changed owners and moved out of the area or have been totaled and sold for parts. There are eight are in working licensed order."

"Male owners?"

"Five," she paused before reading aloud, "Larry Graff, late forty year old in Bryanttown, Elder Gonzalez, sixty-nine year old in Chelsea, Peter Placido, late thirties in Glenville, Gabe Cavanaugh, twenty-three year old in the Village and Henry Watts, thirty-six year old in the East End. All are clean save for Graff and Cavanaugh, both have arrest records for domestic violence and aggravated assault."

As she had listed them off, I had plugged them into the computer, watching as the names gave way to faces.

"And none have reported their vehicles missing?"

"I've flagged auto theft records and scanners, so far nothing."

Nothing… was something I was used to.

Nothing… was something I was unable to accept.

Nothing…

"Bruce?"

I glanced up to see Barbara's face, nearly lost amidst the activity on the screen.

"What?"

"I think…" she paused, "You faded out for a second. If you want, I'll keep working on this if you want to-."

""I'm fine," I cut her off before closing the connection.

After a moment of bat shrieks echoing, "Ms. Gordon was in the midst of making a very wise suggestion, sir."

I turned to look at Alfred with all of the resentment I could muster.

He showed no outward response other than the faintest of a smirk, "Ah, but then again you do seem to thrive on near exhaustion, hunger and dehydration. What a gladiator you would have made, sir."

Rather than bark at him, I simply ignored him until he quietly departed, leaving me alone with my work. Months of photographs, crime scene breakdowns, meager collections of hard evidence and more coroner reports bearing the same cause of death than I cared for.

In the mass of information was the answer. It was my job to find it. And my job alone.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, June 30th, 8:32 a.m.

For entire day, he had laid on his bed, hidden beneath blankets despite the warm summer air drifting through the window.

Low traffic areas and cover from the woods had helped him jog nearly the entire trek back and by the time he had reached civilized life, it was well into the middle of the night. Although five hours had lapsed since he had left that girl in the woods, Pete had been too occupied with maintaining his breathing while running or taking brief breaks to calm his vitals. As exhausted as he was upon returning home, it was no wonder he slept in bed for so long.

Before Pete had crashed into his bed, he had buried the young woman's purse, the license plates and registration cards in the back flowerbed, four feet below the surface. He had then showered for nearly an hour, scouring his body with soap in order to remove the sweat and blood and dirt that had been layering his skin. Afterwards, it was necessary for him to wash the tub out and then to soak the clothes he had worn in the washer. After several glasses of water, he had locked himself in his bedroom, shut the lights off and had crawled into bed.

He had tried to watch television but every woman that came on the screen changed before his eyes. First, they grew to resemble the Whore and they laughed at him. And as anger bubbled inside him, the faces would transform again, to the girl on the road, screaming at him. And then she would alter herself, taking on the battered and dead look after he had taken care of her.

He decided it was safer to just lay there with his eyes closed.

As sunlight began to sift through the closed curtains as the second morning breached, Pete did his best to keep his eyes shut. When he was little, his mother would come into his room early in the morning to wake him for a special breakfast for just the two of them. He had always pretended to be asleep so that she would go through the process of tickling his back in order to wake him. She would make him whatever he wanted for breakfast, and he was always torn between French Toast and Eggs in a Basket.

Not long after, he had to adjust to making himself cold cereal for breakfast…

The phone rang, interrupting the silence of the near vacant house..

Since the answering machine was in the corridor, Pete had to finally uncover his head as he strained to listen to the caller's message. He rarely received phone calls, not even from telemarketers. He could have gotten out of bed. There had been no loud knocks on his door saying that his vehicle had been found in a motor vehicle accident. But he for the first time in his life, he had understood why his mother had longed for the safety of her bed.

You could pretend it was all a bad dream….

As the tone sounded on the machine, Pete's stomach growled painfully, longing for his mother's French toast and Eggs in a Basket or at the very least, toast. He decided that it was safe to emerge from the bedroom, rising from the bed with a serious of stiff movements and joints popping. Inactivity for such an extended period of time had never happened to him before. Rather than head for the machine, Pete opted to wash up and changed into jeans and faded green polo shirt.

Making his way to the kitchen to satisfy his next primal need, he passed the phone and answering machine he pressed the play button. There were first of the three messages had been from First National asking him to come in for an exit interview. The third had been from the dry cleaners to pick up his new suits, and the second had been the one from that morning.

"Mr. Placido, this is Connie at Human Resources at Wayne Enterprises. I was calling to remind you that the introduction brunch is this morning at nine, hopefully we'll see you there."

After a moment's pause, he deleted them all.

Again, he had lost control of his behavior in a public setting. Yes, she had asked to be punished for her outlandish behavior, but he could have gone through the process of calling a tow truck and dealing with the insurance agencies. She hadn't been outwardly suggestive neither had she displayed any real characteristic that resembled the Whore. The young woman had simply made him angry by being disrespectful and he had…. Overreacted.

He shouldn't have killed her.

The thought hadn't come to him until he had made him home, thirty-six miles on foot, from Rockledge. He had been exhausted rather than exhilarated from his claiming of another foul creature. But as he settled into his pillows, he had replayed the events on that county highway. He hadn't been paying attention, it was his fault. She hadn't been one of them, she had only been a mean, selfish person. Even as sleep had taken hold of him that first night, Pete had tried to rationalize his actions but couldn't find the justification.

But his mother had said…

His mother was dead…

And there he was, standing alone in the kitchen a day and a half later. He couldn't get through watching a television program, he couldn't even get up to answer the phone, let alone go out and face the world.

As Pete poured himself a glass of water from the tap, he mused that perhaps he could call later, excuse his behavior…

There was no excuse for what he had done.

But his mother…

Pete threw the glass at the wall, watching coldly as it shattered and fell to the floor.

Why was he doubting his judgment? There had been no questioning the others, their fates had been sealed the second they had revealed their true nature to him. That woman, that creature had been just as deserving as the others, hadn't she?

Stomach still churning, Pete went about sweeping up the broken glass and disposing of it in a paper grocery bag. Upon taking it out to the garage, Pete stepped back into the house to find he wasn't alone after all. He had never been alone, she had always been there for him, at least in spirit. Even still, he had no desire to listen to her, to hear how he had misbehaved and been unable to control his temper.

He managed to ignore her as he went about making scrambled eggs, toast and bacon, not as fancy as his former special breakfasts but it was quick and easy. Plating the meal, he poured another glass, that time milk. As he sat at the small kitchen table, he tried to eat, but found himself staring down at the steaming food.

"Peter?"

He set his hands on the edge of the table, his knuckles bruised and sore from hitting her in the face…

"Peter?"

He had killed her for the wrong reason.

He couldn't ignore her when he felt her breath on the back of his neck and her voice in his ear, "Peter?"

But she had told him to.

He didn't reply, but simply stood there, hardly even breathing.

"Peter, you're upset."

He lied to her, "No."

"Why are you upset?"

"You are… You must not feel well…"

The faintest pressure appeared on his forehead, like so many other mornings when she had felt for a fever. He had grown to hate school, mostly because the other children had grown to hate him. No matter how badly he had tried to fake it, he would have to go to school and withstand their ridicule each day.

The pressure faded and he heard her say, "You should rest, Peter."

"No… I've rested enough, mother."

"Peter-."

"No," he barked, "You're wrong, and you were wrong about her… she wasn't one if them, she wasn't like her!" His mother remained silent, so he continued, "It was an accident, it was my fault! And look what I did because of it?"

She made no reply.

She was gone.

Pete finished his breakfast, did the dishes and returned to bed, feeling no better than when he had gotten up. He knew eventually she would come back and he would apologize for raising his voice, for saying such cruel things. Perhaps she had been right. The Whore had a mouth as well, one she had used to hurl insults and redirect blame away from herself. Perhaps under better circumstances Peter would have been able to see what he his mother had.

Either way, it was too late to change anything.

He had never reveled in how it felt to take them, or how he made it so that they would never hurt anyone ever again. Once smiling faces reduced to swelling and split lips, whimpers and pleas fading to silence. Smooth, tempting flesh left blood drained and slashed. He had only sought after the satisfaction of pleasing his mother, of upholding the promise he had made.

But as he had dragged her into the woods, he had done so with a smile on his face…

His mother's voice returned, as soft and sweet as it had ever been, "Peter… she is like the others, she is like that whore that took your father away from us… She didn't follow the golden rule."

Pete thought back to how livid the woman had been while Pete tried to remain calm and orderly. How she had swore and spit vile words at him, threatening him while he acted passively.

"You remember the golden rule, don't you, Peter?"

He nodded and looked straight ahead, as if she was laying in bed with him. He could smell her perfume, see her bloodshot eyes, feel her hand on his.

"Yes. Do unto others... As you would have them do unto you."

"That's my boy..."

^V^

Wayne Enterprise Reception Hall, June 30th, 9:09 a.m.

"Mr. Wayne, so glad you could make it," Connie Vreeland-Rhyes waved at me from the head of a small buffet table. She was wearing a silky powder blue pants suit and too much make up and perfume. Even still, I took her hand into mine and told her that she looked stunning. A slight blush came to her cheeks, "Oh, Bruce, please."

I hadn't slept in three days. My head was ready to implode any minute. Somehow, I shrugged, put a smile on my face and glanced around the room, "So, where are the lucky new recruits?"

She gestured to a row of linen covered tables where several members of HR and the heads of various other departments were seated and working away at their plates, piled high with free food. As we walked over, she spoke quietly, "There was one new employee, a security guard, he didn't show up and he's not answering at his house. I wonder if something may have come up... Who knows."

After greeting the familiar faces and introducing myself to the new ones, I took a seat and did my best to act casual and interested in the new members of "Team Wayne." I made no effort to memorizes faces to the names as the odds were that I would never interact with them ever again. After ten minutes, I started checking my watch on a regular two-minute basis in order to insinuate that I had more important things to do.

Connie was the first to speak up, "Bruce, if you've got a busy schedule..."

I stood and nodded, "Actually, I'm afraid I do. It's Wednesday," I stated as if that explained everything. Before departing, I went and congratulated the new employees once more, wished them the best and shook their hands before taking Connie aside. She seemed honored to be in my sole company, and did her best to show it by batting her eyelashes and pursing her lips. I paused then asked, "So this fellow that didn't come today..."

"Yeah, I'm kind of concerned myself, it doesn't seem like him to not show up, he's a very punctual person. He used to work with my brother-in-law, said he never missed a day of work…

"Do you know this employee, personally?"

She shook her head and pulled back a loose string of hair, "Pete? No, I feel like I do though, he's that kind of a person… very genuine… all of the other applicants had similar training and experience, but he just had that extra quality, made me feel safe." I frowned at her and Connie was quick to place her hand on my arm, "Don't let this influence your image of him Bruce, he's a really nice man."

"Pete…" I said aloud, shrugging with a sigh, "You're probably right, I bet something came up. I'll have to meet him some other time."

With that, I said goodbye and forced myself to leisurely stroll down the corridor to the nearest elevator bank. After inserting the keycard that lead me directly to the executive floor, I leaned my forehead against the cool gilded wall and closed my eyes, hoping to will away the throbbing in my skull. When the doors opened up, I avoided assistants trying to get my attention, managed to bypass Lucius as he did battle with the CFO and made it to the safety of my office. Immediately, I locked the door, shed my suit coat and removed my tie.

Settling at my desk, I buzzed Melinda to have her hold my calls and she readily confirmed. I signed onto my corporate computer before retrieving my personal laptop from my briefcase. There was work to be done that day, but barely any of it required Bruce Wayne. As the laptop turned on, I returned to the keyboard on my desk, working my way into Human Resources with little effort. I had over a thousand of people who worked under the banner of Wayne Enterprises, ten new hires didn't account for much of anything.

Save for one.

After gaining access to recent hires, I opened up the surname lacking Pete to look over his resume and employee records. It was a typical dossier listing personal information, education, work and training experience in addition car information for parking permits. Each file also bore a copy of their photo ID card.

When Pete's came up, my heart skipped a beat.

Peter Placido.

Dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Placido's résumé was indeed impressive. What caught my eye was under his education, where he listed a substantial amount of training at the Police Academy. Killers of the nature I had been stalking of late, often found it amusing to either attempt or pretend to be a police officer, some going the lengths of becoming invested in the profession to learn the ways of being detected in order to avoid them.

I had never been one to jump to conclusions, but there were rare cases when the conclusions reached out to me. Peter Placido, the second car's possible owner, was not in attendance at a scheduled work event that just so happened to be at Wayne Enterprises. Not having access to his car would be the most likely for he had missed the brunch. The previous night, we had split up visiting the various owners that had that specific vehicle registered in their name. Cassandra had visited Placido's reporting back that no was home.

I had been intent to place the blame on those with criminal records.

Idiot.

I had always done my best to separate my two lives, but somehow they always seemed to meet when I least expected them to…

Since he was hired as a security guard, he also had to pass a psychiatric evaluation, one of which he had passed with flying colors. I read further, intrigued that his parents were both listed as deceased. Moving to the laptop, I logged onto the Oracom network and began searching for death certificates. Nothing else seemed out of place, every t crossed and i dotted. I was half-tempted to dial the phone number listed under how to contact him but decided against it. Instead, I called Barbara.

"I thought you were going to work?"

"I am… had to attend a new employee brunch." I proceeded to fill her in on the details of the morning. "It seems that Placido requires more attention than I presumed."

There was a long pause before she replied, "Interesting. It's a small world, isn't it?"

"Too small."

She paused again before offering, "Well, I've been keeping on top of the Federal Bunch of Idiots hunkered down at GCPD headquarters, most likely driving my father insane… They've been complaining about the lead that you gave to my father to give to them. As much as they hated to admit it, they have to follow it. Been running all over the city this morning trying to pin one of them as the killer."

I remained silent as the death certificates came up for Placido's parents. His mother died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the had when he was eight years old, a result of loss to untreated manic-depression. His father, re-married to a younger woman, had died of cirrhosis and heart disease many years later.

Forwarding it to Barbara, she reviewed them before commenting, "Not the perfect life for a non-violent, upstanding citizen, if you ask me."

"Almost perfect for a violent one," I said quietly into the phone.

She agreed and then continued, "Want me to send Cass out to his place again, check things out?"

I deliberated silently before affirming, "She is not to make contact with him, strictly observation. Follow him if he leaves the house. Wait for him if he's not there."

"That should be fine, she is, after all the strong silent type." I heard a muffled conversation as she informed Cassandra and the young girl acknowledged and set out. Barbara returned, "Plan on sharing any of this with the local authorities?"

"Of course, after I catch him. Not until."

First item of business was to confirm the owner of the car that had been left behind at the scene. Robin had drawn prints the night before from the impounded vehicles but we only had the two car owners with prints on file and neither were matches. There had been no traces of blood or stray fibers either, suggesting he was as meticulous in his life as he was at his crime scenes.

Perhaps Placido was a victim as well, rotting somewhere out in the woods.

Maybe he had dragged that girl out in the trees and beaten and stabbed her to death.

I looked at the soft smile of the handsome man's photo ID record.

Was he capable of doing the unthinkable?

Dead ends, everywhere I turned.

Dead ends and wrong turns.

^V^