Sometimes the badge could get up places. Not all of those places were good ones and the people you found there were not of sound character.
Montoya had to remind herself that not all people with money were good people. Some of them were no different from the people she dealt with on a daily basis. Their wealth was the one advantage they had and they used it ruthlessly as a shield. A very effective shield.
But that didn't mean Montoya didn't have weapons of her own. The Commissioner's suggestion had been accepted and she had taken along Bullock. Why try to ruffle feathers yourself when you had a master ready and able to do so on your behalf?
"I do not know what to tell you...Officer," Max Shreck said, his peculiar way of speaking off-putting. Even when introducing herself to this business mogul, that speech pattern was throwing her off. She couldn't help but think everything he said was some kind of lie; yet, she had no proof that any thing he said was one. It was like an alarm bell constantly ringing to the point it was distracting. "I am not able to say...with certainty...that I know every single thing that resides in one of my...many businesses. I have other people to do that...for me."
"I understand. Not everyone knows everything they have in their own homes. I'm not interested in any of that. What we would like to know is why any of the escaped Arkham prisoners would want to break into Shreck Textiles," the detective explained. This interview was taking place in a conference room within the headquarters of Shreck's multimillion dollar business empire. Her initial look into Shreck's background informed her the man had once been on his way to entering the billionaire's club, and would have done so already had he not had a spat of bad luck over the past few years.
"What can I tell you...it's a textile plant," the mogul shrugged his shoulders. "It produces fibers and fabrics. We use cotton, wool, silk; we make synthetic fibers, nylon and the like. We sell much of the finished product...in my own stores. And others...for a price."
"Do you keep chemicals at a textile plant?" Montoya asked.
"Of course. Part of any process in making fabric...requires various treatments with chemicals. Desizing, scouring, bleaching, singeing, dyeing...are just some of the treatments we do. Not all fabrics are created equal. You need to...smooth them out...remove impurities. Thus...we use chemicals."
One word stood out to her. "Bleaching?"
"How else do you get a white shirt to be white?" Shreck remarked flippantly. "It's also good at killing off...things you don't want in your bedsheets."
"What kind of bleach do you use at the plant?" This was important; the memory of seeing those SWAT members with bleached skin flashed into her mind's eye.
Shreck waved one of his hands nonchalantly. "It's been a while...since I've found myself immersed...in every aspect of my empire. I can certainly get you a list of the products we use."
"Maybe we can help shorten the list," Bullock spoke up. The Lieutenant had taken a seat further down and had for all intents and purposes let Montoya control how the interview progressed. This had been part of the plan from the get-go and now the detective watched Shreck carefully. Bullock was about to ruffle some feathers. "We're looking into a pretty strong kind of bleach. Like, the kind that can bleach a person's skin. You wouldn't know the name of that kind of bleach, right?"
Shreck was not ruffled. He shrugged his shoulders, "It's been a while since I've checked in on that. Other things...Detective...I've been busy with other things. I'll make sure to...add that into the inventory request."
"Maybe we can shorten the list even more," Bullock said, showing no sign that he even cared that this multimillionaire was dismissive of him. "You know of any kind of bleach that can dye a guy's hair green?"
Shreck blinked. "I...beg your pardon?"
"We all know one of your places was broken into last night. The guys responsible took some kind of bleach. There's still some of it on the floor. A large tank of it hit a SWAT van and we got a bunch of guys having to go to the hospital for it." Montoya waited, letting her partner here take control. So far, Shreck had given little away, and was listening without even the slightest of flinches.
"I am...sorry to hear about it," Shreck said.
"Here's the crazy part," Bullock continued. "Some of this stuff got on their skin. Bleached it white. But some got it in their hair. Turned it green. We're curious. What is that stuff and why do you have it?"
"We purchase chemicals...from a number of suppliers. Sometimes we change suppliers. Again, I can find this information out for you...and pass it along." Nothing, not even a bead of sweat. Shreck was a cool customer. Too cool. That wasn't enough to get a search warrant on him, but her gut was saying a little more digging couldn't hurt.
"Off the top of your head, you think you could give us the name of the supplier who gave you that stuff? It was kept up in a secure room, electronic keylock and everything." Bullock was the one who sounded flippant now.
"It's important to keep these chemicals secure...Detective. As your men no doubt learned last night, they can be really nasty...to the touch." Legs crossed, hands clasped together and in his lap, Shreck remained completely calm. Say what you will about his way of talking, the mogul was unflappable.
Bullock nodded his head. Montoya picked up from there. "Do you know how any of those prisoners found out about the bleach?"
"Beats the hell out of me," Shreck shrugged his shoulders. "You're talking about some...dangerous people. They're also...resourceful people. They find things no one else knows about...or shouldn't know about."
"One of those resourceful people has white skin and green hair. Think he might be an old employee of yours?" Bullock was speaking, and it was an ambush question, Montoya realized.
There was an implication; was there a time where the Joker had been exposed to this bleach? If so...could it be they had stumbled across a clue, perhaps an all important one? Could it also mean there was a connection between the Joker and Max Shreck?
"I'm probably not the only person who's ever purchased it. He could have had contact with it somewhere else," Shreck said dismissively "Are you trying to insinuate something, Detective?"
"We have to explore every avenue," Montoya cut in, directing Shreck's attention back to her. "Sometimes that means asking uncomfortable questions. So long as you have been straightforward with us, you have no cause to be concerned, or worried. Right now, we have a large amount of this chemical in Gotham, held by some dangerous people. Who knows what they'll use it for? We need to know, so we can stop them, and the more we know, the faster we can. Any help you can give us would be appreciated."
Shreck nodded and the smile he gave was...well, it didn't match. What didn't it match? Could it be everything? His face, his head, his very skin, it just...didn't match. "Of course, Detective. If it helps protect this city...then you will have everything at my disposal. I'll get you the names. Then you can go out and...save the day. In the meantime...if there are no more questions...I'll need to end this interview. But I will contact you...if something comes to mind."
Montoya nodded. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Shreck."
The two officers took their leave, leaving Shreck in his conference room while they trekked their way down to street level, and into their car.
"He stinks," Bullock stated as soon as the car doors were shut.
"He barely reacted," the younger detective noted.
"Like he's done this before," the older man agreed. "We might want to check if there've been other times we've looked at this guy. He didn't even blink."
"Except where you lost him," she pointed out.
"And is it just me, or was he just creepy?" Bullock continued.
There was no need to say anything. Max Shreck was a creepy guy, spoke weird, and was cool as a cucumber under scrutiny.
Shaking her head, "We can't let the fact that he's creepy influence us. We need more than that."
"You can be a creep and tell the truth," Bullock retorted. "We've both had our shares of creeps. You know what the difference between a creep telling the truth and that creep is?"
"What?" Because it needed to be asked.
"A creep telling the truth doesn't sound like he's talking like a lawyer. Who wants to bet this isn't Shreck's first run-in with the law?"
"I'm not taking that bet. Back to the station?" The key slid into the ignition and turned. The engine roared to life and the gear shift was pulled into reverse.
She didn't need an answer from her old partner.
"Chip, could you come in here?"
Shreck removed his finger from the intercom. It had been mere seconds after those cops had left before the business mogul reached out to call for his son. He waited patiently in his seat, one of his crossed legs beginning to fidget. In time, the door to the conference room opened, and his precious boy peeked in.
"You called for me?" his flesh and blood asked.
"Come in. I just...had an interesting chat with some...police officers." Shreck gestured to the nearest chair. Chip closed the door behind him and accepted the invitation, which was far from being an invitation. "You remember that stuff...from several years ago? The stuff the EPA got on our case for?"
"You'll have to be more specific, Dad," Chip said.
Shreck allowed himself a wry smile. "The one whose name we've taken...great pains to erase. The one somebody with...too much time on their hands put a little something else...that made it look like it glowed green. Claimed it was copper. I don't believe that for a second. Now do you remember?"
Chip was frowning. "Didn't we get rid of it all?"
The elder Shreck nodded. "I thought so too. Apparently...it showed back up. You wouldn't happen to know what it was doing at the textile plant...would you?"
"I have no idea, Dad. Why was it at the textile plant?" Chip couldn't hide anything from him and Shreck could tell his son was just as confused. Oh, the elder Shreck was better at hiding it, no doubt, but right now he needed some vulnerability.
"Some cops came into contact with it...they think it's bleach. I didn't tell them otherwise. If anyone asks, that's what it is. That's all we know it to be. If they trace it further, it was an agreement behind our backs...but right now, we need to be sure...all of it is destroyed."
His son nodded gravely. "I'll take care of it."
"See that you do," the mogul agreed. "I'll handle...the rest of the damage control."
"What if something else happens?" Chip was biting his lip, a bad habit of his that the father had tried to train out of him for little effect.
"How do you mean?" Where was Chip going with this?
"If the police are suspicious, it's only a matter of time until they find out more. Even if we make sure there's none left, it's going to get out to the rest of the city. Everyone is going to have questions. It might get us the wrong attention, the kind that stops deals. We already have the mess from Computron. Can we take another?"
Shreck sat back in his seat, thinking over his son's words. That was a very good point. This morning, they had started from a position of strength, but if the truth were to get out…
Pennies on the dollar.
"Then we need to push forward what deals we have. Accept terms right now...start getting our money's worth now, and prepare for the incoming storm. I'll personally check to see who is...giving the better offer. Then I will offer my congratulations."
Finishing touches tended to take up more time than anticipated, but why not add some flourish to your grand design? It was like signing your work once you had finished it, and why wouldn't you want the world to know of your accomplishment?
There was a time to keep to the shadows, then there was time to step out into daylight.
"How ever did you learn of such a nasty batch?" Jervis inquired.
Strange allowed his lips to curl. "It was a lot of deduction. Little clues the Joker dropped during our sessions, the behaviors he engaged in when he was running rampant, the various patterns he obeyed whether he acknowledged them or not, as well as the secretive behavior of the owner. The hard part was narrowing down the precise location. Naturally, I wasn't the only one to know about it due to your run in with his lackeys."
Jervis looked uncomfortable. "I do hope this latest venture is promising, Professor. There is...something unnatural with that concoction. I cannot put my finger on it."
The superstitions of the lesser minds were a contagious sort
and it was important to pay attention to them. It did not matter that you possessed incredible intellect; there were subversive forces that could bring down even the most superior of minds.
Jervis' anxiety was something to note. There was the possibility it could prove disastrous under the right circumstances.
"Keep your distance, my friend. It is a danger to whatever it touches, this is true. The only ones who should learn of its potential are our enemies. For now, we must turn to other matters, but once everything comes to fruition, then we may press on with more fulfilling goals." Placing an arm around the diminutive man's shoulders, the bearded psychiatrist began to guide his former patient away.
If nothing else, it would turn Jervis' attention away from the setup.
"So what is our next step, great and glorious leader?" Ah, there Edward was, the man in green leaning against a wall and his posture screaming boredom. The sarcasm was easy to hear.
"With Pamela in the throes of trauma, we must find a different means of upping the difficulty. We can't allow our enemies to think that this is too easy, oh no," Strange said whimsically.
"Firepower," Edward stated. "Boring, but effective. How many of my drones need I sacrifice this time? They are not all expendable, mind you, and their numbers are limited."
The land-based drones would be valuable, but there were too few left, and it would be best to save them for a proverbial rainy day. It was the same issue with the airborne drones as well. Too many had either been destroyed, or confiscated, and it was a reminder that their resources were not inexhaustible.
That was the reason for all the skirmishes throughout the city. Gathering and obtaining resources, not just for this latest scheme, but for the ones that had yet to be dreamed of. The wave of violence was brutish, but effective, and so far even the interference from Batman and law enforcement had done nothing to quell it.
"There is no need for any of your drones, at least for now. For once, let us keep this next part quiet. I have already placed an order for more artillery and the scheduled rendezvous is for tonight," Strange explained dismissively.
Edward appeared thoughtful, mulling over his words. "You placed an order. A purchase. So it should be arriving soon, if not already."
"There are fewer outlets that can satisfy our needs, much fewer than there used to be." Strange allowed a wry smile to grave his face. "The Batman's efforts have reduced the amount of black market activity, but not completely. There are still those who peddle, all you have to do is find them."
"I presume it's a source you used before. Something from your days as Victor Erie? Or perhaps earlier?" Edward held up his cane and drummed his fingers on the curved head. "Or maybe someone new. Old and new. The Calabreses?"
"They have been insidious as of late, and that is a partial answer," Strange said. "I suppose it is a subsidiary, if you could use the term. I have had a few dealings here and there, and from my experience, the man always delivers. So long as you stay to your business, you'll be able to enter and leave unmolested. I would like to bring the two of you with me for the rendezvous. I trust you both have eyes for weaponry."
"So guns." The derision was palpable.
"Is that a problem?" Strange asked mildly.
"There is little imagination with guns," Edward answered drolly. "Anyone can use one. How can you be creative with that? All you need to do is aim and pull a trigger. Simple to learn. Where is the art? The creative expression? How do you prove yourself with something anyone can do and everyone can learn? It's child's play! Too easy!"
Ah yes, Edward's need to showcase his intelligence was the man's only objection to bringing in such simple weaponry. The drones seemed to be an exception, perhaps due in part to the programing. The self-styled Riddler could program the machines to obey a pattern, or give the opposing force a way past. There was more effort and a greater demand for skill there.
"I included some incendiaries and explosives if that piques your interest," Strange casually dropped.
"Bomb components," Edward commented, tapping his chin. There was a slight grimace, one that was followed up with a shrug of the shoulders. "A step up. You need more flourish to make it worth your time."
"Take your time and come up with something unique. In the meantime, we must venture out to meet with our supplier. Make sure we bring a large enough transport," the former shrink stated.
It went unspoken that they were going to need it.
In all honesty, Barbara had been there to see her dad. What she was able to overhear, well, that was a bonus. That bonus was her starting point for her own investigation.
Due to how recent everything was, there was little to go on at the department. No one there knew what it was they were dealing with and why it picked now of all times to let them know about it.
It was easy to connect with her workstation back at home and start the preliminary searches without needing to leave. Wi-Fi, folks, and as soon as she returned, she'd have a leg up on the research for this latest development.
Their Arkham escapees had been after this chemical. Why? For what purpose did either of them want it? What reason was it being held by Shreck Textiles? All very good questions that no one had answers to. So she was going to answer them and send the info on up. The rest of the Network needed to know, Batman needed to know, and this was why she was Oracle.
It looked like she was in for another late night with little sleep. She really needed to find a better balance. Then again, you could say this was another example of like father, like daughter. Even to this day her dad struggled with work-life balance, though it was worse today for obvious reasons.
Her dad was burning out, she could see this, and Barbara desperately wanted to know how she could help him. The best she could offer was to be there.
It was frustrating that that was all she could do.
Eventually, she got to clock out and return home. Barbara Gordon was shed and Oracle was back in business. Well, maybe not immediately. A little time was taken to get more comfortable and have a snack. It was going to be another long night.
At her workstations, the wheelchair-bound woman booted up the monitors and began going through the search results. The frown that graced her face was not from concentration, though. You would think that a chemical that bleached skin white and dyed hair green would be easy to identify. Her search results showed nothing on that. No name or anything, which was surprising and frustrating.
Okay, so a passive search was not going to cut it here, and a more hands-on approach was needed. It was a good thing that she had initiated multiple searches and so it was to those other results that she looked into.
One of them was about the containment vessel that the chemical was kept in. That info was recovered by investigators. The serial number on the container had been intact, though the name on the other hand was conspicuously missing. Still, having no name was not a major obstacle. She focused more on what it did, bleaching and dyeing, and did a cross-search on that. Simultaneously, she hacked into Shreck Textiles' mainframe and began her search there.
Like many businesses that had started out prior to the age of the internet, it had originally kept hard copies, then when digital became more affordable and cheaper—for a variety of reasons—it went through the laborious task of making digital copies of their hard copies. This meant sticking to the bare bones of information, such as what, who, and when. Additional information would need to be found by going through the hard copy itself.
That meant work for the Network. Still, that textile plant was hot right now, so she would hold off until absolutely necessary. Either that, or tell Batman to get a closer look.
Her cross-search ended soon enough and with nothing to show for that. Well, this was a real challenge, wasn't it? Apparently the lack of a name for this chemical was proving to be a bigger obstacle than she had thought it would be.
But she wasn't stopped in her tracks, oh no, not yet. They still had the serial number, so she went through the textile plant's digital files with that as her starting point. That search didn't take long because she did find a copy of an inventory where that serial number could be found. There were other serial numbers too, meaning there were more than just one of these containers filled with this stuff. Still no name for it and that was really weird.
It was like someone was taking great pains not to give it a name. Or had it erased.
There was something real fishy here. But what?
Well, if you couldn't find out what it was, or what it was called, you could certainly try to find out where it came from. A textile plant didn't make chemicals, it brought them in. A business would want to know where it got its chemicals because either they would want more of it, or stop using it.
It didn't take much effort to find a name: ACE Chemicals. Now why did that sound so familiar? That was the topic of another search and it didn't take long to get a lot of information. For one, there were quite a few ACE Chemicals out there, though they changed some of the spelling, like Ace Chem, A.C.E., or A.C.E. Chemicals, etc. There was one that happened to be in Gotham, which went with the spelling of ACE Chemicals, and it happened to be defunct.
It also happened to be where the Joker hid out during the Great Gotham Fire.
Oracle stilled. Information continued to run through her head as she took this in. Shreck Textiles, ACE Chemicals, and the Joker were connected to one another. The chemical that connected Shreck and ACE happened to bleach skin white and dye hair green. The Joker...his coloring...was it possible?
Had...had she found something about one of the most mysterious individuals in all of Gotham?
Now her heart was racing. It hammered in her chest. Her fingers became slack, almost noodly. Then the hacker took a long, deep breath and continued working.
ACE Chemicals had a history, had been around for awhile, and had a reputation. Infamously, they were known for dumping their waste in the nearby Gotham River, which had a lot of environmental groups and government agencies coming after them. They all failed to close it down, and it continued to dump without abandoned, though it became more low key about it.
Then, like so much else, the Joker showed up. ACE Chemicals didn't survive the night, going up in flames itself. It was also where Batman was last seen for three years before making his return. That history she knew all too well. But then the Joker himself returned after three years and tried to recreate the Great Gotham Fire, where he was finally captured at the construction site rebuilding ACE Chemicals. Shortly after the project had been abandoned, leaving ACE Chemicals effectively defunct.
Now that name was resurfacing. What else was there to find? The search changed its direction into the former company. While it had its start decades ago, all of its hard copies of records had been destroyed in the fire. Oracle was hoping to see if she couldn't find the digital copies, though. Those copies had to have a name for this stuff, what it was made of, and what it was for. That could go a long way into figuring out what Arkham's worst planned to do with it.
The thing about trying to track down a digital copy was that you needed to know where it was. Similar to a physical copy, but at least with physical, you only had a limited number of physical locations to go. With digital, you had all of cyberspace to comb through. If they existed somewhere, all someone had to do was change the name of the files to something irrelevant, and you would overlook the files every time because why would you even think to check in that digital location?
Maybe there were other clues with ACE. Before starting a long, arduous search for digital copies of ACE's day-to-day business transactions, research and development, and everything else it did, she did a look at its more administrative side. Former CEOs, former board members, former managers, accountants, I.T., people who would interact with anything involving ACE's records would be people to have the Network check into, maybe have a conversation with.
Sure enough, she found something, and again, it was not what she was expecting. ACE was not an independently run company, but a subsidiary. Someone had bought it and gave it a change of management that was more in line with the umbrella corporation. What was the name of that umbrella corporation?
Shreck Incorporated.
That name was still fresh in Oracle's mind. Shreck Textiles and ACE Chemicals were owned by the same corporation. No, wait, Shreck Textiles wasn't a subsidiary, but a branch of the umbrella corporation. Still, it was practically two different companies, both owned by the same owner, and were doing business with one another, a classic case of vertical integration. Essentially, a corporation was trading with itself.
The connections were growing stronger. Shreck Textiles had this mysterious chemical that it had received from a now defunct subsidiary. Was there a chance this was coincidence? Maybe, but Oracle was the daughter of Commissioner Gordon, and she couldn't afford to believe in coincidence.
Who would have ever thought there would be a connection between one of Gotham's wealthiest men and it's worst mass murderer? Based on recent history, there should never have been any surprise. This was definitely something to move up the pipeline. She knew plenty of people who would be interested.
Very interested.
