Chapter Eight

This was Tuesday morning, and life needed to continue as normal. During the week I usually opened the store a little later, as experience had shown there were no customers outside the door at nine o'clock on the dot, so it didn't matter a huge amount that I had had a late (eventful) night and had then dozed after the Bat's departure. But when I came down to open up, a little before ten, there was a police officer on the doorstep, and a squad car out on the street. Luckily the store and my apartment were sufficiently far enough away from the scene for the police officer to say that his visit was just on the off-chance, in case there had been a fracas in the street before the assault in the alleyway. He was going through the motions, as far as I could tell. They seemed to be assuming it was part of a gangland turf war. I didn't like to ask questions, in case I somehow gave myself away, so I feigned the usual Gotham lack of interest in another poor soul's misfortune.

Lacey was caught up in the organising of one of her charitable events ('A boring committee meeting which will go on for ever and achieve nothing,' she said) so she didn't appear in the store. I was pleased to have some quiet time, to process what had happened, to recover from the shock of the attempted mugging. I still wanted to think of it as a robbery, nothing else, nothing worse. I was bruised and stiff from the few blows I had taken, and from the Bat throwing me to the ground. The bathroom mirror told me that there were no marks on my face that I would have to explain. My arms ached from having gripped my bag so tightly, and from the punches the guy had landed to make me let go. My knees were scraped from the tarmac.

And I was bruised from the love-making, from the knowledge that I would never do that again with him, especially now I knew who he was.

If you see me walking down the street

We would never speak of it; he would never indicate that he knew that I knew. We would be strangers from now on. No more mysterious notes on the counter, asking me to open the window.

And I start to cry, each time we meet

I would miss the evenings with whisky, I would miss the sensitive side of him, the silent companionship. I mourned that loss. I could not have done that with Lacey present.

Walk on by

Walk on by

The world forced itself on my attention, however. Ranald sent me the occasional message, light and conversational, and I knew I needed to reply, in order not to send the wrong signal.

Foolish pride

Students came into the store with interesting book requests, most of which I could not fulfil, but the chats broke up the day and my thoughts. In between customers, I continued my internet search for Behind Closed Doors: the Secret Societies that Built Gotham. That was proving fruitless.

That's all that I have left, so let me hide

The Bat was just another loss I needed to come to terms with, but the loss of something that hadn't really started, if I was completely honest.

The tears and the sadness you gave me when you said good bye

There were other matters to think about and concentrate on. When I closed the store and went upstairs, I closed the door on the matter, and on the Bat.

Walk on by

Walk on by

Lacey hadn't quite got over her disappointment at the Founders' Ball, at finding it so business-like and boring. She prattled on about how she wouldn't go in future, now she knew what it was really like. She seemed to think that Rafe Harlowe was Harry's new best friend at the company, now Harry had been promoted. Her conversation was all about Harlowe, except that she called him Rafe all the time. She fished for news about Bruce Wayne, but I lied and said I had had no contact with him. Because I had been warned not to tell her about my invitation to the Founders' Ball, and because I had forgotten to ask Mr Wayne why, I was a little wary of her questions. I did tell her I had had dinner with Ranald, just to distract her.

I told her another white lie, that another lawyer had approached me about the lawsuit against Gotham Developments, and would like sight of the Larsson papers, in order to give the plaintiffs the benefit of their advice. She asked me who they were, so I named Ouray Mahigan. Her eyes widened a little, so I could see that she knew the name.

'Harry could pass them on,' she said.

'No, it's okay,' I said. 'I'm happy to do it. I would quite like to see Mr Mahigan at the same time.'

She couldn't really argue with me. She seemed twitchy, however, as if she had not achieved an objective. We agreed on Friday evening as the best time for me to collect the copies, even though that was two days away. Before she left, she asked about settling the lawsuit.

'Have you given it any more thought?'

I shrugged.

'How can I? I haven't received a written offer yet. I don't know what's on the table.'

'Harry's working hard for you,' she said. 'Now he has Rafe's ear. Harry thinks the company should do the right thing and settle.'

I looked at her. The right thing was to admit wrongdoing, and allow prosecution of the guilty parties. But I couldn't say that.

'That's kind of him. I appreciate that. Please tell him,' is what I actually said.

She nodded, and smiled what looked like a small smile of relief.

'I'm sure the offer won't be long coming. Do say you'll give it due consideration.'

'I will.' I crossed my fingers behind my back.

Time was ticking, she needed to go home and sort out a few things. I wanted to shut the store early, but I was not sure what I was going to do in the apartment in the long evening.

Lacey didn't come round the rest of that week, which was unusual for her. She claimed to have things to do, and I wondered if she had been admitted to an inner circle of senior GoD wives that she didn't like to tell me about. If so, maybe she worried I would see it as a betrayal, but it was business, as James always said. We had always been careful to keep ourselves out of these networks, always worrying about what we would be getting into, what commitments we would have to make. If he was ever invited, he never told me. Because of his work, he felt the need to be seen as impartial, even though he worked for a mighty development corporation. He wanted to be true to the truth, as he used to say. If Lacey was involved, if she got herself out of her depth with commitments or expenses, it would be to support Harry. She was nothing if not loyal, which made her sudden disappearance from the store even more surprising. She would have said.

Friday rolled round, and by then Ranald and I had agreed to meet for dinner. I had expected to have been over to Lacey's, got the papers and been back by the meeting time Ranald and I had arranged, but she asked if I could go later, at about nine in the evening.

'Bring a bag, stay over,' she said. She sounded a bit odd, but she claimed to be okay when I asked her.

Ranald had offered to drive me over, so I declined her invitation to stay. She tried to tease me, but her heart wasn't in it. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong.

'Maybe they just had a fight', Ranald said. 'Are you sure you don't want to stay over? I will be happy to drop you. I don't mind. If she wants to talk.'

It was appealing, I had to admit. I didn't like the idea of being in the apartment with the papers, after what Bruce Wayne had said to me. So I accepted Lacey's invitation and packed a bag.

I enjoyed my dinner with Ranald. He was attentive, entertaining and generous, picking up the bill again, despite my protests. Neither of us had drunk anything, him because he was driving, me because he wasn't. He pulled up at the kerb outside Lacey and Harry's large house (still not as big as the Gotham Heights ones, but big enough), we leaned in to kiss briefly, just like an old-established couple. He said to let him know when I wanted to go home. I ran up the steps to the front door then turned to wave. I watched him drive away.

The front door was ajar, which surprised me. I stepped into the entrance hall. I put down my overnight bag and called out, but there was no reply. There was no-one in the living room. Cautiously I returned to the large entrance hall, calling out again. Lacey's voice answered me:

'In here. In the study.'

She sounded strange, not like herself at all. An alarm bell started to ring. She would have come out to meet me. I fished my cell out of my purse, and stepped away, towards the front door. I called the number the Batman had given me. As it connected, the study door burst open and a masked man stood in the doorway.

'It's Conscience,' I said. 'You need to come. Please hurry.'

I froze as I looked at him. It was more like some sort of military gas mask, covering his entire head, with goggles over his eyes. It felt like my heart stopped with the shock and fear.

'Get in here.'

I started to run, giving the address as I did so. He started after me. He caught up with me just as I was in the doorway, almost outside, catching the strap of my purse and pulling me over. I landed heavily, dropping my cell.

'Get up.'

Shaking, I obeyed.

'Now get back in here. Don't make me ask again.'

In the study, Lacey was sitting against the bookcase, hands and feet tied. There were blood marks on her face. Her make-up, normally immaculate, was streaked down her cheeks. Harry was prostrate on the carpet, unconscious, tied up, with duct tape over his mouth.

'Sit.'

He pointed to a place against the wall, opposite Lacey and Harry.

'Who were you calling? Police?' he demanded.

'No.'

'Stay there.'

He went to retrieve my cell phone. He made me unlock it.

'Hmm. I.C.E – in case of emergency,' he said. 'Is that your boyfriend?'

'No.'

'Not the schmuck who takes you to dinner. I mean the one in the suit.' He could see the answer in my face. 'Oh – it is, isn't it? Well, well, well. So we will have another visitor. So much the better.'

'Lacey. What – what's going on?' I asked.

She shrugged.

'I'll tell you,' the man said. 'This guy here – ' he kicked the unconscious Harry, making him moan – 'still has pretensions to greatness. Ambition. This guy here – good old Harrington Johnson-Brown the third – is a bag man for the Archangels. Dirty money, Harry – is that it? Are you moving dirty money? This guy here – ' he kicked Harry again, this time in the head – 'is part of the problem in this great city of ours.'

Lacey's eyes were shining with tears.

'You,' he said to me, 'are a victim, so I'm not gonna treat you like them. Your husband died because of scum like them.'

'I didn't know, Em, honest. I don't know what he's talking about,' Lacey protested.

'Ignorance of the law is no defence – isn't that right, Mrs Rossingdale? I learned a lot, sitting at that reading desk. Damn, shouldn't have said that. I probably just got myself barred.'

The penny dropped. It was Creepy Guy.

'It will be a bit difficult to visit the store from prison,' I said.

He laughed. 'You put a lot of faith in lover boy. And he is a boy, isn't he? Compared to you.'

Despite her distress, Lacey looked at me in astonishment.

'And you are making a lot of assumptions,' I retorted.

'I do hope you'll visit. I hope you'll bring me books.'

He put a clear plastic bag over Harry's head and started to tape it closed.

'What are you doing? He'll die!' I cried.

'That is kinda the idea.'

'This isn't justice.'

'Isn't it? I kinda think it is. I'm not a vigilante, if that's what you're thinking. That's your boyfriend's schtick, not mine.'

I had to do it, but I had no idea of how or with what. I launched myself at him, catching him unawares and knocking him over.

'No, no, don't – please! I want proper justice for James and the others – not this.'

He threw me off him. He laughed.

'You foreigners and your quaint, old-world notions of proper justice. What do you think will happen if I let them live? Judge, jury, the old black cap, all that old-fashioned nonsense? No. It doesn't work like that here. They'll plea-bargain their way out of it, pay a big fine and that will be that. Justice served – except it isn't, is it? More people will die. I'm taking out the trash. I'm cleaning up. Better than your boyfriend.'

I couldn't give up. I had felt a faint, deep, heavy vibration of the air, gone in a moment. I needed to distract him, in case he had also felt it. I hoped it meant that rescue was imminent. I launched myself at him again. I tried to hold on to him, to pin his arms.

'You – are becoming a nuisance,' he grunted as he struggled to free himself. 'I see I will have to deal with you as well.'

'Deal with me instead,' a husky voice said.

'Two on to one – a little unfair, don't you think?'

'She'll be busy. It's just me and you.'

I scrambled towards the desk, desperately looking for scissors. Harry was gasping and thrashing.

'You're part of this. You know that, don't you?' He grabbed a familiar-looking plastic bag, got up into a crouch and started to back away, towards the window. Towards the desk.

'Lacey – scissors – where?' I cried.

'Right hand side, second drawer,' she said. 'Just rip the bag open!'

'Michael. Raphael. Gabriel.' The guy started climbing out of the window. The Batman started to give chase. 'Uriel. Jegudiel. Which one?' His voice started to get fainter. 'Selaphiel. Barachiel. Which one, Batman? Or is it Lucifer?'

I had to ignore whatever was going on outside the window. Kneeling beside Harry, I started to cut the bag away from his face.

'Just make an air hole!' Lacey shrieked.

Once I had made an opening, Harry started to suck in noisy lungfuls of air, as best he could with his mouth taped. I tried to cut a slit in the tape, but just managed to nick him. Lacey could see the trickle of blood.

'Call nine – one – one. Let a paramedic get the tape off!' she cried.

My cell phone was on the desk, luckily – he hadn't slipped it into his pocket. Shaking, I made the call, then I went to release Lacey. She was crying and in shock, but her first thought was for Harry. She knelt beside him, her face down close next to his, trying to get the tape off, murmuring to him, urging him to stay with her.

It seemed no time at all before there were sirens and blue flashing lights outside, and the room filled with uniforms. Space was cleared round Harry for the paramedics. A police officer took me into the living room and started asking me questions about what happened. An older man in a raincoat flashed a badge at me: I only heard the word 'Commissioner'. He sat with me and asked me questions as well. Then the Batman appeared. The Commissioner glanced up at him then turned back to me.

'Can it wait?' the Bat asked.

'Not really. They are the only people to have seen this guy and survived,' the Commissioner said, 'We need all the details before they forget.'

'He used to come in my bookstore,' I said. 'I might have him on CCTV.'

The Commissioner looked excited at this.

'Does he have a name? Did he tell you his name?'

He had told me his name, I was sure. On one of those long, boring Saturday afternoons. But I couldn't remember it. Or was it just his first name?

The Commissioner sighed. 'I think you can go home now. Just leave your contact details with the officer.' He beckoned to the nearest uniformed officer. 'We may need to talk to you again.'

He stood, nodded to the Batman, and left the room.

'Let me get you home,' the Batman said.

He guided me to the car, pulled up on the driveway, and kind of folded me into the passenger seat. It was low, like a sports car, but solid, like a tank. From there I could watch him talk to the Commissioner, now outside amidst the uniformed officers and the blue flashing lights. We all watched Harry being wheeled on a stretcher down the path, to the waiting ambulance, parked across the driveway. Lacey, a blanket round her shoulders, supported by a paramedic, followed. Then he was getting in beside me, the doors were humming closed. Once the ambulance taking Lacey and Harry away had moved off, we started to glide off the driveway. A crowd of neighbours was out on the sidewalk, the next-door driveways and across the street, no doubt agog to find out what had happened and taking photos and videos on their cells. I hoped the windows were tinted.

'Seat belt,' he said.

I fumbled for the belt and the buckle, but I couldn't make them work, so I just held the belt tight across me. I stared listlessly without seeing out of the window. Buildings, traffic signals, intersections passed in front of my eyes. I couldn't orientate myself. I didn't know where we were till we were pulling up outside the store.

'You'll get a ticket,' I said.

'I won't.'

The doors opened but he had to help me out. He took my purse, found the key and let us in to the apartment. I sank on to the couch. He stood looking at me for a moment, hands on hips. He didn't need to ask: I was clearly not all right. I wanted to ask him to stay for a while, but the words would not come out. He would have to guess from my tear-filled eyes what I wanted.

He took off the gauntlets and cowl with his usual reverence, and ran his hand through his hair. He got two tumblers and some ice, and poured the Japanese whisky. He handed me mine.

'Do you understand now?' he asked. 'Do you get it yet?'

'No. I don't.'

'Would you have killed him – to save Harry? And Lacey? Would you kill him to keep them safe?'

I looked at him.

'I was doing what I felt I needed to do at the time. If I had – killed – him, it would have been accidental.'

'It might have come to that, though. You might have had to. Hit him hard with something. Stab him with scissors. Anything to stop him. Would saving Harry have justified it?'

'Yes.'

But. But it would have been accidental. An accident. Not intended.

'Even though Harry might be implicated in the death of your husband?'

'I don't believe in the death penalty. If Harry is guilty, then he should serve time for it. And people don't get to be their own judge and executioner. They just don't.'

I looked at him directly.

'That is not what I do,' he said.

I didn't push it. I didn't want him to leave. I held out my tumbler. With a half-smile, and a shake of his head, he poured another shot. But he did not re-fill his.

'I need to go,' he said.

'Please don't.'

'He won't come for you. You are innocent in his eyes. You are a victim. He thinks he's helping you. I have work to do.'

'Are you sure? I'm a witness. I can identify him.'

'Not enough to get him arrested. He knows that. He has let you know so much, but no more.'

'He knows I can contact you. What if – what if he uses me to get to you?'

He gave me my tumbler, then sat down beside me.

'I think he has bigger fish to fry than me.'

'What did he mean? You're part of this?'

'I don't know yet.'

'Lucifer. Why did he call you that?'

He shook his head. 'Why don't you do a bit of research? Explain it to me.' He took my free hand. 'Is there anyone I can call, to be with you? Anywhere I can take you?'

I shook my head.

'Are you sure?'

I knew he was thinking of Ranald, but he didn't want to let on that he knew about him. I nodded.

'Before I go, show me the CCTV footage. I want to see him.'

It wasn't very good, or clear.

'Edward,' I said. 'His name is Edward.'

Edward kept his head down as he walked through the store, and the reading desk was in a blind spot.

'Hmm. Okay, thanks.' He stood, and put on the cowl. 'He won't come, I'm pretty sure. But call if you need me. Conscience.'

'Thank you. Nemesis.'

We looked at each other for a moment. He pulled on the gauntlets.

'Lock the door behind me,' he said, then clattered down the stairs.

I did as he told me. When I came back up and looked out of the window, I saw a police foot patrol passing. That never happened. I felt safer and yet targeted at the same time.

Quotation from

Walk On By written by Burt Bacharach