Montoya, clutching her abdomen, was lifted onto a stretcher by a pair of paramedics and carted off to the back of an ambulance. A series of patrol cars had arrived in the aftermath of the street fight to take the rogue officers into custody.
Bullock forced Jim Corrigan's head down as he shoved him into one of the patrol cars, cuffed and beaten.
"You should have just played the game, Harv," He said with a laugh that betrayed a nervousness.
"Whatever," Bullock replied, slamming the door shut before Corrigan could speak again.
The officers from the original transport were lined up next to it. I stood with them and waited for Bullock.
Nate was sat in the back of another patrol car. Steph wasn't letting anyone get near.
The gruff detective walked over to us, "Alright, boys, helmets off," he said and marched down the line as the officers took off their helmets, taking note of their names, badge numbers and faces.
Bullock then turned and pointed at me, "You're with me."
"Uhm," I thought for a second about telling him I didn't work for him, but it seemed like a bad idea, "Alright."
"I'm low on options," Bullock explained, taking me to one side, "I don't trust anyone here, so you're my best shot at getting Duggan to County in one piece."
"You're still taking him to County?" I exclaimed, loudly enough that one of the officers turned his head.
"Like I said, I'm low on options."
"There were cops in this crew, are you telling me no one at County could be compromised?"
"I can't tell you any of the cops I hand him over to won't be compromised, but I can't hand over a murder suspect to anyone else," He said, preempting my suggestion to hand him over to me.
"What about Barbara Gordon?" I said desperately.
"His girlfriend? Somehow I don't think they'd go for that."
"Jim Gordon?"
"Look, I want you in this transport, outside of that, just let me do my job."
"Fine," I sighed.
While we waited for the next armoured transport to arrive, I headed over to Steph, keeping a close eye on Nate.
"You good?" I asked.
"All things considered, sure," She replied unconvincingly.
"You did good tonight," I said, hoping to lift her spirits but coming off way more condescendingly than I intended.
"You don't have to tell me that every time, y'know," She growled.
I raised my hands in mock surrender, "Just thought you'd appreciate the positive reinforcement."
"Maybe if I hadn't let a man die, I'd be more receptive to the compliment," She said with an almost undetectable quiver in her voice.
"Woah, hey, that wasn't your fault. And Montoya would be right alongside him if you hadn't saved her."
"Saved her? Dude, didn't you hear what she was saying before they put her in the ambulance?"
"No?" I replied.
"She couldn't feel her legs, she might be paralysed."
"And that's your fault? Take yourself out of the equation here and what happens? They both die."
"I guess. It's just…"
"A lot."
"Yeah."
"You're expecting too much of yourself. We can't save everyone, we just have to do our best," It felt a lot like one of those things you say to someone else but you're really saying to yourself. I didn't want to tell her that after all this time I often felt exactly how she did.
"Thanks, I guess you're right."
It felt weird being sat in the front of a patrol car in full costume. Bullock, driving like a maniac through the mostly empty streets, smelled strongly of stale cigarettes to the point where it was distracting. I was keeping my eyes on every junction and alleyway we passed at lightning speed, all while checking the rearview mirror to make sure Nate was still there.
It sounded paranoid even to me, but with someone like the Phantasm roaming around, whose powers we really knew nothing about, I was afraid Nate might just disappear off the back seat.
Bullock's cellphone started vibrating and lighting up through his coat pocket. He reached inside and threw it to me, keeping his eyes on the road.
I caught it and saw Jim Gordon's name on the screen.
"Answer it," said Bullock.
I swiped the phone and clicked the speakerphone symbol.
"Bullock, what's going on, I'm hearing the convoy was attacked?" The voice of James Gordon blasted from the phone.
"Are you alone?" Replied Harvey.
"Yes, I'm in the office at home."
"It was an inside job," Bullock explained, "Corrigan and some other officers set it up, Montoya's hurt."
"Did you catch everyone at the scene?"
"No," I replied.
"Bullock? Who is that?" Gordon asked.
"Nightwing," I said.
"You were there too?"
"Yeah, we were watching the convoy, one of the perpetrators escaped, a woman, not sure if she was an officer or not."
"If it hadn't been for Nightwing and…" Bullock began, gesturing to me.
"Spoiler," I added.
"If it hadn't been for them, I think they'd have taken out the prisoner and the escort."
"I'm heading to County myself, once Duggan is in their custody I'll organise a protection detail myself. Bullock, I want you back at Gotham Central as soon as possible to interview Corrigan and the others. Take Nightwing with you, if anyone asks why he's there you can tell them it's on my orders."
"Yes, sir."
Corrigan sat in the dark room, twiddling his thumbs nervously at the table, periodically tilting his head forward to his cuffed hands to wipe the sweat from his brow. Every so often, he'd look up at the camera in the corner of the room with the red flashing light.
He didn't know I was there, looming in the shadows.
Bullock sat across from him, staring with clenched fists. He was getting frustrated with Corrigan's twitching, eventually flicking a handkerchief into the man's cuffed hand.
Corrigan grabbed the rag and hastily wiped his face. Avoiding Bullock's eye.
"How's Montoya doing?" Corrigan asked finally. The silence was clearly killing him.
Harvey didn't say anything. He just carried on glaring at Corrigan.
"Harv?"
Bullock's chair scraped on the floor as he stood up and turned to where I was standing in the shadows. He nodded at me, still not saying anything, and left the room.
I looked up in the corner, and just as I thought, the red flashing light on the camera went off. Corrigan noticed it, too. His breaths became faster.
"Don't worry," I said, "You won't be getting the silent treatment from me."
"What the hell? "Corrigan said, panicking now, looking roughly in my direction, "Who's there? Bullock! Bullock!"
"Bullock? Who's that? We're the only ones here," I stepped out of the shadows and leaned over the table, giving him a big smile.
"You can't be in here. I ain't talking to you. Get Harv back in here," he snapped, trying to look over my shoulder to the locked door.
"She might be paralysed," I explained.
"What?" Corrigan replied, confused.
"Montoya, from the waist down. She'll probably never walk again," I continued, "You asked how she was doing."
"That's bullshit, that wasn't…"
"Part of the plan? So I guess the plan was just to execute Officer Duggan?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You're doing down, Jim," I told him, "But as far as I understand it, you get to choose for how long."
"You don't have any power here. You're a goddamn vigilante. Where do you even get off judging me, huh? You spandex-wearing, self-righteous, son of a -"
I stuffed the sweaty handkerchief into his mouth, muffling his words.
"That's better," I said, "And, for the record, it's not spandex."
Corrigan spat out the rag, "You're an asshole."
"Maybe. But I'm an asshole that might just be able to save your miserable little existence."
Corrigan laughed, "How'd you figure?"
"Something's going on in this station. With the way you've been looking at that camera, I'd wager someone higher on the food chain than you is embroiled in it."
"You got no idea what you're talking about."
"You can't talk to Bullock, because if you do they'll kill you. But who's to say they won't just kill you anyway?" I continued, "Which is where I come in."
"You gonna guard my cell?"
"No, but I can break you out of here. If you tell me what I need to know."
"You wouldn't have a chance in hell."
"Funny, I broke in here not so long ago and walked right past you. You and Montoya, you know, the woman you paralysed, were in the stairwell chatting about Officer Duggan and the case."
I'd surprised him. Corrigan sat in silence. His eyebrows raised, it looked like he was seriously considering the offer before he finally responded, "Y'know, you might just be crazy enough to get me out of here," For the first time, he suddenly sounded sincere, "But you and I both know what I am."
"A dirty cop?" I asked, confused.
"A coward," He said. He'd surprised me this time. There was a hint of real shame in his voice, "I feel bad for what happened to that girl. But I don't wanna die, and keeping my mouth shut is the best way for that to happen."
That girl. It seemed an odd choice of words when there were three Butcher victims that we were aware of. There were inconsistencies between the third victim and the others. The fibreglass insulation under the fingernails was much more imprecise than the others. Maybe there was more to it.
"Fair enough. Thanks for your cooperation, Jim," I said, loudly, getting up and walking to the door, "I'll bring Lillies."
"Lillies, what the hell are you talking about?"
"To your funeral," I explained with a smile, turning the door handle.
Corrigan called after me, "Wait… I…" he hesitated, "Never mind."
Letting the facade slip for a second, I replied angrily, "You're pathetic," before walking out of the room and slamming the door behind me.
Bullock looked at me hopefully, but I shook my head, "He's not going to tell us anything. Someone's got him scared," I explained.
"I'll show him scared, I'll beat some answers out of him," Bullock snarled, rolling up his sleeves.
"Sorry, Harvey, it won't do any good. He knows you're not going to kill him, so your beating is automatically better than the alternative."
"Wanna bet?"
"You'd only be doing them a favour. Not that whoever's behind this isn't going to just pin this thing on you when Corrigan turns up dead in his cell anyway."
"Nobody's getting near his cell without my permission."
"Let's hope that's enough."
I took a deep breath as I sat on the edge of the Gotham Central rooftop. It had been a long night. I'd gotten copies of everything they had on the Butcher victims and was scouring through the files for any inconsistencies.
"Nightwing, you there?" Steph's voice said in my ear.
"I'm here. What's up?" I replied.
"Can I… come over?" She asked.
I was a little taken aback. She sounded upset, "I'm not home yet, but I'm on my way soon."
"It's cool. I can wait. I'd better put out some food for my mom's cat anyway, it's nearly morning, and she's…"
"Cat!" I exclaimed, cutting Steph off, "I'll see you at the apartment, Spoiler, there's something I have to do first."
The sun was almost coming up. I just had to hope she hadn't left yet. Files under my arm, I bolted off the roof and started swinging toward the Gotham Museum.
I landed on the museum's roof with a thud, wondering if I'd broken a world record with how fast I'd managed to get there.
Catwoman slinked out of the shadows and looked at an imaginary watch on her wrist, "You're lucky I'm so patient, bird boy," she said.
"Selina," I panted, trying to catch my breath, "You got something for me?"
"I've got something, alright, but I'm not sure how much use it'll be."
Catwoman pointed to the files I had tucked under my arm, "Are those to Butcher case files?"
I was apprehensive at first, but handed them over after a brief hesitation, "This is everything the cops have."
Selina thumbed through them, shaking her head.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Typical. They're missing something."
"Go on?"
"The first two girls, they were both at a bar on Bleake before they disappeared. Both out on dates."
"How do you know that?"
"I know people. People that won't talk to the cops."
"What's the bar called? And do they know who the girls were with?"
"McGuire's. I don't have a name. All I know is it's an older white guy, in his forties, maybe, he was wearing a baseball hat. He never ordered at the bar, so they didn't get a close look."
Nate is African-American and in his twenties, not even close to that description. It didn't mean he wasn't responsible for the death of the third victim, and there had to be a reason corrupt cops were willing to kill him, but this was still something.
"Is that everything?" I asked.
"You should learn to be more grateful, junior. That's not it, no. Your third girl, no one saw her there."
"Makes sense."
"Why's that?"
"I don't think the Butcher was behind the third killing."