Bolton's red sports car sped off down Marshall street, going well above the 35 mph posted speed limit. He was vaguely aware of Blake's pickup and MacIntyre's blue convertible passing by him, but his thoughts were preoccupied with who he'd seen. 'Enigma'. 'Riddler's Daughter'. His fists clenched around the leather steering wheel. That little brat. Since when did Nigma have a kid!? What kind of woman would actually fuck him!? He knew he recognized that little brat from somewhere when he'd seen her at Sanchez's place. He should have grabbed her then. Now she and Batgirl had almost ruined everything. Bolton grit his teeth. Did Nigma know what his little bastard was up to? Would he be showing up next? Whether he did or he didn't, Bolton and his crew needed to find Morton and take care of this, quick.

Bolton heard his cell phone ring in the passenger seat. Not taking his eyes off the road, he picked it up with his right hand and answered with a gruff "What!?"

"Is that any way to speak to me, Bolton?"

Bolton almost froze in his seat. "Strange."

"What's going on, Bolton? Clearly, if you're this agitated, something has gone wrong."

Bolton licked his lips. There was no use lying to Strange, but he could still salvage this. "Morton's gone soft. He's got the girl somewhere, but me and the boys are on it."

Bolton heard a sharp hiss of breath on the other end of the phone before Strange spoke again. "For all of your sakes, you had better be! You assured me that all of these men could be trusted, Bolton! Is there anything else I need to be aware of?"

Bolton tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "We had a run-in with Batgirl in the Narrows. Pierce, Blake, MacIntyre and I got away but-Fuck!" He hadn't grabbed Burns before getting into his car and speeding off, and he didn't think Pierce, Blake, or MacIntyre did either.

"What?"

Bolton swallowed a bit before he answered Strange. "Burns got knocked out."

There was a long pause before Strange spoke again, his low voice an ominous rumble. "I see. So your incompetence has potentially led us to become compromised."

Bolton squeezed his phone tight. "Hey, this ain't my fault-"

"No?" Strange asked. "You handpicked the men for this scheme. Five of the best, you said. And one has turned on you and another could not withstand someone as insignificant as Batgirl. And now he may very well be in police custody."

"Burns is loyal, he won't say a word-"

"We will see. I will send men of my choosing to pick him up. You had better hope that he is still there. Can you give me one single reason why I should not cut my losses with you?"

"You want a reason?" Bolton yelled. "I'll give you a reason! How come you never told me Nigma had a kid?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Bolton paused. Strange sounded surprised. Wait, did he not know? "Yeah, his brat was there too! She was the one who knocked out Burns! Sanchez's sister is a friend of hers, she said! That would have been nice to know!"

"You were the one who concocted this scheme, Bolton. And Edward Nigma does not have a child."

Bolton blinked. He really didn't know. How about that? Apparently, there were things that even the great, all-knowing Dr. Strange didn't know. "The Hell he doesn't! I saw her myself! She was wearing his dumb ass question mark and everything!"

"That is not proof of anything!" Strange shouted back. "Five years ago, there was a woman who claimed to be the daughter of Two-Face, then the daughter of the Joker, when she was just a drug addict looking for her time in the spotlight. This girl is just the same. A nobody looking for attention. If Burns is so inept that a girl in a homemade costume could get the better of him, that is a reflection of his lack of ability and yours for choosing him!"

"I'm tellin' you Strange, I got a good look at her! She looks just like Nigma! When I get Morton and the Sanchez kid, I'll grab her, bring her in and show you-"

"You will do no such thing. You have wasted enough time already. I will tell our man in GCPD to dispatch the Sanchez boy. Find and dispose of Morton and the Sanchez girl and then return to Arkham at once. You will not put our mission in jeopardy chasing a nobody-"

"Look, if the brat is lyin', we can make an example of her. If she really is Nigma's kid, we could use her against him! If we had his brat, he wouldn't dare make a move against us!"

"She is not Nigma's child!" Strange yelled loudly. "I have studied each and every one of the so-called Rogues Gallery inside and out for years! I would know if he had a child! Do not question my orders again, Bolton! Finish this or I will finish it for you!" Strange ended the call with a click.

Bolton ground his teeth and threw his phone back onto the passenger seat. Not Nigma's kid his ass. When he got his hands on that brat, he'd prove it.

The apartment buildings in the Lower West Side of Gotham all looked alike the further one got from the glossy white renovated buildings of the West End and the close one got to the Narrows. Brownstones and old row houses, all squeezed against each other, brick red or brown and run down, barely sufficient to house the poor families that lived in them.

It hadn't taken long to track down the building that the Sanchez family called home after Edward had left Ellen's apartment and returned to his own. It was only five blocks from Ellen's home and just six blocks from her school. How much time had Ellen spent here over the years? Edward sat in his car, parked on the street right alongside the apartment building, looking at the building with the vain hope that perhaps Ellen was inside. He shook his head and pulled out his phone, dialing Penelope's number. She answered on the first ring. "What's going on?"

Edward sighed and leaned against his seat. "I called Oswald and Selina. They're keeping their eyes out, but there's been no sign of Ellen. I'm outside the Sanchez apartment now. Have you been able to get any information from the brother?"

"No. Montoya's been in and out of interrogation with him, but he's shut down completely. He won't talk to anyone."

"Montoya? Haven't you been able to talk to him?"

"Well, I've tried, but Montoya and her partner are very insistent that one of them either observes me or comes into interrogation with me. They don't want a repeat of the incident last year, Schrader said."

When Detective Bullock had resigned back in February, Gordon had assigned Montoya to be partnered with a Detective Curtis Schrader, a highly decorated detective with over ten years on the force, but according to a source Edward had in GCPD, a cold, humorless stickler for proper procedure. Judging from the annoyed contempt in Penelope's voice, it seemed that his source wasn't far off the mark. "How long until he gets sent to Gotham County?"

"Another hour. I'm going to try to get in to talk to him again, but I'm going to need some kind of leverage to get him to talk."

"Perhaps his parents will be more accommodating. Any suggestions?"

"Be very careful with how you approach them. Their son is in police custody and their daughter's been abducted. That's an extremely high-stress situation, and a former Rogue showing up on their doorstep won't help matters. Don't do or say anything that might antagonize them. Try to make some kind of emotional connection with them." Edward heard another voice on her end. "I have to go. Call me as soon as you're done. Good luck." Penelope disconnected the call before Edward could say another word.

Edward put his phone back into his right coat pocket. 'Make an emotional connection'. Easy for her to say. He'd done his damnedest up to this point to avoid making any sort of deep connection with his clients. It was a job, a way to test his intellectual mettle in ways that wouldn't get him beaten up or sent to Arkham. Doing things for the sake of doing good had never been part of the equation. Edward reached into his left pocket and pulled out the photograph of little Ellen and her friend. He'd removed it from the frame and brought it with him, ostensibly in case he needed it. He looked at Ellen's face her particular, her little smiling face that looked so much like his. Where was she now? He put the picture back into his pocket, got out of his car, and walked up the steps into the apartment building.

It was dark as he entered and silent. Any residents wouldn't be out this late at night. What time was it now? He checked his watch as he walked up the stairs. 1:45. He stopped on the second story landing then walked down the hall to apartment 21-B. The Sanchez apartment. He could see from under the door that a light was still on, meaning the occupants were still awake. 'Don't do or say anything that might antagonize them.' His face darkened as he knocked on the door. The Sanchez parents weren't the only ones with a child in danger tonight. They had best not do anything to antagonize him.

The door opened to reveal a short, slender, middle-aged woman with hair as curly and black as the little girl in Ellen's picture. Her brown eyes widened and she gasped as she took him in. "Dios mío!"

Edward tipped his hat. "Good evening, Mrs. Sanchez. I need to speak with you about your children."

A man's voice sounded from the room behind her. "Quién está ahí?"

This seemed to bring the woman out of her stupor and she quickly moved to shut the door. Edward caught it with his hand. "Listen," he said with as much patience as he could muster. "I mean you no harm. I know what's happened to your children. I want to help you, but I need information."

A man appeared beside the woman, with thinning salt and pepper hair and mustache. His eyes narrowed when he made eye contact with Edward. "El Acertijo!"

"I prefer going by Edward Nigma now, actually," Edward drawled. "And yes, I happen to be fluent in Spanish. Mr. Sanchez, I presume?"

Mr. Sanchez pushed Mrs. Sanchez behind him and glared up at Edward. He clearly wasn't letting his age or the fact that he was a good three inches shorter than Edward stop him from attempting to intimidate the other man. "What are you doing here? Leave us alone!"

"As I told your wife, I'm here to help-"

"We don't want your help!" Mr. Sanchez shouted. "Go away before you make things worse!" Mr. Sanchez was about to slam the door in his face. Edward kept ahold of it with one hand, and with his other hand, he reached back into his coat pocket and pulled out the picture.

"Do you know this girl!?" he shouted.

Mr. Sanchez squinted at the photo, then his eyes went wide. He let go of the door, allowing Edward to open it wider. Mrs. Sanchez peeked her head out from behind her husband, then let out a small cry at the picture. She reached out and grabbed it from Edward's hand. "Marisol!" she said. "And Ellen?"

Edward sighed. "So you do know her?"

"Of course," Mrs. Sanchez said. "She's Marisol's best friend, we've known her since they went to Kindergarten together. Why are you asking about her?"

Edward wet his lip. How could he phrase it without giving it away? "A few hours ago, she went missing. I believe she's trying to find your daughter."

"Oh God," Mrs. Sanchez breathed. "Ellen is missing too?"

Mr. Sanchez still looked suspicious. "How do you know this? Ellen's grandmother is out of town, she couldn't have reported her missing. And how did you get that picture? And why do you care?"

Edward, for one of the first times in his life, had no idea how to answer that question. "I-I'm-"

Mrs. Sanchez had been staring intently at the picture, worrying her lip as if she was thinking about something. "She...she almost looks like-" Then she looked up at Edward, then back at the picture, then back at Edward again. She gasped, then brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh my God," she murmured. "You're Ellen's father." Mr. Sanchez's face looked almost sickly as he looked from his wife and then back at Edward.

Edward took a deep breath. "This does not leave this apartment," he said finally. "Under any circumstance. Do you understand me?"

Mrs. Sanchez nodded. "Of course."

Edward nodded. "Good. Now, I need to speak with you about your son."

Mr. Sanchez shook his head. "No," he said, desperately. "No, we can't. Marisol will die."

"On the contrary," Edward said, using every ounce of willpower he had to keep his temper in check. "The best chance that both of your children have of getting out of this alive is if you tell me everything that you know."

Mr. Sanchez shook his head again and moved to shut the door. "We can't, I'm sorry, we can't-"

Edward surged past the doorway then, entering the apartment, grabbing Mr. Sanchez by his shirt collar and pulling him up towards him as close as he dared. "My daughter is out there, risking her life to try to save yours, you gutless coward! Don't you think you owe her just a bit of consideration!?"

Mr. Sanchez's face turned red and he shoved Edward away. He was about to draw his fist back when Mrs. Sanchez got in the middle of the men. "Luis, stop!" She then turned back to Edward, a look of desperation in her eyes. "You will help our children?"

Edward nodded. "Yes," he said. To save his own child, he would save theirs. "Please," he said, and a part of him hated himself for asking common people for help like this. "Tell me what I need to know so I can find our daughters."

"Mia," Mr. Sanchez said, but his wife silenced him with a gentle look and a hand on his face. He took a deep breath and nodded. He looked back at Edward and it seemed like in an instant, he had aged ten years. "What do you need to know?"

Edward turned briefly to shut the apartment door behind him before he began to ask questions. "Your son, Miguel. He works at Arkham, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Mr. Sanchez said, his face ashen.

"How long?"

"For over a year now. We thought that he was working at a hospital, bit when my wife went to visit him there-" Mr. Sanchez stopped. "We found out he was actually working at Arkham a few days ago. We begged him to quit, but he refused. He said that he needed to stay, that someone needed to protect the patients."

Edward leaned forward. "Why did the patients need to be protected?"

"Ever since the Warden started his campaign, the patients were being badly treated, he said. They were denied privileges, chained down at night if they got at all out of line, and the security guards were cruel to them." Mr. Sanchez hesitated. "Then Miguel said that a month ago, Lyle Bolton, the head of security at Arkham, and Mayor Sharp came to the Asylum to visit a patient."

Goodman, Edward realized. "Go on."

"They came into the infirmary when Miguel was working and told him to leave. After a minute, Miguel said Bolton came out of the room and told him to go see patients on the other side of the building. He did, and when he returned-"

"The patient was dead," Edward finished. He rubbed his chin. "And your son told you that he thought the patient was murdered?"

"Yes," Mrs. Sanchez said. "He couldn't prove it, but it was eating him up so bad. He told us he wanted to go to the GCPD and tell them what Bolton had done."

What Bolton had done? Well, given Bolton's character, it was easy for Edward to see why Miguel would think he'd committed the murder and not Sharp. Even without the direct accusation, the fact that Sharp was at the Asylum the night Goodman died, combined with the alleged abuse of the Arkham inmates under his direct supervision and under the watch of his appointed successor would be more than enough to raise serious questions. "But he never went to GCPD, did he?"

"No," Mr. Sanchez quietly admitted. "I told him to just quit and walk away. That getting involved was too risky, that he should just keep his mouth shut. We argued about it. Finally, we got Miguel to agree to take a few days off, to think about his options before he did anything."

Bolton must have thought that Miguel was ready to blow the whistle. If you hadn't talked Miguel out of going to GCPD, Edward thought bitterly, then maybe this whole affair could have been avoided. Your daughter wouldn't have been abducted by a maniac and my daughter wouldn't have put herself in danger by going after her. Don't antagonize them, Edward. "What happened then?"

"Bolton tracked him down," Mrs. Sanchez said. "He approached him when he was coming back into the apartment and they fought about the Asylum. Miguel got in his face and shouted at him that he was going to throw him and all the guards in jail. I thought Bolton was going to kill him before we pulled him back inside."

Hence the fight that Ellen's friend had overheard. Edward had to stop himself from shaking his head. That was the worst thing you could have done, you hothead. "How does Marisol figure into this?"

Mrs. Sanchez's lower lip trembled. "She kept asking us what we were arguing about when Miguel snapped at her to stay out of it. Luis shouted at him to watch his mouth, and Miguel left the apartment to cool down. Marisol-" her voice broke off and her husband took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "Marisol's very close with her brother," she continued. "When Miguel wasn't home by morning, she went out to go looking for him."

And ran into Bolton and his minions. "When did you find out she'd been kidnapped?"

"At about ten, Miguel came back, upset. He asked if Marisol was here and he broke down when we told him she wasn't. He'd said that Bolton had called him and told him that he'd taken her. I didn't want to believe it. I tried calling Ellen to see if she'd seen her, and when she said she hadn't-" Mrs. Sanchez broke down again, pressing herself into her husband's chest as he rocked her.

"We all split up to go looking for her," Mr. Sanchez continued. "When Mia and I came back here, Miguel was here. He'd said that Bolton had come back and told him that if he turned himself into GCPD as the patient's murderer, that we'd get Marisol back."

Once again, Bolton was proving just how much of a vicious idiot he was. "And you let him do that?"

"I begged him not to," Mr. Sanchez said, tears now forming in his eyes. "I couldn't lose both my children, but Miguel said that he'd gotten Marisol into this and that he would get her out.

It seemed Mr. Sanchez didn't believe that Bolton would keep his end of the bargain. He was absolutely right. "And here we are." Edward nodded at the pair. "Thank you." As he watched the parents comfort each other, a strange feeling came over him. He'd been out of his mind when he realized Ellen had run off, what must it feel like to be so close to losing two children, and not being able to do a thing about it? Would Diane accept this kind of comfort from him if she was here? He realized that he was dangerously close to empathy and he turned back towards the door. He'd gotten the information he needed, it was time to find Ellen.

"Mr. Nigma?"

He turned to see Mrs. Sanchez looking at him with sympathy and regret. "I'm sorry about Ellen. If I hadn't called her-"

Then Ellen would have been completely ignorant about this and be safe in bed. "Don't," he said shortly. "I'll be back with your daughter and I'll do what I can for your son." He walked out of the apartment without a look back. He'd let the Sanchez parents keep the picture until he brought their daughter back to them.

As soon as he was out the door, he'd pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Penelope's number. "Well?" she asked when she picked up.

"Miguel Sanchez was at Arkham the night Goodman died," he said, briskly walking down the hall towards the stairs. "He told his parents and Bolton when the latter confronted him that he was going to accuse Bolton of killing him."

"So Bolton kidnapped his sister to blackmail him into taking the fall for it instead," Penelope breathed. "My God. I have to talk Montoya into letting me into interrogation. We need Sanchez to confirm this himself if we're going to make a case against Bolton."

"That I leave in your capable hands. I'm going to meet up with Selina at her place and see if I can track Ellen down."

"Alright. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Penelope? Thank you." He hung up and stepped out into the spring night and stopped dead in his tracks. Standing in front of his car were two of the last people he wanted to see tonight. He sucked in a quick breath between his teeth. "Good evening Red Robin." He turned to the figure standing beside him. "Black Bat, right?" He needed flashcards to keep track of just how many members in Batman's group there were nowadays.

Red Robin stepped forward. "Eddie," he said. Of the assorted Robins over the years, this one had always been the most civil. "We need to talk. Batman's been trying to get ahold of you for a while now-"

Edward held a hand up. "Whatever your employer wants or needs, it will have to wait. I'm extremely busy right now-"

Black Bat spoke in a soft voice. "It's about your daughter."

Edward dropped his hand and his mouth flew open. He'd guessed after the incident last Christmas that Batgirl and the current Robin would have told the others that Ellen existed, but-wait. His heart dropped into his stomach. "What about her?" he asked.

"Batgirl found her in the Narrows, beating up some guys who tried to jump her." Red Robin's voice softened. "We know what's going on. We want to help."

Edward's mind was a whirlwind at that moment, anger that Ellen had gone into the Narrows, indignation that people had attempted to assault her, pride that she'd apparently beaten them instead, disdain that the Bats had gotten involved, but most of all, relief that she was alive and as safe as she could be. "Where is my daughter now?"

"Batgirl has her. They're tracking down one of the guys that kidnapped her friend. We can take you to them right now."

Edward ran forward then. "Get in the car. I'll drive."

Young knew something.

Schrader had kept one eye on her from the moment she'd entered GCPD an hour ago, despite the fact that there was no need for her to be consulted. She'd seemed far too interested in Sanchez, attempting to get into the interrogation room to speak with him in private. When she'd been denied, she'd hovered around watching, barring a few times she'd stepped away to take a phone call. Who had she spoken to? She'd just returned again from a call and was now engaged in a heated looking discussion with Montoya. Montoya's face furrowed and she looked from Young back to the room Sanchez was still in. Finally, she nodded and gestured for Young to follow her. Schrader narrowed his slate grey gaze at the two women. Strange had warned him when he was assigned as Montoya's partner to keep an eye on Young, that she was a problem. From what he'd observed in the past month and a half, he was right. She knew something, something she shouldn't and that made her a threat.

Eventually, he would have to find a way to deal with her but for now, he needed to make sure Sanchez kept his mouth shut.