2
The asylum was buzzing with the news of Trista's break through with Croc. No one had ever gotten him to open up that way before. As she walked into the main lobby people were smiling and waving at her, congratulating her and wanting to ask her questions about Croc. Even the bored man at the main desk greeted her with a smile as he buzzed her in. She accepted all of this gracefully and made her way to Dr. Adams' office. It was time she got the access she needed.
Dr. Adams sat at her desk working, ignoring Trista as best she could.
She'll be on the defensive this time. Trista thought with a small smile.
"Dr. Adams?" Trista prodded gently.
"Just a minute, Ms. Martin." Adams snapped back, immediately seizing control of the conversation. Trista waited patiently as Adams put her paperwork away.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Martin?"
"I came to give you the advanced copy of my article and schedule interviews with the other patients on my list." Trista said matter-of-factly. Dr. Adams looked at Trista with thinly veiled contempt. She was a woman who wasn't used to being proven wrong and she didn't seem to know how to handle it.
"Give me the article and I'll see about your interviews." Trista handed her the folder and Dr. Adams looked at it the way someone might look at a dead bug.
"Dr. Adams, I'd like to know who I'll be interviewing and in what order so I can prepare and research." Adams rolled her eyes and picked up the list Trista had sent.
"If I approve your article," She added with emphasis. "Garfield Lynns, tomorrow morning. The rest will be scheduled and arranged depending on the article and your success with Mr. Lynns. Good day, Ms. Martin."
Trista held her ground and asked, "And will the Joker be available for an interview?" She asked it innocently and Dr. Adams set her paper down to look at her sternly.
"Patient 5663 is currently a level 6 threat and will not be available at any time, Ms. Martin." Adams stared her down and Trista held her gaze as she said, "When will his threat level be evaluated next?"
Dr. Adams folded her hands without breaking eye contact. "That is for the administration to decide and it is not something you should be concerned with. You have been granted access to several high profile patients of varying threat levels and, due to your moderate success with Mr. Jones, have been granted more access than any other member of the press has had so far. Ms. Martin, I highly recommend you don't press your luck."
Trista understood she wasn't going to get anywhere at this time so she held Adams' gaze a moment before standing to leave. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Adams." She said politely before shutting the office door.
It seemed Adams was trying to undercut her methods by cutting her preparation time. This alpha dog bravado was getting old. It didn't matter; Firefly isn't going to be a complicated case. Arsonists rarely were. As she was leaving she noticed Dr. Hilleman watching her from afar and as soon as he noticed her noticing he turned back toward his office. Trista smiled to herself and followed after him. At his office he turned around and smiled with feigned surprise mixed with genuine surprise.
"Ms. Martin. This is a surprise. I was hoping to speak with you."
"Is that so?" Trista watched his awkward body language with the jaded eye of a woman used to inspiring this kind of behavior in men. My God. Was she really doing this? Did she forget the road this lead down last time?
"The whole place is buzzing about your success with Jones. I was one of the few to actually see you in action and I must say I was impressed." He smiled at her and his eyes lit up with genuine admiration. Trista hid her smile behind her hand humbly and turned away as though embarrassed.
"I'm sure it was nothing you haven't seen before, but thank you."
Hilleman seemed to hesitate for a moment as though deciding something important. "Would you like to meet somewhere later? As a colleague." He added this last part hastily as though covering his tracks.
"I just want to discuss ideas with you. You know, to pick your brain, as they say." He smiled self-consciously and Trista returned his smile.
"A meeting of the minds? Sounds great. Do you have a place in mind?"
Hilleman brightened and seemed to have forgotten how to form words. Eventually he managed to stammer out the name of a café near the asylum and she agreed to meet him there that evening. Before that she had stop by the GCPD to talk with their Arson Unit.
Gordon introduced her to the head of the arson unit, Bob Peterson; a balding middle aged black man with tired eyes and a slumped posture. Sitting in his office smoking a cigarette, he pulled the files he had on Mr. Lynns and threw her a sidelong glance.
"Been with the arson unit 15 years and never had a case like this one. Most of what we deal with are folks burning their own stuff down for the insurance or stupid kids lighting dumpster fires. Maybe once in a while we'll get a jealous lover or a political wacko sparking flames but this Firefly character, he's in a league of his own." He finished his first cigarette and started to light another when he offered one to Trista, which she took and let him light.
"These firebug types, they get some kind of thrill out of it. Most times we can find semen at the scene where they're involved, but not with this guy. I honestly don't know why he does it. Guys like that you don't bother trying to understand. All I know is he's dangerous." He'd finished another cigarette before Trista had even smoked hers down half-way and put another in his mouth without lighting it.
"Arsonists aren't too bright. It's an impulsive crime for most, but not for Lynns. He was patient, took his time and made sure his fires did the maximum damage. The things he'd come up with were devastating. All homemade, simple house hold items or even items and chemicals he'd find in the building he was targeting. We had more new combinations and mixtures coming in every week he was active. I just don't understand how someone can put so much time and effort into destroying people's lives." Peterson shook his head and looked at the files.
"As if that weren't enough, he also enjoyed publishing his ideas and strategies for other flamers to use. Had several websites set up for those he called the 'Keepers of the Flame'." Peterson shook his head and tapped his ashes into an overflowing tray.
"We got them taken down as quickly as we could find them but the internet's a big place and sites like that are like roaches. I don't like to think about how many people he may have helped kill with this little arsonist's cookbook of his."
Trista flipped through the files casually and asked, "How did you catch him?" She finished off the cigarette he'd given her and refused a second when he offered. She didn't smoke all that often, really only socially, and didn't feel like tempting the habit.
"The Batman, of course." Peterson said, settling back in his chair.
"We realized we weren't dealing with a typical arsonist so we called him in. He was the one who figured out the contractor connection. Turned out Lynns had been working as a freelance contractor in Gotham for years so he could set places up to burn. Sabotaging fire exits, disabling alarms, creating paths for the fire to follow; all while getting payed to fix the very building he was setting up. Do you live in Gotham, miss?"
Trista shook her head and said, "Jersey, actually. I'm here for the article."
Peterson nodded as he leaned back in his chair like an old man at the end of a long day. "Maybe you saw the news then, the great fire of Gotham? Destroyed nearly 300 homes and businesses, killed at least 28 people, injured even more. That was Lynns' magnum opus, or least it was supposed to be. The largest fire in the city's history, though I'm sure it wasn't large enough for him. He wanted to see the whole city burn to the ground. If it weren't for the Batman, he might have. The wind was just right and it had been dry all summer. Batman saved our asses that day and he tracked Lynns down. I thank God for every day Lynns stays locked up." Trista stood and thanked him for his time, taking the files before she went.
Hilleman sat across from Trista at the Old Gotham Café, a steaming cup sitting before him and a small espresso glass in front of Trista. The café itself wasn't too crowded and the sound of espresso machines and idle chatter colored the atmosphere pleasantly.
"Have you ever been to Gotham before?" Hilleman asked with a nod to the outside.
"No. This is my first time in the city. I must say it's not as dark and scary as its reputation would have me think."
"You sound almost disappointed." Louis said with a wink and took a sip of his coffee. Trista just smiled bashfully.
"I'm sure you've guessed I have a fascination with the dangerous side of the human mind. Is that what drew you to Arkham, doctor?"
"Please call me Lou, we're just two people in a café talking over coffee." Trista nodded in assent and Louis continued. "I suppose there is a mystique to the criminal element in Arkham, especially the more theatrical elements that have been surfacing lately. I came to Arkham because it is one of the oldest mental hospitals in the country, and because they accepted my application."
Trista took a sip of her espresso and folder her napkin neatly. "Have you treated any of the so-called super criminals, Lou?"
Louis seemed a bit embarrassed but grinned down into the black circle of coffee before him. "I have had sessions with a few. I can't discuss those sessions, of course-"
"Of course."
"But yes, I have met with some of them."
Trista smiled innocently. "Have you noticed a difference in their personalities compared with a more conventional criminal mind?"
Louis considered this as he looked out at the Gotham skyline. "I suppose I did notice something. They seem, more sure of themselves, I suppose. Most disturbed criminals have more jumbled characters, simple yet unpredictable in a childish way, but these subjects do not. They are disturbed, yet they accept their madness as a reality. They are more comfortable with being what they are."
Trista's eyes seemed to light up at this and she took another sip.
"How about you? Do you have a family?" She asked innocently.
"I have a son, he's 8. My wife disappeared in the night with our savings and my prescription pads to parts unknown. Jack was 6 at the time. It's just been he and I ever since." Louis finished his cup and watched the traffic for a moment.
"Are you married, Ms. Martin?"
Trista shook her head. "Divorced. Married too young and had to choose between my husband and my career. No kids. That was about 10 years ago."
They both watched the traffic for one silent moment.
"I read your articles on the serial murderers you interviewed. What is it that attracts you to these types of subjects?"
Trista grinned. "I took a class on criminal psychology and found it fascinating. I even considered changing my major. My mother wouldn't hear of it though, She wants me to start a small practice, preferably in our home town, and just help normal people with normal problems. That was one of the reasons I never finished my doctorate. I got the job at Cognition and got to study what interested me. My mom probably has a miniature heart attack every time she sees who I interview next. I guess that's why I prefer to stay away from home. Who needs that hassle?"
Hilleman nodded. "There must be dozens of killers you haven't talked with yet. Why come to Arkham? Why super criminals?"
Trista sighed and finished her drink. "Because I found if you've met one psychopathic killer, you've met them all. The super criminal phenomenon just seemed more interesting."
"And is it more interesting?"
Trista smiled contentedly and looked back at the Gotham skyline.
That night she sat lighting wood matches one after the other in her new outfit, a yellow blouse with a burnt orange skirt, as she read the case files and news reports. It took some time but she found one of his websites. It had incendiary recipes, fire bomb schematics, everything a young arsonist on a budget could want. The great fire of Gotham lasted 37 hours and consumed at least 238 buildings and homes. Apart from the great fire in Chicago, it was the most destructive fire in American history and the single worst fire ever attributed to arson. Peterson had been right, it was a fire starter's magnum opus. When she ran out of matches she started burning scraps of paper in the ashtray as she did a search on the Joker. Various news stories came up as well as pictures of the Clown Prince of Crime himself, grinning darkly with stained teeth, smudged grease paint collected in the lines of his face, his mouth a blood red smear of lip stick that went across the scarred mass of his cheeks almost to his ears; creating a freakishly large smile that was both cartoonish and blackly terrifying. Trista had been aware of the Joker's exploits but she'd never delved into them until now. Looking at his Cheshire grin and piercing eyes, she knew he would be the crown jewel of her writing career if only she could get close to him. Trista spent the rest of the night reading as much as she could find on the Joker, forgetting her upcoming interview until almost 3 am when she had pulled herself away from her research long enough to check the time. She slept dreamlessly that night.
Trista sat in the interview room, her clothes and hair smelling of sulfur and ashes. A small space heater hummed pleasantly in the corner, bringing the room to a sweltering 94˚, while a dehumidifier kept the air desert dry. They brought him in about 10 minutes later. Garfield Lynns was not restrained to the degree Croc had been but the orderlies bringing him were large and rough looking. One of them had what looked like an old burn scar across the side of his face and hands and he looked down at Lynns with utter contempt. Lynns was a thin man with a gaunt face, his hair was, like his goatee, short but wild and red, sticking out in odd places.
He smiled with thin white lips at the guard with the scars and said, "You've got a little something…" He motioned to the side of his face where the orderly had the scars. The man seemed to bite down on his lower lip in an effort to keep control and shoved Lynns toward his chair.
"Another time, Sparky." The orderly threatened as he led the others out of the room. Lynns shifted in his chair, raising his eye brows at Trista as if saying 'Well I never…' before leaning back comfortably, crossing his hands over his stomach.
"What is that enchanting aroma? Matches and notebook paper? That takes me back. I don't believe we've met, Ms….?" He said pleasantly.
Trista smiled and said, "Trista Martin. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lynns."
Lynns put his hands up in a warding off gesture. "Please, Mr. Lynns is my father. Just call me Firefly." Trista nodded and took out her recorder.
"I'm here to talk about your….how would you put it? Crimes? Offenses?"
"My work." Lynns said simply, a smirk never leaving his face.
"Very well, your work. You have quite a bit of history here in Gotham. Before we get into that, would you mind telling me how that orderly you spoke to got those scars?"
Lynns chuckled and looked down as though reminiscing. "Saw those did you? Did you know they turn red when he's upset? They decided to start searching my room randomly and old butterfingers there came across a project I'd been working on. I'd been smuggling bits and pieces when I could, a jar here, a bit of tinfoil there, some wire and sandpaper. It was coming along nicely. I'd been collecting methane gas from my own bowel movements in the jar for weeks before rigging it up. All I needed was a trigger when they came across it. Scarface there took a whiff of it and dropped it in disgust, which provided an excellent trigger, if a bit unexpected. He's lucky it went off on the floor and not in his hands or he might have looked more like Harvey Dent. They slapped me in isolation for 6 weeks after that and made sure to conduct thorough searches of my room every day since." Lynns rocked back and forth on the hind legs of his chair as he talked.
Trista marveled at his ingenuity and asked him to tell her about his methods and where he first developed them. Lynns was more than happy to share his knowledge and began his story.