/GOTHAM GAZETTE/

CHIEF PHYSICIAN'S FAMILY KIDNAPPED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT! WHERE WERE THE POLICE!

KNIGHTLY―In front of a stunned crowd at the corner of 21st Street and Farborough Drive near Harlow Park in Downtown, twelve masked gunmen pulled the family of Sukparm Sanman, Chief Physician at the François Rabelais Research Medical Facility, from their vehicle at a stoplight. Among the kidnapped were his wife Sumatra, 43; his eldest daughter Dalaja, 15; his son Ravinshu, 11; and his middle daughter Madhavi, 9.

According to eyewitnesses, the Sanman family, headed north on 21st Street, stopped at the red-light at Farborough Drive tailed by three black SUVs. Gunmen poured out of the trucks and ran up to the Sanman vehicle, pointing their weapons and forcing the family from it. They were hurried back to the SUVs, which left the scene in a frenzy, turning right to head east on Farborough Drive at alarming speeds. Forty-five minutes later, two police officers arrived on the scene.

Hu Liu Ning, who witnessed the entire event while jogging on her lunch break, claimed, "It all happened so quickly. I heard all this honking and screaming so I looked over and all I see are these men all dressed in black and wearing masks surround [the Sanman Family's] car. Next thing I know, the men are dragging [the Sanmans] away. It was terrible."

Emergency dispatchers answered over two-hundred incoming calls from witnesses at the scene. The noontime supervisor claimed that the dispatchers forwarded all reports to the responsible precinct but was unsure where the disconnect occurred. Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon responded to the incident by saying that he was also unsure where in the chain any miscommunication might have happen but that he was personally going to supervise both the investigations into the kidnapping of the Sanmans and into the failure of Police response.

Doctor Sanman commented to the responsible party, "Please return my family to me unharmed. I love them dearly. They are the most important thing to me in this world and I will do anything to have them back."

At this point, no one has claimed responsibility for the act and Gotham will have to wait patiently for this to play out.

9:51 PM

James Gordon had finally come out for his before-bed cigarette―about fifteen minutes later than usual. I stood in the pitch blackness of his small backyard near the wall that separated his tenement and the one next door. His patio was one of very few clean and orderly places in Gotham, bordered on all sides by a cityscape coated with grit and grime and stained by apathy and fear. In his backyard, I always found a world so far removed from my own. Perhaps, it was because my home―to me―was a mausoleum haunted by the screaming echoes of my murdered family. That was not the case here. Here, it was silent. I often wondered if Bruce Wayne would find the same sense of quiet here that I do.

Despite Jim's welcoming disposition to my occasional―albeit impromptu―visits to his home, I tried my best not to make house calls. It was bad business for the Commissioner of police to be seen consorting with a vigilante―even if I was doing a service to Gotham that was agreed upon by common citizens. After all, the corrupt still ruled the city. They wouldn't rule it forever, though. Not while I still ruled the night. Needless to say, we had a lot to discuss and it couldn't wait until morning.

"Commissioner." I spoke just a hair above a whisper.

Jim was in the process of lighting his cigarette. He blew the flame out with a start. "You know you should probably wait until I've lit my cigarette before you sneak up on me."

There was no time for small talk. "It looks like Poison Ivy sent us a calling card."

"So you've seen the new bodies?"

Dispatch had received a call reporting three men dead in the living room of a nondescript apartment in the Bowery. The caller didn't give their name but provided an address. I was only five blocks away when the call went through and I immediately hurried to the scene, arriving before the police. It's terrible to say but I was not the least bit surprised when I identified them. Most notably...

"Hugh Seaborne."

Jim's lighter grinded until a flame snapped to life and then he pulled several times on his cigarette until it was self-sustaining. He exhaled a cloud of relief into the air and looked in the direction of my disembodied voice. "You knew him?"

"We where...acquainted."

"When did you get there?"

"Before your people arrived."

"Good. I'm beginning to think the captain of that precinct is on the Bloodroot payroll. That's going to make the case go stale, if you know what I mean."

I hated crooked cops; even more than I hated criminals. I'd have to make that captain a later-project though. And, knowing Jim, he was already to trying to find a way to build a case to expose and to remove the captain from office.

"They were poisoned," I said. "The toxin is consistent with that used on Jacinto."

"Where is she getting this toxin from?"

"It was synthesized from the plants found at the docks. I'm still conducting research. I will keep you informed as more information becomes available. In the meantime, I have something for you."

I dropped a manila folder at Jim's feet. He picked it up and opened it.

The folder contained aerial photos of the license plates of the trucks used during the Sanman kidnapping.

"How did you get these?" The look on his face was priceless.

I ignored the question.

"The one you're looking at now is registered to T-Don Donnelly. That means the Bloodroots are responsible."

"That's puts us closer to an arrest than we were before. I'll have this out to all districts first thing in the morning."

"The license plates alone still won't implicate Donnelly nor Ivy."

He took a deep pull of his cigarette. "Something tells me that won't stop you."

"You're probably right."

"So what's the connection between the Bloodroots and Sanman?"

"Cryonics."

Jim didn't look convinced. "Seems a little sophisticated for a bunch of gangbangers."

"Sanman oversees the cryonics department at François Rabelais. That's the connection. The plant that Ivy is using only has a shelf-life of tens hours―give or take—once cut. Then its toxic properties neutralize. The only way Ivy can keep it alive for the seventeen-day transit across the Atlantic is cryopreservation. My guess is: The cryonic expertise she was employing abroad didn't include service within the continental United States. Therefore, she needed to find a local expert. That local expert being Sanman."

Jim shrugged. "Makes sense."

"However, there is one small inconsistency with the hypothesis."

"Which is?"

"Sanman isn't an expert in the field of cryonics. He's merely the senior physician that happens to have oversight of several departments―the cryonics department included. I'm not sure why Ivy just didn't target one of the cryonists. Leverage, perhaps."

Jim massaged the corners of his mouth anxiously.

"Commissioner, is there something you haven't told me?"

He looked into the shadows at my vaguely discernable silhouette. "This may throw a wrench in your hypothesis, Batman." He pulled a USB thumb-drive from the pocket of his jacket and placed it on the banister of the patio. "I have to go inside. Listen to the audio file on that and see what you can come up with."

"I'll be in touch," I whispered.