And so comes another chapter…
This chapter 3 advances the story a bit, I think, especially in the last part; also, I wanted to explore how are Batman's relations with the police, since, after all, he is not being the most collaborative vigilante in this particular case. I'm making a point here in showing that Gotham's police isn't made of idiotic and dependable cops, and, although they are not geniuses, they do play a relevant part in this story.
Also, considering Batman and his problems with the police (I guess that's the case here), I'm trying to show how hard this can be for him, this paradox: you're trying to make justice prevail, and yet, you must keep information from the police, and sometimes even lie to them. That's gotta be painful…!
One last remark is about Jason Bard, a character that is shown here… Like I said, this story is placed after Infinite Crises, in the context of "One Year Later", and Jason Bard is one of the additions we have seen then. He is actually an old character; former cop, Barbara's ex-boyfriend, now a private detective. I first saw him, however, in James Robinson's arc, "Face the Face", when Batman officially hires him – the point is to have someone to do the detective work during day, when Batman is not around. Now, I'm no fan of Robinson's arc, but I do like Jason. I guess the idea makes sense, and Bard seems a pretty smart guy, with an interesting sense of humor. I'm introducing him in the story, and I hope you like it.
Anyway, I appreciate that you're reading the story, and a special thanks to all of you that left me a review. Please, continue doing it, because it's always helpful and it's also a big encouragement. Feedbacks are always welcome, even if it's a complain…
Now, please, enjoy the story, and have fun!
AliaAtreidesBr
"Ti – m. Can you say Tim?"
"Al – fed!"
Dick Grayson approached Tim, who was seated on the floor, holding little Helena with his arms stretched, the child giggling above his head.
"Did she just say Alfred?"
"Yeah…" Tim agreed, his features denouncing his disappointment. "I've spent all day with her, trying to teach her how to speak 'Tim', but look at that…"
"Al – fed!" The little girl smiled in undeniable happiness, one of his small fingers pointing to the old butler, who was now crossing the living room to answer the phone.
"See?!?" Tim lowered Helena to the floor, and the child immediately risked a few short and clumsy steps towards Alfred, her small arms extended in his direction, her small hands reaching to grab the fabric of the butler's trousers.
"She sure loves Alfred…" Dick had his arms crossed, unable to keep himself from smiling. Not only Helena was a truly adorable child, but Tim's frustration was also as unexpected as was amusing. "I guess you still have lots to learn about childcare, Tim."
"Pay no attention to him, Master Timothy." Alfred had now taken Helena in his arms, and the child seemed to be deeply interested in his tie. "The little miss is very fond of me, indeed, but I assure you it has nothing to do with my abilities as a… 'nanny'."
"Is that so? What's your secret, then?"
"The accent, young sir."
"The accent…?" Tim nodded his head in distrust and exasperation. "Oh, be serious, Alfred…!"
"I am being 'serious', Master Timothy." Carrying the baby with him, Alfred turned to leave the room. "Children appreciate the cadence of my voice, and well spoken words are music to all ears. Now, if you excuse me, Miss Helena and I have a bottle to prepare."
They watched as Alfred left with Helena, the girl giggling and mumbling with obvious joy, and even the usually impassible Alfred seemed to be smiling.
"Three days in the house and she already got us all…" Dick offered one hand to help Tim get back on his feet again.
"She did, didn't she?" Now standing, Tim was patting his own clothes to remove the dirt. "Guys like us, who are usually dealing with crimes and violence…"
"… now turned into sitters. And enjoying it!"
Tim soundly laughed: "Yeah, yeah… I guess we are." He placed a hand on his chin, now assuming a wondering expression. "Although, I must say, it has been two nights in a roll at home, and going to the third… I'm getting rusty already."
"I hear you…" Dick nodded his head in agreement. "But we gotta be ready for anything; if someone actually comes for Helena…"
"I know. We're here to protect her…"
They both stood in the living room in silence, listening Alfred and Helena's sounds in the kitchen. The child seemed to be amused by the butler's attempt of convincing her to eat something, and her musical laughs echoed in the giant and usually silent mansion.
"Laughs! Can't remember when was the last time we had so much of it in this place…", was Dick's comment.
"Me neither… Too bad Bruce is not here to see this; I wish we could see his face."
"Yes, well, you know Bruce, Tim. He's working hard to find the people that hurt Selina; it's the only thing he can do that will actually make him feel better."
"I know, I know…" Now Tim had his brows wrinkled, and his features betrayed any attempt the boy made to hide signs of bitterness in his tone. "Still, he hasn't been home ever since Helena arrived. I know he is working, but… don't you think Selina would like him to pay attention to her daughter?"
Dick sighed, taking sometime to think before answering:
"Maybe you're right… Still, Selina understands Bruce in a way not even we can; so, I'm sure she would understand."
"If you say so…" Tim seemed to discard the matter with a gesture of his shoulders. "I wonder where he is, anyway. I know he is busy during nights, but he didn't come home even during days, not to sleep, not even to use the computer or the lab in the cave…"
"He called earlier… Said he was 'occupied'."
"Yeah, but he wasn't in Wayne Enterprises either. I know; I called the office."
If Dick was disturbed by Tim's information, he didn't show. His only reaction was briefly raising one eyebrow, and nothing else.
"Don't worry Tim…" He placed one hand on Tim's back, and smiled at the younger man in reassurance. "Whatever Bruce is doing, I'm sure he does it because he feels it's very important."
The nurse was anything but that kind of nurse that so often has a place in a man's sexual fantasy; no, this one not only wasn't pretty or kind. This one, actually, was a man.
"I'm Barry", he said, that man that had 6'8'' feet high, large biceps, and a disturbing resemblance with Mike Tyson. "What can I do for you?"
Detective Marcus Driver raised a hand to dry the sweat on his forehead. "Damn, it's hot today!" He was used to work during nights, but, today, because there was a reunion in the department about that hitman case, he had an early start. He could have gone home and returned a few hours later, but he decided it was time to do something he had been trying for two days, and without success.
"I'm looking for Mr. Wayne… Bruce Wayne."
Ever since Davies and Crowe took the statement of the two young women that lived with Miss Dubrovna, Marcus Driver had been trying to reach Bruce Wayne. He just wanted, at first, to check if the girls were telling the truth about Wayne and Miss Dubrovna knowing each other, what would probably be a very interesting story, no doubt. The department had sent two police officers and a car to stay in Wayne Manor, for the protection of Ms. Dubrovna's daughter, and Romy had been at the mansion and had interviewed the butler – "very polite man!" -, but no one had been able to locate Bruce Wayne then, and, to this day, not yet. He was either occupied, or working, or dating, or sleeping. Point is, he was never avaible to talk, not at home, not in the office. The policemen that were at Wayne's Manor never saw his car go in or out, and Marcus was now convinced Mr. Wayne hadn't been home ever since his house went under surveillance. Why? He had no idea. Maybe just because he was an eccentric rich playboy; or, maybe, the man had something to hide. Whatever the case, Detective Marcus Driver intended to find out.
The hunt for Mr. Wayne had ended in an unexpected way, all because a tabloid reporter phoned Driver and asked him to confirm if the latest victim of "The Hitman" (papers were loving the case) was Bruce Wayne's girlfriend. Marcus, of course, told the reporter to get lost and all, but the angry guy just yelled back something like "Wayne's car is in the hospital's garage for days, so just do us a favor and confirm…". And it was then that Driver hung up the phone and went to Gotham's Central Hospital as fast as he could.
And now he was at the entrance of the I.C.U. area, facing the biggest and meanest nurse he had ever seen.
"Are you a journalist?" Nurse Barry asked while narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms – damn, he had big arms! -, and, of course, Marcus was immensely glad by the fact that he actually wasn't a journalist.
"No, I'm not." He smiled, and took his badge out of his pocket. "I'm Marcus Driver, detective, Gotham PD."
Barry showed no sign that he approved that in any way. "What do you want?"
The nurse's tone was not only rude, but intimidating.
"Like I said, I'm looking for a Bruce Wayne." Barry's attitude was finally bothering him too much for Marcus just accept it in silence. "Maybe you know who I'm talking about… It's the billionaire all the reporters are looking for…?"
"I know who you're looking for… I asked what you want with him!"
"Are you a nurse or a secretary?"
Barry's eyes widened, injected with undeniable anger:
"I'm a trained professional, post-graduated in Intensive Care nursery, highly specialized in…"
"Barry?" The nurse was interrupted by a strong, solemn voice. "Is there a problem?"
Nurse Barry suddenly seemed to be aware of his tone and attitude, and assumed a more placid expression. However, his eyes were still angrily glancing at Detective Driver.
"No, no problem, Mr. Wayne…"
Driver smiled to himself, satisfied to see he had finally reached his goal. "Here you are, Mr. Wayne…" The detective turned to this third man that had just arrived, briefly looking and taking mental notes about his first impressions of Bruce Wayne. Of course, he had seen Wayne before, in newspapers pictures or even from a distance, in special and public events, but never so close. There he was, Gotham's royalty… And, to Driver's surprise, he wasn't at all like the detective assumed he would be.
To begin with, this Bruce Wayne in front of him didn't look like the rich playboy Driver was used to imagine. Instead of the glamorous and shallow man he expected, Marcus saw a person that carried a tired and earnest expression, clearly someone that – at least at that moment – took life very seriously.
Other details didn't escape the detective's look; he took notice of the expensive but discreet clothes, and though really curious that Mr. Wayne had his right hand wrapped in bandages. And, most interesting of all, Driver realized that, as he measured the man standing in front of him, Bruce Wayne actually seemed to do the same, as his dark blue eyes went from Driver's badge to the gun he carried under his jacket, and than lowering to the almost imperceptible volume of the small gun he had hidden on his calf.
"I'm Detective Marcus Driver, sir, Gotham PD."
Bruce Wayne didn't react to that in anyway, standing exactly were he was, still silently observing the detective.
"I understand you're Bruce Wayne, sir", he said in a tone that didn't quite hide how offended he was by Wayne's silence and lack of reaction.
"Yes", was his simple answer.
"I would like to ask you a few questions, sir…"
"Right now?"
"Yes, sir, right now." Marcus risked a shy smile: "Perhaps this is not the most adequate place for us to talk, but… you're a difficult man to reach, Mr. Wayne."
"You brought this to yourself…", was Marcus mental remark. He wasn't a fan of hospitals either, but he wouldn't give up on this opportunity.
Barry, the nurse, had something to say about that:
"If you want me to, Mr. Wayne, I can call security…"
"Yes, Barry, call security… Let's see how many lawsuits your hospital can afford…"
"This won't be necessary." It was Wayne who interrupted the detective, and now a minor movement of his eyebrows showed the discussion had affected him. "We can talk, detective."
"Excellent." Marcus was still resentfully glancing at Barry.
"We can go to the cafeteria down stairs." Turning to the nurse, he politely asked. "Please, call me if…"
"No problem, Mr. Wayne. Anything changes, I'll be sure to call you."
Both the detective and Wayne left in silence, and remained like that until they reached the elevators. There Marcus again watched the quiet and earnest Bruce Wayne, who now seemed to be absorbed in thoughts, both hands inside his pockets, and an unreadable expression had taken his features. Was he worried? Upset? Sad? And why? Was it because he was about to be questioned by a police officer? Or because of Ms. Dubrovna?
By the way, what was his relationship with Irena Dubrovna, anyway?
Detective Driver again realized there was so much he didn't know about this case, and the more he investigated, more strange the case turned out to be.
The elevator arrived, and they entered it together, side by side. There was no one else inside, and having a twelve floor descend ahead of them, Marcus concluded it was a good place to start with his questions, an interrogatory disguised as casual conversation.
"How's Ms. Dubrovna doing?"
Wayne blinked twice before answering, but no other muscle in his face moved.
"In coma." He didn't turn to face the detective, but briefly glanced at him with the corner of his eye. "Her heart is resisting, though. Doctors are optimistic."
"Oh." Marcus couldn't avoid thinking about all the people he had seen in similar situation, and how many had never pulled through. "That's good news then. I guess."
"I suppose." But everything in Bruce Wayne pointed to the fact that he saw nothing good in the situation.
In a few moments of awkward silence they reached the hospital's cafeteria, an extensive salon, with tables and people irregularly spread all over it. Marcus couldn't help noticing all the looks turning to them, something to be expected, considering that Bruce Wayne was fairly known in Gotham. Detective Driver, however, was very comfortable with his status as an anonymous citizen, and the situation was to him very strange. He just lowered his head, and followed Wayne to the table of his choice.
"Coffee, detective?"
"Hm… no…" It didn't escape Marcus that the question showed the curious inversion he was living. Usually, in interrogatories at the Police Station, he was the one that would offer to the intimidated witness or suspect something to drink. And now, now he was the one feeling uncomfortable. "Well played, Mr. Wayne… well played." To his surprise, Detective Driver felt he didn't resent this maneuver as much as he actually admired it.
Marcus sat facing Bruce Wayne, whose expression hadn't changed in any way.
"What can I do for you, detective?" Wayne had now placed both hands over the table, fingertips touching each other.
"Well, Mr. Wayne… To begin with, I was hoping you could clarify for me certain circumstances that are still unexplained."
"And what circumstances would that be?"
"Just to name one, how, for example, you ended up with Ms. Dubrovna's daughter under your care."
For the first time since they met, Marcus Driver detected a flash of anger in Bruce Wayne's eyes.
"I understand this subject has already been exhaustively discussed, Detective Driver."
"Not with you, Mr. Wayne."
A cold glance was all Marcus received for this remark.
"Well", the detective proceeded, "could you tell me what's the nature of your relationship with Irena Dubrovna?"
"I fail to understand how this could interest anyone but tabloids…"
"Mr. Wayne." Driver did the best he could to keep a low tone of voice, although he made no effort to sound polite. "If you're not going to collaborate, you could do us both a favor and say so. You don't like my questions? Fine, don't answer it, go call you layers and ask for advice. But the only people you're harming are Ms. Dubrovna and…"
"We are friends." Bruce's glance was still cold and his features had not altered, but his tone spoke of an obvious displeasure. "We are only friends. Now, you tell me: do you believe me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you believe me? It's a simple question."
Detective Driver stared the man in front of him, and he knew Wayne was trying to prove something. How peculiar, how strange that man was; he never seemed to be afraid, but he never seemed to be completely sincere.
"Do I believe you and Ms. Dubrovna are just friends?" And as Wayne briefly nodded to confirm the question: "Sorry, no. No, I don't believe you."
Bruce leaned back on his chair. "What's the point of this conversation, then?"
"When people lie, Mr. Wayne, it tells a lot about them."
When Batman heard his approach, he said nothing, merely turning to face the arrival, acknowledging this person's presence.
"Hello", Superman greeted.
They were now on the same rooftop they had met three nights ago, the dramatic night Catwoman was shot. Landing to stand near Batman, Superman glanced around:
"You cleaned this place." There were signs of disapproval to be heard in his statement.
"I did." Batman's cape seemed to spontaneously move, swiftly wrapping around his whole body, concealing all but his masked face from sight, mixing man and shadows. "Couldn't risk leave something behind… something that would connect Selina to the Catwoman."
"Right… And you also destroyed evidence."
"I collected all the needed physical evidence first, obviously."
"For you. Took all the evidence with you." His criticism was now obvious. "What about the police? They don't even know where Selina was shot…"
"What are you suggesting?"
Superman sighed, and gave Batman no answer.
"I appreciate your help, Clark, but this is Gotham. My city, and here we do things my way."
"Your way, Bruce?" Superman knew how much Batman hated when he used his civilian name when they were in Gotham' streets. "Right now, your way of handling things obligated people, including myself, to lie to the police, steal evidence, and obstruct justice!"
Batman clenched his teeth, making his best to contain the wave of anger that threatened his self-control.
"Poor Clark…" His tone was full of venomous sarcasm. "Stained his boy scout reputation by lying to the police…"
"How dare you?" Superman spoke in a whisper, an angry and resentful whisper. "You're an ungrateful…"
"No, don't throw the responsibility of your acts on me! If you lied, you did it because you wanted to… I asked you no such thing!"
"And you would never have to…!" Now Superman was floating a few inches above the roof, his anger unconsciously lifting him from the ground. "You didn't ask me to lie, but you asked for my help! And you knew I would help you in anyway I could, you knew I wouldn't do something that could harm you or Selina…!"
"What's your complain, then?" Batman retreated a few steps to a shadier corner, his shapes indiscernible in the darkness. "You know we couldn't tell them the truth, you know it would only make things worst!"
"You're always so worried about hiding, Bruce…" Already flying above Batman's head, Superman turned his back on him. "I wonder if, to you, hiding hasn't become more important than doing the right thing…"
"You're right, detective." Wayne's emotionless tone fitted perfectly his impassible features. "A lie can actually be very revealing."
Detective Driver said nothing in response to that, noticing how the man facing him was now leaning forward, forearms over the table ahead, an undecipherable look in his eyes.
"What is it that you really want to know, detective?"
Marcus smiled. Yes, no doubt Bruce Wayne had overcome all his expectations.
"Where to begin…" Driver stared the man he knew as the billionaire Bruce Wayne, wondering if he would be able to take something out of those cold eyes that stared back at him, and if he even should ask the questions he really wanted to. Truth was, no matter his suspicions, no matter his curiosity, Marcus Driver was still a police officer, and his job was pretty simple: to serve and protect. And, right now, serve and protect meant finding the person that attacked two women, both mothers of young children, both brutally hurt, one dead, another about to die.
Also, Marcus Driver himself had something to confess – although he never would; he had lied to Mr. Wayne. In fact, Driver had no reason to interrogate that man. He didn't need his answers; he didn't need to talk with someone that, as Wayne brilliantly pointed out, he would never be able to completely believe. Honestly speaking, Driver didn't suspect that Wayne had something to do with the crimes… No, honestly speaking, Driver now was sure that Bruce Wayne just really cared about Irena Dubrovna, that's all. Hell, maybe Wayne was in love with the woman, that wouldn't be a surprise. No, not to Marcus Driver, who knew one or two things about being in love.
Still… all about the case was strange. All was just… unclear. No motive, no exact time, not even the place where Irena Dubrovna was shot had been found. And the involvement of all those masked heroes – Superman and Batman – no doubt meant something. Just like the suspicious disappearance of the clothes Ms. Dubrovna was wearing when she was shot, clothes that vanished before they could be send to police laboratories, making this the first case Marcus had ever worked that presented almost zero physical evidence…
There was also Batman's silence, who had given nothing to the police, although he clearly was involved, probably had even seen what happened. There were all the peculiar things about Ms. Dubrovna's life, like the fact that she didn't seem to have a job, but clearly had enough money to provide for herself, her daughter, and even that young girl that lived with her. And even though she had enough money for that, she lived in the East End, one of Gotham's worst neighborhoods…
Yeah, no doubt there were many contradictions. Bruce Wayne in that hospital, that was a contradiction. Marcus had thought long and deeply about the connection between Wayne and Irena, considering many unflattering options about the victim, but the poor woman didn't seem to conduct any sort of illegal business, quite the contrary. All the statements so far showed Irena was a good person, someone that took interest in her local and almost abandoned community…
Strange. Everything was so very strange.
"I really want to get the guy that did this to Ms. Dubrovna, Mr. Wayne. That's all." He sighed. "But, right now, I don't see a way to find him. We have nothing to work with, and any information you could provide would be helpful."
"I'm sorry, but…"
"Please." Detective Driver interrupted him by raising a hand. "Please, let me finish."
Bruce did nothing but silently stare at the detective.
"You don't have to say anything, just listen." Marcus changed his tone, now speaking almost in a whisper. "I have no idea of how much you actually know about Ms. Dubrovna, and, although I've many suspicions, I've no proof about anything. But I tell you this: someone is making my job even harder than it has to be. Now, maybe this someone is doing this to protect Ms. Dubrovna, but this is also ruining any chances we, the police, could have of getting the guy who did this to Irena and, let me remind you, to Beatrice Collins."
"Detective, I don't see how…"
"Wait, Mr. Wayne." Driver sighed, and slowly ran his fingers through his own hair. "Look, I already told you: you don't have to say anything. I know, I just know you're involved. And I know you're in this because you want to help Ms. Dubrovna. I've no idea of how aware you're about what is going on, maybe you know it all, maybe you're just… just being used. I don't know. But you know that someone is covering Irena Dubrovna's tracks, and I think you know who this someone is."
A silent and stern glance was all Detective Driver received.
"I see what's going on here, Mr. Wayne. I see what he is doing, and there's nothing I can do to stop him… However, since you're part of all this, and you seem to be a good man, and seem to care about Irena, I must ask you…"
Bruce Wayne hadn't move a muscle, so immobile that Marcus wondered if the man was even breathing.
"Tell him to trust us, and tell him to let us do our job. That's all I'm asking for. I promise we are not going to look too deep into Ms. Dubrovna's life, that's a promise. She seems to be a good woman, and I don't care about the rest. I just want to get this damned hitman. I just don't want another good person dieing for no reason two blocks away from home. That's all."
The detective spent a few seconds looking into Wayne's eyes, hoping to see some reaction… but nothing showed.
"Well…" Marcus concentrated in controlling the growing frustration inside him, a feeling that was about to make him scream in rage. He had hoped and expected many things from Bruce Wayne after his speech was over, but he didn't count on that complete lack of response.
Silence followed Driver's words, and silence remained for a long, awkward minute. The detective searched and searched for something in Bruce Wayne that would tell if his speech had somehow touched, even reached the conscious of that man, that peculiar man, who had the most stern, grim eyes Marcus had ever seen. In the end, it just seemed to Marcus Driver that his words had fallen in deaf ears; an impression he confirmed when Wayne finally spoke:
"If there's nothing else, detective…"
Marcus couldn't help himself: he nodded his head in what was an expression of his disapproval. "No, I guess there's nothing else, Mr. Wayne." He waved his hand. "You can go. I don't want to waste your time anymore…"
"Excuse me."
Detective Driver just followed Bruce Wayne with his glance as the man walked out of the cafeteria, both hands in his pockets, regular and firm steps that carried him to the elevator. Driver watched as the man waited for the elevator, now with arms crossed over his chest, his eyes staring nothing in particular, and eventually smiling politely to a nurse that greeted him. He kept his eyes in Bruce Wayne until he entered the elevator, now thinking that, in the end, that man was still a cold billionaire that had to have things his own way, never stepping an inch out of his way for anyone. As the elevator door closed, Marcus realized he hated Bruce Wayne.
And inside the elevator, alone, Bruce took a deep breath, and raised a hand to briefly cover his eyes. There, where no one could hear, he finally spoke what was in his mind:
"I'm tired." The words escaped in a painful whisper. "I'm so damn tired."
"Neighbor said she heard strange noises three nights ago." Jason Bard had both hands in his jacket's pocket, his right shoulder against the doorframe. "That's when Irena Dubrovna was shot, right?"
"Yes." The answer was short and dry, a sound so harsh that seemed to Bard that could cut through him.
"Then, says the neighbor, it started to smell bad." Jason walked around the living room of the small apartment, avoiding the dry blood on the floor. "I would have waited for you before coming in, but I feared someone would call the police, and then we would have to go through all that bureaucracy… Figured you wanna have a look before any one comes and… you know, 'pollutes' the crime scene."
"You did right, Bard."
"One does what one can…" Jason was now facing one of the apartment's walls, the same wall Batman carefully studied. He watched it for a few moments, that confusion of symbols and the message - in a language that seemed to be Arabic -, all written in dark, red blood. "Any idea what this is?"
Batman just seemed absorbed in his work, closely examining every inch of the horrible signs. "Yes." Still the same dry tone.
"And I don't suppose you could share this knowledge, right?"
There was no answer; Batman's attention was now in a particular point of the wall, his gloved fingers touching it like he was searching for something. He pressed it carefully, slowly, and then…
A subtle sound, an almost inaudible click, and Batman was opening what seemed to be a secret compartment in the wall. He completely removed a perfectly squared piece of the wall, actually a steel plaque camouflaged with plaster, and behind it there was a much bigger hole; inside it, there was what Jason Bard would define as an arsenal.
"Wow…" Bard couldn't avoid the expression of surprise and shock. He was now looking at a collection of rifles and accessories for guns, ammunition of many sorts, knives, googles, piles of money, and even other stuff that he couldn't identify or guess what was. "Wow! That's…"
Batman had immediately reached for one of the ammunition boxes, taking one of the large bullets in it, and examining it attentively. "Yes", he cut Jason's sentence, "that's the man we are looking for."
"You mean, that was the man we are looking for, right?"
He turned to face the dead body behind it, or, more precisely, the pieces of dead body that lay on the floor. Head there, an arm here, one leg a few feet away… The guy had been butchered in a way Jason Bard had never even dreamed a human being could. Not only the man had been dismembered, but what had been left of his body was an indiscernible confusion of ruined and cauterized flesh, suggesting the guy had suffered burns and even had been skinned… tortured. No need to be a genius to figure out he had been tortured. Just look at the expression on that head, and you could tell death hadn't been a jolly ride for the guy. Just look at those scared, shocked eyes, and the twisted mouth… Horror. Pure horror and pain.
"Any idea who did that to him?" Bard had finally taken a handkerchief from his pocket, and now held it against his mouth and nose. Not only the sight, but the smell in the apartment was getting unbearable.
Batman was now standing, eyes again focused on the wall ahead, on all the symbols and signs. "Yes", he answered, and the word carried resentment and disgust.
"Good…" Jason recognized the fury in Batman's response, and concluded it wouldn't be the best moment to ask who, after all, did that. He simply asked: "So, should I call the cops? Are you done here?"
"Almost." His tone turned into a cold and distant sound, and no one could suppose any emotion behind it. "Call them in ten minutes. Ask for Detective Marcus Driver, in the Major Crime Units."
"Driver? Didn't know you had friends in the MCU." Bard let a brief smirk escape, only to realize that Batman stared at him in complete silence and disapproval. "Sorry… Ahm… So… What should I tell them when they get here?"
"The truth." Batman had again turned his attention to the wall.
"Really? The whole truth? Even how you got the information about this place?"
No answer came from Batman, as he was now, apparently, taking pictures of the wall with a diminutive camera.
"You broke many jaws and arms in that bar… I mean, yeah, those guys probably deserved, but…"
"Tell them the truth, Bard."
Jason sighed. "You're the boss… I'll wait the ten minutes and then I'll make the call." He turned to leave the apartment. "Now, if you excuse me, I'll wait down stairs… Don't wanna be in your way, or throw up on your evidence."
Batman heard Bard's steps as he left, the sound distancing more and more. Yes, Jason was right; the smell was almost unbearable, a mix of old blood, putrid flesh, and burned human skin. He too would like to leave the place as fast as he could, and yes, he should be able to do it by now. He had taken enough pictures, collected samples of blood, and he would take with him one or two bullets from the ammunition he found in the wall. Yes, he would work in that evidence, even though he already knew all he needed to know…
What kept him inside the apartment, however, was the same thing that had given him all the answers he needed. The same thing that now filled his chest with cold anger, and frustration, and rage.
Again he read the phrase, the sentence written in blood on the wall, the message that, he knew, had been put there to no other eyes but his:
"To traitors, the punishment; The Demon's punishment is no other but death. The Bat, be warned: justice has been done. The Demon's justice, the supreme and final justice."
The Demon.
Batman knew exactly who he should look for now. He knew who had sent the message, and his target now had a face, his enemy had a name. A name he so many times before thought about with respect and care, someone that hadn't always been one of his opponents, someone he once considered a friend, someone he once had feelings for…
Now he thought about her with hate.
"I'll find you", he silently promised. He would find her. He wouldn't rest until those that hurt Selina were punished. Every single one.
And this time, he wouldn't let Talia escape.