Jim tried to sort through the mess on his desk, all of it entirely owed to Harvey's efforts. His partner had attempted to investigate their cases on his own during Jim's absence, and since he had worked for two, he had spread his personal space accordingly. There were files everywhere, notes to go with them, and the occasional candy wrapper.
It was clear the man had applied himself to the job. Unfortunately, he had found very little, be it on the Stephenson case or the Dollmaker's (the one he had clearly favored). He had also investigated a few leads on the six cold cases Essen had given them, but with no results. No ID on the Asian male whose body had been found with shrapnel wounds similar to Delores'. The list of criminals with bomb-making skills was fifteen pages long, and that was for the ones who were not currently in prison, and were supposed to live in Gotham. Still, they had two bodies possibly connected to the same killer, and Jim had hoped they would find something that linked them. The more they dug, the more it looked like Delores would end up another cold case among Gotham's thousands.
He was piling up all of the research on her murder and abduction when Nygma walked to him.
«Detective Collins' new case might be related to yours», he announced, sharply.
Jim looked up. Ed bit the inside of his cheeks.
«W-what-» he started. «What is-»
He stopped himself again, closing his eyes to focus.
«The body of a young woman was found cut in pieces and buried in various parts of the woods, south of the city. Now, the ME doesn't have all the pieces yet - the head still has to be found, among other things - but shrapnel was removed from a shoulder and an arm. You m-may want to see with detective Collins.»
Jim stared at him. He was so tense he was shaking, teeth clenched in anger. His hands were balled into fists.
«Ed… Are you alright?» the cop asked, worried.
«ImallrightI'mjust trying to make some efforts here!»
«Efforts?»
«With the silly riddles thing», Nygma hissed. «I've had comments.»
Jim cautiously leaned forward. He had always thought the young man was quirky. His blurting out riddles could get mildly annoying, but the cop had never really paid attention to them. It had never occurred to him that they could be not merely a passion, but an actual compulsion Nygma suffered of. He had no idea what to say, but tried all the same.
«Hey. I… You… I mean, I was always okay with the riddles. I don't mind them at all. Now, if you mind them and want to stop… That's fine, but don't stress yourself over it. It's okay.»
Ed ground his teeth and didn't answer, but his eyes shot daggers. Jim moved back, hesitating. The scientist took a deep breath, then his eyes strayed to Jim's desk. His arm shook as if restraining a punch.
«W-what…»
He hit his leg with his balled fist.
«W-what - justshutpshutup - what starts with 'e' and ends with 'e' and contains one letter?» he recited.
Jim stared at him. Ed didn't want an answer to that. What he clearly wanted was to never have uttered the question. He ran a hand through his hair, face twisted in self-loathing. The cop tried to take his hand.
«Ed…»
«An envelope!» the scientist snapped, gesturing at a white rectangle on Jim's desk.
Then he all but ran away, in long, fast strides. The blond only paused for a second before giving chase. He caught up with Nygma in the records annex. The man was hunched against a sorting cabinet. You couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying.
«Hey», Jim murmured when he managed to compose himself and stand up straight.
Ed pursed his lips.
«Another beautiful show by riddleman!» he railed, face twisted in a rictus.
«C'mon. I swear it isn't as bad as you think.»
«Well I don't know, detective. How about we switch places so you can confirm? Wouldn't that be hilarious? Oh, look, it's Jim Gordon. He's so weird.»
Jim sighed.
«I know it's not nearly the same, but I've had the odd complaint about anger management. And being an ass. And for what it's worth, if we were to switch places, I'd be totally overwhelmed by suddenly being smart.»
«My, aren't you funny today! I guess a case of the 'smart' would be a life-altering event for you, but you could achieve that by trading places with a chimpanzee. No offense.»
Jim swallowed, frozen, the mean look on Edward's face reminding him of Barbara for an instant. But Ed was just hurt and lashing out.
«Come on… I didn't mean… I mean, if you don't feel that good.. Maybe we could grab a drink this evening? I don't promise I'm a good conversationalist, but I think I can manage proper crime scene discussions.»
«A drink.»
«Yeah? Maybe with Harvey, if he's free?»
Ed chuckled, then pursed his lips and grew serious.
«Does it look like I'm in need of you pity, detective?» he replied, walking to the exit.
He slammed the door as he left.
Jim stood alone for nearly five minutes, wondering when and how he could apologize, or if it was a better idea to leave the scientist alone. He didn't manage to find an answer.
He pushed the matter out of his mind and went to Collins instead, to confirm the results of his victim's autopsy. There was indeed shrapnel, though there was no neck nor head to check for injuries similar to Delores Stephenson's. Collins was more or less certain of the identity of the woman. Her hair type and coloring matched those of a recently reported missing Hispanic girl, as well as some moles and scars on the recognizable body parts. Her name was Sabrina Bakerton, a young coffee shop employee who had - as far as her family knew - left her apartment and fiancee on a whim, vanishing with her clothes and her cat so she could get a «break». She had sent an email to her mother, from her home computer, to tell her she would be staying in a motel for a few weeks as she reconsidered her relationship with her boyfriend. Two weeks later, they had received her suicide note by post. They had already reported her missing by that point.
It was exactly like Delores Stephenson. A fake trip, fake correspondence, and a violent death days after that.
He ran back to his desk to share the news with Harvey.
«We have a serial», he announced. «New girl, kept for days, our abductor sent messages to her family so they would think she was traveling. Collins-»
«Wait, wait, let me fetch the cap', I have a feeling you're going to be repeating it all.»
Jim nodded and watched him walk into Sarah's office. He turned away, looking down at his desk, and spotted the envelope that had caused the whole scene with Edward. It was addressed to him, but there was no stamp, so someone had deposited it in person.
He opened it. News clippings fell out of it, along with a post it. He spread them out in front of him, going pale as he recognized articles on the vigilante killing that had exposed his and Harvey's failed case. A short message was scribbled on the post it.
«You got out of it this time, but it's not the only time you fucked up», it said. «The next time I nail you, you won't be that lucky.»
###
The plan was simple.
Butch had hired twelve men. Paul's wife, Janet, was to get out of their mansion at half past five to go to her yoga session, leaving the place to their guards. Paul had provided floor plans, on which he had drawn the patrol paths, the location of the security cameras, and the emplacement of every armored door. He had also informed them of the brand and model of said doors, which had put the locksmith of the team in an extremely good mood. The vault in itself would prove a bit more difficult to open, but nothing that couldn't be solved with explosives. They knew how fast the police and security firm reinforcements would arrive. They knew how many guards were on location. The heist would be easy as pie.
Barbara had insisted to be present, to ensure the paintings wouldn't be damaged during the operation, and there had been some arguing about that. Butch didn't want her there - really - but she had a point about knowing her shit on how to move priceless art without ruining it. They had agreed on letting her join the team once the mansion was secured and the vault open. In the meantime, the two of them would be waiting in one of their three vans.
At twenty-five past five, the team started moving into position, their men getting ready to take out the patrols as soon as Janet would be gone.
At twenty-six past five, Barbara pulled out her disposable phone and gave a call.
Gilzean saw her smile and knew they were fucked. He didn't even have to wait for her to speak.
A woman replied: he could recognize a female voice in the faint echoes he heard from his seat.
«Hello. This is Samantha», Kean announced. «Oh, don't you play that game. We both know full well you know who I am.»
Butch gestured to her.
«What are you doing?» he mouthed.
«Like hell you don't see. Well, keep pretending if you want. I was just calling you to tell you what you are doing to Paul is pathetic.» - She paused and listened to the answer. - «Oh, come on, Janet. Threatening suicide so he won't leave you? That's just sick.»
Janet. Janet. JANET. Butch was going to kill her.
She kept arguing on the phone, defending a three years old affair, a child on the way, and the reasons why bitter wives who threatened suicide to keep their husbands should maybe act on said threats. Their team waited, waited some more, then realized the lady of the house would not go to yoga after all. Butch was asked if Janet was an acceptable casualty. Barbara grinned to him and nodded, then walked out of the van.
He confirmed that Janet was disposable and followed Barbara out. She quietly walked up to the mansion, listening to their men's progress on a talkie-walkie in one ear, and to her interlocutor's screaming in the other. By that point, she barely had to reply to Janet. She snapped back a few insults as she walked up to the mansion, but Butch could distinctly hear the constant, hysterical shouting of Paul's wife from her phone, even from two steps away.
When they passed the doors of the house, it had been secured, the guards dead or unconscious. You could hear screaming from upstairs - «I will sue you, I will destroy you, you whore» - but the first floor was silent. The assault had gone well, as stealth had been the strategy, and Janet was not aware there were intruders.
Barbara hung up and made her way upstairs. Butch followed her, swearing to himself that he would strangle her later. The sooner, the better.
Locating Janet's bedroom proved easy. The noise of broken glass and upturned furniture gave it away. And the swears. Kean knocked on the door and promptly entered. Janet stared at her, frozen into place. She was still holding an ivory statuette she'd been ready to throw at the wall.
«Hi!» Barbara said with her best smile.
Paul's wife blinked.
«Miss Kean?»
«Yes. Now, I have to start by an apology. There's no Samantha. She doesn't exist. I don't even think Paul could cheat on you if he wanted to, what with his looks…»
Butch stayed back, horrified.
Janet looked at Barbara in utter confusion.
«I beg your pardon?»
«No. Samantha. It was me on the phone. I needed to keep you inside, you see.»
«I-I… I'm sorry?»
«I wanted to talk to you. Believe me, I've been wanting to for years now.»
«What are you doing in my home?» Janet snapped, slowly recovering from her shock.
Barbara stopped right in front of her, just at arm's length.
«Do you remember my birthday party? My eighth birthday? The one with the pink balloons and the bouncing castle?»
«Your… What are you talking about?»
«You were invited. Now, I'm aware you probably don't remember. But to me? It was a formative event.»
Janet inched back towards the phone.
«Please leave now, or I'm going to call the police», she menaced.
Kean looked down at her watch.
«No point, the silent alarm was triggered four minutes ago. They are already on their way. Now, you really don't remember?»
«Please leave.»
Butch joined his boss and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to distract her from her plans, but she just slipped away.
«You should have remembered. It was important to me. I'm a grown adult and I still find myself unable to go to sleep at night, thinking about that day.»
Janet had grabbed the phone. Barbara had followed her, staying at the same precise distance.
«What did I do?» the house's owner asked.
«You spilled orange juice on my dress.»
«W-»
Janet stopped at that, too stunned and confused to even finish that word. Gilzean was too well acquainted with Barbara to be confused. Shit, he thought. The blonde reached under her vest.
«And you should really, really, really have been less of a clumsy bitch», she snapped, getting her gun and shooting Janet in the face.
The recoil sent her flying back, squeaking. He grabbed her by the hips to keep her from falling.
«WHAT WAS THAT?», he shouted. «What the hell was that?»
«Therapy», Barbara replied, sliding out of his arms. «Now come on, we have a Picasso to steal.»
###