Harvey got out of his car and looked up at his apartment, taking in the cloud of black smoke streaming out of his kitchen and bedroom's windows. Well, «windows» was not exactly the term anymore. «Gaping holes» sounded more like it. The walls were cracked and blackened with soot. Firemen, on a lift, were fighting the dying flames.
«Holy shit», the cop murmured as Jim, who had been driving, joined him. «Think there's any chance my records survived that?»
From the looks of it, not a snowflake's chance in hell. His partner put a hand on his shoulder.
«What the hell happened?» Harvey shouted, shock turning to anger. «How the fuck does that happen?»
Fifteen years in that place. It was filthy and small and would have needed to be renovated back in the seventies, but it was home.
«You left the stove on», a girl's voice chimed in.
He whirled to the teenager.
«Kyle. What have you done now?»
«Me? Me? Me! I called the fire department, that's what I did! I dropped by 'cause I wanted a shower and I smelled gas when I opened the window, so I went to call them», she snapped, pointing at the firetruck. «Except the idiots got there too late. Your upstairs neighbor walked by your door with a smoke. Didn't turn out so good for him. He's a bit singed.»
«Could be a gas leak», Jim pointed out.
He was still watching the fire, in full blown detective mode. Harvey rolled his eyes.
«Of course it's a leak. I don't cook.»
«Nope, it was the stove», Selina insisted. «I did some listening when the insurance guys arrived. The firemen say the stove was on.»
«Yeah, I've spent the whole week at Scottie's, so you won't pin this on me. You sure you didn't cook yourself something when you dropped by to take that shower? Because it sounds like you're in my flat more often than I am.»
«What the hell was I going to cook? Your one jar of mayo?»
«CASE IN POINT. I don't use the damn stove!»
«Maybe we should just go see what the fire department has to say», Jim cut in, nearly getting himself punched in the face.
Harvey did not want any logic or common sense. He wanted to shout at someone not to have to focus on the disaster his life had become. Everything he owned up in flames.
They still went to talk to the firemen, and the landlord, and the insurers, and sure enough, it was the stove, which made no sense. The detective argued they got it wrong, threw a few suspicious glances at Kyle, and listened to the explanations. The stove was turned on - the firemen who had walked into the place had found it in pieces, but with a control knob turned to the max. The damage to the burner showed the stove had been on when the place had caught fire. They could be wrong, the fire department guy said, and they would check once the place would be safe to enter, but it looked like an open and close case.
It made no sense at all, since Harvey had not been home in five days, unless you accused the most likely culprit.
«I told you I had nothing to do with it!» Kyle snapped when he managed to get his hands on her.
«Are you real sure? Because I don't see who else it could have been.»
«Selina», Jim intervened. «We're not going to be angry. We're glad you are safe - you could have been blown to bits when you opened that window - but if you had something to admit, it would save us a lot of investigating.»
«It's. Not. Me.»
«Alright», the blond said, unconvinced.
«I'm not the washed out alcoholic, by the way. Maybe he did cook and doesn't remember.»
«I wasn't there», Harvey repeated.
Jim raised a finger to shut them up and walked back to the fire truck. There was some talking, some bartering, some threatening, some backing off (all of it Jim's). Voices were raised, endangering men mentioned, then one of the firefighters grabbed one of the others as he climbed off the lift. Jim listened intently. One of the firemen asked something on his radio, and Gordon waited for the answer, rocking on his heels. Harvey and the brat watched the scene in silence, both curious of the results. Then Jim walked back to them.
«Someone broke in», he announced. «The lock was picked. It's not Selina, she's a climber.»
Harvey felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
The kid put her hands on her hips.
«Told you!»
###
Working for a lunatic with no scruples had its perks. Namely, Barbara had found them a nice, fancy place uptown, a large designer loft complete with hot tub and memory foam mattresses. After sleeping in a chair for days in that cramped bedroom (Kean would have shared the bed, but Butch still thought it was safer to decline), those luxuries felt like paradise. The flat had been borrowed from Patrick Howell, who was known to date an escort and to be renting a discreet place in town so his wife would not find out. Howell was out on the country on a three weeks business trip, which had left his girlfriend at risk for home invasions. «No one will miss a prostitute», Barb' had pointed out while they were tying the girl up and locking her into the laundry room. They were now her impromptu roommates.
Of course, working for a lunatic with no scruples also had its disadvantages. One of them being coming «home» to an empty apartment, a dead whore with a slit throat, and a post-it telling you «kept weeping, grated on my nerves. Please dispose of the body. 3 3».
He took a long look at the note then dropped into one of Patrick Howell's luxurious leather sofas, and sighed.
She was tiring. She was so very tiring. It was not unlike working for Fish. On crack.
And of course, just like with Fish, he didn't feel like leaving.
He allowed himself ten minutes of quiet, then he called Kean.
«Boss. Where are you?»
«Downtown! There's a fire, I wanted to see.»
Wonderful.
«Why didn't you wait for me? And how did you even get downtown? I had the car.»
«I took the bus, silly.»
«I'm sorry?»
«The bus. You know? Public trans-»
«What are you even doing in town? You're a criminal on the run!»
«I'm right at home in Gotham, then. And don't worry. I'm wearing a disguise.»
Butch closed his eyes to collect himself. She was going to drive him insane. Arguably, she had done that. He had not fled, and he could not entirely blame that on his fear of Zsasz.
«Did you get rid of the body?» she asked.
«Not yet.»
«Listen, if you get a cleaner - you know, like in Nikita? - don't let him put acid in the bathtub. I plan to use it again!»
Gilzean pictured her dead, skull bashed in. It helped a little.
«Did you find Renee?», she asked, not waiting for his answer.
He paused.
«Err… I have bad news. She's missing. Presumed dead. Undercover gig went south.»
«Oh. Oh. Well, that's a bummer, I guess», Kean replied, immediately switching topics. «I think Jim is being stalked.»
«Wait, what, Jim?»
«Yes! Every time I stalk him, I see that other blond guy following him around.»
«Don't stalk Gordon!»
«Don't tell me what to do! I'm the boss. Aren't I the boss?»
«You won't be anyone's boss if he arrests you! Where are you? I'm picking you up!»
«Why do you always have to be so difficult? I'm on Bullock's street.» - Where there was that fire she wanted to see. - «I'll meet you in front of that deli on the corner. And take a man with you. I want someone to keep an eye on that possible stalker. I wouldn't want Jim to be in danger.»
He tried to picture her dead and strangled, and it didn't help at all.
The next images that sprang to his mind helped even less, and he wasn't killing her in them.
###
Barb's disguise was admittedly not bad, because Butch did not recognize her when she climbed into the car. She was wearing dirty, threadbare jeans and a washed out Cardinals hoodie. All he had seen, when he had parked next to the deli, was some broke junkie smoking a cigarette. She held herself like one, hunched and sullen, face hidden under her hood, behind a veil of matted hair. She had botched her make-up on purpose, making her lips thinner and their color garish, and haphazardly plastering blue powder on her eyelids.
It was a good disguise. The man he'd brought had nearly shot her when she opened the car door, for a start.
She sank into the passenger seat and stretched.
«Why is Bullock's apartment in shambles?» Butch asked, though he did not really need an answer.
«Gas leak, I think.»
«You think.»
«Yes. See the blue Audi?»
Butch groaned and looked around. Sure enough, a blue Audi was parked a few spots away.
«Yeah.»
«It's to be followed. I want to know everything about the driver. And you should have taken two cars, mister Logistics. I told you there would be tailing involved.»
Right. Gilzean stared into the distance, drove to the next street, double-parked, then handed the car keys to the thug sitting on the backseat.
«You heard the lady», he said, getting out of the car. «Blue Audi, report to me, don't lose the guy.»
Then Barbara got him to take the bus. It was a long ride and nobody died, which was an accomplishment. She didn't shoot anyone on the walk back to the loft, either, which was good.
She didn't shut up for a second. He longed, longed, longed to crush her against a wall and to kiss her into silence.
###
Jim kissed Lee, and kissed her again, paying no heed to the stares every passerby on the platform was giving them. He was getting used to kissing Leslie in public, and really enjoying it, if he had to be honest.
«You're learning!» she said with a grin. «I didn't even have to ask!»
He flushed and cleared his throat but smiled back.
«Hereby proving that I can be taught. Don't tell Harvey.»
She chuckled.
«I won't. Oh my god! Do I have the list? I think I forgot the list!» she exclaimed, patting her pockets.
«Inside pocket of your purse, the left one.»
«Thank God», she muttered, pulling The List out of her bag.
One hundred seventy-four vinyl records left to find. An extensive search of every music shop in Gotham had brought it down from three hundred forty-six, and Scottie was keeping the results of their treasure hunt well hidden in her attic. She had compiled the list, when she had helped Harvey to dispose of the remains of his possessions, stealing his collection of albums from the container where they had thrown everything. It had taken her a few hours of handling charred, twisted records, but she had written down every title, along with a description of the cover.
They were now trying to find them all.
Harvey was freaking out about his collection. He now owned the clothes he had been wearing when his apartment had burned down, two pants and three shirts that had been at Scottie's, and his car. That was it. There had been nothing left to salvage from the flat. But all Bullock focused on was the records. Jim supposed that he had to, not to have to take in everything at once. His partner had stayed at Scottie's for a few days, and would be sleeping on Leslie's couch during her absence, as he was panicking at the idea of actually moving in with his significant other.
«I'm not you, asshat», he had told Jim. «I need my own place. I can't pull the locker room to girlfriend's and back thing you do.»
Scottie was taking that with grace and tender chuckling, which clearly indicated Harvey had found the One (at least, that was Leslie's conclusion).
«Okay. So. I have the whole afternoon free once I arrive in New York», Leslie said. «I think I can cover at least five stores, I just have to drop my suitcase at my uncle's before that. I'll call you if I find something.»
«Or, you know, you could call me to let me know the trip went well and-»
«Of course I will!» she cut in, kissing him again. «It just goes without saying.»
«It does.»
He tried not to let her go, but the platform was getting crowded. The train was about to leave, and people were running to its doors, bumping into them in their haste. Leslie moved back and grinned, pointing at the train.
«Talk to you in a few hours», she said, pecking him on the cheek and making her way to the train's doors.
He helped haul her suitcase in, and watched the doors close over her, and watched the train leave. Her uncle would be waiting for her in New York, would collect her straight from the station's platform. And he would be grafted to her hip for the entire week-end. She would be safe. Safer than in Gotham, anyway. It was a relief. He still spent five minutes processing the idea, standing in place on the platform. Then he returned to the precinct.
They had too many things to deal with at once and were making no progress. It was horrifying.
Vigilante? «Possibly a cop considering how he proceeded when he used your name to get information to prepare that murder», Alvarez had announced.
There was a possibility - a slight, very slight possibility - that the killer was responsible for the explosion at Harvey's, but Jim had a sinking feeling it was most likely Barbara's doing. Unexpected failed murder attempts seemed to be her thing.
Then there was the Dollmaker case. They had looked into everything under the sun. Potential patients, medical supplies sellers, missing persons reports… Harvey had gotten a friend of a friend of a friend to «procure» flight plans for some of the private jets and helicopters leaving Gotham. He was pouring his soul into that investigation and slowly, subtly losing chunks of it. It was Harv'. It didn't show at all until it hit you in the face.
«We'll find him», Jim had told his friend, not saying her because the chances of finding Fish were slim to none.
If the Dollmaker had indeed captured her, she was probably long gone, either executed in revenge or sold by the organ to the highest bidder. Jim still hoped to find the boys and to stop the human trafficking.
«I don't give a fuck about that bastard» Harvey had replied. «What I want is to know she's dead. I need to know she's dead.»
That had been the end of the conversation, but Jim had spent six hours straight studying satellite imagery of every island in a two hundred miles radius. He had circled a few dozen and was still checking who lived there, and what the buildings on them were.
The last thing was the Stephenson-Bakerton case. They had put the word out, with the help of Sarah. Every unit knew about the MO of the killer, based on the two - possibly three - victims' disappearances and deaths. Ed was digging through the archives to find similar cases. They had been questioning the friends and coworkers of Delores and Sabrina for days.
One of them had proved hard to contact, but Harvey had finally managed to get her to the precinct when Jim arrived. His partner was talking with her.
«Yeah, she left in the middle of her shift, and in the next twenty minutes we got an email saying 'I quit', but come on, we're barely a step above fast food. It's not flipping burger, but it's not the job of your life. It would not have been the first employee to drop everything. You wouldn't believe the turnover rate.»
«Anything special happened that day, or the days before? Did anyone show interest in her?» Jim asked.
«She was pretty. Every guy flirted with her. It annoyed her to hell and back, too. She was talking marriage with her boyfriend, so she didn't want the interest.»
«Please think about it. Maybe someone stood up from the lot. Someone older? Creepier? Not the kind of clientele you usually get? Overly aggressive, maybe?»
«Once again, 'one step above fast food'. We see people of every kind.»
«Just try to remember», Harvey pressed.
«No one creepy that day. She had the one hot, and I mean John Stamos hot customer flirt with her for a while. I mean, I remember looking at the guy and thinking 'wow, someone out of her league'. Heads turned. But he wasn't creepy. He was super nice and polite. He tried to get her number for a while.»
«Did he give his?»
«No, not that I know of.»
«Are you one of those place that puts the names on the cups when people order?»
«Yeah. David. I think his name was David.»
The woman frowned.
«Might be relevant, because you talk about explosive necklaces… He was wearing a scarf. White, very thick. I remember because we were roasting in the kitchen and I thought a scarf was insane.»
Jim and Harvey exchanged a look. That was more than relevant. They got a description, let the woman leave, and returned to the missing persons reports.
«John Stamos hot, early forties, now let's hope his name is actually David», Bullock grunted as they flipped through the piles of photocopies.
Half an hour passed, then Jim froze and held out one of the sheets.
«It's actually David», he said. «Banker, sent a suicide note to his brother. He went missing right before Delores.»
«I'll get in touch with MPU», Harvey replied, grabbing the sheet.
«Yeah, I'll-»
Jim's phone rang, interrupting him. He smiled as he saw Leslie's name on the screen, and picked up.
«Hey. So how was your trip?»
«I have a question», Barbara replied. «You didn't leave her unprotected so far, and suddenly you do, so I'm wondering. Do you somehow think I'm allergic to traveling?»