Chapter Four
In the end, it had been as easy as killing the snake.
Jerome looked down at Lila's glass eyes and lipstick red mouth, the muscles in her body starting to pull tight in rigor mortis. She looked smaller in death, less threatening. It almost made him consider the idea of souls, but that would also lead to a hard session of thought about higher powers and himself. The corners of her mouth were now halfway to her ears, "Why so serious?". He looked down at the body of the woman who'd brought him into this world, feeling no remorse, just a soft feeling of completion.
Jerome picket up the hatchet, before walking back down the hill through the night, towards the circus.
When he got back to the circus, the door to his caravan was open. Jerome froze; he hadn't left that open when he'd left. He thought back to the cut glass bowl lying on the floor with a splattering of his mothers blood still drying on the side.
He crept towards the open door, listening to the quiet huffing he could hear from inside. He stopped in the doorway, confusion marring his face as he found Mr Paul Cicero on his hands and knees, a bandanna over his nose and mouth as he cleaned up the mix of white powder and splattering of blood on the floor. "What are you doing?", Jerome asked slowly, almost coldly. Mr Cicero paused his actions, "There is a warm bowl of water in my caravan with fresh clothes. Go there and wash the evidence from your skin. Burn the clothes your wearing in one of the fire barrels". The blind man then continued wiping the mess from the floor.
Jerome turned, and walked towards Mr Cicero's trailer. It was bigger, but more old fashioned on the inside. An array of glass orbs glinting in the dark from the shelves. It was surprisingly clean and organised, considering the old man's disability. Cicero hadn't been lying. There was a still steaming bowl of water sitting on the table, and a warm set of clothes off to one side.
When Jerome walked out of the trailer, he had the bloodstained clothes under one arm, and was pulling a heavy, green, woollen coat on top of the slightly worn clothes Mr Cicero had set out for him. Jerome liked the coat's colour, it was nice. He thought it probably went with his eyes.
Jerome walked to one of the fire bins and dropped his bloodstained clothes into its depths. The low-quality material didn't burn like cotton, it bubbled and hissed, releasing the acrid smell of plastic as the clothes sunk into the embers. When he was sure the clothes had been disposed of, he walked back to his caravan.
For a blind man, Cicero had cleaned up pretty nicely. The only piece of evidence left lying around was the cut glass bowl leaning against the back wall. Mr Cicero was sitting on Lila's bed with red rimmed eyes. If it hasn't been for the steadiness of his tone, Jerome would have thought he's been crying, "Jerome. We need to start quickly if this is going to work".
Jerome leaned against the door frame, listening. "What did you use to -ahem- do the deed?", Cicero's voice shook slightly. "A hatchet", Jerome dead-panned, watching the blind man's face for any sign of what he was thinking. Mr Cicero swallowed and nodded, "Yes, uh, a wooden handled one?". "Yeah", Mr Cicero was shaking slightly, "Fetch it", he handed the younger man a piece of paper, "Scratch these markings on the handle and throw it off Gotham bridge into the park".
Jerome took the paper and raised an eyebrow, "Wouldn't it be smarter to just get rid of it properly? Remove all evidence". Paul Cicero shook his head, "No, we need to lead them off in another direction. These markings are from a satanic ritual, it will distract the police into suspecting an outsider rather than one of us". Jerome nodded, "Okay", and left.
He didn't know why Mr Cicero was helping him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. The old man had always had a bit of a soft spot for him, ever since Jerome was young, and thinking about it just sent him into a spiralling contemplation that resulted in him having to take a step back and just accept it. Sometimes people were easier to just accept.
By the time Jerome had finished all of Cicero's instructions and walked back from the bridge to his caravan, the blind man had left and the sun was starting to climb above the horizon. He walked over to the crystal glass bowl on the floor, picking it up and carrying it to the sink. As the bowl filled, Jerome planned what he would do next. He needed to make it seem like a normal day, so as soon as the rest of the performers caught up on what had happened, he could avoid suspicion. Bruce's face swam into his mind's eye, and he clenched his hands on the counter. He didn't want to go to jail quite yet, he still had to prove someone wrong.
He knew when they'd found her, because Owen and Alphonse were stalking around each other with red eyes. Their two families were also circling younger members, and it was perfect. They deserved that. Taking Lila from them was killing three birds with one stone. What did surprise Jerome, however, was the fact that no one came up to him to talk about it. Maybe they thought it would make him explode, maybe they thought he wouldn't care. Either way, it meant they didn't think it was him. The nights performance began without anyone saying a word, even about the act that clearly wasn't going to happen.
To Jerome's delight, Owen turned on Alphonse during the show, disrupting the Greyson's performance and starting a fight between the families. It was perfect. It happened before his act, so he could keep up the pretends of oblivion. After all, ignorance was bliss. The two heads of families were accusing each other, starting a fuss and placing blame. Creating suspects. All the circus members were talking in hushed voices about which one they thought did it, but nobody even considered Jerome.
He retired back to his caravan at the first shout of, "GCPD!", leaving whatever unfortunate detective had stumbled across this dirty little problem to arrest whichever Owen or Alphonse he thought was the start of this mess. Unsurprisingly, the detective came to Jerome's caravan, introducing himself as Detective Gordon, with his pretty date to ask him questions. Jerome didn't have to try hard, a sweet, worried son wasn't very suspicious at all. The ringleader's decision to cut him out of the loop was working in Jerome's favour now, as he argued vehemently that Lila wasn't the sort of girl to disappear off early in the morning, despite the ringmaster's claims.
Jerome spied out from behind his mask of innocence, watching detective Gordon. The police officer wasn't looking directly at the ringleader or Jerome, he was looking between him, straight at the caged snake behind them.
When Gordon asked for Clipper to be let out, Jerome's eyes narrowed slightly. Snakes weren't tracking dogs, but considering the sheer amount of time Clipper had spent with Lila, as well as the fact that the snake would have seen Jerome dragging her out the caravan made him edgy. Her sense of smell was better than a dogs, and if she didn't find the body of his mother, there was always the possibility that she would attack him.
Chances were his probability of being caught went up if this became a police investigation, but if he didn't co-operate to the fullest extent, his level of suspicion would skyrocket. Jerome unhooked the cage door, and Clipper slid out, staring at him for a moment, before her tongue darted out and began to slid away.
Albeit, when she led the detective right to where the ringleader had stashed the body, Jerome wished he'd gutted her along with the other one. He fell to his knees, wailing pitifully, and the pretty woman ran to his side. His performance was excellent, if he did say so himself. And the cop barely glanced at him whilst he called in backup. There were going to be a lot of arrests tonight, Jerome smiled internally.
Jerome was almost disappointed, the idiot police didn't notice anything odd about Owen Lloyd's trailer, despite the drug stash inside, and released all the murder suspects that night with a warning to stay in city borders.
The circus was split in two that night, the Grayson's sitting around one fire bin on the left side of the circus with their group of supporters, and the Lloyds sitting around another with their people on the right. Jerome was sitting with the Lloyds, much to Owen's delight. He sat Lila's son on his right, (where his son Dan should have sat) directly in the line of sight of Alphonse. Dan sat to Jerome's right, glaring angrily into the fire bin. Owen cawed about it being proof, the fact that Jerome wouldn't sit with the Greyson's suggesting that despite what the young man said about having no idea who did the deed, he also believed it had been the other family. Oh the irony.
Cicero was sitting with the Greyson's though, and Jerome was watching him intently. Every now and then, he'd catch Cicero glance at him sadly, but if the old man wasn't going to blab, he wasn't an issue.
At just past midnight, the groups disbanded, walking back to their caravans whilst eyeing the other group suspiciously. Jerome slept well that night.
Jerome had begun a plan to take down Owen Lloyd, trying to think of the most fitting way to take him out, just desserts, as it was. He was so absorbed in his planning he thought nothing of the knock on his door the next morning, "Come in", he yelled distractedly. The ringmaster poked his head through the door, "Uh, hi Jerome, there's a police officer here, he want to take you to the precinct for a few questions", Jerome's heart begun to beat slightly faster, not in fear but in excitement.
Most of Jerome didn't want them to find out it was him, but a little recognition for the game he'd created would be nice, especially considering how unappreciative Cicero was about the fruit of his intelligence. "Sure, what's this about?", a policeman in his early four ties stepped into the caravan, glancing around with a wrinkled nose. Jerome didn't like him already.
"The name's Detective Bullock, and I can't tell you jack till you've spoke with the big guy", he grunted. Jerome blinked rapidly, "Yeah, uh, of course! I'll come right away". He grabbed a woollen jacket to pull over his shirt and followed the detective eagerly. "Have they found who killed her?", he said quickly, trying to inject just the right amount of righteousness, sadness and anticipation into his tone. Bullock didn't glance at him as he was forcefully directed into the back of the police car, and walked around to the front.
Jerome's excitement and fear was growing. Had someone figured out it was him? Had Bruce gone to the police? For some reason, that dimmed his mood. He didn't want that. Even if he'd been rejected by the young billionaire, he liked to think that Bruce had cared for him enough not to do that. Jerome thought about what would happen if they had evidence it was him. He wasn't really afraid of death, heck, if he could create enough of a scene, he'd be immortalised in journalism for weeks.
Maybe Bruce would be sad. Jerome would like that, in a selfish sort of way.
Bullock just stared straight ahead for the whole journey, and Jerome sat quietly, trying to school his expression to give nothing away. If nothing else, he was going out with a bang.
•
Jerome liked to think he could anticipate twists in stories quite well.
Maybe that didn't apply in real life. That, or he'd been especially thick. Jerome dropped his head and started to cry, trying to buy time. Cicero said he was his father. Either he way lying, or his father had been in the circus the whole time.
The whole time. Lila just couldn't resist it, could she? Oh and how he'd swallowed that lie. Despite himself, Jerome started to laugh. It seemed fate liked to throw him curve balls, see what he would do. He wouldn't play along with that.
What sort of father gave up his own son to the police? Jerome was sure if he hadn't felt a far more brutal betrayal in the last forty eight hours, he might even be a bit hurt. Why not expose her manipulation to his daddy at the same time? Hurt him back a little bit.
They'd got him now anyway, thanks to his father.
"My mother, was a cold-hearted whore who never loved anyone", Jerome rumbled deep in his chest, "And she'd never touch a pathetic, old creep like you". It worked, hurt flared in the old man's eyes, "All these years, do you think I was kind to you because I'm such a good man?", Cicero said bitterly, "If I wasn't your father, would I have helped you as I have after what you did?".
A flash of surprise blossomed in Jerome's chest, Cicero really had loved her after all. Not him though, just Lila. He inhaled sharply. It was all over now though, no chance of wriggling his way out of this one. Jerome's eyes flickered from Cicero to Detective Gordon for a moment and back again. "My father, hm!", Jerome leaned back in his chair, "Well, I'll be damned".
They all just stared at him for a while, "Uh, that's very funny", he informed them unemotionally, before beginning to laugh again. It was hilarious! The moment he thought life couldn't get any shittier. After a few seconds he got his laughter under control, "Ba-dom-chh!", he grinned, mimicking a drumroll.
"Looks like the bitch got me with a zinger in the end", Jerome muttered dryly. Of course she wanted the last word. Couldn't ever just shut up and leave him be, she always had to ruin everything.
Detective Gordon was giving him that look. The one everyone gave him. Everyone except Bruce. "Why'd you kill your mother, Jerome?", he asked coldly. Jerome ached to reveal the drug den, his whole body longed for it. It could even work in his favour really, but that would drag Bruce into everything. It would've been fun trying to explain that his mother was plotting to kill the wealthiest preteen in all of Gotham though.
"Oh", Jerome said lightly, "You know how mothers are". Lying, unfaithful, lustful, greedy, murdering whores. "She just, kept, pushing", she should have known Jerome would protect Bruce, it was her own fault really.
He forced his tone light again, "And I'm like, 'Fine mom. Be a whore. Be a drunken whore even'", he paused, anger pulsing through his bones as he thought of what she'd wanted to do, "'But don't be, a nagging, drunken whore". Jerome was practically snarling by the end of his speech, and he had to reign his anger back in, "You know?", he said airily.
Jerome bared his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile, "Don't come yell at me to do the dishes", his tone darkened, "If you've been banging, a clown in the NEXT ROOM!".
"You know?", he grinned blackly.
•
The cells in the precinct weren't hugely different from Jerome's living conditions back home. It was grimy, dusty and smelt slightly like covered-up mould. The only difference was the bars. He sat in the middle of the bench in the largest cell, his expression ensuring he was left well alone.
Needless to say, he had a lot of time to think. He considered what would happen to him next. It was highly likely they would just cart him off to county and leave him there to rot, but there was always the chance that he'd get the death penalty if the court was feeling spiteful. Depends how badly they'd think of someone killing their mother.
When they'd thrown him in the cells, a rather rude Detective Bullock had made a snide remark about how he'd be transferred to county soon. The criminals in the cells had liked that. Hooting and licking their lips as Jerome stood there and stared them down. The detective had left looking pretty happy with himself. Jerome was aware he was attractive, often to both men and women, but it had always been an advantage before now. As the low-lives eyed his full lips and lithe figure, he got the impression it would have been better for him if he was balding and overweight.
They grew bored after a while, or maybe it was Jerome's death-promising gaze that warned them off. Either way, they soon left him to his thoughts.
Jerome was surprised, however, when an annoyed looking Detective Bullock slunk back into the holding cells not three hours later, followed by a tall man in an expensive suit. "Valeska", Bullock yelled, "Get over here".
Jerome slunk over, eyebrows raised, and he leaned against the bars aggravatingly, "Detective Bullock! Back so soon! Did you miss me already?". The detective grit his teeth, "If I'd had my way, you'd already have been shipped off to county without ever seeing a fair trial, scum". Jerome pulled a wounded face, "So cold!".
The suited man placed a firm hand on Bullock's chest,
"Harvey", he warned lowly, "Don't make me use your actions in my testimony to save this boy". Jerome looked between the two eagerly, "Ooh! Are you my lawyer?", he smacked his lips mockingly, "I swear, I didn't do it sir".
Harvey shook his head in disgust, "I really wish you didn't have this one", he muttered to the suited man, before unlocking the cell, dragging a grinning Jerome out by his collar, and locking the door again.
Bullock put them both in the interrogation room Jerome had been in earlier, handcuffed him to the table, and left. "Bye Harvey!", Jerome called after him, before settling down and taking a good look at the lawyer. He grimaced theatrically, speaking with a street accent, "First, I gotta say, I didn't do it Doc, it was all Cicero". The lawyer watched him for a moment, before he spoke, "No pro-Bono lawyer anywhere would be able to get you out of county, and there would be no chance in hell one would be able to secure a court date two days after the arrest and take back a declaration of guilt".
Jerome leaned in, "I'm lucky you're not just any pro-Bono lawyer then, aren't I?". The suited man sat back, "What makes you say that?", and Jerome rolled his eyes, "As if a pro-Bono lawyer would be able to afford an Armani suit". The suited man smiled and extended a hand, "It's nice to meet you, Mr Valeska, the names Match, Milo Match".
•
"-And that, your honour, is why we cannot send this poor soul to county. We would be abusing our position as protectors of the ill if we place an unstable man in an environment that wouldn't offer the help he so desperately needs", Milo Match sat down, and Jerome glowered at the Woden desk he was sat at. Milo had insisted the only way to get out of life imprisonment in a practically inescapable holding cell was to plead insanity.
Jerome knew with every fibre of his body that wasn't true, and his resentment about having to sit there and agree was cutting to say the least. He wasn't crazy, just smart and a little strange. They were the ones who couldn't see like he did, they were the ones who feared the unknown.
The prosecutor looked a bit green, and the Jury seemed decided.
The judge nodded, looking up from the signed statement of insanity Match had revealed, and asked the prosecutor if they had anything else to add, with their curt, "No, your honour", he stood, "Jury, will you please elect a foreman and reach a verdict". Jerome watched them, five of the twelve jurors looked contemplative, yet the other seven seemed nonplussed, just like Match. He leaned towards his lawyer, mouth opening to ask a question, but before he could speak, Milo shushed him with a confident smirk, and Jerome frowned. He hated it when everyone but him knew something.
"Members of the jury will your foreman please stand", a short, trembling man on the end of the line got to his feet, a piece of paper clutched in his sweaty hands. The judge continued, "Please answer this question Yes or No: have you reached a verdict by which you're all agreed?".
"Y-yes", the bald man trembled, his eyes glancing nervously at Match, who smiled encouragingly, "We accept Jerome's plea of insanity, and believe he should be admitted to Arkham Asylum in Gotham City".
•
Milo stood up after the statement, smirking down at Jerome, "Not just any old pro-bono lawyer huh". Jerome regarded him for a moment before speaking, "Who hired you?", Milo shrugged, smirking, "You are my client, Mr Valeska".
Jerome sighed, "That's not what I asked you. I asked you who hired you.". Milo pulled out a business card, and handed it to him, "Please don't try and slit your wrists or hang yourself with this, it would be a lot more difficult to fix than blackmailing a jury", before walking off, his long coat swishing behind him. Jerome looked down.
Jerome laughed. He laughed so hard his chest hurt and tears were streaming down his face even as the orderlies from Arkham Asylum began to lead him towards a padded van. It wasn't just him, this thing went both ways. Bruce Wayne wasn't finished with him yet, as Jerome wasn't with him.
The business card was composed of thick, silvery grey card, with black indented writing across the front spelling out an unfamiliar name and number, but what caught Jerome's eye was the other side. Emblazoned proudly in gold lettering, were the words , 'WAYNE ENTERPRISES'.