Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or other creations from DC comics.

The office was silent and still as Jim Gordon poured a steaming cup of coffee for himself. The day felt like an eternity because of a murder-suicide that involved an individual who was politically powerful, and corrupt. What possesses a father to murder his son? As a father Gordon was unable to understand, but he was never able to understand the corrupt.

He let himself half drop into the worn chair of his desk, exhausted but letting his compulsion to work control his motions. Something did not feel right. Gordon knew the man who killed himself, his name had been Jack Fraser. Fraser had run a shipping company cheaply importing construction materials for low income housing projects around Gotham City. This made Fraser a best friend to the Mayor who believed that the cheap importations of supplies would make him friendlier in the voters' eyes come election time.

A man like Fraser is what people would call the embodiment of power. He had his hand in various businesses in the community and had a wide network of contacts. He would deal with everyone and anyone, absolutely anyone. There had been whispers that he had done some smuggling for the Penguin, but they were just whispers, little ghosts who disappear as fast as they appear. The smuggler had been known to Fraser but so many people were that it meant nothing. Fraser was also a powerful man in form; he kept his body and mind in pristine condition, up at 5 running, never drinking or smoking. He was just too perfect.

Gordon gazed over the crime scene photographs. He could not help but let out a smug grunt. The perfect man was lying on a carpeted, forest green, floor, his face down in a puddle of vomit; his limbs were sprawled out, his body bent unnaturally. The coroner had told Gordon that Fraser probably poisoned himself after he put five bullets in his 15 year old son. Fraser was never known to hold a gun, he had body guards for that, but Gordon felt like the man should still have had enough sense to only need to shoot his son once to kill him. It was just too sick.

There had been a note, vague and written hurriedly. "I need to protect him. I need to keep him safe. He doesn't know me like this." No name. No clarification of who "he" was. The only assumption was that Fraser believed he was protecting his son somehow. Gordon felt his chest tighten and his jaw clench. Putting five bullets in your child is not protecting them.

Fraser's body had been found in the study, his hands had gunshot residue on them and there had been a case for a hand gun discarded on his mahogany desk. The gun was found next to the boy, lying innocently on the carpet, ignorant of its part in the youth's death. The boy's face was frozen in an expression of horror, blood had escaped through his mouth and soaked through his bed sheets. The Mysterious Case of Jekyll and Hyde was found near the bed, some of the pages had been bent over from the drop to the floor.

A shrill ringing disturbed the peace in the room and Gordon felt his heart skip a beat. The long hours were starting to show. Glancing at the clock as he picked up the phone he wondered what anyone would want at 12:00am, wondering why anyone would try to call his office this late when they should have known he would be home by now. It couldn't be his wife; she had long ago given up on calling and asking when he would be home.

"Hello?" Gordon questioned, "Commissioner Gordon speaking."

There was nothing but the faint sound of breathing on the line.

"Hello?" Gordon said with some irritation, "Can I help you?"

Still, no one spoke.

"Look, I can hear you breathing, if this is just some-"

"Joke?" a voice finished for him, "No, it's not a joke..." There was a pause as if the person on the line was wondering what they were doing calling.

"Well?" Gordon felt his patience depleting, "What have you called for?"

"Fraser's son died quite the awful death, five bullets in such a young body. Father's everywhere will be wondering what could possess a man to do that. Absurd that someone would call that protecting their child." Gordon felt a chill go through his spine. The note had not been released for public knowledge, or the number of bullets. "Makes you wonder if Fraser was actually the one who did it."

"Who is this?" Gordon demanded, the voice was muffled, it could be male or female, it could be anyone, "How do you know these things?"

"No need to get agitated," the voice's tone did not change; the person seemed as if they were in a daze when they were talking, "I think I may be able to help you."