A/N: Thank you for the reviews!

Exile: I appreciate your comments, thank you for your honesty. Maybe you're right in saying that she's not being very mature, but this whole story is about Nick and Sarah taking that final step into adulthood. By the time the story's finished I hope your opinion will have changed, and please don't stop reading the story.

Chapter Fourteen—Cold Case

Detective Tom Rathbone hated being called a rookie. He'd been a rookie when he joined Police Academy, a rookie when he was new as an officer, a rookie now as a detective. Sure, he'd only been promoted six weeks ago, but it was really irritating that his colleagues continued to rib and jibe him just because he hadn't yet had the opportunity to solve a case.

Well, he'd had enough. He was going to solve a case that no one had ever been able to solve, not even the great Batman. Kids were going to be reading his name in history books for years to come after he solved this.

The Joker's murder had been open for six months before Old Man Gordon had closed it down and relegated it to a cold case. It had sat in the archives ever since, opened once every few years but always shelved again. Even the Old Man's daughter, the current Commissioner Gordon, had only given the case a glance before tossing it to the bottom of her list of cold cases to solve. The smart detectives knew when a case was impossible, and they knew that there were easier ways to get promoted.

Rathbone thought they were all just a bunch of pathetic quitters, personally.

But where d'ya start with somethin' like this? he wondered.

There was the physical description of the woman who'd shot the Clown Prince that Batman had given the GCPD back in 2011. It had matched the Phantasm then, and it still did now, but it could also match a few Justice League members back then. Like Huntress, and she had a history. There had been that crime lord, whatshisface... Well, whatever his name had been, the original Huntress had tried to kill him, and she had been in operation at the time of the Joker murder. He pulled up a file photo, then twisted his mouth in consternation.

Huntress was definitely a woman, was definitely wearing black and definitely used a projectile weapon. It was a crossbow, though, and she hadn't worn a hood. The woman in Batman;s description definitely wore a hood. Rathbone went through every female vigilante know to the GCPD in the early 21st century, came up with plenty of names but hardly any viable suspects. The Phantasm still looked the most likely—and there was a list of potential Phantasms, but each had been investigated at the time and in subsequent investigations, and found to be innocent. Or at least there was a lack of proof.

Just like this whole damn thing.

Without any real hope of getting anywhere, he brought up the case file on the computer and scanned through it. It was so frustrating: a full set of fingerprints and they were still unable to pinpoint the perp! Teeth grinding in annoyance, Rathbone hit the cross-reference button. It wouldn't come up with anything, but there was no harm in–

With a beep, the cross-referencing stopped.

It had found a result.

There was a file number blinking gently at him onscreen, a link just begging to be clicked. He knocked over his coffee in his haste to get to the mouse. The file opened. The woman who'd killed the Joker looked back at him.

"What the fuck?"

Five minutes later, he crashed into the Commissioner's office totally out of breath. She didn't look pleased to see him. "Rathbone, for God's sake—haven't you heard of knocking?"

"Sorry...Commissioner Gordon...but found...something impossible..."

Barbara Gordon looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Impossible? This is Gotham, Detective, we get 'impossible' on a daily basis."

"Not like this we don't, Commissioner! Please, ma'am, you have to see this!"

She sighed, and then pushed back from her computer. "Alright, show me. Then get out."

Rathbone couldn't prevent himself from grinning ear to ear. This was going to get him another promotion, he just knew it was. He brought up the relevant files on the computer and turned in time to see the Commissioner's jaw drop.

"No."

"I know, right?"

"But that's impossible!"

"Hell yes it is!" he said gleefully.

"No," she said stonily, "it is impossible. You're talking 2011 here. That was the year they were–"

"True," he said, annoyed at the problem she'd thrown up, "but it's a perfect match, Commissioner. That can't be a mistake!"

"It must be," she said. "Computer error, that's all."

"But chances of that happening are miniscule!"

"So is winning the lottery, and that still happens. That's all this is. Delete the result."

"But Commissioner–"

"I said, delete the result, Rathebone, that's an order! I'm not turning my precinct into a media circus just because so computer's spat out something ridiculous, understand?"

Rathbone felt himself rapidly deflating. "But–"

"And don't you have other, current cases to be working on?" she said sharply.

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Then I suggest you get on with them instead of wasting your time in stuff like this!"

Rathbone nodded miserably and deleted the result as he'd been bid. Then he left the Commissioner's office with head down and heart sinking. Maybe he was a rookie.

Barbara waited until she was sure he'd gone before she picked up the phone and dialed. "It's me," she said. "I need to see you—tomorrow. It's urgent."

A/N: Review please!