A/N: I apologize for the wait for this chapter. My beta got it back to me a week ago, but I didn't have a chance to make the edits until this evening. I actually hate my course and want to quit because the workload is just too damn much. *sulks* I'm also sorry that I didn't get the chance to respond to any of you who commented on the last chapter, but I really am so, so grateful to you for your wonderful feedback. Thank you.
Hope you all had a nice Halloween! :)
oOo
Bruce's eyes were burning from scanning the city's traffic cameras for any sign of the white van that had been in the Summerland area when Dick was kidnapped. As soon as the police had left after installing tracers on the manor phone lines, Bruce had retired to the cave and spent all night searching for that van.
Thanks to Greg Foster's information, the police had managed to get a shot of the van from a traffic camera. It was only a fragmentary image of the van's right side, but that had been enough to get a partial license plate number. Bruce had started his search by checking the surrounding areas of Dick's foster home in the immediate aftermath of his kidnapping, slowly widening it when that hadn't turned up anything. He was now performing an extended grid search in the hopes of getting a full picture of that van, but so far he'd had no luck.
He was having the opposite problem searching for white vans with that partial plate number; there was too much information available. The computer was still searching, but so far it had turned up almost a hundred names. It would have helped if he could narrow it down to a make and model, but from the limited traffic camera angle the best he could make out was that the van might be a Ford. And Bruce couldn't afford to exclude other possibilities on the basis of a guess. So while he sat here running into walls, Dick was out there somewhere in the hands of armed men.
He sighed and rubbed at his watering eyes. Ever since the god-awful phone call from Commissioner Gordon telling him that Dick had been kidnapped, fear the likes of which Bruce didn't often feel had been gnawing on his nerves and wearing him down. Because Dick hadn't just been kidnapped; he'd been kidnapped while he was extremely vulnerable. Dr. Phillips had told Bruce that Dick would be more susceptible to post-traumatic complaints such as seizures for the next couple of weeks, and that Dick should get plenty of rest and not be put under any stress while he was recovering.
Bruce tried not to think of the stress that Dick must be under right now, because what if it led to a seizure or some other complaint? The very idea sent cold fear shuddering through Bruce.
"Christ," he moaned, grabbing fistfuls of hair with both hands. This wasn't fair! Instead of looking forward to his supervised visit with Dick like he should have been, Bruce was searching for his kidnappers! He wouldn't even know if Dick was okay for several more hours – it was only eight am and those men weren't calling until five this evening. Bruce felt like he would go out of his mind with worry before then.
"For crying out loud, Bruce, when was the last time you slept?" a voice echoed suddenly.
Bruce spun around in his chair to find Superman standing there. He must be tired if he hadn't heard the Boy Scout come in. "I'm busy, Clark, what do you want?"
The Kryptonian looked exasperated. "I came to see how you're–"
"I'm fine," Bruce cut him off. Then he spotted the folder beneath Superman's arm. "What's that?"
"The League report on what happened on Paramushir. Kobra was trying to blow up the Chikurachki volcano to get at the bones of some ancient snake demon buried beneath it. We're not sure why yet."
"Have the League secured the bones?"
Superman nodded. "Hal and John used their rings to get them out."
"Then it isn't urgent. Leave the folder and I'll look at it later." Bruce turned back to the huge computer screen filled with multiple traffic cameras and resumed his search.
"Any word on Dick?"
"Clark, I don't have time to talk about Dick's case right now–"
"I'm not talking about his case. I meant have you heard from the kidnappers?"
Bruce jerked around. "How did you hear about that?" He'd spent all night in the cave working the cameras – the last thing on his mind had been updating the League!
Superman frowned a little. "It's all over the news, Bruce."
"WHAT!" Bruce immediately keyed in some instructions and the traffic cameras were replaced with footage from various news stations. Every single one of them was covering Dick's kidnapping, some even reporting from outside his foster home!
"No," Bruce croaked, his stomach dropping fifty feet from scared into petrified. Who the hell had leaked this?
Superman came up beside him. "Bruce, what's wrong? Why is this different to last January? It was all over the news then too."
"They said no police," Bruce whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the screen. Several news stations were running Dick's picture: some had photos of him in his school uniform accepting a trophy at last year's mathlete competition, but most of them were using the image of Dick unconscious in the hospital. "If those kidnappers see this, then they're going to know the police are involved…"
"And who knows what they'll do," concluded Superman grimly. "Damn. Is there anything I can do?"
"Not unless you can stop this story from running and make everyone who's seen it forget about it!" Bruce smashed a fist against the armrest of his chair. "Goddamn reporters, they really don't care who gets hurt so long as they get their story!"
"Hey, we're not all like that," Superman reminded him gently.
Bruce snorted. "Don't be so naïve, Clark, not everyone is like you. Have you seen what they've done to Dick since this all started?!"
"I saw what happened outside the hospital," he replied quietly. "And I know a lot of reporters who were appalled by it."
"That doesn't change it! It doesn't fix this!" Bruce cried, gesturing at the screen. "They've put my son in danger for the sake of a story! Christ, I need to call Jim Gordon…"
Heart hammering wildly, Bruce picked up the phone that was connected to the manor phone lines and dialled the commissioner's cell phone. It rang for almost a full minute before the commissioner picked up.
"Mr. Wayne–"
"Jim, who the hell leaked this?!" Bruce cut across him.
"I don't know," the officer answered. "It could have been any of the kids we spoke to at Gotham Heights, or one of the neighbours that we canvassed."
"But didn't you ask them not to say anything? Didn't you explain what could happen?"
"Yes, Mr. Wayne, we did. But some of those people are struggling financially, and given the media frenzy around Dick at the moment…"
"Most news stations would pay for information on him," Bruce finished, closing his eyes. There was something terrifying about just how little people cared about a thirteen-year-old boy's welfare so long as they benefitted from Bruce's money. Being Bruce's son had always been somewhat precarious for Dick, but it had gotten worse over the last year and Bruce didn't know why.
Bruce opened his eyes again. "Commissioner, what happens now?"
As Batman, Bruce knew every possible move the police would make in any given situation, but for some reason those procedures were eluding him right now.
"Mr. Wayne, I don't want to get your hopes up but we have two men in custody that we believe were in on Dick's kidnapping."
"What! Since when?"
"We picked them up a few hours ago. My best detectives are interrogating them now and I'll keep you updated on–"
"No," Bruce interrupted. "You won't keep me updated because I'm coming down there. I want to know everything that's happening as it happens."
"Mr. Wayne, I would advise against that. It's crawling with reporters outside."
Bruce's heart almost stopped because if the police really did have two of the kidnappers and the other men got word of it, who knew what they would do to Dick! "They don't know you have someone in custody, do they?!"
"No," the commissioner reassured him. "I'm just concerned about the frenzy that would break out if you show up here. I saw what happened to Dick outside the hospital on Tuesday."
"They wouldn't dare do that to me," Bruce replied grimly. "They know I'm in a better position to fight back than Dick, legally speaking. You won't talk me out of this, Commissioner. I'll be there in thirty minutes." Twenty if he broke a couple of speed limits.
The other man sighed. "Alright. I'll have my men keep an eye out for you in case you need help getting through that mob."
"Thank you, Commissioner. I'll see you soon." Bruce hung up and turned to face Superman, who was watching him closely.
"The police have something?" he asked Bruce.
The billionaire nodded. "They have two suspects in custody. I'm going down there to hear the interrogation."
"I hope they get something out of them. Can I do anything to help?"
"Actually, you can." Bruce took a deep breath. He hated asking for help but Dick's position had just gotten a lot more dangerous. "Can you stay here and continue running a grid search of the city's traffic cameras?"
"Of course. What am I looking for?"
"This van," Bruce replied, keying in some instructions and bringing up the image of the van cutting off Greg Foster's car. "I don't have a make or model and I only have a partial plate number, but the police believe this is the kidnap vehicle."
"What areas have you searched?" Superman asked, watching the screen as Bruce once more brought up the city's traffic cameras.
"Summerland, its surrounding areas, and most of East Gotham. I doubt the kidnappers would have headed into the city so I've slowly been working outwards."
"Then I'll keep working outwards. You just get down to the precinct and find out what you can. Don't worry, Bruce, we'll find Dick."
Bruce nodded, his jaw clenching tightly in response. This was one of the few times that he hoped the Kryptonian was right.
oOo
"Mr. Wayne, have the kidnappers contacted you yet?"
"Do you have any comment about what's happened to Richard while in state custody?"
"How do you feel about being accused of child abuse?"
"Are you angry at social services for what's happened?"
"Will you be taking action against CPS for this?"
"What are you going to do if you don't get Richard back?"
Fighting his way up the steps to the police station, Bruce kept his teeth gritted and his mouth shut as questions were pelted at him from all sides. Commissioner Gordon hadn't been wrong; the outside of the precinct was thronged with reporters hungry for a story. And it didn't escape Bruce's notice that they were all keeping a safe distance – not one of them dared to swarm him as they had done to Dick. He had been right in assuming that they would be more cautious around Gotham's wealthiest citizen who was in a better position to fight back than a thirteen-year-old boy who had just been made a ward of the state. But if the media thought that Dick had no recourse to fight what they'd done to him, they were sorely mistaken: Bruce already had Kevin Green working on going after those reporters for that vicious assault. Regardless of the outcome of all this, Dick would never again be subjected to that frenzy.
He was halfway up the steps when he saw two police officers coming towards him. They were pushing their way through the mob of reporters to get to Bruce, and when they reached him, they immediately began to herd the press away from him. It enabled Bruce to get to the front door a lot quicker. Once inside, he thanked the two officers before going in search of the Police Commissioner.
He found Commissioner Gordon in the main squad room issuing orders to a bunch of officers. Gordon was more hands-on than other police commissioners; he cared more about what was happening in his precincts than the political hands he was supposed to be greasing. It was an attitude that made him enemies in powerful circles.
"Mr. Wayne," Commissioner Gordon called, catching sight of Bruce and coming towards him.
"Have those men said anything yet?" Bruce asked at once.
Gordon shook his head. "No. And one of them has lawyered up, which makes me think we're on the right track. We're working the other guy pretty hard and I'm actually glad you're here because I think you might be able to help."
Bruce was surprised. "How? And how did you come to pick up these men in the first place?"
"Come with me and I'll explain everything," the commissioner replied, heading for the door of the squad room.
Bruce followed him and the officer began to speak as they walked. "While running that partial plate number, one of the names that came up was for a Mike Denver…the father of one of the kids that Nate told about Dick."
Bruce frowned. "That can't be a coincidence."
"We didn't think so either, so we went back to the Denver home. But Mr. Denver wasn't there. His wife said he was working – he's a security guard who works the late shift at the Ramada Casino, six pm to four am. He used to be a plumber, which is why he drives a van, but he's been finding it hard to get work and that's why he took the security gig."
"Was he at work?"
Gordon nodded. "It's where we picked him up. His manager gave us the excuse we needed to bring him in. She told us that Denver had been an hour late for work – even though his wife told us that he left almost an hour earlier than usual for work because he was giving a co-worker a ride."
"What time did he leave?" asked Bruce, recognizing the hallway they were in. Gordon was heading for the interrogation rooms.
"Four pm. And the co-worker he was giving the ride to was also late for work."
That's almost an hour before Dick's kidnapping, Bruce realized. It put both men together during the window of the kidnapping. "Is the other man you have in custody Denver's co-worker?"
Gordon nodded. "His name is Troy Holloway, an ex-con. He ran as soon as he saw us so we arrested him."
"An ex-con? How did he get work in a casino?" Gotham Casinos required a clean criminal record for all potential employees; less chance of being ripped off by their employees that way.
"His sister got him in as a janitor. She's been a croupier there for over five years, one of their best apparently. The casino manager told us that Holloway's been working there for four months…the same length of time as Denver. The two of them started the same week and they're pretty tight by all accounts. They work nearly all the same shifts and take their breaks together. Stands to reason Denver would tell Holloway that his kid told him where Dick is. It was probably Holloway's idea to set up the kidnapping."
"Why do you think it was Holloway's idea?"
"Because Mike Denver has never had so much as a parking ticket before now," Gordon replied. "The guy is squeaky clean."
"How do you jump from that to kidnapping?" Bruce wondered, as they arrived at the interrogation rooms.
"Desperation. Remember I told you that he'd been finding it hard to get work? He and his wife are behind on their mortgage and the bank is threatening to foreclose on their house. They have four children under the age of sixteen and one of them has a chronic illness. Denver is a desperate man, not a bad one." Gordon stopped outside one of the interrogation rooms. "And that's why you should talk to him."
"Me?"
"I know it seems a little unorthodox but I want you to ask him where Dick is."
Bruce stared at him. "I'm sorry, Commissioner, I don't understand..."
"Denver's reaction to the news that the media were running the story of Dick's kidnapping put the idea in my head," Gordon explained. "Holloway lawyered up the second he heard that, but Denver got upset. Really upset. He seemed more bothered by the fact that the media had released the word about Dick's kidnapping than he was by our accusing him of the kidnapping. I think he's genuinely worried about Dick's safety and that's why I think you can get through to him."
"You think I can convince him to tell me where Dick is?" Bruce was sceptical.
"I do. This man is a father and I'd be willing to bet he got caught up in this because he was trying save his family from losing their home. He's not a bad man, Mr. Wayne. Talk to him, one father to another. Show him how scared you are for Dick, how much you miss him."
Bruce tightened his jaw. He wasn't good with emotion; the only one he really knew how to convey was anger. How was he supposed to be emotionally open in front of a complete stranger, the kidnapper of his own child no less, when all he wanted to do was bash the man's head in?
Then he reminded himself that Dick was counting on him.
Bruce took a deep breath. He had to do this. "I'll do my best, Commissioner," he managed.
"Good." Commissioner Gordon rapped on the door of the interrogation room, and Harvey Bullock exited after a minute.
"Has he said anything new?" Gordon wanted to know.
"Creep keeps sayin' he's innocent." Bullock snorted. "If he's innocent then I'm freakin' Santa Claus."
"It might be time to try a different tactic," Gordon informed him. "Take a break, Bullock. Mr. Wayne and I are going to have a crack at him."
Bullock raised an eyebrow at Bruce. "No offence, Commish, but you're lettin' him talk to this clown?"
"Yes, Detective, I am. I think Mr. Wayne might be able to persuade Denver to tell him where Dick is."
Looking sceptical, Bullock shrugged. "Okay, Commish, you're the boss."
Gordon turned to face Bruce. "Are you ready, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce nodded. "Whatever it takes to get Dick home safe."
Opening the door of the interrogation room, the commissioner entered with Bruce right behind him. The billionaire felt a little off-kilter; he'd been in these interrogation rooms many times as Batman, but never as Bruce Wayne. And he'd certainly never been in an interrogation room to try and bond with a criminal, much less one who had abducted his son!
Inside, the man sitting at the table looked completely ordinary. Clean-shaven and of average height, his right leg was jittering beneath the table. He looked up as they entered and his eyes widened when he spotted Bruce.
"What the hell?" he demanded, jumping up and backing away from the table. "What's he doing here?!"
"Mr. Wayne wants to speak with you," Gordon replied, sitting into one of the chairs at the table. "Why don't you have a seat so you two can talk?"
"I don't want to talk to him," Denver muttered, looking anywhere but at Bruce.
Bruce knew guilt when he saw it and felt a small dart of hope. Maybe he would be able to convince this man to tell them where Dick was. Making an effort to keep his voice calm, he addressed Denver. "I understand why you don't want to speak with me, Mr. Denver, but I'd really like to talk with you if you'll give me the chance?"
God, it killed him to be civil a man who'd kidnapped his son. But the slim chance they had of this working relied on him being able to convince Denver to talk. He couldn't afford to alienate the man.
"I don't want– why's he here?" Denver demanded of Gordon. "Is this some sort of trick?"
"This isn't a trick, Mr. Denver," Bruce answered, before Gordon could. "Commissioner Gordon told me that he thinks you're one of the men who kidnapped Dick, but he doesn't think that you instigated the kidnapping. He thinks you're a decent man who wants to do the right thing. And so do I."
Bruce's fingers twitched from resisting the urge to pummel this man to a bloody pulp.
Denver muttered something and started to pace back and forth, running his hands through his hair while still refusing to look at Bruce.
"Mr. Denver, those men said not to call the police," Bruce began, being careful to use distancing language to separate Denver from the other kidnappers. "But Dick's social worker didn't know that and she called the police, so now it's all over Gotham that Dick was kidnapped. If those men see the news they might panic and hurt Dick." Bruce swallowed. He didn't have to fake the fear that crept into his voice because what if they couldn't get this guy to talk?
Denver stopped pacing and burst out, "Why do you even care? Didn't you hurt the kid?"
Bruce had to work hard to smother his anger. If he really thought that then why did he kidnap Dick in the first place? "I didn't hurt Dick. He's my son and I would never hurt him. All I want is my boy home safe. Please, Mr. Denver, where is he?"
"I didn't kidnap him!" Denver snapped, but Bruce could see how his eyes darted around the room like that of a trapped animal, how his hands shook with nerves.
"But you see, Mr. Denver, that's just it," Commissioner Gordon interjected. "The evidence suggests you did."
The man gave a nervous laugh. "What evidence? There's no evidence because I didn't do it!"
"The police believe that your van was used in the kidnapping," Bruce told him. "And that makes you an accessory. But maybe you didn't want to do it, maybe you just got talked into it because you were desperate. After all, you're a father too, Mr. Denver, why would you hurt another man's child?"
Denver was perspiring as he stared at Bruce. "I wouldn't hurt a kid," he whispered.
"And I believe that," said Bruce, fighting the urge to shake him and demand to know where Dick was. Appealing to the father in Denver was the only way they would get anywhere. "You never intended to hurt Dick. You were just trying to do what was best for your own family. The bank is threatening to take your house, aren't they?"
"What would a rich guy like you know about that?" Denver retorted bitterly. "You've never had to worry about money a single day in your life! You don't have to worry about keeping a roof over your kid's head or putting food on the table!"
It took every ounce of control that Bruce had not to react. "But that doesn't mean I don't have other things to worry about. I worry about Dick's safety all the time. He's my son, which means people target him to get at me. And men like the ones who kidnapped Dick have no problem hurting him for money. It doesn't matter that he's only thirteen." His voice shook a little at that admission.
"You…you don't know that they'd hurt him," Denver argued shakily.
Bruce swallowed again. "Actually, I do. Dick was kidnapped last January and locked in a freezer by his kidnappers. It nearly killed him." He could feel his nerves starting to go as he talked about this. It was a very real possibility that these men might hurt Dick and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep handling this bastard with kid gloves. Denver needed to start talking before Bruce snapped and started yelling.
"And if Dick Grayson dies then you become an accessory to murder," Gordon cut in harshly.
"Nobody said anything about the kid dying!" Denver cried. Then his eyes widened and he backtracked. "I mean, why are we even talking about this? Isn't the whole point of a kidnapping to get money? Why would those men hurt him?"
"Because they might panic once they see the news," Gordon pointed out. "This kind of kidnapping is a Class A Felony, and that means twenty-five to life, Mr. Denver. That's enough to make some men think the money isn't worth it."
"Why are you telling me this?" Denver asked, his eyes frightened.
Gordon leaned forward in his seat. "Because you can help yourself by helping us, Mr. Denver."
"Stop…stop talking like you think I had something to do with this," Denver protested weakly. "I didn't. I didn't."
Every nerve in Bruce's body was thrumming with anger, fear and frustration. He needed to make this man see how important it was that he told them where Dick was. "Mr. Denver, did you know that Dick is recovering from a serious head injury?"
The man's mouth opened a little "H-head injury?"
"That's why he was in hospital." Bruce forced himself to maintain eye contact with the man, to not explode. It was killing him to do this. "Dick is really vulnerable right now, but those men don't know that. They could hurt him without meaning to."
Denver was shaking his head. "I– I don't think they would…hurt him, I mean."
"How can you say that unless you know the men who took him?"
"I don't…it doesn't mean…"
"Please, Mr. Denver, where's Dick?" Bruce begged.
The man shook his head before starting to pace again. "I– I can't…my family…"
"Tell us where Dick is and we can make you a deal," Gordon spoke up quickly.
"But…" Denver's voice was barely audible. "If I'm not there…we lose our home!"
"Then I'll pay your mortgage if that's what it takes!" cried Bruce, his voice now edged with a raw desperation. "Mr. Denver, please! Where is my son?"
Denver stopped pacing and stared, ashen, at Bruce. Then he moaned and collapsed onto a chair, burying his head in his hands. "Oh God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I was just trying to save our home. I didn't mean for it to go this far! It just– it got out of control. I didn't think they meant it!"
"Okay. Calm down, Mr. Denver and tell us everything," said Gordon, while the part of Bruce that hadn't believed this would work reeled in shock.
Denver remained hunched over in his chair, his voice quivering as he spoke. "My son came home the day before yesterday, and told us that Richard Grayson was now living with his friend Nate. So I told Troy and Charlie." He looked up, his expression wretched. "I just thought it'd be a good story to tell the guys, you know? But they both got really weird. They started talking about how they could kidnap the kid for money. I thought they were joking at first but then they started making plans. I told them it was dumb but Charlie…Charlie said I could save my home. He said no one needed to get hurt."
"Who's Charlie?" Gordon demanded.
"Charlie Donohue. He's another security guard at the casino," Denver explained. "He's the one who set everything up. I went along with it because I was desperate. Annie's medical bills eat up nearly everything we make and we're so behind on the mortgage–"
"Save the sob story!" snapped Commissioner Gordon and Denver flinched. "How many of you are in on this?"
Bruce clenched his jaw and balled his fists. He knew it was important to have all the information in order to execute a successful rescue, but it was difficult to curb his impatience when every fibre of him was screaming to know where Dick was.
"Five," Denver answered miserably. "I don't know much about the other two guys because Charlie brought them in – they know how to do that money cleaning thing so the cops can't trace it. I only met them yesterday and all I know is their first names: Jack and Danny."
"And where are they now?" Gordon demanded harshly.
Denver swallowed. "They're with the kid at the motel. It was Charlie's night off, but he said me and Troy couldn't miss our shifts. We needed to keep up our routines so no one would get suspicious. He said–"
Gordon smacked the table. "What motel?"
Every nerve in Bruce's body strained painfully as he waited for Denver to respond. The kidnapper couldn't look at him as he spoke.
"The Kingpin Inn. Room 309 on the ground floor."
The Kingpin Inn. That was less than a mile from where the white van had cut Greg Foster off. No wonder Bruce had been unable to find it on traffic cameras; there hadn't been a working camera in that area since the old road to the interstate was closed off. The motel was now too off the beaten track to be used by anyone other than those requiring charge-by-the-hour rates.
"When are the others expecting you and Holloway back at the motel?" demanded Gordon, getting to his feet.
"Not until this evening. For– for the…"
"For the ransom call," Bruce finished grimly. Denver gave him a frightened look and nodded.
"And the other three men are with Dick right now?" Gordon confirmed. "They weren't going anywhere else?"
Denver shook his head. "They're staying put to keep watch on the kid."
Bruce bared his teeth in a silent snarl. It took three grown men with guns to keep watch on an injured thirteen-year-old boy?
"You'd better hope that boy is unharmed, Denver," Gordon warned, heading for the door.
Bruce made to leave too, but a cry from Denver stopped him in his tracks.
"Mr. Wayne, wait!"
Jaw set tight in anger, Bruce turned to face him. Denver's eyes were miserable and scared as he stared up at Bruce.
"I'm…I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Wayne…" Then his face crumpled and he gave a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan before burying his face in his hands. "Oh god, what have I done? What have I done?"
For a moment, Bruce stared at the pitiful figure of Denver hunched over in the chair, trembling and sobbing. Despite his role in Dick's kidnapping, Bruce couldn't bring himself to hate the man.
But that didn't mean he had to forgive him either.
Without speaking another word, Bruce left the room.