Detective Inspector Jack Napier was sitting at his desk, his brow furrowed as he read over and over the report he'd been given. You'd think that with a defendant pleading guilty, that would be then end of the paperwork, but if anything it made it worse. His coffee mug sat beside him; half of the liquid drained and the other half sitting stone cold in the bottom dark as raven wings. His desk was completely covered by papers and files all stamped with the familiar sign he'd come to both resent and respect: GOTHAM CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT.
And in the midst of this mess of paper, the slender man sat hunched with his head resting on his fist, leaning to the left with a pen between his lips moving from left to right. His eyes scanned over the text, occasionally letting out a groan or laugh in reaction the words. And in this state, caught between irritation and amusement, he found his superior standing by his desk, looking down on him as he worked. Jack immediately straightened himself, pulling the pen from between his lips, turning to the Captain. "Captain Albany, Sir?"
"You still getting things together on the Peters' housebreaker case?"
"Uh...yes sir."
"Not any more. Saunders will be taking over the paperwork." Albany held a thick file out to him. "I want you focused on this."
Tentatively, Napier reached out and took the file. This was significantly heavier than any other he'd ever been given. There was also something else strange about it; it was new. And as the newest (and youngest) member of the GCPD, he'd never been given a fresh case. Slowly, he opened it and, on seeing the photographs paper-clipped to the inside, his eyes widened and he looked up in shock.
"You want me to work a homicide?"
"That's only the surface," Albany said as he reclaimed the file. Then, as he spoke, he slowly handed the stunned detective pieces of paper as he detailed the case. "Murder, bombing, robbery, torture. All of these separate events have one connection." Jack looked up and raised an eyebrow. "No evidence."
At this, Jack did a double take, looking down at the papers in his hand. "How can there be no evidence? Every crime leaves evidence. Witnesses, DNA, a cough – something."
"Not in this case," Albany answered grimly.
"Then how do you know it was one killer?"
His superior raised an eyebrow. "Napier, how likely is it to be that there is more than one guy capable of leaving no evidence."
And with this, the Captain turned to leave. But before he could get too far away, Jack asked after him, "Sir, can I ask why you want me to take this case? I mean, I'm a robbery cop."
"Jack." Albany pressed a hand to his shoulder. "No-one can find anything in this case. Hell, its gone cold before the sick bastard's latest body has. But if anyone is crazy enough to find the one thing we missed, it's going to be you."
Jack let out a slight, breathily laugh accompanied by a small smile that twitched in the corner of his lips. As the Captain walked away, he took a brief moment to enjoy the promotion for a moment before turning to the case, slowly opening the file and, as soon as he began to read, the contentment left him like a gust of cold wind.
Twelve murders, nine bombings resulting in over 43 deaths and over $13 million worth of materials stolen combined with over 100 people in hospital that had this man to blame for their sufferings. He read on in horror, his heart rising higher and higher in his throat the more pages he turned. Every image was equally, if not more, horrifying than the one before and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. Looking up briefly, he glanced at the clock and groaned before getting up, his mug grasped between his fingertips, as he wandered over to kitchen; preparing himself for a long night.
-/-/-
It was a fortnight before Napier moved from his desk for more than sleep or coffee. His desk, though normally messy, was now covered in paper an inch thick in some places. But the infuriation that this caused didn't come from the sheer amount of paper, but the amount of blank space upon each. Pages filled with blank space witness statements, empty evidence containers, failed forensic analysis due to DNA being 'too small a sample' and profiling so general that in a caffeine induced haze he'd even considered the Captain as his prime suspect.
But atop all of the chaos in the form of evidence he'd requested, empty or not, sat the folder he'd been given; as pristine and bulging as it had ever been. As he walked back, he could have sworn the bloody thing was staring at him; mocking with the grin his mind had assigned the man responsible for his suffering as he sat on a pile of burning bodies. Jack shook his head, chasing away the mental image as he walked, sitting back down at his desk and assuming his usual position in preparation to read the file over once more before heading home for the evening. The floor was silent due to nobody really wanting to be there a second more than they had to, so he revelled in the silence as his eyes darted over the file again, the coffee cooling in the mug he just filled.
It could have been minutes; it could have been hours after he sat down that the phone on his desk rang, shocking Jack out of his concentration. He jumped a little before shaking his head quickly, ridding himself of his twitchiness and scolding himself for it, before reaching for the phone. "Detective Napier."
"Figures you'd still be there." The captain's voice was somewhat disapproving but after years of listening to it, Jack had learnt that the man meant nothing by it. It was simply his manner of speaking. He heard a sigh on the other end of the line before Albany continued. "You get anywhere with the file?"
"No," Jack said, throwing the accused object on top of a stack of papers on his desk, the loud noise it made as it hit the desk made him jump a little and rose a small cloud of dust. "The guy's a friggin' ghost. These people might as well have been bombed, robbed and murdered by their shadows. There's nothing."
"How'd you like something new then?" The detective sat up straight in his chair, leaning forward with the phone pressed tightly to his ear.
"What's happened?" He grappled around him for a pen and paper, prepared to write down anything he might be told but in his haste he knocked over his coffee, spilling it onto his lap. The liquid, no longer boiling, but still hot enough to burn and he let out a loud curse, hissing in discomfort.
"Jack? You still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," the young detective said, desperately patting at the coffee on his trousers with a tissue with the receiver clamped between his ear and his shoulder. "What have you got?"
"New body; still fresh. Forensics tells me the girl's only been dead a few hours. Three at the most."
"Cause of death?" Jack asked, fumbling around on his desk for his car keys and gathering together the few sheets of paper he thought might be useful before shoving them in the file.
"Strangulation…of a sort." There was a long pause where neither spoke, Jack waiting for some sort of elaboration, but it never came. Eventually, an exasperated sigh came from the other end of the line, followed by and irate voice. "The guys here are still working at it. By the time you get your ass here we might have a few more answers for you."
Albany dictated the location and the young detective scribbled it down on the corner of a sheet of paper sticking out of the file. Then he stood quickly, and shoved the file under his arm. "On my way."
