WARNING: LANGUAGE . . .
Dick swerved around a number of squad cars to come to a screeching halt in front of Elle's apartment building. Several of the officers present leapt to the side nervously; a couple of their hands sliding to their holsters – just in case. A few of the men there must have recognized him because it wasn't until he barreled into the lobby that he was challenged.
"Hey! Hold up there, buddy," another officer called as he moved to intercept Dick.
"I'm Dick Grayson," Dick announced. "My fiancée was the woman abducted."
The building's super turned and waved to him; walking over to greet the younger man.
"I can vouch for him, officer." Charles Cohen was the kind of superintendent that people loved. Kind, happy, and quick to make repairs and shovel the sidewalk. "He's engaged to Miss Hamilton, and lives upstairs with her. He's one of you; a police officer, I mean."
"Thanks, Mr. Cohen," Dick shook his hand. "What happened here?" Dick's eyes wandered to where a couple of paramedics were helping to fasten a body onto a gurney.
"Our guy apparently strolled through the door around midnight and dispatched the security guard," Officer Hatton supplied, indicating one bullet hole in the wall where it had lodged after passing through the man's body. "Three shots."
"Thomas? Aw, no . . ."
Elle had really liked the man. Dick enjoyed watching the two tease and banter whenever they walked in together and Thomas was on duty. She was going to be so upset when she found out.
Then it hit him in the gut again . . . If she was alive to find out. He had hoped he would get some glimpse into her emotions the closer he came to Bludhaven, but there had been nothing still. And it was killing him; inch by agonizing inch.
His upset must have shown up on his face because Cohen put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Grayson."
"Me, too," Dick struggled to gather his emotions and tuck them back into place. "I'm looking for Detective Campbell."
Hatten indicated the elevator with a tilt of his head. "Upstairs," he said. "He and Detective Chon both."
Dick nodded. That's when he noticed the blood. Several large drops that led through the lobby. His eyes followed the trail to the stairwell, even as he entered the elevator. His heart gave a thump the second the realization hit him that he was looking at Elle's blood.
How much had she lost? He was fairly certain that his theory that she had been alive at the time of her abduction was correct, but how long would she last losing blood? His eyes noted the traces of fingerprint powder on the button to the eleventh floor.
It felt surreal . . . How long had he been doing this; entering and examining crime scenes? Sixteen years? But it had never been his home that had been invaded; his loved one to have been attacked. Oh sure, Joker had shot Babs in her home, but Dick hadn't been around for that. He hadn't been involved with any part of that investigation. Everything had been over with by the time he had come back to Gotham. The aftermath of that had been difficult enough, but this . . .
This was personal . . . And he wasn't sure he knew how to deal with it.
The elevator door opened, that surreal feeling enveloped him, and time . . .
Slowed . . .
. . . Down.
He seemed numb and at the same time hyperaware of everything; the sound of his boots on the low-pile of the carpet; the sharpness of the colors, the bullet hole in the doorframe of one of their neighbors; something that hadn't been there yesterday evening . . . He noted every little thing about the people standing in the hall, congregating outside of his and Elle's apartment; from what they were wearing to their every distinguishing feature, but sound was distorted and his head felt like it wasn't quite attached to his body as if it were in danger of floating away.
Someone must have called to warn them because a man stepped out of his apartment to meet him. Another police officer moved to intercept him. Dick thought he recognized him . . . Thatcher? A quick glance at his nametag confirmed this.
And suddenly time returned to normal in a crash!
"Grayson?" Thatcher sounded loud as extended his hand. Dick tried not to wince as he took it. "I'm really sorry about this. But don't you worry, man. The BPD take care of their own. We'll find her. I promise you that!"
"Thanks, Thatcher," Dick managed to say. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he wondered if he were experiencing shock. "Elle and I appreciate everything you guys are doing for us."
His words felt like cardboard, and he currently had the emotional range of a stick. While disconcerting, Dick was grateful. Maybe this sudden detachment would allow him to perceive clues and operate with an efficiency that he hadn't been capable of immediately after Campbell had broken the news to him.
Dick eyes moved past Thatcher and met those of the man walking toward him with purpose. He looked vaguely familiar, and Dick suspected that was because he had seen him a time or two at the station. The detectives were housed on a different floor than the grunts. He was just a uniform right now, like Thatcher here.
"Are you Campbell," Dick asked moving around his coworker.
"Officer Grayson," Campbell said. "Dick, isn't it?
"Yes, sir." Dick shook the man's extended hand.
"I'm no sir," Campbell corrected him. "Tell you what. Until this is over, you can call me Nathan." Compassion flashed across the man's face briefly. "I'm sorry, son."
"Don't call me, son," Dick repeated his earlier comment from their phone conversation, but this time without heat.
Campbell seemed to take it as it was intended. He clapped Dick on the shoulder. "Right. Okay, you are probably chomping at the bit to get in there . . ."
It didn't take a detective to figure that out, and Dick made a move to go around the man.
"But," Campbell's hand tightened on his shoulder, holding Dick in place, "Not until forensics is done."
From where he was located, Dick could glimpse the chaos and destruction through the doorway. Broken and overturned furniture . . . Campbell pulled him back a step; moving to place himself in Dick's line of sight.
"I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes, you know, but I can't allow it."
Dick looked at the man. "What can you not allow?"
"You want to help on this case," Campbell stated. "But you are too close to it; too emotionally involved to be effective. You can still help though simply by being available to answer questions and later, if a ransom demand comes."
Dick snorted. "There won't be a ransom demand."
Campbell raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"
But Dick had moved to the side and was staring once again at the wasteland that was their apartment. God! There was so much blood! Was that a bloody handprint on the wall? It was small and Dick knew immediately that it had been left by Elle. It was smeared as if she had tried to catch herself when she fell. The little side table had been their catchall, for mail, wallets, keys . . . It lay in pieces now, and he knew with a sick assurance that Elle's body had been what had broken it.
Above the handprint still hung the photograph of the two of them dancing on the night they had met. It was askew, and the urge to straighten was so strong, that Dick actually took a step in that direction. Campbell's hand on his arm stopped him.
"Dick, I asked you a question."
His attention turned reluctantly back to the detective and he saw the suspicion that had been in his voice at the beginning of their phone call was back.
"You said she dialed 911 . . ."
Campbell nodded. "Yes."
"This . . . bastard!" Dick's emotions were wavering now, threatening to return with a vengeance. He cleared his throat. "Guy . . . This guy, he wasted a lot of time here. He didn't leave until he realized the cops were on the way. He took her to . . ." he choked a bit, ". . . to finish the job . . . elsewhere."
"He could have just killed her and left," Campbell reminded him. "We know he had weapons on him."
"A gun," Dick intoned.
The eyebrow raised. "And a knife. He murdered one of your neighbors when the man came to investigate your fiancée's scream. His body is still inside the apartment."
"But he didn't kill Elle here," Dick insisted. He didn't kill Elle here . . . There was still a chance; slender though it was, that he hadn't killed her yet. "He took her instead. Why would he do that?"
"Ransom," Campbell repeated, watching Dick closely.
"No. No ransom," he insisted. There was only one person that Dick could think of who would love to see Elle dead.
"How could you know that?"
"I had time to think on it on the way in. Who would benefit from Elle's death? Who hated her that much? Aiden Hamilton, Elle's brother, would likely dance in the street naked and throw a block party if Elle were murdered." Dick grimaced.
"That's a pretty strong accusation," Campbell noted. "And not completely accurate. There is another who would benefit from your fiancée's demise."
Dick frowned at him. "Who? Her grandparents? There is no way in hell Nonna would ever harm her granddaughter!"
"I was talking about you," Campbell was staring at him like a hawk.
"Me?" Dick goggled at the man. "I would never hurt Elle! And I was halfway to Gotham at the time of the attack."
"Your fiancée's worth a lot of money," Campbell commented. "Look, I think we both know by now that this guy was a professional. He was hired to do a job, so you could have been in Africa on safari and it wouldn't make a difference. And you did get back here pretty quick considering you were just eight miles from Gotham when we spoke."
"I was speeding," Dick snapped.
Campbell shrugged. "I'm sorry. Look, it's okay. We already know it wasn't you. The 911 call recorded a bit of conversation and the guy admits that he was hired to kill not just Elle . . . but you, too."
Dick blinked and scowled. "Me?"
"Someone put a hit out on the both of you, supercop."
Dick groaned in exasperation. Why were they even standing here? Elle was in danger! They needed to be out there looking for her, not playing mind games with him!
"Look, let me go in and see if I can find some clue as to where this guy might have taken her," Dick said.
Campbell sighed. "I'm sorry, Grayson. Really, I am. I understand where you're coming from, but you aren't to get involved any more than you already are. Captain's orders."
"Please, Campbell," Dick found himself begging; the detachment of earlier shattering. "He's going to kill her! I may be her best shot!"
The detective frowned. "Not much faith in the rest of us, eh, Grayson?"
"This isn't about you, Campbell! It's about getting Elle back safe . . ." Dick snapped.
Oh yeah, no detachment now. His objectivity was nowhere to be found. But then when it came to Elle his ability to step back and see things at a distance became non-existent. As Nightwing, he might have stood a chance. The mask provided a barrier between him and whatever was happening that allowed him to function in a crisis with greater efficiency. But he was here as Dick Grayson . . . And there was no barrier between him and what threatened to be the greatest emotional upheaval since the death of his parents!
He struggled to keep his perspective professional; to not lose it completely. Elle couldn't afford that and as a result, neither could he.
Campbell stepped into his space. "Don't forget who the detectives are here, officer! Fortunately for you, I realize the kind of stress you are under. I would probably be reacting in much the same way if it were my wife. But the truth is, Grayson, that 911 call names you as one of this guy's targets, and the captain wants you to be remanded into protective custody until we apprehend the killer and can interrogate him about his employer."
"No! No way in hell, Campbell," Dick yelled; stepping back. "I'm not going into protective custody when Elle's life is in danger!"
Detective Chon stepped through the door to the apartment; pulling off his gloves and dropping them into a trash bin set up for that purpose.
"Grayson," he greeted; his hand extended. "You look like shit."
"Chon," Dick shook the other detective's hand warily. "Just as ugly as ever, I see."
Part of him was glad to see the other man; Chon was a good detective – very good, but Campbell had just threatened to lock him up for his own safety, so he was suspicious now of everyone. He had to stay free if he wanted to find Elle.
A smile flickered on the Asian man's face at the familiar insult. "How're you holding up?"
The God's honest truth was that he wasn't. He felt ready to collapse at any moment, but Elle was counting on him. Dick wasn't used to being on this side of the crime tape and he hated it! He had heard victims of home invasions and burglaries talk of the feeling of violation that came with it, but he had never experienced it for himself until now . . .
It sucked!
"I'd be doing better if you guys would let me into my apartment," he groused.
Chon grimaced. "Yeah, about that . . . I'm assuming here that Campbell's already told you about the Captain's orders."
Dick took another step back. He became peripherally aware of where all of the other officers were located in the hall. If he needed to run in order to stay free . . .
"Oh, by the way, I came out to tell you that your father has arrived," Chon changed the subject. "He's downstairs."
Dick halted; stunned. "Bruce? He's here?!"
"Tell them to let him up," Campbell said. "Maybe he can talk some sense into him"
"Already done," Chon indicated the area behind Dick with a nod. There was a ding and the sound of elevator doors opening.
"Dick?"
Dick spun around at the unmistakable sound of Bruce's voice; flabbergasted at seeing his adopted father exiting the elevator and striding toward him with purpose. His knees wobbled, and he had to slap a hand against the wall for support for a second before he moved to meet him halfway.
Overwhelming relief that the Batman had arrived and the knowledge that everything would now be put to rights; the belief that Elle's chances had improved drastically and he might be able to hold her in his arms again by morning, all of it kept Dick from stopping at a mere handshake.
Bruce was here! Elle would live . . .
Bruce appeared startled when Dick threw his arms around his neck and yanked him into a bear hug.
"Thank God! Thank God, you're here," Dick whispered harshly in his ear.
Dick tried to let go, but couldn't. Not just yet. Whatever surrealism had been left had fled and Dick's emotions crashed around him.
He felt Bruce's arms encircle him; hesitantly at first and then with rib-crushing force.
Chon watched the reunion standing next to his partner. "He calls his father Bruce?"
Campbell swallowed his surprise. Why he was surprised, however, he didn't know. Hadn't he come up with the theory that Grayson was somehow related to the playboy billionaire of Gotham City? Maybe it was just because the idea had been too farfetched to take seriously, but there it was, right in front of them.
"Hold up! That's Bruce Wayne," Chon gasped a second later, finally recognizing the newcomer. "Grayson's father is Bruce Wayne?"
They watched a moment as the two men shared an emotional embrace.
"Sure looks like it from here," Campbell replied, dryly.
"Did you know this about him," Chon asked, still astonished.
"That Grayson's father is a fucking billionaire? Hardly," he snorted. "You know him better than I do."
Chon shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I didn't know this," he admitted. "I don't think anybody knew this."
"Makes me feel kind of special, you know?" Campbell commented casually.
Chon glanced at him. "You? How so?"
"Like I've been let in on a big secret," Campbell sighed.
Chon shook his head, smirking. "That's some secret," he said, but then looked back at the men shrewdly. "But somehow I bet there is more to it than that."
It was Campbell's turn to look at his partner. "More secrets?"
Chon waved a hand. "His father is a fucking billionaire and we never knew. Grayson's been on the force for how long? Two years; almost three with nary a hint at something like this. Oh yeah, there's bound to be more behind this. Why keep it a secret?"
Campbell considered this. "He may have just not wanted people treating him differently. They would have, you know. Still will, if word gets out."
"You're thinking we should keep this quiet, then?"
Campbell shrugged. "Wouldn't you want that if you were in his place?"
"So, how do you suggest we keep this under wraps," Chon asked.
There was Thatcher and another officer, plus two members of forensics were still here.
"Just ask," Campbell said.
"Ask? Ask what?"
"For them to keep their mouths shut," Campbell said, nodding in the direction of the other members of the force that were present.
"What about the guys downstairs?"
"Were you given a head's up as to who Grayson's father was?" Campbell asked. "Chances are, no one recognized him yet."
"Huh, worth a shot," Chon murmured; stepping forward to follow Campbell.
"How'd you know?" Dick asked.
He still clung onto the older man. Bruce wasn't comfortable with public displays of affection, but Dick needed a moment to regain his composure. Bruce showing up right at the very moment Dick needed him most had nearly shredded what little control he still managed to retain.
"Are you all right," Bruce asked him quietly.
"I will be," Dick said, nodding. "I hope so, anyway."
He let go more slowly than he probably should. His legs still felt a little shaky. Breathe, Grayson. You've got to breathe.
"So, how did you know," Dick repeated his earlier question.
"When you cancelled, I had Oracle listen in to the police scanners here in Bludhaven," Bruce kept a hand on his son's shoulder. "Dick, I heard the 911 call Elle made . . ."
Dick grimaced; dropping his gaze onto the floor. Bruce was wearing loafers, he noted. Loafers weren't exactly made for snow. "I haven't had a chance to hear it yet."
"You don't need to hear it," Bruce told him. "You don't want to."
Dick wasn't so sure about that, but then a thought crossed his mind. "What about the smug- . . . um, the meeting! I made you miss it?"
"Tim's got it covered." Bruce murmured.
"Tim?"
"He's bringing in backup. No worries." Bruce squeezed his shoulder. He let go then and stepped back, acknowledging the company they were about to have.
Dick ran a sleeve over his eyes. Elle being kidnapped by a hitman was almost too much, but for Batman to turn his operation over to someone else; to allow capes into Gotham just so he could come to Bludhaven in order to help Dick . . .
God! He was a mess!
"Sorry," he muttered, blinking rapidly. "I'm good," he waved Bruce back from where he was hovering.
"Mr. Wayne, I'm Detective Nathan Campbell. My partner, Harry Chon," Campbell introduced them as he shook the billionaire's hand.
Impressive, Campbell thought. Not the handshake I was expecting from a playboy billionaire. He noted the manicured nails, but everything else was raw power. The jacket hid his physique well, but there was only so much you could do to hide shoulders that broad. His arms must be huge!
Not a wimp, then, Campbell concluded. Must have an army of personal trainers at his beck and call. Probably intimidated the hell out of his business adversaries. He felt hawk-like eyes giving him the once over.
"Detectives," Wayne acknowledged them. "I'm sure you are doing everything in your power to locate my future daughter-in-law."
"Yes sir," Campbell replied. "Indeed we are. But I was wondering, since you were here and seem to be a man of reason, if you might willing to aid me."
Grayson narrowed his eyes at the detective suspiciously.
Wayne raised an eyebrow, curious. "Really? I've only just arrived, so I'm not certain how I might be of assistance. What is it you wish?"
"Detective," Grayson growled in warning.
Campbell ignored the implied threat; raising a hand to forestall the younger man's protests. "We've discovered information in our investigation that suggests that your son here is also in danger. The person that attacked and abducted Miss Hamilton admitted that a hit has been placed upon Richard Grayson's head as well."
Wayne frowned and glanced at his son. Concern, but not the kind that Campbell had expected from a loving parent that feared for his child's safety.
Grayson interrupted, pushing in front of his father. "Campbell, I said no! I can look after myself. I refuse to hide while that bastard still has Elle!"
"What good will you do her if you get yourself killed," Chon asked him.
"What makes you think I would want to live if she's dead," Grayson returned angrily. "Better to use my time to search for her!"
Chon was taken aback by Grayson's vehemence, while Campbell turned back to Wayne. "Talk to him, Mr. Wayne! I find myself ready to lock him up in a holding cell in order to save him from himself."
"I have good people who can keep him safe," Wayne said with infuriating calm.
"You must be hell in the boardroom, Wayne," Campbell remarked. "Can they save him from a sniper's bullet?"
"This guy won't hide behind a rifle," Grayson snapped.
"I might be able to pull some favors and bring in someone who specializes in this sort of thing," Wayne said, thoughtfully.
"You mean the FBI," Chon said, nodding.
"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the Batman," Wayne suggested.
Campbell gaped a little. "You know the Batman?"
"I've met him before; did a favor once on his behalf. I know that Commissioner Gordon can contact him for me. Considering the stakes involved, I think he would prove sympathetic to our cause," Wayne said.
Grayson jumped on the bandwagon. "Good idea, Bruce! Excellent idea! Can you get him here tonight?"
Chon stared at the younger man. "I'd have never pegged you as a fanboy of the Bat, Grayson."
"He can help," Grayson replied.
"You two are serious? Wait just a damned minute! I'm not willing to take a backseat to some crazy who prowls the night dressed like a bat," Campbell growled. "In case you weren't aware, Grayson, vigilantism is illegal in Bludhaven."
"So is murder and kidnapping," Grayson snarled back. "But it doesn't seem to stop it from happening. This my fiancée's life we're talking about here! Sorry about your ego, Campbell, but Elle is my priority. Call him, Bruce. Call him now!"
"The captain won't take kindly to your calling in the Batman," Chon warned.
"Ask me if I care," Grayson growled.
Wayne laid his hand on his son's shoulder. "Dick, take it easy. Come with me. Leave the detectives to do their job. The more eyes looking for Elle, the better."
Dick turned to follow Bruce back to the elevator.
"Keep him off the streets, Mr. Wayne," Campbell warned.
Wayne paused to look back. "I'll do what I can, Detective, but truth be told, I trust him to look after himself."
Chon looked a little skeptical. "Against a professional hitman?"
"If this hitman likes to play up close, like my son suggested, then he's more than capable of holding his own," Wayne told them.
"Personally, I'm beginning to believe you are both crazy. Tell the Batman to stay the hell out of our way," Campbell called after them. "I'd hate to have to arrest him for interfering with an ongoing police investigation."
The detectives watched as the elevator doors closed behind them.
Chon snorted. "You really think Batman would allow you to arrest him?"
Campbell ignored the jab. "'The Batman may prove sympathetic to our cause'," Campbell parroted. "Who the hell talks like that?"
REACTIONS? (That means 'review, please'!)
Just gotta have me a little Daddy!Bruce to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
What are your thoughts? Any new theories about who hired the hitman? There are clues both in these chapters and in other places within the story. The actual name of the person has never been mentioned as you haven't met the person yet. But that shouldn't stop the detective in you from figuring it out if you're truly intrigued enough. Otherwise, you'll just have to wait with the rest of us . . .