BREAKING NEWS
"WGKX would like to apologize for interrupting the current programming to bring to you Breaking News!" Jerri Prudence declared. "Sources in the GCPD have just informed WGKX that they have made an arrest in the murder case of Vesper Fairchild.
"This afternoon, Gotham City police arrested playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne in connection to the murder of Vesper Fairchild. Can you believe this? I mean, can you believe this? I am literally at a loss for words for this. It's…it's completely unbelievable.
"While I collect myself here, let's go to our reporter on the scene, Summer Gleeson. Summer?"
The screen changed to show said reporter standing outside of the GCPD.
"Hey, Jerri , this is Summer Gleeson reporting in front of the GCPD. We are being told that Bruce Wayne was arrested during questioning as to his connection with Vesper Fairchild. According to our sources, the police believe they have a very strong case against Wayne and are confident that they have the right man."
"Summer, can you tell us what evidence they have against Bruce Wayne? Surely they've revealed something to you."
"Indeed they have. One of the pieces of evidence revealed to us was the murder weapon, the actual gun used to shoot Ms. Fairchild. Incredibly, it was found hidden in the water tank of the toilet in Bruce Wayne's private bathroom. The gun was found to be registered to his father, Thomas Wayne."
"And they were able to prove that it was Wayne that used the gun?" Jerri Prudence pressed.
"They have, but they would not reveal how that exactly was," Summer answered. "Officals did say they would be revealing more about the case as it moves into the courtroom. Wayne has requested legal counsel at this time, so this will take some time."
"Thank you, Summer." Jerri Prudence paused. "We'll be taking it away in the studio now. To our viewers, I must inform you that Vesper Fairchild was a member of the WGKX family and it pleases us that the police did a swift, efficient investigation. With the gun and Wayne's request for council, it is highly likely that he is the man that killed poor Vesper.
"Now we'll be turning this over to our panel. First, we have political correspondent and host of the show Political Crossfire, Gill Brandt."
To the right of the screen, an aging man appeared, hair long since leaving the top of his head bald. Wrinkles threatened to swallow up his forehead, his eyes peering through a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. "Hey, Jerri ," he greeted.
"And second, we have political expert and legal analysis, Linda Blazzio."
To the left of the screen, a young woman with long dark hair appeared. Her face was long and thin, making her straightened hair seem to want to swallow it whole. "Thanks for having me, Jerri," she said.
"And I'd like to thank my guests for taking time out of their busy day to help me reflect on what we've just learned. Linda, I'd like to ask you first about Wayne and his reported response thus far."
"Of course," Linda responded. "Now, I want to preface this before we go further: everyone deserves their day in court. Anyone that's reading into Bruce Wayne retaining legal counsel should be reminded that he does have that right, whether he is innocent or guilty."
"Considering the evidence we've learned so far, it does lean towards guilty," Jerri pointed out.
"And that's what we should be considering. The gun did belong to his father, which means he would be the only one that had access to it."
"Wouldn't Bruce Wayne need to register it? In order to claim ownership of it?"
"Not necessarily, Jerri. It was purchased and registered under Thomas Wayne's name. Now, he could have gifted it to someone and as long as he had proof that he did give it away, then there is no need for registration. However, in this case, it would have been passed down to Bruce Wayne as he was Thomas Wayne's sole inheritor. Unless Wayne gave it away in the intervening years, which he'll have to prove, then we can safely assume that this is his gun."
The room was dark. It was also barren save for a blocky chair and a television. The light from the television screen was the only thing lighting up the room.
All that seemed to be on was coverage of Bruce Wayne, murderous billionaire. It was the latest scandal to swallow up all media coverage. Check any news station and it was the first and only story being discussed. The whole world seemed to revolve around this one story.
Sitting in the chair was a large man, a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. Raising up the bottle, he took a swig of beer, hearing the fluid swish inside of the glass container as he lowered it back down. Swallowing, he never let his eyes leave the screen.
It had been months since Lyle Bolton had been terminated from his job at Blackgate. It might as well have felt forever. He had gone through the motions of applying for other jobs and had gotten his share of interviews, but none of them excited him like locking up some of the worst criminals in Gotham.
It had originally been a stop in his career, one that challenged him like none other. He loved the challenge until it had proven too great. He still dreamed of that security footage, of that maniac clown skipping down solitary and breaking out Waylon Jones. He had poured over his security designs, the blueprints, everything that he could get his hands on to figure out where the gap was, where the weak link was that allowed such a brazen escape.
He hadn't done that in a while. He had only been greeted with a disturbing lack of answers. What should have been impenetrable had been done with such ease that he still couldn't figure out what had gone wrong. It was a good thing he was a minimalist in his decor, otherwise he would have wrecked more than just the table he had been using.
Until he felt he had discovered his design's shortcomings, he refused to take on a new position. He needed to create the perfect prison and he would not be satisfied until he had found it. That had been his goal since his termination.
Of course, he couldn't do trials legally.
Taking another swig, he scanned the current news program, eyeing the scrolling banner at the bottom of the screen. Usually news programs would display information on other news stories, ones that did not quite warrant longer segments, but couldn't be ignored either. So far, all he had seen were additional details related to the Wayne story. So far there had been things about his company not commenting, funeral services for the victim, Vesper Fairchild, such things like that. Jerri Prudence was building herself up onto her warpath as the Wayne case unfolded and no doubt she would be fire and brimstone before too long.
Lyle couldn't help the sneer that appeared on his face as he stared at the woman, her teased blonde hair framing her face and brushing against her shoulders. He wasn't much for popular culture, but she looked like what the young people called "a Karen." She was laying her makeup on thick now, her eyeshadow blue for whatever reason. She had some panel guests discussing Bruce Wayne without pause.
This…this was what the news had become. Large egos within the media had their own time slots to push their narratives. There had been a segment of his own upon his termination from Blackgate. Jerri had said good riddance and constantly pointed at his alleged incompetence.
It had been infuriating at the time, but it was hard to argue his results. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to have a population of people that never performed his job loudly pointing at his failures.
But he would get better.
Seeing that the focus of Jerri's show was going to be Bruce Wayne, he took one last drink from his beer, finishing it off before snatching up the TV remote from where it lay on the armrest of his chair. Turning off the television, he was bathed in darkness, the glow of the dying sunlight seeping through his blinds the only light source now. Standing up, he went to his kitchen to toss the bottle into the trash. It was time to get back to his project.
"Another thing I'd like to point out is that perhaps we should have seen this coming," the aging Gill Brandt said, "Gotham has a long history of rich people doing terrible things."
"When you're right, you're right," Jerri Prudence agreed. "There is the much publicized Court of Owls that just about every rich and powerful man in Gotham was a part of."
"I would be remiss if I didn't point out that Bruce Wayne was found to have no connection to the Court," Linda pointed out.
"Or he was that good at separating himself from them," Prudence countered. "It doesn't take away from the main point that rich people in Gotham have been getting away with terrible things for far too long. It was only a matter of time before another one did something and it turned out it was Bruce Wayne—"
The television screen suddenly turned off, cracks appearing in the glass as a katana pierced right through it. Sparks of electricity danced around where the blade punctured the television.
The hard look that Talia had been wearing smoothed over before she looked to her side. There stood Damien, an enraged expression on his face, the very hairs on his head bristling.
"How dare they talk about Father that way?!" he bellowed. "After everything he has done for them!"
Talia was of like mind. Though she was completely caught off-guard by the accusations, she couldn't help but feel how preposterous they were. Her Beloved accused of murder? It was absurd.
Now, she did have some issues with her Beloved's insistence on not killing. It was one of his shortcomings, something he developed after his departure from the Demon's Fang. Admittingly, he had the skill and talent to defeat all that he faced, so he was afforded the ultimate decision on his foe's fate, but it was frustrating to see him choose the same option over and over. The Joker's life, for instance, was one she felt needed to be cut short. The aftermath of the Monarch Theater would only show if that had already happened or not.
However, it was because of this reluctance to kill that was declaring his innocence in her eyes. He faced the scum of this city nightly and never killed one of them, even when no one would fault him for doing so. To turn around and kill a reporter? That was certainly not him.
"I need to go to this so-called news station and shut these fools' mouths," Damian continued to seethe. "They do not understand whom they are speaking of!"
"Though I am of the same opinion, you would be fighting a battle of wits with unarmed opponents," Talia told her son. "Never get into that battle, Damian. It is simply not worth it."
"But we have to do something! We cannot let Father be tarnished this way!" Damian began pacing back and forth.
Talia crossed a leg over the other, sitting primly in her chair. Her eyes watched her child as his frustrations bubbled and boiled within him, though only her visible eye could be seen rolling back and forth. "What do you propose we do?" she asked calmly.
"It is simple," Damian replied. "We find the man responsible and turn them over to the police. It is what Father would do."
"Of course," she acknowledged. "So who did it?"
That caused the boy to stop. "How should I know that?"
"Because we cannot simply grab a random person and announce to the world that they are the true villain. We must find out the true culprit; only they can end this assault upon your father."
"Then we must find them!"
"Find them where?"
Her questions were beginning to overcome her child's anger. Forced to look at their limitations, he was figuring out that his righteous fury was not the answer. It was something they had been working on since Edward Nigma held the city hostage.
It was good to know her lessons were sinking in.
"We…we need to investigate," Damian said, his tone calmer now. "Perhaps the scene of the crime?"
"Yes." Talia nodded her approval. "We can also begin reviewing people that may want to see your father tarnished in this fashion. He does have many enemies."
"His enemies! We must interrogate them!" The boy looked as if he were about to bolt out of the room, though something seemed to be holding him back. He seemed to be shaking, as if he were trying to go in four different directions at once, but couldn't completely decide on which one to go to first.
"And where are we to go to interrogate his enemies?" Talia asked.
"To that asylum they are locked up in!" Damian was finally on the move now, his mind focused now.
However, "Why would those enemies be the ones responsible?"
"Because they hate him and would love nothing more than to tear him down," Damian answered impertinently. It was like it was the most obvious thing. "They hold a grudge against him for his defeating of them."
"But they face him while he wears his armor and mask, not his public face," Talia pointed out. "And it is his public self that is in trouble, not his Batman persona."
That gave him pause. "So…it is not them?" he asked hesitantly.
"They cannot be ruled out yet, but we must go off of what we know. We believe that your father has not committed this crime; we are in agreement there. So why is he being accused? There can only be so many reasons, such as false accusations, framing, or incompetence by the police force. We first need to determine which of these reasons is what is actually occurring."
"I see. So…what do we do?"
"We do nothing until nightfall," Talia declared. "My Order will do preliminary work for now. We will go investigate this crime scene, but we can only do that when the police presence will be at its lowest and that is at night time."
'But…but these people will attack Father until then!"
"Which is going to continue to happen until we uncover the person truly responsible for this. Do not forget your lessons in patience, Damian. You are going to need them as they will be well-tested before this is over."
Stephanie got the call the moment school was over.
Her cell phone went off the moment she was out of the school doors. She answered it with a quick, "Hold on a second." It was blunt admittingly, but considering she was surrounded by her schoolmates and needed some privacy, it was the best she could come up with.
"Hurry your blonde ass up," she heard Harper's voice over the receiver. Bitch, she internally grumbled. All around her, students were walking, some even bumping into her as she fought her way out of the sea of teens. She was going to miss her bus, but this was kinda important.
It had started as a whisper, but then became a deafening roar for the entire day. Bruce Wayne had killed a woman. There were all sorts of guesses as to who the woman was, be it an escort, a prostitute, or the secretary, but most thought sex was involved in some way.
After all, this was Bruce Wayne they were talking about.
However, Stephanie knew better. A couple days ago and she would have been just like her other friends, wondering if Wayne would get the book thrown at him, or be given a slap on the wrist because he had more than enough money to buy off every single person involved in the trial. Because she had seen Batgirl with Bruce Wayne and found out that she was his daughter, well…
People may have thought Bruce Wayne could kill someone, but she knew that Batman didn't.
Harper must have heard the news too, which was why she had to be calling. Finally pulling away from the other teens and putting some distance between them and her, Stephanie finally said, "Let me guess, you heard the news."
"Of course. What the hell is going on?"
That was the million-dollar question. "How should I know? He couldn't have done it, right?"
"Well, yeah, this is…uhh…him, ya know?" Faintly, Stephanie could pick up voices in the background. Clearly Harper was also trying to get some place alone too, but hadn't quite succeeded.
"He could have snapped," she pointed out. Even though that was a fair point, it didn't sound right at all coming out of her mouth. After everything she had seen from the guy, she doubted he could snap. He was always in control, always knew more than anyone else did. He had plenty of chances to kill someone and hadn't. Hell, he kicked Bane off of a building, but made certain he wouldn't hit the ground at terminal velocity. And then there was the Joker…
…yeeeah, the less said about him, the better.
"If there was anyone that couldn't snap, it would be him," Harper retorted. "I just…what is going on here?"
That was a good question and Stephanie didn't have an answer. "Just think about B.G. How do you think she's handling this?"
There was silence. "I can't even imagine. I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't see her later tonight. She's got to be flipping out, right?"
Batgirl didn't strike Stephanie as someone that would be flipping out. Last night she had put her foot down in Fairchild's apartment. That was someone that held full control and knew it. Then again, this entire scenario took all control out of everyone's hands and put it into a court's.
Steph wouldn't blame the girl if she did lose her cool.
Cassandra had heard of people going numb. She honestly couldn't think of a time where she had felt that way.
She did now.
Her father had gone to the police station to answer more questions, only to be arrested. She had learned of it from a television and had thought she had misread what the news program had been showing.
Lucius Fox had been startled upon hearing the news and then practically locked himself in his office. His pregnant secretary, Karen, had been understanding. She had been instructing the dark-haired girl on how to perform her job, which clearly took a backseat. Right now, Cassandra was sitting in a chair next to Karen's desk, a styrofoam cup of tea sitting at the edge of the desk. There were wisps of steam rising from it, but Cassandra hadn't even touched a drop.
She didn't understand how this was happening; why was this happening? Her father hadn't killed that woman; in fact, he found her. So how did the police think he did it? She just couldn't wrap her mind around it.
Her eyes were fixated on a single spot on the floor. There wasn't anything too special about it, it was just where her eyes ended up looking. Yet, the staring was all she could do as she felt something restless within her, stirring, waiting to erupt. She was stuck in this limbo of helplessness and wanting to do something, anything, to fix whatever the hell was going on.
The doors to Fox's office opened then, the older man stepping out. He seemed to have aged teen years since he had entered his office. He looked to Karen, who was gazing at him expectantly, then his eyes fell onto Cassandra.
"Karen, we're already getting requests from media outlets about…this unfortunate situation," Fox said. "Coordinate with PR, get a press conference set up. All statements from Wayne Enterprises runs through us."
Karen immediately wrote that down, her pen scribbling on a pad of paper. By then, Cassandra was looking up at him.
Fox walked right up to her and then took a knee in front of her. He placed what he probably thought was a comforting hand on her shoulder. "So here's what's going on," he said. "The police believe Bruce is responsible for Ms. Fairchild's murder."
"He didn't do it," she nearly spat out through gritted teeth. It was the first words she could recall saying in a long time.
"Of course he didn't," Fox quickly agreed. "We all know he didn't, but they're looking at the evidence and they're seeing Bruce as the most likely suspect."
"Then they're looking at it wrong."
Fox held a hand up, a gesture for her to stop. If Cassandra hadn't been so overwhelmed, she might have noticed how angry she sounded. "And that's what we're going to prove. I've already gotten in contact with Rae Green. She's a defense attorney with an impeccable record. She will handle everything as far as the court case is concerned."
Cassandra had heard of lawyers before, but she had little interaction with them, if at all. This was an area she was woefully inexperienced, so she didn't know how to feel about this. Honestly, she didn't think a lawyer was needed if they found the right evidence and the right suspect. That would end all of this in a heartbeat.
That…that's what she needed to do.
At least, that's what she wanted to do, but she felt Fox squeeze her shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. "The important thing to keep in mind is that this is going to be a long process. You need to understand this going in. Don't do anything drastic, understood?"
"Drastic?" she questioned.
"For instance, don't talk to the media. No matter what you say or do, they will use it to magnify the situation and not necessarily in a good way. They're going to be like sharks in the water and they're already smelling blood. Nothing you say or do will help, so don't give them the time of day. Also, do not speak to the police without myself, or Ms. Green present. The police are going to be working to make a solid case against Bruce now and they will use you if they think you can help bolster their case."
"I would never!" she nearly shouted.
"Of course you wouldn't, but anything you say or do can be used against us, especially with the right lawyer. Refer all questions to your lawyer and don't say anything to them."
She could do that. She had spent most of her life being unable to talk, so it wasn't like she couldn't do that again.
"Lastly, don't watch anything on the television in regards to your father. All it will do is rile you up because there will be people who believe your father is guilty and belongs in jail. There will be people that drag his name through the mud. That is only going to upset you—I know it's going to upset me. You see the name Wayne in anything, don't read it."
That sounded reasonable. She wasn't much for television anyways, so that was another simple request. "What comes next?" she asked.
"So long as Bruce doesn't confess to the murder,"—Fox immediately held his hand up again to stop her growing protest—"then we're looking at a bail hearing, which means Bruce is going to be sitting in jail for the next day or so. Once we meet for the bail hearing, we can have the judge set bail and pay to get him out. Then we can really get to work."
That…that sounded good too. "Alright, the bail hearing," she breathed out. "I want to be there."
Fox stared her in the eye. "Are you certain about that?"
She sharply nodded. "Yes. I…I want to see him. I want to see him now."
A sad smile appeared on Fox's face. "Of course. Now let me repeat myself: this is not going to be a quick thing. In fact, this is going to go on for the next few years, unless the courts clear up a space on their docket just for this. This is only the beginning, so be ready to go through the long haul. It's not going to be comfortable, but all of us here are ready to support you and your father through this difficult time. We're going to prove his innocence."
OH yes, they were going to do that. Cassandra found herself turning her head to look in the direction of her father's office. She wanted nothing more than to go there now and start doing the police's actual job; however, she knew better. She had been taught better than to go barging her way onto a crime scene. She needed to do as Fox was telling her and have patience.
Have enough patience to wait until tonight and find the evidence that would get her father home.
Chalk another farmer up for Selina Kyle.
A holdout had finally given in. It had taken some pressure, perhaps a twisted arm, she didn't know, but she had a signature for the sale of another piece farmland. Only a couple more to go.
This was all tedious work; she knew it going in. She just didn't expect how tedious it was. She was a woman of action; she didn't mind getting her hands dirty. But her actions usually ran along the lines of cat burglary and kicking ass.
Bureaucracy had a funny way of making things boring.
On top of that, Chris was pushing her to begin mingling—ugh. She had Antonia check the books to see if the lawyer was right and damn it, he was. The Calabreses, for all of their money and wealth, could not finance this project alone. They needed money and the only place to get that was out of government grants or wealthy donors.
Someone just shoot her now.
It wasn't that she didn't know how to get some old, decrepit man to empty his wallet; she had done her fair share of that early in her career. It was just the slobbering and the expectations that she couldn't stand. Now she was expected to pull the same tricks for an alleged good cause.
Alright, she needed to make a list. She needed to know exactly who to target so that she could spare her dignity somewhat. No way was she going to hit on old men again. They had a tendency to ask too many questions unless there was a promise of sex. If she was going to sleep with someone, they needed to be born closer to the turn of the century than World War II.
Chris had been onto something with Bruce Wayne. While he wasn't the playboy he had been made out to be, if she put on some charm, she could get him as a backer. And if Wayne got on board, there would be others that thought this electric plant was a safe gamble and contribute. Yeah, Wayne was the key and she just needed to turn him.
So that was when the other shoe dropped.
"You guys aren't going to believe this!" Nick proclaimed as he flung the doors open, saunting into her office. Selina stared at her cousin as she hovered over the accounting books Antonia had brought her. Chris was standing nearby, a constant reminder of what she was about to do.
"I don't believe you already," Antonia replied, standing to Selina's right as she peered over the blonde woman's shoulder.
"Occupational hazard, I know," the young man grinned, not the least bit offended. "But this time, I've got the press."
"And I believe them even less," Selina drawled.
"What is it you want to tell us," Chris spoke, clearly wanting to end this banter.
"Bruce Wayne killed a bitch."
That gave Selina pause. She actually froze where she sat before she looked right at Nick. "Come again?"
"Wayne offed some woman right in his office. The police even found his gun. Can you believe the moron hid it in the damn toilet?"
This was a joke. It had to be. That sounded so damn ridiculous—
"Looks like Nick is right," Antonia said. She had pulled out her phone and was clearly double checking Nick's claim. "He's been arrested for murdering a reporter."
"Shut up!" Selina exclaimed.
"See, what did I tell you?" Nick grinned.
"I'm not seeing anything about the gun being found in the toilet. Where did you hear that?"
By then, Nick was standing in front of Selina's desk. He promptly plopped a crinkled white bag on her desk, its top rolled shut. The thief-turned-crime boss just raised an eyebrow at the bag.
"I was on my way back from the boonies when I decided to get a snack," Nick began explaining. "Saw a donut shop and thought that sounded good. While I was waiting in line, a couple cops came in. I didn't think nothing of it 'cause, you know, cops like their donuts. But then I heard what they were talking to each other about and they were talking about Wayne. They mentioned the gun and everything. Of course, I double-checked and just about every news website has pretty boy's face plastered on it."
You could not make this stuff up. Seriously, he hid the gun in his toilet? Perhaps he was just as dumb as everyone had said he was.
Yet, Selina couldn't help but think of the couple of times she had met Wayne. Her perception of him was different from the rumors. While he may not have been the sharpest crayon in the box, he wasn't entirely stupid either.
Then came her next problem.
"Fuck," she cursed as she pressed a hand against her forehead.
"You're telling me," Nick said before he realized that maybe his news wasn't what she was cursing about. "What's with the face palm?"
"I was planning on using Wayne to be the first stepping stone to fund our plan," Selina groused. "Now that he's in jail, it just made things more complicated."
"Huh? What do you mean? Are we outsourcing this thing or something?"
"The Calabreses can't fund the plant all by themselves," Chris filled her cousin in. "So we need investors."
"And you wanted Wayne as one. Well, that sucks."
He was telling her. Now she had to do even more work and sucking up to get the money. Damn it. Damn it all!
The camera flashed in Bruce's eyes, nearly blinding him.
"Turn to your left," an officer ordered, his tone no-nonsense. Doing as ordered, he turned, seeing the wall next to him covered in measurement markers. In one hand, he held a plaque, one with his name and a set of numbers. There was another blinding flash followed by, "Turn to your right."
He did as told, switching the plaque to his other hand. Again, there was another camera flash. The plaque was yanked out of his hand and an officer grabbed onto his bicep. Without a word, he was led—more like dragged—away from the mugshot setup. He stumbled before regaining his balance, keeping up with the officer.
Next came fingerprints. Bruce stood in front of the counter as another officer took his fingers one-by-one, rubbing them back and forth on an ink pad before doing the same on a piece of paper. Each finger received the same treatment. It was a rather odd feeling his fingers being pinned down this way.
He didn't say anything, just did as he was told. All the while, he was scanning the precinct, seeing other cops watching as he was processed. Some were stoic while others sneered. He saw it all and ignored it.
Eventually, he was shoved into a holding cell, where he took a seat on one of the benches. He wasn't alone as there were other men in the room. They all kept to themselves, some used to this process while others were embarrassed by their circumstance.
Bruce just closed his eyes and did his best to review what he knew. The crime scene flashed before his eyes, Vesper lying on the floor in a pool of blood, his office a mess. There had to be something he had missed; clearly he had if he was the primary suspect for the murder.
Perhaps it wasn't that he missed something so much as it was the police that found it before he did. His father's gun had been found in the tank of the toilet per Detective Allen. That at least explained the odd placard that had been sitting on the toilet when he searched the scene later. Vesper's phone had also been found in the mess, conveniently with that…disturbing…recording on it.
One thing he immediately remembered was that Vesper's voice was the only one on it. There was no second voice, just her pleading with her killer. That couldn't be coincidence.
Bruce's eyes cracked open. Because the recording app was on, it was assumed Vesper had turned it on before it had been removed from her grasp. If that were the case, why did she not say his name over and over? If you were about to be killed, and you knew your killer, and you knew you were being recorded, why not say your killer's name?
Either Vesper didn't think she had successfully started the recording, or she didn't know it was even on. Or more likley, she didn't know who her killer was.
All of this, the entire crime scene, was designed to point the finger right at him. It was a pretty good frame job too. The one way he could prove his innocence was to reveal that he was Batman. At the time of the security footage that showed two people entering Wayne Enterprises, he was involved in the dispatching of a mugger.
That wasn't an option, not if he wanted Batman to continue. Even if he did admit to being his alter ego, he would just be confessing to other crimes. The list of offenses he had as the Dark Knight was quite extensive. Yeah, he wouldn't be a murderer, but he would have a thousand B&Es, assault and batteries, and a litany of other charges to face. No, he needed another, plausible alibi, but one wasn't going to be forthcoming. Though he knew Cassandra would cover for him if he asked, she would not be able to face a prosecutor determined to poke holes in her story. She was with her Batclan members, so she had her alibi. Harper Row and Stephanie Brown could confirm her location wherever they had been, or chose to tell where they had been.
This…this wasn't going to be easy.
"Wayne!" a voice shouted.
Turning his head, Bruce saw yet another officer standing in front of the cell, the other men looking at him blankly. "Your lawyer's here," the officer grunted as he unlocked the cell. "Let's go."
Standing up, Bruce headed for the cell door, walking through it as it opened. It was closed behind him and the officer grabbed his arm again. Faintly he wondered if he was going to be bruised there before too long.
He was then led to an interrogation room, now doubling as a meeting room for him and his lawyer. "Old football injury?" the guard asked him as they approached the door to the interrogation room.
"Huh?" Bruce responded dumbly.
"You're limping. Did you hurt it playing ball, or did someone kick you there?"
Actually, yeah, he had been kicked there by the mugger. After knocking the man over, he had kicked blindly and hit the side of the billionaire's knee. It hadn't been pleasant to feel.
It was also plain as day that the officer was fishing for info. "At this time, I refer all questions to my lawyer," Bruce said.
The officer grunted as he opened the door, muttering, "Prick," under his breath. Entering the room, he saw an attractive blonde sitting at the table. There was a briefcase sitting next to her chair, a number of documents and folders spread out in front of her as if she were seated at a desk. Bruce shuffled over to the chair on the opposite side of the table, the officer making certain he was situated before leaving the room.
"Good afternoon," the blonde woman greeted him warmly. She stood up slightly so that she could learn forward, holding out her hand. Bruce accepted it as he shook it. "I'm Rae Green. I was contacted by Lucius Fox in regards to the allegations against you."
Trust Lucius to have his back. "And I appreciate you coming to meet with me, though I'm afraid the location has much to be desired," Bruce replied.
Rae Green just continued to smile at him before she sat back down. She picked up a pen and held it over a large yellow pad, one that had a ton of scribbles on it already. "So you did well in invoking your right to a lawyer," she began. "And I will admit, you're in a tough spot, Bruce."
Well, that was unfortunate. "So what I want to do is go through the events of that night. It's important you share everything with me. Even if you did it, I need—"
"I didn't," Bruce interjected.
"Of course, but I'm better able to represent you if I know as much information as possible. If you keep something from me and it comes up in court, you'll essentially be screwing yourself over."
That was a fair point. Unfortunately, there were things he simply could not discuss. "There are some…sensitive things I can't go over," he said. "But I'll tell you as much as I possibly can."
"That's a start," Ms. Green responded. "As of right now, you're accused of luring the victim, Vesper Fairchild, to your office where you assaulted her and killed her."
"Which I didn't do," he pressed.
"I know, so what we need to do is prove that you weren't at the scene; that will be the easiest way to disprove these allegations."
That was true. "Then I guess we should start at the beginning," he suggested.
"Perfect. Tell me how you met Ms. Fairchild. What was your relationship with her? And when was the last time you saw her?"
This…this was going to take awhile, but then, he didn't have any place to be. Besides, the longer he stayed out of the holding cell, the better. Eventually people were going to approach him and that was going to make things awkward.
To Guest: I've got a couple thinking it's Hush, and now I got you with Luthor. I wonder who else's hat will get thrown into the ring
