City of Dolls [Vicki, Marc, Bivins, Harv, Selina, Renee]

[Deleted]

It was a beautiful Friday morning, and Vicki Vale was smiling as she entered her office at The Gotham Gazette.  It had been a busy and hectic week for news, and she was actually looking forward to a well-deserved lazy weekend, which was going to start in less than eight hours.  She hadn’t even settled into her high-back leather chair when the editor-in-chief, George Ackerman, appeared out of nowhere and knocked softly on her open office door.

“Good morning, George,” Vicki greeted, noting immediately the somber look on his face.  “What’s news, boss?”

George’s eyebrows rose at her cute signature-joke.  Then, without saying a word, he walked into the room and laid a photograph on her desk in front of her.  “Here’s the answer,” he grumbled.

At first glance, Vicki saw the subject matter in the photo was a beautiful porcelain doll posed on a doll stand.  But then, upon closer inspection, she realized it wasn’t a doll at all.  It was human.

“Forensics called,” George informed her.  “The GCPD found her body about an hour ago at Robinson Park.  It looks like your old friend, the Dollmaker, is back in town, and he’s not wasting any time getting back to business.”

Vicki’s eyes narrowed as she recalled Barton Mathis, a serial killer she investigated and caught red-handed in a botched kidnapping four years ago.  She had dubbed him “The Dollmaker,” and her testimony put him away for life in Blackgate Penitentiary, a maximum-security prison located on an island in the Gotham City Harbor in uptown Gotham City.  She hadn’t expected to see or hear from that man ever again in this lifetime.

“Do you think he’s back for revenge?” George asked his star reporter, studying her face and trying to read her mind.

“No,” Vicki answered flatly.  “If that were the case, I’d be dead already.  But this public display definitely lets us know he’s back.  With a vengeance.”

George smiled softly at Vicki.  “Hey, if you want to take off a few days to get away, I perfectly understand.”

“No, I’m not running,” Vicki replied without hesitation.  “That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.  It’s not even an option!  I’m not about to give Barton Mathis the satisfaction of thinking he’s scaring me into hiding.”

George didn’t know what to say to put Vicki at ease.  “Hey, it was just a suggestion,” he told her.  “I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, that’s all.”

Vicki’s frown turned upside down.  “That makes two of us,” she agreed.

“So how are you feeling right now?”

“How do you think I’m feeling, George?!” Vicki answered with annoyance in her voice.  Then she stopped for a moment to compose herself.

George watched her inhale sharply.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, her eyes meeting his.  “I’m just angry, frustrated, and scared all at the same time.  I helped put that psychopath away four years ago.  As you can imagine, I’m not too thrilled about seeing the Dollmaker doing his thing again.  Last time, he claimed six innocent victims.  Is this the first one, this go-around?”

“Yes, that we know of,” George replied.  “As you can tell from the picture, he’s changed his methods.  He’s not creating ‘dolls’ out of the severed skin and limbs of his victims like he used to.  I don’t know how he gets that porcelain effect, but at least he’s keeping the bodies intact.  That makes them easier to identify.”

Vicki studied the photo.  “It’s like reliving the nightmare all over again.  ONE victim is too many, George.  Mathis needs to be stopped -- the sooner, the better.”

“And who’s going to do that?  YOU?” George jeered.  “Don’t get any ideas, Vicki.  That would be stupid.  Mathis isn’t the type of guy you want stalking you.  And you’re not Batman.”

Vicki’s mouth gaped open.  “I can’t just sit on the sidelines, George.  I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience.”

“It’s not your fight, Vicki.”

“I have to get involved, George.  It’s personal.”

George recognized that determined look in Vicki’s eyes.  He knew when she made up her mind to do something, trying to talk her out of it was a futile exercise of wasted time and effort.

“Be it far from me to tell you what to do,” he said.  “Just remember, if you go ahead with this, Batman might not be around to save you.  If you get in over your head, you’ll be on your own, kiddo.”

Vicki heaved a sigh and stood to her feet.  “Thanks for making me feel better, George,” she said sarcastically, grabbing her purse and walking out the door.

When Vicki exited the building, she ran to her car, jumped in, and locked the doors.  She hated the fact that she was already getting paranoid, and she didn’t want to be by herself.  Retrieving her cell phone from her purse, she found her contact list and dialed a private, personal number.  She frowned when she was switched over to voicemail.  Smiling to herself, she closed her eyes and tried to sound as perky and upbeat as possible, under the circumstances.

“Marc, this is Vicki.  I know it’s early, but I’m on my way to your suite right now.  Something urgent came up at work a few minutes ago that I need to tell you about.  I can’t explain now.  I’ll be there in a few minutes.  ‘Bye.”

Ending the call, another man came to mind: Clark Kent.  She called him and got his voicemail, as well.  Vicki rolled her eyes as she waited for the beep.

“Hey, Smallville!  This is Vicki Vale.  Man, have I got a scoop for you!  Get yourself over to Robinson Park on the double.  It’s now a crime scene.  I'll meet you there after I tend to a personal matter.  If it’s all right with you, I'd like to work on this story together.  Stay at the park.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.  ‘Bye.”

With an exasperated sigh, the aggravated reporter turned off her cell phone and tossed it in the passenger seat.  Then she started the engine and drove off to see Marc Dahlmaine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, on the seedy east side of Gotham, a bellhop approached Room 313 with a serving cart.  He knocked gently on the door several times and was startled when no one answered. 

“Sir?  It’s room service.  Your breakfast is here.”

He waited for a minute.

“Sir?  It’s room service.”

Suddenly, the bellhop looked down and saw a fifty dollar bill shoot out from underneath the door and stop at his shoe.  Picking it up, he turned and left the way he came, leaving the cart unattended.  When the hallway was clear and silent again, the door opened and an older gentleman with silver hair appeared and whisked the cart into his room.

“The food’s here, father,” the man said, talking to himself as he wheeled the cart to the side of the bed of the modest one-room dwelling.  “I ordered eggs over easy, just the way you like them.”

There was an eerie silence as the man had a conversation with himself, playing both parts.

“Are you proud of me, father?  I sent you another girl.”

“You did well, Barton.  Thank you for keeping your promise to me.  They get more beautiful with each passing.”

“You’re welcome, father.  I enjoy them here, and you enjoy them in the hereafter.  That was our agreement.  Are you proud of me?”

“Yes.  You make me very proud, son.”

Mathis smiled to himself as his eyes welled with tears.  Then he sat on the edge of the bed and enjoyed his meal.

[Deleted]

He wasn't one to keep his phone on him this early in the day. Nor would he be at home, as he had found a new route to run. And run he did, a steady clip kept as the music tuned out most of Gotham's distractions, traffic and the like. He'd made a route from his own suite to the park, a quick jaunt around another park and to Robinson. It was a rather long route. By his calculations it was a good fifteen mile trip. But it was better than pounding out the miles on a track a the gym, or the lackluster treadmill either.

He liked the fresh air. And even while it was cool out, running warmed the muscles and the body. He relished such a thrill. He yearned for more exercise but had not been able to pinpoint the location of these cliff-side climbing areas yet. No one he'd spoken to was aware of the area either.

[Deleted]

Vicki wasn’t too pleased when the receptionist at Marc’s building told her he wasn’t there.  She looked at her watch.  She had to get to Robinson Park.

“May I leave him a message then?” she asked.  She waited to be handed a pen and paper, and then she wrote these words:

Marc,

I stopped by, but you weren’t here.  I really wanted to see you.  Something happened at work this morning that I need to make you aware of.  I’d rather tell you in person.  I’ll be at Robinson Park for most of the morning.  Give me a call and we’ll plan on doing lunch.

Please never forget that I love you.  I am with you always, in spirit.

Good-bye,
Vicki


Vicki contemplated scratching out the word “good-bye”.  It sounded so final, but she decided to leave it, just in case she met her demise at the hands of Mathis and never saw Marc again.  At least, he’d have her note.  It would bring him some type of closure if . . . .

Vicki handed the note and pen back to the receptionist.  “Please make sure Mr. Dahlmaine gets that message the moment he returns,” she instructed.  “Please tell him it’s imperative that he contacts me this morning.  This afternoon might be too late.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened at the sound of the urgency in Vicki's voice.  "Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged.  “Are you going to be all right, Miss Vale?”

“Honestly?  Probably never again,” she answered glibly, turning and leaving the way she came.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Vicki arrived at Robinson Park, there wasn’t a sign of Clark Kent anywhere.  She assumed he must’ve returned to Metropolis.  She hated the way nothing was working out for her this morning.  “Three strikes and you’re out,” she muttered to herself under her breath.  Mathis was the first strike, Marc was the second, and Clark was the third.  She felt death looming in the distance, ready to pounce at any second and end her game of life.  It wasn’t a good feeling.

Robinson Park had been roped off with caution tape.  Vicki used her press badge to pass security, stating her reasons for talking to law enforcement working the crime scene.  She was the only reporter escorted to the area where the policemen and homicide detectives were located.

Vicki froze when she saw the life-size doll.  From a distance, it looked like a statue.  It was fortunate that someone had reported it before local vandals had discovered it.  Upon closer inspection, Vicki noted that the doll was composed of a substance that mimicked porcelain and, most likely, was just as fragile.  Vicki learned from the officers on duty that tweeters had mentioned it almost as soon as it had been put in place, and the pictures posted on Tumblr seemed to be genuine.  Unfortunately, they were.

It took Vicki a few minutes to recognize the likeness, and several more to realize the woman was likely a victim.  She was nude, and while the proportions were perfect, she was not in the least posed erotically.  Her face was transfixed in pain and agony.  Her limbs had been restrained.  Rope marks would forever mar her wrists and ankles.  Forensics couldn’t find scars from any injections.  From an artist's perspective, Vicki couldn’t see how a mold could have been made and cast of the woman with this level of detail, or why that amount of work would be placed on public display in a venue which would surely see it abused.

“A quick search for particulate matter found traces under her fingernails and in between her teeth,” Vicki was told by one of the officers.  The condition of what had been the victim’s flesh was such that bruising was not visibly apparent, and forensics didn’t have the means of looking deeper on site.  They didn’t even know if that would be possible once they got the body back to the lab.

The police had combed through numerous databases to find anything related to this kind of crime.  The kicker, though, had been the confirmation that the victim, Lydia Brumfield, had not shown up for work and had been reported missing three days ago.  This was not a crime of passion.

Vicki knew she was in danger.  Mathis hadn’t targeted her first because, for him, part of the thrill was the terror, and the control that came with it.  Vicki was a brave woman, but she wasn’t invulnerable.  She knew it would just get worse before he set his sights on her.  He was playing her like a pawn in a Chess match.  He’d expect her to go to him early, to ask him to take her and leave others alone.  He’d laugh in her face and make her watch while he killed another innocent, and he’d tell her it was all her fault.  At least, that’s how she believed Mathis wanted the scenario to play out.  Vicki couldn’t let that happen.

Mathis’ weapons were extraordinary, his methods unheard of, but his motives were plain and petty.  He needed to be stopped.  Vicki needed to find him, but she didn’t even know where to begin.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.  With all her heart, she wished Marc was there with her right now.

[Deleted]

Bivins smacked gum in that annoying way he tended to, blowing a bubble and then let it pop as he held up his cellphone, walking over the crime scene, looking at the screen. He flashed a few photographs, humming to himself, headphones in his ears, sunglasses on his face. He was ignoring the statue for now, looking around the ground, snapping a few photographs, working in a spiral out from the victim. 

"You held me down, but I got up, HEY!, Already brushing off the dust, You hear my voice, you hear that sound, Like thunder gonna shake the ground, You held me down, but I got . . . hmm" 

He kneeled down to the ground and picked up something with the latex gloves, then touched the ground for a moment, then looked up. Pushing a button on his cellphone he said "compressed plant matter, grass, mud displacement," he stands up and starts to take a few steps across. "Tire treads, drove up here with the statue already made." He kneeled down bringing up the cellphone again, using the distance finder. It was modified from one of the golf range programs, he snapped a photo with the app. "79 point. . . 5" he pursed his lips and then kneeled down and pressed his fingers lightly down into the mud, feeling and then whipping out the small probe, pushing it to the ground, then lifting it up "10. . . 32." He folded it away, and then wrote down the info again on the cellphone, using the stylus. He read up for a while, thumbing through it, and thinking. "Chevy"

He stood up and then brushed himself off, walking along, and then stepping to the roadway. "Drove up here from the road, unloaded. . . and . . . " he walked back to the statue, kneeling on the ground, looking about for detritus. . . anything that would have fallen out with the woman.

"I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire
, ‘Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me" he kneels down and picks up a small piece of something, bagging it. A sample of something, a resin? A plastic? It'd have to be taken to the lab. For shits and giggles, he also decided to take a small sample of some of the grass too. No footprints, but there wouldn't be.

He stood up and looked at the woman, sighing as he rubbed his face, snapping a photo of her face, he started to look about. The twitterverse had gotten to her first, as had the instagrammers, he thumbed through online for a while, seeing what came up. He walked around for a bit, and just continued to let crowdsourcing do his work for him. 

It took a little while before the name came up, a few had at first, but quick facebook searches had thrown that off. But the last name, that one. . . Lydia Brumfield. "No work for three days according to the coworker. . . " He pursed his lips and then compared the facebook photos with the girl in the park. Yeah, that looked like a pretty good match. 

"He looked past the CSI guys, looking at her wrist for a moment, taking out his probe again and starting to measure the burns on the wrists, humming to himself as he looked at the measurement of the rope, writing down the dimensions, he looked closely at the ropes and the size and the burn. Then he touched the fingernails, looking underneath. Another photograph, a few jotted notes. 

He blew another bubble and let it pop as he considered her neck, and then her eyes, the look of terror seemed to put Bivins off. "Ya know what, boss? This is pretty disgusting here! I think I got her name, Lydia Brumfield. . . facebook friends say she ain't been to work in several days, and there's already a memorial page online after the pics went up this morning."

"It looks like the guys drove up in some sort of van to leave her here. New tires, though, from the look of the tread, although I can't get a clear imprint, the depth seems to suggest that they were riding heavy. Maybe one of those full sized vans. Ya know, a rapemobile or something. Kelly Blue Book suggests a Chevy. Ford's are a little wider. Dodges a little thinner. "

He turned his head to try to look up her nose, using the flashlight on his phone, and then the probe to try to get the mouth open a bit with little luck. He sighed and said "Well, I'm outta one liners. . . You eva seen anythin' like this? " 

[Deleted]

He could see the blockades and police cars several blocks away. Rolling his eyes he sighed and rerouted, considering his original venue was now a no-go. He'd been wanting to scout the area as well, considering he'd been told it was a fine place to live. But if there were going to be these sort of events he'd rather find a flat somewhere less busy.

Perhaps downtown would offer what he was looking for a bit better. So he ran back to his place, keeping his pace steady as he avoided those that were going to their standard 9-5 jobs and the ilk. He had a shower and a few calls to make. As he jogged his way into the lobby of his hotel, the receptionist waved him down, handing him a note with a grave look. "Ms. Vale dropped it for you about an hour ago, Mr. Dahlmaine." He gave her a nod and a thank-you and made his way to the stairs up to his suite.

He was dripping with sweat so left the note on his laptop before heading into the shower. He had a more casual line-up so dressed in a pair of grey wool slacks, white undershirt and a blue oxford. Hair was combed, he shaved, and he then went to grab his phone and sit to read her note.

Furrowing his brow he thumbed to her number to call. It was several rings he waited for until he hung up and tried again. He'd seen the barricades and police cars, and hoped she wasn't the reason.

[Deleted]

Vicki watched Bivins in action, examining the victim.  She grimaced when she heard him sigh and say, "Well, I'm outta one liners. . . You eva seen anythin' like this? "

Vicki cleared her throat and answered, “Yes, I have.”

Smiling demurely, Vicki made her way to Bivins, extending her right hand for a handshake.

“Hello, Bivins.  I’m Vicki Vale with The Gotham Gazette.  Remember me?  We met during that homicide investigation of crime boss Tony Cappetta a couple of years back.  Harvey Bullock mentions you on occasion when we have lunch together.  How have you been?  Is Harv around?  How is the investigation going?”

Vicki tried to be subtle, cordial, and nosy at the same time.

“I’m here to help with the investigation.  Do you have a suspect yet?  Research Barton Mathis, a.k.a. the Dollmaker.  You’ll discover his killer crimes from four years ago follow the same pattern.  I should know.  It was my testimony that put that son of a bitch in Blackgate Penitentiary for life.  Or at least I thought so.”

She swallowed hard.

“Until this doll was discovered.  Trust me on this, Bivins.  I know what I’m talking about.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, across the street from Robinson Park, Barton Mathis watched from the driver’s seat of a white Chevy utility van he had purchased from a used car lot two weeks ago.  To pass the time, he read Vicki Vale’s latest article on the front page of The Gotham Gazette, welcoming Marc Dahlmaine, Frenchborn vintner and vanguard of Chevalier Cellars, to Gotham City.  It wasn’t too long before Mathis was craving a glass of Chablis-Chardonnay.  After all, Chablis is the Chardonnay of France.

[Deleted]

Harvey was behind the porcelain girl. He had a little magnifying glass type of thing (oh my god, Harvey you are WAY TOO INTO SHERLOCK RIGHT NOW, dude) and was looking over the skin of her back. He came around and looked at her mouth and then turned to Bivins.

"Good, put an APB out for that vehicle. Let's get our beat boys to go ahead and start doing sweeps among all the businesses surrounding the park to see if anyone has any footage of that specific vehicle."

Harvey looked over to Vicki as she appeared. He remembered that her testimony had put Barton in prison before, and it was clear this was his work. Harvey sighed a bit before approaching Vicki.

"Alright, cool it Vick. We need to get you protection. Being that you were a key witness in his past trial you need to be accounted for at this point in time. Bivins, look through the roster and find me officers that can take shifts to escort Miss Vale."

Harvey gazed over to his own car off in the distance, parked on the curb. Someone was in his passenger's seat. He looked over to the passenger and then back to his crime scene. Harvey looked very haggard. Very bad things had happened recently and he was still reeling from all of it. He hadn't shaved much in the last couple of weeks and he looked much like the man from a few years before who seemed to resemble an unmade bed.

Harvey had a head ache, he put his fingers to his temples for a moment, trying to get a moment of peace in his mind before having to be dragged back into the world around him. He looked back to Bivins.

"Where the hell is Montoya? I need her."

[Deleted]

She hadn't wanted to come, but considering it was Robinson park, she'd been quite literally picked up, and placed into the car. Glares and dirty looks abound from both sides, her crutches tossed into the backseat. To say she was sick of them would an understatement. Fussing with her hair she listened to the police scanner as Theo drove to the crime scene and made sure she was going to stay put for the time being.

She could identify most of the people milling around. Vicki Vale, Bullock, Bivins. And there was Renee. His phone would vibrate with a text, clear and concise. [Renee is over talking to someone. Bivins has ibuprofen. If you don't shave in the next 6 hours, I will fucking do it for you.]

...and she wasn't kidding.

[Deleted]

Vicki was startled when Harvey popped up out of nowhere behind the porcelain doll.  It was quite humorous to see both Harvey and Bivins working together -- examining the victim from every side and angle with various equipment.  The two men reminded her of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Columbo and Monk, and . . . Laurel and Hardy.

Vicki hung on every word when Harvey barked orders to Bivins about finding the vehicle.  He sounded so in charge.  To Vicki, there was nothing sexier than a man who could make a decision -- a man who knew what he wanted and went after it.  She loved seeing Harvey in this setting.  He was definitely in his element.  She was proud to be his friend.

When Harvey looked at her and acknowledged her presence, Vicki kept silent and waved to him.  Then she waited patiently for him to finish his inspection and join her.  She saw him sigh heavily before he approached.

“Gee, it’s nice to see you, too,” she greeted sarcastically, giving him a soft peck on the cheek.  She didn’t mind his beard, but she thought he looked better without it.  She grimaced when he told her to cool it.  Then he mentioned police protection and pissed her off.

“Whoa!  Time out!” the blonde bombshell reporter protested.  “I don’t want or need a police escort everywhere I go.  They’ll just get in my way when I start my own investigation of Dollmaker.  I move faster by myself.”

She tickled the bottom of Harvey’s chin with the tip of her right index finger.

“You don’t have to worry about me, handsome.  I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl.  I can take care of myself.”

Of course, she was hiding her fear, but she hoped Harvey couldn't tell she was bluffing.

Meanwhile, Vicki was unaware that the cel phone in her purse was set on silent mode.  All incoming calls were being forwarded to voice mail.

[Deleted]

The downside of being a detective: You never start at your regular shift time.

It's too damn early for a freak case. This stuff ought to at least wait until the coffee has settled in the stomach before it busts the day wide open. But those are the breaks.

Coincidentally, the vic' looks like she's about to break too.

Renée slips back under the second layer of police tape, along with a pair of uniforms. "And she seemed to know what was going on, right? Lucid?" The uniform nods. "Okay. We'll hit there first, then the skateboard kid... And-"

She's within shouting distance of Bivins. And Harvey, too, of course, but that can wait, and he knows it, even if he DOES have the silver bar under his badge. "Oy! Leo! You figure out what he was driving?"

"90s Chevy G-series, new tires. Don't know the color. Doing about ten miles, sudden brake at the edge of the brownstone. Can't tell on the weight distribution. Found a chip of resin on the ground, like porcelain. Matches the doll."

Renée pauses a moment, glancing at Bivins directly. That's... a lot of information. Still, she recovers and tosses out another question. "Heavy?"

Bivins shrugs and says "Well, I'd have trouble pickin' her up, but that ain't necessarily unusual for me."

She follows the line of the tire tracks with her eyes, scanning for others. Nothing. She straightens up and talks to herself, loud enough to show she intends to be overheard. "Okay. Perp was in a hurry. Victim's heavy and unwieldy, hard to carry, that's why we've got the chip. No extra wheelmarks means he didn't have a d- handtruck..." She takes a short breath to get back from that one. Now is NOT the time to say "dolly."

"Poor equipment means he's probably not used to doing this. New tires on an old Chevy, plus not used to movin' victims around like this, probably means the car's a new purchase. May not be used to driving it."

She turns to the uniforms. "He's in a hurry and in an unfamiliar vehicle with a six-foot span. Sergeant, I want the men canvassing the alleyways in about a five-block radius. We're looking for fresh paint scrapes. I want four-man teams; I'd rather do this slow than risk any of you getting jumped in crime alley. Radio easttown precinct, pull everyone off the local beat. Commish will back you up if they give you trouble."

The uniforms get busy. Renée runs a hand through her hair. Oh yeah. Coffee definitely kicking in. 

She arrived just in time to hear Vicki say the words "Own Investigation." And then some. "Ay, Dios, líbrame de los arretaos."

She makes her way over to lean against something in a relaxed, conversational sort of way. "Miss Vale... This is a high-profile case. You understand that, right? There's no way the department can let you run your own investigation without a police presence." She softens her tone. "You're going to have an escort whether you want one or not, Vicki. Gordon's going to insist, you know how he is. The only question is whether or not they're going to be in the room with you or staring through your windows from an unmarked crown vic'."  She reaches out a hand softly. "Be reasonable here. We just want to keep you safe."

She then shoots Bullock a look. An I-Don't-Think-That's-Gonna-Work-So-You'd-Better-Get-That-Duty-Roster look. 

(sorry for the delay, all) ps, lily, remember the bivins-diana joke next post. 

[Deleted]

Vicki turned away from Harvey when she saw Detective Renee Montoya and two other police officers in her peripheral vision approaching.  Then Vicki and Harvey’s conversation was interrupted altogether by Montoya screaming questions at Bivins about the perp’s vehicle.  Vicki’s eyes widened when Bivins started shouting back the answers, even though Detective Montoya was slowly closing the distance.

“Must they?” Vicki hissed sarcastically to Harvey with an eye roll.  “Honestly!  It’s a little too early in the day for me!”

She blew air and rubbed her temples as the sound of the two voices vibrated through her entire body and began giving her a headache.  Although Vicki pretended to be irritated, she was actually hanging on every word being shared.  Plus, the recorder in her purse was capturing it all, as well.

As Vicki became vocal with Harvey about police protection, she watched Detective Montoya give orders to the two officers.  Vicki was impressed.  The woman was a true leader.  Vicki kept talking to Harvey as Detective Montoya joined them.

Vicki turned to the woman when she started speaking, providing her explanation of the high-profile case.  Vicki didn’t like the way it was expressed to her that she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Vicki hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded and smiled.  “Detective Montoya?  Vicki Vale,” she said in greeting.  “It’s nice to see you again.   It’s been a long time.  Too long.  Detective Bullock has only had good things to say about you in our lunch conversations.”

Vicki’s eyes cut to Bivins, implying that she couldn’t say the same about him.  Then she continued talking to Montoya.

“Detective, I appreciate your concern for my safety -- I really do.  If you insist on the police protection, I’ll consent on two conditions: (1) They are a plainclothes officer, and (2) They stay the hell out of my way.  They can babysit all they like, but I want them keeping their distance, all right?”

With that, Vicki looked at Bivins.  "Good God, man!  Your ass is a work of art!" she teased to break the serious mood.  Then she saw that he had discovered something.  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the piece of paper in his hand.

* * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, across the street, Barton Mathis kept watching the main entrance to Robinson Park from the driver’s seat of his vehicle.  He found the policeman on duty amusing.  The public servant had sent most of the crowd of people on their way.  Only a few members of the press remained, sticking around to report from the actual crime scene.  “It might be a couple more hours, folks,” the officer warned them.  Mathis used binoculars to read his lips.  “You might want to go and get something to eat and come back later.  Nobody’s getting past me.”

Mathis smirked to himself at the officer’s confidence.  He didn’t give a rat’s fat ass about anyone getting into the park.  He was waiting for Vicki Vale to exit the park.  He had a little surprise in store for her.

Shifting his position, Mathis’ eye caught someone else in his binoculars.  It was a beautiful woman sitting alone in the passenger seat of another car parked about seven car-lengths away.  Her profile seemed familiar.  Where had he seen her before?  In one of Vicki Vale’s articles?  He began rummaging through the stacks of newspapers beside him.

Finally, he found what he was looking for.   It was Vicki’s article on the Metropham Gala.  Plastered on the front page was a photograph of Lex Luthor and Selina Kyle.

“Yes,” Mathis said to himself.  “Selina Kyle.  That’s who she is.  She’s so beautiful . . .”

Mathis kept looking back and forth from Selina in the car to her photograph in the newspaper, entertaining the thought of kidnapping her.

“I think Miss Kyle is someone Father would enjoy meeting very much . . .”

BARTON  MATHIS  (A.K.A.  THE  DOLLMAKER)

[Deleted]

He'd hailed a cab and told it to wait near the crime scene. Vaulting the yellow tape he strode over to where he saw Vicki's mop of blonde hair and overheard part of the conversation while he caught a glimpse of the 'victim.' He just as quickly looked away and strode over to where some hulking unkempt man about his own age was yelling at her about police protection. And she, in that way only she could, was retorting. It was then another smaller, female officer stated something about her safety as well. She would be safe with him, and he was going to make that clear. Another younger officer tried to get his spitfire to listen, and that is finally when he stepped in. Especially after hearing the banter between his girlfriend and the man.

"Excuse me, Officers, but I can stay with her. She will be coming home with me," he interjected swiftly, stepping beside her. "I am her boyfriend." He narrowed his eyes at the other men, especially after Vicki had been so familiar with them both. A faint muscle in his jaw twitched. He'd also overheard her comment about the younger Officer's ass. He would save his own observations for another time, when her own security, and safety was not being threatened.

Stepping between the Police Officers and Vicki, Marc drew her into his arms, his heart pounding. "I'm sorry, babe. You have no idea. I was out running. Was going to skirt the park, but saw this. So I turned around. Didn't have my phone on me. We need to get you out of here, with a security detail or not, but I am going with you. Either to your place, or mine. IF we need to, we can stop at your home before you come back with me. I will not allow you to be alone while whomever is causing this is free." His words were short, fractured, his accent prevalent. His hair had been disheveled, his heart racing when he hand't heard her answer her phone. He looked down at her, his gaze intent. "I refuse to lose you."

[Deleted]

Bivins finished looking over the body, finding the spot where the chip from the resin popped out. "Yeah, I think . . . I think that's it. And that's disgusting." he puts the chip up to the body and then says "Yeah, it chipped off. Okay, so this girl ain't covered with resin. . . she's turned into porcelein. OR it's a really good likeness, but I'm inclined to think that she's been turned into this substance seeing as there's still like. . . veins and muscle bits underneath here, and there ain't NO ONE that good." He sighs as he puts the chip back in the evidence bag, he'd photographed and tagged the area.

He picks up his cellphone for a moment, and then sends out a text to Selina [Hey, got some ibuprophen and some Vicodin, lemme know if you want any.] He pockets the cellphone and then hears someone calling his name. "Why yes, it is a work of art! Piquant with a faint tone of meatiness."

He smiles at Vicki Vale saying "Yeah, I remember you Miss Vale, I'm not supposed to talk to you anymore after that one thing where you published my theory that the Wayne Tech robbery was connected to that plane disappearance over Africa and the unconfirmed yet still real Gorilla city that exists there. . . in fact the boss told me that if I were to talk to you again he would, and here I do quote, stick his foot so far up my ass that for the rest of my life, the only language I would be fluent in is Italian Loafer." He shrugs as he says "But yeah, this sort of fits his M.O. doesn't it? Anyway, let me get the L.T. . ." Montoya approaches

"Or Montoya can talk ta ya! She's allowed to talk to you on the fact that she's much more respectable than I am!" He smiles at Marc as he approaches "And the boyfrend! Okie dokie. I'm gonna go back and try to read this note I found and then try to do something else. Any orders Montoya?" He blinks at her and then listens for advice from the boss, then goes back to investimagating! 

[Deleted]

"Everyone shut up for at least half a minute, geez! I'm workin' here, c'mon."

Harvey had too many people talking at once when he was trying to yell at them what the hell to do with themselves, though none of that was ever intended for Montoya, she was his other half when it came to work. The two of them, they were a tried and true unit. Harvey was rough around the edges, she played it cool, but together they made an excellent detective.

He sighed as he continued to look over the body. He growled and turned to everyone.

"He had to feed 'em this stuff. Bivins, get the lab on this, now. We gotta figure out what the hell he fed her. Have some uniforms do a sweep with all hardware, paint, bondo, everything that sells this shit and make 'em show all of 'em that nasty mother fucker's mugshot. And if they seem like their lyin' I'll go talk to 'em myself."

Harvey broke a pen in his hand, ink bursting into his hand as he looked off somewhere. He looked away from it and turned to Montoya and Bivins.


"Bivins, listen very carefully, Montoya, work with me here. At my seven there's a vehicle, like you described. The guy in it... Looks a bit like someone we all know. No one make any moves out of the ordinary. We got anyone sneaky nearby, not here? He's watchin' his own crime scene, we run over there guns a blazin, we'll just scare him off and still have a ways to run before we get to our cars. So... anything you two got to add to this stew we're about to stir the fuck up?"

Harvey continued inspecting the young woman's body, waiting for an answer from Montoya or Bivins while he continued to act naturally, the perp was only yards away, but Harvey wanted to insure this, this man was getting caught today...

[Deleted]

Sitting alone in the car was never as fun as being on the scene. And she knew the minute she unlocked the doors and tried to leave she'd be put back in the car.

So she sighed heavily, wishing she had a cigarette on her, and watched the police work the scene, noting the man that vaulted the tape and went to Vicki, and the other stationary rape-van. Tapping on her phone she glanced to the mass of people as she sent another text. [Creepy van over off 18th. When can I have a cigarette again? ]

Another was sent to Bivins as his message came through; [Yes please? Your boss is keeping me on the straight and narrow. Very narrow. Want anything in trade?] At least his message got a tiny smile from her.