Midnight Mystery [Gordon, Dawes]

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The night was a different creature to the one during daytime. Some would claim that the time after the sun fell down out of sight, is a time for sleep. For many in Gotham, that would be true but not for those who were deemed vigilantes by the law. There shift is just beginning. Night time is a time for criminals to occupy. No one sees them lurking about in the shadows, doing illegal deals with one enough. Murders are much easier to carry out, less prying eyes watching. Drug addicts walked the streets in East Gotham; however the story is far different in Central Gotham. Between daytime and night time, very little changes in this part of the City. Cars still fill the streets, locked in traffic as they would during the day. While one class of people sleeps, another stirs.

A brisk wind, filled with a warm spring breeze, tickled Tim’s cheeks. Due to his small duration as Robin, he’d only experienced the icy winds from the winter; this newer temperature was much more enjoyable. Still, being upon top of a building means that you’re not entitled to a warm climate, as he was discovering. Dangling his feet over the side of a building, he watched the maze of vehicles below, all of them seeming to move no where at his height. Tim’s eyes then rose up to the skyline before him; it was a marvellous sight to behold. For all the terror and crime that shook the people of Gotham, seeing the City like this made it looked tranquil to what he usually knew.

The black cape with yellow undertones flapped around in the wind behind him, rising up with the eastern breeze. Tim inhaled deeply; the air at this height is much cleaner than it is at the bottom. This was a special night for the young hero, he was alone. No Nightwing, not even Batman by his side. He was shocked to hear Bruce allow him to go out alone, although it was exactly what he wanted to hear. Being a sidekick had Tim always at the side of someone, giving him little experience on his own. In the few months that he’d been Robin, he’d never been given a solo mission. A part from his travels to China to finish his training, he’d never been given the honour of being independent. No watching eyes standing over him, he had control of the reigns for once.

His advanced domino mask lay upon his open hand, ready for him to place over his eyes. He did so quickly, fitting it firmly over them, to conceal his identity. Although not as advanced as Batman’s cowl, Robin’s mask contained the same special features, or at least some of them. Detective Vision allows him to spot concealed targets and anything of importance. It doesn’t however have a built in radio, which was placed in his wrist gauntlet, with a small button to activate it. He was still in contact with the Batcave if needed. Robin flicked it up to his mouth, activating it with the other hand. His fingers edited the frequency into that of the GCPD, so he can pick up on anything of importance. Random talk shot about, muggings, car theft, the usual pickings. Then someone passed by which really sounded interesting. “Homicide, 5th and Main, apartment 486. Commissioner Gordon travelling to the scene.” Beeped the woman’s voice over the radio. Gordon, that was a name he knew all too well. If Gordon’s there then it must be good. With the aid of a hand, Tim pushed himself up on the edge. “Let’s roll.” He smirked. With yet another deep breath, he leaped with no second thought from the building. For a short period of time, there was nothing. Suddenly however a cape opened up like a pair of wings, gliding Robin across the streets. His grapnel hook will provide any boost he requires to keep with speed. He flew towards the crime scene at a quick pace.

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When he’d arrived, he’d been greeted by three other police cars and the crime scene unit. No one hassled him, however, or attempted to dissuade him from entering building. Instead they had been expecting him. One who was speaking into the radio in his car tipped his hat to him as he passed him to enter the ground level of the apartment building and then returned to speaking into the radio. Gordon nodded back, biting the end of his pipe between his dry lips as he took a final puff of the sweet tobacco he’d lit on his way out of the station. He snuffed it and dumped it off the stoop as he exhaled the smoke. Then he entered the hallway.

“Commissioner.”

His winced as the dim the fluorescents caught his glasses and the glare blinded him a moment. When he’d adjusted his glasses enough to make out the woman who’d said his name, he offered a smile to Officer Montoya. “Renee, didn’t know you were working tonight. Bullock around too?”

She fell into step with him as he pocketed his pipe and made his way towards the elevator. “He’s talking to the crime scene guys. We heard over the radio you’d be coming so I thought I’d stay down here to fill you in. It’s ugly up there sir.” He allowed her to lead him.

He nodded. In Gotham it was always ugly. It was never pretty and you never wanted to be working when the call of homicide came through the scanner, but if there was one thing it did do it was wake a man who was already coming to the end of his fifth cup of coffee’s caffeine high. “Tell me what we’re dealing with, Renee,” he asked as they stepped into the elevator. From the way the doors creaked he could tell the building was in need of more TLC, but he was focused on Montoya as she pressed the button for the fourth floor.

“Victim’s an African-American female, Pearl Harmon. According to her license, she’s twenty-seven. She’s a nurse at Arkham. So far as we can tell, she was stabbed repeatedly, but Bullock and I agree it wasn’t here.”

Gordon had been listening quietly, homing in when Arkham was mentioned. Already he felt his mouth dry and his blood pressure rise. He’d been given one piece of advice from the former Commissioner, not that he’d trusted Loeb’s opinion on much—he’d wanted him dead not too long ago—and that was how frustrating dealing with the asylum was. Granted it wasn’t typically bad, it wasn’t a walk in the park and dealing its founder was the icing. It wasn’t that he was uncooperative, but it was a feeling Gordon got in his gut. Decades as a cop in Chicago and then Gotham had only taught him that you followed your gut. His gut told him that Dr. Arkham was dirtier than Bullock’s suit after a doughnut run. He just hadn’t proven it yet.

Arkham was set aside at her last bit of news. Now that was interesting.

“I’m awake,” he gruffed and moved to the elevator doors. “Let me guess, no blood in the apartment?” He looked to her as the door opened. She nodded, “Correct, at least there's not enough to account for her injuries.”

“She was found in her own apartment, though, wasn’t she?”

Renee followed him out and that’s when he noticed her distress. Obviously his question made her uncomfortable, but it was only a moment of hesitation before she nodded. “And that’s what makes the crime stranger.”

Gordon shook his head, “You can say that again.” He glanced down the hallway, looking for the apartment, 486. It didn’t take long for him to find it and that was because Bullock was stationed outside questioning who appeared to be a neighbor who’d gotten too curious. Gordon resisted sighing.

“Let’s get this straight. You were right next door but you didn’t hear anything? Not even a peep? Nothing? You wearing earmuffs or something, because if you didn’t know somebody drug her up here and dumped her in there!”

Jim touched his arm, “Harvey, that’ll be enough, I think Renee can take it from there.”

The man turned around and adjusted his dark fedora, grumbling. “Yeah, yeah...if you say so, Commish. She fill you in about what we’re dealing with in here?” He moved to the door and opened it. He let Gordon in first and then filled the door behind him as the Commissioner paused.

He took in the woman, pulled back hair, ripped jeans and her slashed up and bloody t-shirt. She’d fought, that was obvious, but not hard enough, but that wasn’t what had Gordon so still. It was the state of the body. If he hadn’t know it was homicide already, he’d be wanting to check for the a pulse. It was apparent that rigor hadn’t set in yet.

Pearl looked just as if she was still alive.

Bullock must have noticed his expression because he nodded and moved up next to him. “Scary ain’t it? Gives me the creeps at least. I was just telling Montoya before we’d heard you’d pulled up that she ain’t been dead long. Body was still warm when a guy down the hall noticed the door was open and found her.”

Gordon nodded quietly and then turned to him. “Tell me what you know.” It was a familiar question and just as he always did, Jim went held his tongue as Harvey began to explain.

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Rachel still wasn't quite sure why she had gotten the call to come to the apartment complex, especially at this time of night. She scolded herself, musing that she really had to start getting back onto Gotham time-schedules, since the city was practically never still. She should know this..she grew up here. All she knew at this point, though, was that a contact in the GCPD had told her to find Commissioner Gordon at a given address and apartment number, and that time was of importance. Whether her contact was aware of her hiatus from work or not, no-one had said she couldn't investigate things on her own time.

Rubbing her head as she got out of the car and walked to the building, she noted the number of police and cruisers sitting around, and heading inside, decided that this might be easier than originally thought. Stopping an officer, she was directed to head to the fourth floor, Apartment 468, and to check with the officers present there. She thanked him, and soon found herself walking down the hallway toward a female officer, and a person she was talking to.

"Excuse me..I was told to speak with Commissioner Gordon..Could you tell me where he is?"

Curiosity was already piqued, and nagging at her to look around to locate answers for herself about what was going on and why she had been urged to see the Commissioner at this location. What had happened, and what made her friend think that she might need to be included in whatever this was? She hoped that Gordon could clear up all of the questions.

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Multiple cars sat at the bottom of the building below, each with a set of flashing lights upon their roofs. Bright red and blue bursts of light reached Tim who was perched upon the very top of the apartment building, watching the police set up below. He thought it best to grade the situation by inspecting those who came to visit the scene, to which he was pleasantly surprised. The first two detectives on scene arrived just after Tim landed, they were Bullock and Montoya. Both were very able detectives in their own ways, with Bullock having experience and Montoya having the intelligence that her partner does not. Tim had only seen them once or twice in the past, yet Batman was there with him on both occasions, he never said a word unless instructed to.

However a car pulled up later, a car driven by someone Tim didn’t expect to visit a case like this one; Gordon. A man many respect, including Batman and himself. He brought a steely edge to an investigation, providing a sense of security that he was there operating with you, knowing that he won’t rest until the criminal is caught. Over the months, Tim has had the pleasure of speaking with him a handful of times, gaining a great insight into police investigations and the man himself. Not many men have the respect that Batman holds for him, even though their relationship can be strained and tested at times. Perhaps this case would give the growing crime-fighter an opportunity to further work with the great Commissioner himself. He watched through his mask as he walked up and into the building. He guessed it was time for him to move in.

Standing up, Tim didn’t notice the Woman walking along from her parked car towards the entrance. It would be a further surprise if he knew she was here, even though he has never met her. Still though, Bruce has talked in depth about Rachel Dawes, the girl from the DA’s office. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself off the building using his cape as a glider. The cool air ran through his black hair as he fell to the floor in a spiralling motion and at a slowed rate. With in a few moments he was nearing the floor, ready to touch down. Two chatting officers jumped as he landed behind them, crouched down with his cape mostly covering his body. “Jesus, what the hell was that?” One of them said as he dropped the coffee he had in his hand, watching as Robin stood up and glanced at them both with a serious face. “Oh wait, it’s Robin. I guess Batman ain’t holding his hand tonight.” The other one began to laugh, stepping aside as Robin walked in between them, opening the door to the block. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel chatting with a detective yet continued along.

Robin walked into the elevator, watching as various tenants looked at him with strange looks, which was to be expected. Quiet music played as he watched the floors pass by, eventually stopping after a few moments. With a slight ding, the doors opened and he marched out, past even more police officers. To them he was just a child, a child in a stupid Halloween costume. And he knew it. Until he proved himself in a few cases like this one, they’d never respect him as much as Batman. Montoya stood chatting with a woman, who went back into her apartment as their conversation concluded. “Evening, Detective.” Robin said, trying to sound professional while doing so.

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Bullock’s eyes were a blank blackness that proceeded from his iris. He had arrived at the scene with Montoya an hour ago. They were the first homicide detectives to enter the scene. This isn’t the worst or even closest to the worst homicide that he had ever seen. The worst one that came to mind was a massacre in Gotham East.

Forty-five bodies of an assortment of drug dealers and drug addicts along with armed gunman. Blood everywhere, DNA samples completely destroyed and mixed. That was the worst. But some individual scenes such as this one, with a lone victim, and a crude way of dying (twenty-seven stabs conceding around the esophagus, larynx, corpus callosum, and genitalia). This woman must have experienced so much pain and loss of blood, likely along with internal bleeding that her body systems were shutting down as she came back to her apartment. Bullock cleared his throat and replied with ease and a swiftness that other officers admired and hoped for when talking about the crime.

“Commish. I arrived at the scene an hour ago along with Montoya; the victim was identified as Pearl Harmon, African-American and age twenty-seven and two months. The victim, according to neighbors was a sensitive and honest woman, working harder than everyone else, and usually sedentary. Tenants say that an awful odorous stench was coming from her section of the apartment complex. Little did they know that it was a nice clean up job by whoever did this. There was no blood trace evidence when we found her around 10:26. However what blood she has is stale, it isn’t recent.” Bullock paused, almost out of breath but taking just enough to continue and swallow his anger. “I’ve checked police records on Pearl and she doesn’t come up. She had one speeding ticket a year ago, and hasn’t had one since. She doesn’t have any family in the area, except for a Carla James. No relation except for work I believe. But I’ll be sending Tommy over there to get her statement and do some work.”

He paused again and looks around, noticing that he forgot to tell the Commissioner about his and Montoya’s viewpoints. He begins walking into the apartment now, police tape and forensic photographers everywhere. “Alright, everybody out! Lets go one, two, get your butts out!!” The majority of the people left in a heartbeat, others were slow to leave but grudgingly respected the detective’s wishes.

“So Commish…uh- Oh right here, you see this slick of blood on the wall, we believe that the was the killers blood. He must have cut himself trying to dispose of the body. But, and I’m sure the medical examiner will notice this.” He puts on special gloves and turns Pearl’s body over. Eyeing the awful bruises and pale coloration on her back. “She has bruises, it looks like she resisted before dying…. You see this black mark on her scapula... that can be traced back..." He swiftly moves, almost falling over because of the equipment to the white and grey wall to the right of the commissioner. “To this wall. There is a massive bruise there. She may have cut the killer and then he threw her from the wall to the ground, breaking her neck.” Bullock was out of breath. “That’s all I got boss.”

This had been a terrible crime, but Bullock feels and knows that the killer will come to justice. Though he wouldn’t mind a bagel or somethin’. Bread always makes the mind softer and malleable. You can think and you can dream anything once your stomach is full, and right now his stomach was empty- real empty.

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Renee was questioning the neighbor when she caught the Assistant District Attorney stepping down the hall, though she made sure to keep her focus on her job until Rachel interrupted. “Hold just a minute,” she told the woman who seemed to shrink against the wall as Montoya turned and placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. She led her to the door of the victim’s apartment and opened it.

“Commissioner, Dawes is here from the Attorney’s office.” She shut the door behind her, leaving Rachel with the Commissioner, Bullock, and the crime scene unit. Jim looked up and nodded to her, “Ms. Dawes. Just give me a moment and I'll explain why we called for you. But feel free to listen to Dectective Bullock I know his information will prove useful.” He removed his attention from the woman and returned it to Harvey. “Go on, Harvey,” he said and placed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks as Bullock began with the biography and ethnic profile of the victim.

She was single. Pearl was just another woman out to figure out her life in Gotham, settle down, he supposed and have a family. She was demure and respectful if her worst offense was a speeding ticket. As Gordon listened he again found himself staring at the victim. It was crude how she was displayed, like she was nothing but trash to be beaten, broken, and then left to be found. She was innocent in the light of day, kept herself in the dark of night. He could already tell she didn’t take many risks. She didn’t go out drinking. She was harmless and yet someone had taken advantage of that. Someone had snuffed out her candle, while he could already imagine how she got the speeding ticket. Late to work, in a rush. The only time she wasn’t herself. She probably was upset about it.

Jim could distance himself and appear to be listening. But seeing these deaths it never got easier on the soul. Every body they found was his wife, his daughter, or his son. All he did was distance himself on the outside and tried not to take it with him when he came home at night and crawled into the bed beside his wife.

When Harvey moved to family, the commissioner regained his focus. He needed to know who had to be contacted. He lifted his hand. “Carla James,” he asked, “how is she related to our victim?” He needed to know. You did not comfort a sister the same you did an aunt, for instance. All required sympathy and consoling by the officer to the family, but relations required different techniques and it got more complicated depending on where in the other person’s structure of family the relation fit. Carla could be her aunt, but have raised her for instance. Still it was good to have an idea on just what needed to be said. Plans were always good. He needed that structure. Commissioner Gordon was in a serious mode because this wasn’t a crime of simplicity. One stab wound, maybe two and it was casual killing: robbery, mugging, simple. But she’d been strapped multiple times, an in specific and measurable areas—he’d know the actual number once the autopsy was performed, but he could see where the blows were concentrated. This was a passionate killing. It was personal. If was simple crime Gordon might have been able to chuckle as Bullock demanded the photographers and other evidence gathers to vacate the scene, but it was a homicide and crime of apparent vendetta and anger. Gordon doesn’t even crack a smile. He remained stationary.

His eyes first to go to the blood on the wall to the bruise Harvey reveals on Pearl’s back. They end on the dent in the plaster. Pearl might have been sedentary, but she was a fighter when she needed to be. He sincerely hoped she’d cut her attacker. He wanted her to have been underestimated. She deserved to have her justice like the other unnamed homicides.

“She fought back, and yet no one heard anything,” he lifted his gaze back to Bullock. “You and Montoya question everyone again. Someone knows something. They saw or heard something they aren't telling us.” With that said he turned back to Rachel. “Sorry, Ms. Dawes, I know you were probably looking forward to sleep. Since the FBI incident here in Gotham, the D.A.’s office has been moving that we get them more involved here in Gotham. I figured since we’ll be needing your help I’d involve you from the very beginning. You’re going to be very close in this investigation. I trust you, Ms. Dawes, you want as much good for this city as me.”

As he moved to allowed the photographer’s back in, Renee has just met the newest visitor. “If it isn’t you? You running solo tonight? I shouldn’t let you in,” she crossed her arms, “but that’s not because you’re any less worrysome than Batman, but because you’re a child. They don’t have any business seeing this kind of thing. Only thing that has me really wondering what goes through tall and dark’s head.”

“Robin,” Gordon’s voice echoes the same surprise as Renee’s. It was also obvious that he was having the same dilemma Renee is. He nodded to him, however, after a moment. “You want to help. You’re trained,” he sighed. “If you think you can handle this, I can get you up to speed. I think it’s better you don’t see the body, though.” He glanced back inside to make sure the body was being loaded.

Into the black bag it went. Gordon heard the slide of the zipper. He moved from the doorway to let Tim enter.