Anna wore a surgical mask, but she still pinched her nose as she picked her way across moss-slick rocks behind Edward and Otis. The smell of rotting seaweed, industrial runoff, and underneath it all, the sweet-sick stench of decay was overwhelming. The reported location was a shallow shore near an old sewage outlet, where the Gotham River met the industrial district's drainage system. Several grotesquely twisted limbs had been pushed by the tide onto a pile of gravel and debris.
"This is the spot, Mr. Nygma," she said, forcing down the nausea rising in her stomach. She pointed at the waterlogged tissue fragments wedged between the rocks. "And these too. More over there by the outflow pipe."
Edward crouched down, his rubber-gloved hands prodding a severed arm. He examined it for a long moment, turning it slightly, studying the cut marks and discoloration.
"No significant blood at the discovery site," he muttered, more to himself than to them. "The skin shows prolonged immersion, severe wrinkling, blanched appearance..." He tapped his cane toward the circular sewage outlet about ten meters away, which continuously spewed brown water. "Tissue edema is pronounced. Edges abraded by flowing water and debris. These weren't dismembered here. They were carried downstream by the current and caught here by rocks and waste."
His eyes traced the flow pattern.
Otis let out a low exclamation from behind a cluster of rusted metal debris, probably old shopping carts and construction materials dumped illegally. "Mr. Nygma! Officer Anna! Over here... there's another body!"
Anna scrambled over the rocks, nearly losing her footing on a patch of algae. Behind the metal wreckage lay a male corpse, face-down in a shallow pool of brackish water. Unlike the dissected body parts scattered along the shore, this corpse was mostly intact. The right hand was missing from the wrist down, and there were visible bruises on the exposed skin. But the most striking detail was the knife wound slashed across the neck, deep enough to have severed the carotid in one clean cut. And he was completely naked. Not a stitch of clothing left. Even his shoes were gone. Except for the metal skull mask still firmly strapped to his face.
"One of Black Mask's crew," she said quietly. "Looks like even the vagrants know that mask's trouble. They stripped him clean but didn't touch it."
Edward stepped forward.
"The cut is precise. But the method is completely different from the dismemberment work."
He straightened up and turned to Anna. "Could I trouble you to go back to the car? I believe there's a larger evidence bag in the trunk. There's more here than we initially expected, and we'll need proper documentation for the scene."
"Of course." Anna didn't question it. She was honestly grateful for an excuse to get away from the smell for a few minutes. She picked her way back across the rocks toward where they'd parked the patrol car on the access road above the shore.
Once she was out of earshot, Edward turned to Otis. "Those dismembered remains were treated with chemicals, likely formaldehyde, bleach, possibly other reagents. Many details have been concealed or destroyed. But you know better than most that a rat's sense of smell is approximately ten times sharper than a dog's, and at least fifty times more sensitive than a human's. Especially when it comes to blood and chemical traces."
He gestured toward the pale remains scattered across the shore.
"I need you to have them remember this scent. Gotham's sewer system is a labyrinth. But rats are the native inhabitants of that world. They can trace this scent back to its source better than any bloodhound or forensic technique we possess."
Otis glanced at the remains, and something like fear flickered across his face. But his trust in Edward made him nod firmly. He moved to a relatively clear area of wet gravel, pulled a small bag of food scraps from his jacket pocket, and began to whistle. It wasn't a tune, exactly. More like a series of rhythmic, lilting sounds. Bastien was the first to emerge, crawling out of Otis' collar and perching on his shoulder, whiskers twitching. Almost immediately, rustling sounds rose from cracks in the rocks, from inside the corroded pipes, from the shadows beneath the debris. Dozens of rats at first, then hundreds, poured out. They gathered at Otis' feet.
"Wow," Edward said softly. "What an interesting bunch of good kids you have."
The rats swarmed over the food scraps in seconds, devouring everything. Then they began to move restlessly around the remains, tiny noses twitching violently as they sampled the air, memorizing the scent. After a short while, Otis straightened up and gave a sharp, commanding whistle. The gathered swarm scattered instantly, moving along the shoreline toward the sewage outlet and the labyrinth of tunnels beyond. More rats emerged from hiding places to join them. Within moments, they were gone. The only evidence of their presence was disturbed gravel and a few scattered droppings.
Edward smiled slightly, already making notes in a small journal. "Now we wait and see what they find."
---
Marco stared at the paper bag in his hands. Inside were two Happy Meals, each with a cheap plastic toy. One was a Snoopy figure; the other claimed to be a dinosaur, though it looked more like a deformed chicken.
"Is this really going to cut it?" he muttered to himself, peering at the toys with doubt. "Honestly, I kind of forgot about them."
He was parked outside the Gotham Charity Clinic. He'd been on patrol, running through his usual route, when they'd driven past the clinic and it had hit him: the Row kids. The siblings he'd left with Dr. Thompkins over a month ago. He'd been so buried in work that he'd completely forgotten to check in on them.
"Shit," he said aloud. "My reputation's probably worse than CPS at this point."
Darnell, sitting in the driver's seat, snorted. "At least you remembered eventually. That's more than most people would do."
"That's a low bar, man."
Marco grabbed the bag and a large bouquet of flowers from the back seat and headed inside. Darnell followed, looking vaguely amused. The receptionist nurse recognized Marco and smiled. "Captain Vitale. Let me call Dr. Thompkins, she's with a patient right now, but she should be free in a few minutes."
"No problem. Thanks."
Darnell placed the flowers on the reception desk and immediately leaned against it, striking up a conversation with the nurse. Within thirty seconds, he had her laughing. Within a minute, he looked like he was about to unbutton his shirt to show off his "work injuries." Marco shook his head and wandered down the hallway with his hands in his pockets. The clinic was busier than usual, probably because of the gang war. Every hospital and clinic in Gotham was overflowing with gunshot wounds, stab wounds, burns, and every other kind of violence the city could produce.
As he passed one of the treatment rooms, he noticed a long line of people inside. At first, he didn't think much of it. But something about the scene nagged at him. He stopped, backed up a few steps, and looked again.
Low-level thugs, street enforcers, guys with gang tattoos covering their arms, a couple of faces he vaguely recognized from prior arrests... And they were all standing in a neat, orderly line, holding their medication.
That didn't make sense.
Sure, nobody would start trouble in Thompkins' clinic, everyone in Gotham knew she was off-limits. But lining up like obedient schoolchildren? That wasn't thug behavior.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
More than a dozen patients stood in line, each holding their own prescriptions or medication. At the front of the line was an injection station, where two nurses were preparing IV bags and syringes. And next to them, standing on a small stool so she could reach the table properly, was a six-year-old girl with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a surgical mask and administering an intravenous injection to a patient.
He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The kid holding the syringe was definitely Harper.
"Don't move around," she was saying seriously, adjusting the needle in the back of a massively obese man's hand. "You're really fat. Your veins are hard to find. I might not get it on the first try."
The guy sitting at the injection table probably weighed over a hundred and thirty kilos. His arms were covered in prison tattoos. But instead of getting angry at being insulted by a kid, he just smiled and nodded apologetically.
"That's fine. I really am too fat. You can stick me a few more times if you need to."
What the fuck am I looking at?
Fortunately, Harper inserted the needle cleanly on the first try. Blood flowed steadily into the IV line. She taped the needle in place, then looked up and spotted Marco. Her eyes lit up, and she waved.
"Hi, Officer Vitale! Are you here to see a doctor?"
"No, I came to see you. Brought you a meal... you hungry?"
"Yeah!"
Harper turned to the line of patients behind her and waved dismissively. "That's it for today. See you tomorrow."
A chorus of disappointed groans rose from the line. But when they saw the captain's insignia on Marco, nobody complained too loudly. They just shuffled over to line up in front of the other two nurses instead, grumbling under their breath.
Harper hopped down from her stool and followed Marco out of the treatment room. He could still hear the chaotic shouting from inside as patients argued over who was next in line.
"So... uh..." Marco chose his words, trying not to discourage her enthusiasm while also making sure she understood the risks. "Did Dr. Thompkins hire you to do this?"
"No," Harper said, shaking her head. "I just watched for a while. Then she said I could practice hands-on for a little bit every day as long as I followed proper sterile procedure."
You learned IV insertion from watching? Marco thought incredulously. You really are a born-and-bred Gothamite.
"You know a lot of diseases are contagious, right? And you're still young. Your immune system isn't fully developed—"
"Yes," she interrupted, nodding seriously. "That's exactly why I need to learn how to do things properly and avoid danger as much as possible. Isn't it the same for police officers?"
"Yeah, I guess that's true. But I'm a captain now, so—"
"Mm." Harper nodded solemnly. "It's good for a man to have career ambitions."
Marco slapped his forehead, at a complete loss for words. He watched her skip off toward the front desk where Thompkins was finishing up with a patient.
"Hey, Marco," Thompkins said, looking up with a tired smile.
"Hey, Doc." Marco shook her hand. "Gordon hasn't been around much lately, has he?"
"You didn't hear? The whole GCPD's been running themselves ragged trying to keep up with this Black Mask situation. Even my clinic hasn't had a moment's peace." She let out a weary sigh. "But that's Gotham. It's always something. And I hear the new police commissioner hasn't even taken office yet, and he's already talking about tightening discipline and cleaning house."
Tightening discipline? During a gang war? Marco thought. Is this guy an idiot?
Before he could respond, two gang members burst through the front door, carrying a third man whose abdomen was pouring blood. The injured man was conscious but pale, his shirt soaked through.
"Doctor! Doctor! Help!"
Thompkins immediately snapped into emergency mode, calling for orderlies to bring a stretcher. Harper picked up her McDonald's bag and tried to follow along to watch. Marco grabbed her by the shoulder, steered her toward the stairs, and sent her up to the second floor where Cullen was reading in one of the recovery rooms.
Only then did he leave the clinic, shaking his head.
---
Back at the East End precinct, the station house was relatively quiet for once. Most of the units were out on patrol, trying to maintain some kind of order while the gang war raged on the West Side.
A man wearing a tattered shirt and shorts stood at the front desk, trembling as he tried to file a report. The officer on desk duty was listlessly scribbling something on an incident form. When he saw Marco walk in, he immediately perked up and raised a hand.
"Hey, Captain!"
"Hey, Marcus. Why're you stuck on desk duty?"
Before Marcus could answer, the man in shorts rushed over and grabbed Marco's hand. "Captain! You have to help me!"
"Whoa, easy." Marco extracted his hand and picked up the incident report form. Only the complainant's name had been written down so far: George Harkness.
"What happened?"
Marcus shrugged. "Just Gotham's warm welcome to tourists. Adding an unforgettable memory to his life."
Harkness was practically vibrating with anxiety. "I was walking through an alley... I know, I know, stupid idea... and I saw this lady fall down. Her purse dropped. I was just going to help her, you know? Pick it up, give it back. But then someone hit me from behind, knocked me out cold. When I woke up..." He gestured helplessly at his clothes. "This. They took everything..."
The tattered shirt he was wearing looked like it had been pulled out of a dumpster. It smelled like it too.
"My condolences," Marco said, patting him on the shoulder. "Look on the bright side, at least you survived. That means you got the authentic Gotham experience. Most tourists just get mugged. You got the full welcome package."
Harkness stared at him, clearly not sure if Marco was joking or serious.
Marcus handed Marco the completed incident form. "I'll file it, but honestly? We're not getting his stuff back. Half the city's on fire, and we're supposed to track down one mugger?"
"I know." Marco signed the form and handed it back. "Process it anyway. Do what we can."
He turned back to Harkness. "File a report with your credit card companies. Cancel everything. And next time you're in Gotham? Don't stop to help people in alleys. I know that sounds cynical, but it'll keep you alive."
Harkness nodded miserably, still shivering in his garbage clothes.
Marco watched him shuffle toward the exit, then turned to Marcus. "Seriously, why are you on desk duty?"
"Rodriguez called in sick. Someone had to cover." Marcus leaned back in his chair. "How's the patrol looking out there?"
"Quiet for now." Marco glanced at the clock. "But it's early. Give it a few hours."
---
---
40 Advance Chapters!
Visit my profile page for more information.