Patchwork

The moment Gordon walked into the police station, he knew something was wrong. Everyone’s face, man or woman, officer or detective, was sad and angry. Nobody acknowledged his presence as he entered, and he crossed the lobby quickly to the main desk.

“Lyle-” he began, only to be cut off.

“Detective Murray wants to see you in major crimes,” the officer at the desk said, not meeting his eyes. “Said he’d be the one to tell you.”

Gordon turned on his heel, crossed the rest of the lobby, and pushed through the door leading to the departments. Here, he saw, it was even worse. Detective huddled in tight groups, clutching their coffee and looking murderously over their shoulders between mutters.

He slammed through the door to the MCU, and walked into a land of silence. All of the detectives sat at their desks, staring woodenly at their papers. Gordon knew that look. He’d seen a lot of it before the Joker was sent to Arkham.

Rick Murray was the only detective not at his desk. He leaned against the wall outside Gordon’s office, which he’d kept despite his position as police commissioner. What made Gordon nervous was that Rick, one of the few detectives from his original MCU who wasn’t corrupt, looked about ready to cross the thin blue line and lay waste.

Before Gordon could say a word, Rick spotted him.

“Commissioner,” he said simply, nodding his head at Gordon’s office.

After they’d both entered and Rick closed the door, Gordon sighed. “How bad is it, Rick?”

“You know Joe Carleson, one of the blues helping us out with Sarah Parker?”

Gordon sat down in his chair with a groan and put his head in his hands. “He had a family, too. A little girl and everything.”

Rick was silent for a few moments, until Gordon looked up at him. In response to the unstated question, Rick cleared his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know about his daughter,” he said thickly, clearly fighting back emotion. Seeing Gordon’s face, he explained, “It wasn’t just Carleson. His whole apartment building was blown up. Twenty apartments, tally is at about forty-five people.”

Gordon let his head sink back into his hands, unable to speak.

“Bomb squad got there early this morning. They don’t have an official report back yet, but the sergeant said that it was most likely C-4, judging from the damage. His official opinion was that whoever set this up was sick.”

Gordon gave a grunt that was half question, half acknowledgement.

“There wasn’t enough explosives to blow up the building,” Rick continued. “Just enough to cause major structural damage and drop one wall. But the bombs set off the gas drums that were in there and started the place on fire.” As if sensing Gordon’s impending question, he rushed onward. “Which might not have been so devastating, but one of the bombs blew up the fire escape. No survivors.”

“Sounds like the Joker,” Gordon said quietly, his voice muffled by his hands. He sat there in silence for a long time, lost in thought. Why would the Joker go after poor Carleson? He’d killed officers before, but those had always been carefully chosen targets that were somehow significant. But Carleson?

He realized suddenly that Rick was still there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot as he waited. Gordon raised his head, looking at him.

“Anything else?” he asked quietly.

“Four nurses, three doctors, and two other hospital staff.”

“Sarah!” Immediately Gordon was on his feet.

“Gone, sir,” Rick replied. “And we found this on her bed.”

Maintaining a safe distance, he handed over plastic evidence bag. Inside were two cards. One, the Joker, was familiar to him. This one was only different in that someone had colored the face of the character on the card like the Joker’s. The other card was a queen, her face covered in tiny black lines.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said.

Gordon ignored him. He sank slowly back into his chair, thinking as he did so.

“Get the mayor down here now.”

Rick turned to go, pausing only long enough for Gordon to add, “Make sure I get two copies of all the files.”

Gordon stared at the two cards, praying that Batman would be willing to help. He sighed. It was a long time until dark.