CHAPTER ELEVEN
DISILLUSION
* * *
Utility Tunnel System / Gotham / 7:13 p.m. / Present Day The Batman rolled unseen beneath the city. The occasional rat that had the misfortune of entering the subterranean tunnel might, if it survived the first instant of the encounter, have been terrified by the sudden passing of a great, invisible blackness above them, the tearing sound of its wheels running against the walls of the corridor. The blackness would be gone before the creature could even register its primal fear.
The holographic displays in the cockpit gave Batman a perfect view of Gotham Power and Light trunk conduit 824LL flowing past him at tremendous speed. It was a night-vision interpretation of the GP&L tunnel, perfectly clear to Batman’s eyes even though the conduit outside his craft was completely dark. He reached up with his left hand, touching a virtual display of a cascade of course turn-points that floated in the air in front of him.
Intersect at GP&L trunk M17…access shaft bc418…Dillon abandoned line past station…Coventry service track to GP&L Trunk AUX25…
The analysis of the paper the invitations had been printed on had yielded an actionable clue. The paper in every instance had come from Gruidae Paper Company located in the Upper West Side manufacturing district. The company’s ownership was obscure, but the word Gruidae referred to the scientific classification of the family of birds of which Cranes were a part.
Jonathan Crane, Batman thought, better known as the Scarecrow.
This crime fit the criminal’s modus operandi well, but not perfectly. Scarecrow primarily motivated and manipulated his subjects through their deepest fears. Memory alteration or false memory implantation was on the face of it similar, but while it would have been appreciated by the Master of Fear, it also would have been a departure for the obsessive Crane.
I’ll ask him when I see him.
The destination in the course window read Gruidae Paper Company.
Batman was satisfied with the computed course and pushed the graphic window further off to one side. He spoke the keyword for the computer’s voice access as though it were the car’s name.
“Kronos: Open file Dante one-six-two-five-one-seven,” he said.
A window opened on the virtual display to his right. The frame above the display was labeled “Case File Dante: Voiceprint, Proximity Secure.”
The Batmobile slowed only slightly as it came to the intersection with the main trunk line utility tunnel, riding the conduit rails fixed in the tunnels like a steel-tube roller coaster. The change in the angular momentum pressed Batman into the molded contours of his seat. The navigation program was functioning perfectly as the power conduits, gas and water pipes, and their wall mountings flashed past him at a dizzying rate on the displays. Batman focused on the new window and its glowing contents, reaching out with his right hand and moving the Dante file until it was centered in his field of vision.
He frowned at the contents scrolling down before him.
It was a compendium of information, pieces of a puzzle not yet put in their proper places.
Richter, Ernst (PhD, virology, genetics, eugenics)
Born: 28 October 1909, Munich, Germany
Died: 2 April 1958, Gotham City
Married: Juliet Renoir (PhD, neuropsychology) 16 May 1943, Sacré-Coeur, Montmartre, Paris (deceased: 20 November 1983 in Arkham Asylum, Gotham City, of complications following onset of pneumonia while under treatment for dementia) Immigration to United States: Classified (OSS)
Batman paused for a moment as the vehicle banked sharply and then zoomed upward through the access shaft to the abandoned subway line above. Alfred’s father, Jarvis Pennyworth, had been a member of the OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, during the Second World War. Old Jarvis had entered service with the Wayne family shortly after the war, bringing his wife and newborn son. That Ernst Richter had been in Paris during the Nazi occupation of France was apparent given the time and place of his marriage. His immigration to the United States was smoothed over by an OSS operation. The information request on the details of the operation itself was still in process through a series of intermediaries and would take a few days to retrieve. The problem was the age of the information: most of the files had not yet been converted into digital form, and so clearance and retrieval took time. Still, it was obviously another piece of the puzzle, a thread of a connection between the Pennyworth and Richter families, but it did not explain why Alfred would lie about having any knowledge of the haunted woman he had found on the grounds.
As for Amanda Richter, she was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit no matter what he did. Batman read on.
Children: 2
Marion Maria Richter (born: 29 February 1944, Berlin, Germany / deceased: 16 May 1979 in Arkham Asylum) Amanda Dora Richter (born: 14 August 1947, Fort Bliss, Texas / deceased: 16 May 1973 in Arkham Asylum from complications resulting from drug overdose) Batman scowled. He had long since come to believe that coincidence was only a fool’s excuse for a pattern not yet understood. That all three of the Richter women would pass away within the walls of Arkham was taunting him. Both daughters passing away on their parents’ wedding anniversary? That was a coincidence he heard in his mind as mocking laughter, sneering at his intellect.
The Amanda he had met claimed to be Richter’s daughter, but according to the record she was dead. Even if she were alive, the birth date indicated she would be in her sixties by now. Yet Amanda appeared to have information and insights into her father—his father—which no one else could have known.
My father was the foundation of all that I am.
I do what I do because of my father.
Batman shook slightly to clear his head from the dark reverie that was overcoming him. He frowned in disgust at himself for losing concentration. Several screens of data had flowed past him unread and unregistered in his conscious thought. He picked up the thread of the words again.
…had been rumored but unproven. Richter’s research applications were denied on five separate occasions by the Gotham University Hospital Board of Directors. These applications were titled (in order of their submission): a. Chemical Memory and Behavioral Modification: Practical Applications in Social Reform b. Genetic Dreams: False Memories and Ancestral Influences on Behavioral Science c. Criminal Disease: Curing Behavioral Predisposition Through Inoculation and Viral Transmission d. Eugenics: A New Approach
e. Contagious Thought: Genetic Implementation of Subliminal and False Memory Thought Batman considered the list of proposal topics. Behavioral modification and false memory certainly fit the symptoms from which Commissioner Gordon and a number of Gotham’s leading citizens were suffering. Chemical memory and using a virus to transmit them through the invitation cards presented a host of problems, but also seemed to fit the facts. That Fay Moffit, the Spellbinder, was also operating under these same kinds of delusions meant that someone higher in the criminal food chain of Gotham was pulling everyone’s strings. Whoever was behind this appeared to have gained access to Richter’s research.
Research funded by my father.
Batman frowned, his voice turning to a snarl as he spoke.
“Kronos: Close file. Open file Alpha zero-zero-one-dash-zero-zero-zero-one.”
The Richter file vanished, replaced at once by a new window glowing in front of him. Two achingly familiar faces stared back at him side by side from the page.
Father…Mother…
Batman’s upper lip curled slightly.
The pain is always there; the demon fire that warms my soul. You have to feed hatred; feed rage; feed it daily…
“Heading: Background, Sinclair—”
A red, pulsing phrase appeared in the upper left corner of his vision, asking if he wished to abandon his current navigational course.
“No! File heading: Background, Sinclair, Denholm.”
The course change notice vanished and the file display scrolled down in a blur, stopping suddenly at a line in bold type and large siz
e.
Sinclair, Denholm
Born: 18 August 1932, Upper East Side, Gotham
Died: 16 February 1958 (REF: Gotham Globe)
Batman reached out with his gloved hand, tapping at the newspaper reference in the air. The window was instantly replaced with a vertical frame and a scan of a page from the Globe dated February 16, 1958.
Fatal Orphanage Fire Deemed “Suspicious”
Man Held for Questioning
Accomplice Sought
Gotham City—The disastrous fire at a Kane Foundation orphanage, where it is believed seventeen children died in the early hours of last Thursday morning in the Copper Street blaze, has been called “suspicious in nature” by investigators for the Gotham Fire Department. The fire, which completely gutted the historic former site of a Civil War hospital, engulfed the building within thirty minutes of its initial report. Unnamed sources confirmed the investigation has found evidence of the use of accelerants at multiple, simultaneous ignition points. The fire alarm within the building appears to have been pulled in advance of the fire starting, and the automatic sprinkler system appears to have been compromised.
Most of the deaths occurred on the eighth floor in the deaf children’s wing, where the fire alarms went unheeded. Staff normally assigned to the floor were suspiciously absent.
Denholm Sinclair, a man with alleged underworld ties, is being held by police for questioning in connection with the tragedy. According to police sources, Mr. Sinclair had been a person of interest in an ongoing investigation of fraud concerning recent transfers of funds through the orphanage accounts. An office worker at the orphanage in charge of those funds and an associate of Mr. Sinclair, Celia Kazantzakis, is currently also being sought by the authorities ...
The navigation display on his left chimed, its destination pulsing with a digital readout counting down three minutes until arrival.
Batman suddenly frowned again, reaching out with his gloved hand and stopping the slowly scrolling news-article display with his index finger. He flicked it downward, the words of the archived newspaper image blurring in their rush. He arrested its movement with a jab of his finger.
…where it is believed seventeen children died in the early hours of last Thursday morning in the Copper Street blaze…
He reached over with his left hand, dragging the navigation display next to the article.
Destination in 00:45 / Gruidae Paper Company / 1628 Copper Street.
“Kronos: new search,” Batman said louder than he intended. “One-six-two-eight Copper Street in Gotham City.”
A third display opened.
Search: 1628 Copper Street / Gotham
1781: Street address established
1781: Erasmus Parkinson Farm
1824: Williams Bros. Greater Gotham Development Fellowship 1827: St. Brigid’s Hospital
1850: Sampson’s Liver Pill Establishment
1862: Gotham War Veterans Hospital (historic site)
1915: Swensen Storage
1932: Bank of Gotham (repossessed)
1939: International Trade Building
1947: Copper Street Orphanage
1954: Kane Foundation Orphanage
The navigation display appeared again: “Autopilot disengaging in 00:10.”
Batman reached forward and gripped the control yoke, gritting his teeth.
There is no such thing as coincidence…
* * *
Wayne Manor / Bristol / 7:37 a.m. / February 16, 1958
“Master Wayne…Miss Kane is…”
Martha pushed past Jarvis Pennyworth, nearly toppling the elder butler into the solarium. She wore a tight pink cardigan sweater with a white scarf tied around her neck and dark, pedal-pusher slacks. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had a fresh look about her, except for her eyes, which were red, and the tears streaking down her creamy cheeks.
“Tommy! Oh, Tommy, you have to help him!”
Thomas stood up from the table at once, nearly spilling his coffee onto his breakfast plate of eggs Benedict. He laid his paper down at once, taking care to place it with the front page down against the table, hiding the headlines that had already fallen down around him. He knew why she was here, dreaded why she was here. “Martha! What is it?”
She ran toward him, brushing past the tropical plants that flourished beneath the glass roof and the walls that held the snowfall of winter at bay. She was sobbing as she ran, her shoes slapping against the inlaid stones.
Thomas barely had time to open his arms before she threw her own arms around him, pressing her head into his shoulder. Thomas flushed slightly at the feel of her firm body pressed against him, her warmth joining with his own and the smooth curve of her back suddenly somehow beneath his hands.
“Master Wayne, perhaps I may be of some assistance to Miss Kane—”
“No, Jarvis,” Thomas said at once. “That will be all. Thank you.”
Jarvis quickly vanished, the door to the solarium closing instantly and silently behind him.
Thomas held her.
He had dreamed of holding her, spent untold time lost in thoughts of holding her, and fantasized of this moment in a thousand different times and places and circumstances. Now the moment had come, with him standing in his open-collar shirt and slacks in the midst of palm trees, rubber plants, and orchids in the humid heat while snow fell softly beyond the glass in the cold world beyond. He knew the moment could never last; the spell would be broken in a moment when she spoke the words that would drive nails through his heart. But he held onto her, drinking the totality of her into his soul and memory so that he would at least have this one moment for his own to keep him warm when he went back into the cold of his reality.
“It’s Denny!” she sobbed into his shoulder. “They’ve arrested him! They’re saying terrible things about him!”
The moment was over.
“Yes, Martha,” Thomas said, his hand reaching up to pat her on the back. “I know.”
Martha pulled away, her tear-streaked face gazing up at him with searching eyes. “But it isn’t true! It can’t be true…all those horrible lies they’re telling about him!”
“Martha, I don’t know,” Thomas lied.
He did know. His father had brought the news to him first, having been informed of it by the Office of the District Attorney, which was generously paid to keep Patrick Wayne informed. Thomas had vehemently denied it to his father’s face that Saturday morning and, as a result, given his father the perfect opportunity to drag his son downtown and prove him wrong. The evidence compiled by the DA had been overwhelming—the recovered double ledgers from the orphanage, the various bank accounts, the matching trail of embezzlement and payoffs. Celia Kazantzakis had unquestionably been Denholm Sinclair’s partner in the theft, urging Martha to provide additional donations to the orphanage and then managing to move the funds off the books. Thomas had known from Lew Moxon that Denholm had been working for the Cesar Rossetti mob, but had no idea how deeply involved he had become—or how indebted he was to Cesar’s bookie operation. The payments on his debts had gotten out of hand, and the orphanage embezzlement was growing proportionately. Now Celia had fled, her Pan Am tickets were traced to Canada, where she may have purchased tickets to Spain under a different name. The police were still trying to work that out. But the authorities had caught Denholm near the orphanage shortly after the fire broke out and had subsequently discovered that he had purchased large quantities of paint thinner and kerosene earlier that previous Wednesday.
And then there was the confession he had signed.
“You’ve got to help him, Tommy!” Martha pleaded.
“I don’t know what I can—”
“Thomas Wayne, don’t you dare tell me you can’t help Denny!” Martha said, pulling suddenly back away from him. “He is your friend! He’s good and kind and…and…oh, Thomas, I know he has his rough side, and maybe he’s done some things that he isn’t proud of…but he’s good inside and I…I…”
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br /> “You love him,” Thomas said, though the words fell from his lips as cold and soft as the snowfall outside.
Martha, lost in her own pain, heard only what she wanted to hear and smiled through her tears. “You do understand, don’t you? Oh, Tommy, please fix this for me. Please make it right.”
Thomas drew in a deep breath.
Fix this for me.
Thomas nodded. “All right, Martha. I’ll take care of it. You go home and I’ll call you this afternoon.”
Martha threw her arms around him once more. “Thank you, Tommy! You’re the best!”
Holding her was not the same this time, perhaps because he knew what would follow.
Thomas watched her as she hurried away out of the solarium. As soon as he could no longer hear her footfalls, he reached down to the phone on the table. It was time to fix Martha’s problem. He picked up the receiver, his finger rapidly dialing the number he had dialed so many times in the past few months.
He waited only a few minutes before the other end of the line picked up.
“Dr. Richter, please…Doctor? My apologies for bothering you this morning, but I needed you to take care of something at once…No, I’m afraid it has to be today…How many test subjects have you gotten reassigned from the criminal wing? Three?…Well, I need you to get another one transferred into our project at once. If you’ll file the recommendation by two this afternoon, I think I can…No, right away. You’ll need to make sure the cell is prepared and let me know as soon as the paperwork is filed so I can arrange for the transfer on my end.”
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