After seeing off the Star City delegation, Marco had stayed at the station for forty-eight hours straight. Only after Raven confirmed that she no longer sensed any danger did he finally feel comfortable enough to resume regular patrol.
The moment he climbed into the assault vehicle that morning, a box caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He shot Darnell a look. That guy not only showed zero curiosity about the mysterious box, but was also urging him to hurry up and get on the road.
That was suspicious as hell.
He climbed back out, yanked open the rear door, and flipped the box open. Sure enough, underneath was an electric heating stove, bolted straight into the floor of the vehicle with industrial-grade screws.
"Tell me what the hell this is!"
"Well..." Darnell scratched the back of his head, not quite meeting Marco's eyes. "People gotta eat, right? I'm sick of donuts."
Marco pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, then let it out slowly. He pulled his collar aside to show Darnell his shoulder insignia.
"I'm a captain now. You really think it's appropriate for me to be parked on the street corner making pancakes? You've got zero respect for me!"
"Uh..." Darnell spread his hands. "Hey, isn't that an East End tradition at this point? Besides, you never took the chief seriously anyway, so why start caring about appearances now?"
"Hmm? Someone call me?"
Bob, who just happened to be walking past at exactly the wrong moment, stopped and looked over in confusion.
"Nothing, Chief." Marco waved Darnell back toward the driver's seat. "You heading out?"
"Yeah. I am meeting with the mayor and a few city councilors about precinct restructuring. Also, the academy might have a new batch of graduates soon. We should probably add some manpower, maybe recall that group from a few years back. The ones who washed out." Bob paused, frowning like he was trying to remember something. "What did we call that program? The... what was it?"
"No idea, Chief."
Marco had no clue what Bob was talking about. Bob shrugged and headed off toward his car. Marco climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.
The assault vehicle rumbled to life, and they rolled out onto the streets.
---
Gotham's sky had turned gloomy again. The sunlight looked weak and lifeless, like the lights in a nightclub with no customers. The patrol vehicle cruised through the East End, and everywhere it went, loitering gangbangers and street punks melted back into the shadows. Some of them looked pissed about it. Most just looked resigned.
"Check this out." Darnell lounged in the passenger seat, flipping through a crumpled magazine he'd probably found in the break room. "'Ten Office Fitness Tips You Must Know.' Think I should start a fitness training class at the precinct? I could charge, like, twenty bucks a session."
"The chief would shove your head into the copier first, see if he could print out some intelligence." Marco leaned out the window and shouted at two drivers who were about to come to blows in the middle of the street. "Hey! You two! Take it to the curb before I write you both up!"
The drivers reluctantly separated, shooting each other murderous looks as they climbed back into their cars.
Marco's phone started ringing. The ringtone was obnoxiously loud. It was some pop song Darnell had set as a joke, and Marco had never bothered to change it.
"Can't you switch that to something less annoying?"
Darnell was chewing gum, filling the car with the sharp smell of mint. Marco rolled his eyes and answered.
"Anna?"
"It's me, sir!" Anna's voice came through fast and slightly panicked. "Dr. Quinzel is here. She wants to see Raven. Should I... should I let them meet?"
Marco sighed. She'd been sniffing around Raven for a while now, probably hoping to write some groundbreaking paper on trauma and interdimensional exposure.
"If she wants to see her, let her. But stay nearby and keep an eye on things. Don't let her ask anything too invasive. And Anna? Don't believe a word she says."
"Sir?"
"Not one word. Treat her like a scammer trying to con you out of your paycheck. I don't care if she's got a PhD in psychology, anyone who voluntarily works at Arkham has got something wrong with them."
In the background, he could hear Dr. Quinzel's voice. "I heard that!" And then, louder: "That's prejudice!"
Marco hung up.
"Dr. Quinzel's visiting Raven again?" Darnell asked, not really paying attention. "Gotta say, that woman's got energy. Way too much energy. It makes you wonder—"
Ring ring.
The phone went off again.
"You've gotta be kidding me." Marco grabbed it, ready to tell whoever was calling to handle their own problems for once. Then he saw the caller ID. "Huh."
He answered. "Gordon?"
"Marco." Gordon's voice sounded worn down. "I need a favor. The head of Gotham University is dead. Dr. Edgar Morris. But the way he died... it's strange."
Marco's expression shifted. "Murder?"
The university district was not exactly clean, but compared to places like the Narrows or Otisburg, it was one of Gotham's rare pockets of relative civilization. Professors got mugged from time to time, sure, but being murdered in their own offices was something else entirely.
"Looks like it," Gordon said. "But something's wrong with the scene. The expression on his face..." He trailed off. "He died terrified. I'm wondering if this might be connected to something supernatural again."
"I'll be there in fifteen."
He hung up. Darnell immediately straightened in his seat, all the humor gone from his face. "What happened?"
"The head of Gotham University's dead. And he didn't go peacefully."
"Oh. Someone died."
Darnell relaxed, slouching back against the seat. "I thought it was something serious."
Marco glanced at him. "You know your sense of scale is completely fucked, right?"
"Yeah, but it's Gotham. If nobody's died today, you're either lying or it's not over yet."
Fair point.
---
The ivy-covered administrative building of Gotham University was sealed off with yellow police tape when they arrived. Red and blue lights from half a dozen patrol cars spun silently. Several West District uniforms stood guard at the perimeter, shooing away clusters of students and faculty who'd gathered to gawk.
The assault vehicle nosed its way aggressively between two cruisers, forcing a gap. A patrol officer stepped forward to stop them, took one look at the East End markings, and clicked his tongue in irritation before lifting the tape.
Jurisdictional pissing matches. Gotham's favorite sport.
"Gordon." Marco nodded to Gordon, who was waiting in the lobby. The detective looked like he'd aged five years since he had last seen him.
Gordon returned the nod. "Thanks for coming. Follow me."
He led them toward the stairwell without another word.
"You look like hell," Marco said as they climbed.
"Yeah, well." Gordon let out a long breath. "Dr. Morris was a prominent figure. His death is going to cause problems." They reached the third-floor landing, and he stopped, turning to face Marco and Darnell. "I'm warning you now, brace yourselves. The body... I've been doing this job for a long time, and I've only seen a handful of people die like this."
"What's so weird about it?" Darnell shrugged. "If I knew I was about to die, I'd probably piss myself too."
Gordon didn't laugh. He just gave Darnell a long, hard look and opened the fire door.
Dr. Morris' office was at the end of the corridor. The door stood open. Inside, harsh white forensic lights swayed slightly. Several CSI technicians moved through the space, cameras clicking intermittently.
"The scene's mostly intact," he said quietly. "Our people just started processing it. Watch where you step."
Marco stepped inside first and immediately understood why Gordon had sounded so rattled on the phone.
The office itself was spacious and carefully appointed. Floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves were packed with hardcovers. Leather furniture sat atop a Persian rug. It was exactly the kind of room one would expect for a university president. That order had been violently undone. Papers were scattered across the floor. A chair lay overturned near the desk. Deep scratch marks gouged the carpet, as if someone had clawed at it.
Dr. Morris' body was slumped in front of the sofa.
His suit, probably tailored and certainly expensive, was rumpled beyond recognition. His tie hung loose and crooked at his collar. Both hands were clenched against his chest, his fingers digging through the fabric of his shirt. Dark red stains marked the places where his nails had broken skin.
The dead man's eyes were open, wide enough to expose the whites all around. They bulged slightly, as though something had tried to force them outward from within. His pupils had contracted into tiny black pinpoints. His mouth was twisted into a grotesque rictus, his jaw hanging open. Every muscle in his face was locked into an expression of terror.
"Holy... fuck..." Darnell's voice came out quiet. "What the hell did he see? His accountant's final audit?"
Marco ignored the bad joke and stepped closer to the body. He kept his hands behind his back to avoid accidentally contaminating the scene.
There were no signs of a physical struggle, aside from the damage Morris had apparently inflicted on himself and on the room during his final moments.
"Extreme fear," he murmured.
Gordon had been right. This was not ordinary fear.
Marco let his gaze travel across the rest of the office. The windows were intact and locked from the inside. The books on the shelves were disordered, but they had not been searched. An antique desk lamp lay knocked over on the floor. Beside it sat a brass globe. Nearby, a picture frame had fallen face down.
He crouched down to examine the photo. It showed Dr. Morris with his family. A wife. Two kids. Everyone was smiling. Dr. Morris himself looked gentle, nothing like the twisted horror his body had become.
"What's the coroner saying?" Marco asked as he straightened up.
"Preliminary ruling is cardiac arrest caused by extreme psychological stress. But that raises the real question. What did he see? What could possibly have—"
"That isn't the important question," Marco cut in. He turned to face Gordon fully. "The important question is why you called me. Gotham University falls under West District jurisdiction. You could have handed this off to..."
He stopped when he saw Gordon's expression. It was the same stubborn look. The one that said Gordon was going to do the right thing, no matter the cost.
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling.
"Forget I said anything."
---
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