The First Murder
The iconic Batmobile has ferried the caped crusader to many of his most famous adventures
Tonight someone was murdered.
The Batmobile streaked across the Old Gotham Freeway, matte black metal rendered nigh invisible beneath the moonless sky. Its engine roared, thunderous, and the massive exhaust centered in the Batmobile’s rear hissed as it spat blue flames.
Batman liked driving here - no other cars, meaning he could count on it for quick, stealthy travel. The Gotham Preservation Society had won a landmark victory in preventing the old freeway’s demolition some ten years ago, arguing that it was a reminder of Gotham’s roots, but the roads themselves had never been reopened. These days it was as deserted as the caverns that he called home. The isolation was familiar, comforting even.
“Computer, engage Ghost Cloak,” Batman commanded.
The sound of the engine dimmed to a subtle growl. The exhaust’s firelight vanished as if swallowed by the black of night.
Some nights it was better to be seen. Better to remind the criminal element that he was there, lurking behind every shadow. That he could be anywhere, waiting. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Tonight was about stealth, flying under the radar.
Murder in Gotham isn’t unusual. This one, though...
Batman’s hands tightened around the wheel. He wanted to see the scene of the crime himself before coming to any conclusions.
He put his finger to the side of his cowl, opening a communication channel between his earpiece and Tim’s. “Red Robin, I need you to handle patrols tonight. This...” He paused. “This may take all night.”
“You’ve got it,” Tim’s voice acknowledged in Batman’s ear. “And, uh.. How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be fine. Go to work.”
“Roger that.”
Batman drove for another few minutes before arriving at the docks. They were unusually deserted for a weeknight, though that was hardly surprising. The police had cleared the docks of all activity upon discovery of the body. Swaths of caution tape and bunches of armed men in blue walled off the perimeter and blocked the crime scene from view.
Batman hit the brakes and pulled up without a sound. The exterior hatch on top of the Batmobile puffed open with a hiss, drawing the attention of some of the officers. They turned, several gasping as Batman launched from the hood of his vehicle, muscles coiled like a spring, and landed with the nimble grace of a feline. He stood to his full height of six foot four inches and approached the police tape. As always there were murmurs when he walked past, reactions both from officers who knew him and those who had never before laid eyes on the caped crusader.
“He’s bigger than I expected.”
“How’s it going, Bats?”
“How does he just appear like that?”
“Thanks for coming, Batman.”
“Freak!”
Batman glided forward like a wraith, ethereal, silent as the morning fog. As he moved past the officers his cowl’s heads-up display produced a blurb over the head of each one, identifying them by name and time spent on the GCPD, as well as a quick blurb detailing their schedules, relevant background information, and known past or present criminal associations.
Gordon turned from the scene of the crime, finally noticing Batman. “Thank God you’re here. It’s been chaos since we found the body. Right now I’ve got radio silence on this thing, but that won’t last long. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone at the Gazette already knows.”
Batman grunted.
Gordon sighed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Commissioner Gordon was thin and of average height. As always, his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark rings. A messy divorce and a quarter century as an officer in Gotham had withered the man, aged him. Over the years Batman had watched both Gordon’s hair and mustache change from fiery orange to silvery white.
Never one to let tough times bring him down, however, the Commissioner wore his uniform as cleanly as the day Batman had met him: pressed white shirt and a black tie, dark suspenders, and a worn beige coat.
“Let me see,” Batman said.
Gordon nodded and ushered Batman toward the scene of the crime. The blood was still wet, fresh. Batman could smell the iron in the air. It had become such a familiar scent to him, as familiar as the water he drank and the air he breathed. Moreso.
Batman tried to suppress the urge to jump to conclusions as he cast a clinical eye over the corpse. It was splayed out like a starfish, body covered in fresh cuts. The fatal wound was a gunshot through the skull.
Likely cause of death: Bullet wound. Body is covered in lacerations. He was tortured before dying. Or he was fighting someone. That bruising... definitely looks like he was in a fight.
“Is... is it really him?” Gordon asked.
Batman tapped his cowl to activate his communicator. “Oracle,” he said.
The keyword triggered his computer AI, connecting him to his chosen recipient while encrypting the signal so that it couldn’t be intercepted. She responded a moment later.
“Here,” she said.
“Analyze the body,” Batman ordered. “I’ll be back later with fingerprints and dental.”
“On it,” she said.
Barbara was the lifeblood of his operation. She was an unparalleled jack of all trades: hacker, analyst, and investigator. Most importantly she was a consultant, a confidant, someone to bounce an opinion off of. She was his friend. She’d been the best with the batarang during her tenure as Batgirl, and Batman had always admired how she’d transitioned from that life to her role as Oracle.
Few could have come back from the hell she had endured when she’d been paralyzed from the waist down, but Barbara Gordon had taken her injury in stride and become something even greater than before. She didn’t punch out thugs anymore, but what she did was far more important.
Gordon stayed quiet throughout her analysis. He didn’t say anything, but he knew about Barbara’s nightlife. He was a detective, after all. Hiding her activities from him would have been impossible. Batman didn’t know if Gordon talked about it with his daughter. The two of them had certainly never talked about it. There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about these days. It was better that way. After all this time, all of the pain, what was there left to say?
Batman crouched by the body. He pulled a tooth and turned over both hands, taking digital samples of the fingerprints. Batman frowned beneath his cowl. It was all so surreal. Truth be told, he agreed with Gordon. He never thought he’d see the day.
Those eyes... It... really might be him.
“I’m going to need the body,” Batman said.
Gordon frowned. “That’s... unusual. Matter of fact I don’t think you’ve ever asked. Isn’t your fancy computer scan usually enough?”
“I don’t want to take any risks. You know him, Jim.”
Gordon stroked his mustache absentmindedly. “Yeah..” he acknowledged. “This wouldn’t be the first time he’s faked his death. I’m okay with you taking the body, but it violates protocol. I’m not sure I can sell it, what with the mayor breathing down my neck, and..”
“It’s alright,” Batman said. “Just do me a favor and stay with the body until I’m ready.”
Gordon nodded. He turned to speak with another of his officers, and Batman used this as his cue to leave.
Minutes later Batman sped across the highway, mind racing faster than the batmobile. He didn’t want to analyze any of the data before he had an opportunity to put it all together in his computer at the cave. It would be too easy to jump to conclusions.
He saw Alfred and Barbara waiting for him as he arrived back at the cave and parked on his revolving platform. He hopped out of the car and strode across the long walkway toward the computer.
“Master Bruce!” Alfred exclaimed, arriving by his side immediately. “You’re back early. Hopefully this means you’ll be getting something to eat...?”
Alfred’s voice was wistful, and his tone a bit lackluster. He knew that Batman wouldn’t eat anything for another few hours, no matter how much Alfred protested.
Barbara wheeled herself toward him, red hair flowing behind her like ribbons of fire. “Digital scans say it’s legit,” she said. “The fingerprints do belong to him.”
“It could be an illusion,” Batman said. “Or a clone. Or an advanced android. There are still too many options to say anything conclusive.”
Barbara sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “As much as I want this to be real... I’m not convinced that it is. Not yet.”
If it is true, one of her nightmares could finally be over. I want that for her.
“Do you think we could call Superman?” Barbara asked. “He can see the body on a molecular level. Give us proper confirmation.”
Batman considered for a moment. Something quick, easy. He never liked asking for help, but with a case this big? He should. Having a quick confirmation would help tremendously.
“You’re right,” Batman said. He put a finger to his earpiece. “Superman?” he asked.
After a moment he heard a voice on the other line. Two of them. The first voice was shrill, passionate.
“And he thinks he can just get away with all of it! Not on my watch. I’m going to expose him when this goes live tomorrow.”
“One second, Lois. I need to take this.”
Batman heard a sigh on the other end, then Lois’s voice again.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re married to me or to Bruce. Just don’t keep me waiting for too long, Smallville.”
Batman heard a chuckle.
“Batman?” Clark asked.
“I need your help with an investigation.” He could almost see Clark’s wry smile in his mind even before Clark said anything.
I’m lucky to call this man my friend. He’s always smiling, always full of hope no matter what he’s seen. He’s the best of us. The lost son of an alien world, yet more human than I’ll ever be.
“It’s rare for you to ask me for help on a case,” Clark replied.
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“What do you need me to do?”
Batman exhaled. This was it. No more denial. He’d have to say it. To come to this conclusion and hope to the lord almighty that the words he spoke would be true.
“Tonight, the Joker was murdered.”
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