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Martinez had been obsessively checking the news ever since the people had realized the last couple of riddles were about the Waynes. He had the minute-by-minute news website opened on his phone and kept refreshing it more often than he should during a shift.
As a cop actively working on the Riddler’s case—well, more like helping on the case—Martinez was privy to a lot more sensitive information than your regular media, but many reporters could dig up interesting theories or new information. He wanted to be sure he didn’t miss anything.
It was the Waynes. Martinez just couldn’t help it.
Daniel was just two years older than Bruce Wayne, the last living Wayne as far as he knew. Maybe he had some distant cousins or something, but if he did, Daniel had never heard of any of them, and surely hadn’t seen them around.
So naturally, having lived in Gotham his whole life, Martinez sort of grew up hearing about Bruce Wayne all the time, seeing him on the tv, participating in various events alongside his parents. After their death, it felt like Daniel was grieving with him.
Now, every time Martinez saw him, he couldn’t help but feel a burst of happiness. Mr. Wayne had become a recluse, everybody knew that. The man never showed up anywhere, and so when he had at the funeral, Daniel had greeted him, all smiles. He had realized later that he had probably failed to read the room, it had been a funeral, for fuck’s sake and Martinez was waving at him like they were best friends.
But it had felt like meeting a friend after a very long time.
Martinez had just gotten back from the patrol. He entered the station, making his way to his desk. He still had a long pile of paperwork to deal with. One thing he envied Batman was that after his nightly justice crusade, the man had no reports to fill.
He bumped into Lieutenant Gordon before he could make it to his desk. “Sorry, sir, didn’t see you there,” he said, righting his hat before it could fall.
“Ah, yeah, ‘s alright, man.”
“In a rush, sir?”
“The signal’s on, I gotta go.”
Martinez couldn’t help the little roll of his eyes. “Can’t keep the bat waiting,” he joked despite his dislike of the vigilante.
Gordon just chuckled, shook his head and was off with a quick wave.
Daniel still thought the whole batsignal was kind of dumb. Couldn’t Batman get a phone like a normal person? But then again, Batman was hardly your usual guy.
He never made it to his desk. The police station erupted with news. Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped, rather publicly and the Riddler was behind it. The video footage had been leaked to the press, somebody had recorded the whole thing from their window.
Daniel hurried toward the television screen where a crowd of cops was already forming, they shushed each other and somebody turned the volume to the fullest. The news channel repeated the news of the kidnapping and showed the video. It was kind of shaky, the person making it breathing loudly, but it was of a good enough quality.
There was a parked van, inconspicuous white like most of the delivery ones, parked just a little off the sidewalk. Bruce Wayne exited the hospital, looking distracted, his hair a mess, Martinez imagined he was rather distraught with Mr. Pennyworth hurt like that. He walked down the couple stairs, an expensive looking car came for him, but before he could get in, five people rushed out of the van. One blocked the driver who had jumped out to help Mr. Wayne, and the rest overpowered him quickly, one final blow to the temple and he was out like a light. They carried him into the van and sped off before anyone could really react.
All five of them had a crude Riddler outfit on, with the mask and all. Either they were working for him or some kind of copycats. It didn’t matter which, Mr. Wayne was still kidnapped very much because of the Riddler’s influence.
Other than the driver, nobody had tried to help, everyone coming in or out of the hospital, they all scrambled, looking for cover.
Daniel knew that Gordon had tried to talk their chief into getting Mr. Wayne some kind of protection, at least till the Riddler was captured, but the chief didn’t see it as necessary. Gordon had spent enough time complaining about it over a cup of coffee in the break room. There was a big ‘told you so’ waiting for the chief.
Bruce Wayne had been the original target, not Alfred Pennyworth. Everybody knew that. And while this kidnapping was shocking, carried out just after the sun had set, it wasn’t exactly unexpected.
Gordon, of course, rushed back into the police station, fuming. This was an extremely high-profile case. The chief must have called him back in as soon as he had heard.
“No Batman then?” Daniel asked him as he walked past Gordon’s desk as the man was getting out of his jacket.
He shook his head. “It’s Riddler again, the Batman will come to me.”
“If he’s not already investigating out there on his own,” Daniel said. And tampering with essential evidence. “Do you think the signal was a warning?”
Gordon paused as if he hadn’t yet thought of that. “I don’t know,” he admitted, but by the frown on his face, Daniel could tell he got him thinking about it now. It was an oddly well-timed coincidence.
Everybody got to work.
They tried to find the van that took Wayne, but nothing came up from the plates. The kidnappers were unidentifiable. The only camera at a crucial intersection wasn’t working and so they lost the van. They had no way to find Mr. Wayne.
Gordon’s office had turned into chaos, papers and pictures laid out everywhere. He was trying to piece it all together from Riddler’s past clues. Maybe they had missed something. Other officers were brainstorming possible connections that the Waynes could have had with the Riddler. What place could be significant to both parties, or to Gotham’s public. Anything that could have some meaning to the Riddler.
Martinez got sent out on a patrol. Several police cars were going to drive around Gotham, trying to locate the van the old-fashioned way. The kidnappers might have ditched it somewhere in the city and if so, and the police found it, it might have some clues inside. It was the best next step till they figured out how to find Mr. Wayne.
Daniel sat at the front seat next to his patrol partner, Officer Hampton. They were familiar enough with each other, she had been paired up with him a couple times already, and when there was nobody else in the break room and they met, they would share their lunch and chat a bit.
She drove so when the radio hailed them, he answered it. Somebody called in a tip and Martinez with Hampton were the closest patrol car. They acknowledged it and Hampton drove them to the place.
It was a small convenience store. They parked the car and went in, the owner was the one who had made the call.
“Can you tell us exactly what you saw?” Hampton asked the middle-aged woman.
“A white van, like they described it on the telly. It looked the same like on the video. Went right past the store.”
“And when was this?”
“Oh,” she checked her wrist watch, “I made the call right after I saw it, so maybe five minutes? You got here really fas—”
“Sorry, can you turn up the volume for a second?” Daniel interrupted the two women. A television hang behind the cash register, the news playing. The big red letters spelling breaking news caught his attention immediately.
The woman did as he asked, all three of them turned to the news and watched, not even daring to breathe loudly as a live footage of the Riddler popped up on the screen.
“Citizens of Gotham. I have failed you, but I will not do so twice,” the Riddler said. He then angled the camera behind him, giving his audience a first glimpse of Bruce Wayne.
He was taped to a cross, a poor imitation of Jesus. His head hang on his exposed chest, he must have been unconscious for now. Even like that, Daniel could see the corners of the silver tape across his mouth, the trail of blood coming from his temple and down his neck.
They all watched in silent horror as the Riddler kept talking about his mission of truth and the Waynes. About how Bruce, once awake, was going to bring the ultimate sacrifice for the people of Gotham.
As he talked, one second screaming, then whispering, his hand shaky on the camera, he briefly showed his background. A window up high… Daniel knew where that was. He cursed under his breath, not waiting for the rest of the video and sprinted off, back toward the patrol car. He heard his partner yelling something at him, then to the shop owner.
Martinez hopped behind the wheel and as soon as she closed the door behind herself, he sped off, turning on the lights and the siren.
“What the hell?” she asked, probably not for the first time, but Daniel’s brain was in override as he tried to recall the route to the place where the Riddler kept Mr. Wayne.
“Martinez, I swear to God—”
“I know where they are.”
“How? We need to report back. Tell me the address,” she said, barely hiding her annoyance with his rash acting. She grabbed the radio and waited for his answer.
He cursed again. “I don’t know the address, but I know how to get there. I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s a place where I used to hang out with my high school buddies, we biked up there every weekend. Nobody really comes up there. It’s, well, like a small church, or, a chapel.”
“Outside the city, through the woods?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get us there.”
“I think I know where that is. I heard about that several years back. My wife’s family is in the glass pane business. The chapel was supposed to go through a reconstruction, funded by the Renewal Fund. It was a lucrative deal, but fell through and they nearly went bankrupt because of it.”
“That’s terrible,” Daniel said.
“It was. But I guess I can sort of see how it could be tied to the Waynes. Yet another project failed under the fund.”
“It’s a little unlike the Riddler.”
She hummed an agreement, now much calmer when she understood that Martinez actually had a reason for his hasty actions. “He probably didn’t expect the butler to get blown instead of Wayne. He must be improvising this. The symbols, what with the Jesus and the sins of a father, rather on the eye.”
“Not exactly hard to see, unlike the previous ones.” Martinez had been on the previous scenes so he knew more than her, and this truly wasn’t the well-planned, detail-oriented stuff the Riddler had pulled in the past.
He looked around them. “I think we’re getting closer now.” While they had talked it through, they had gotten out of the city, left the last residential blocks behind a few seconds ago. It was much darker out here at the edge of the woods.
Hampton now realized where they were so she tried to radio the station, report where they were going and why, but she failed. The radio was nothing but static. She cursed, tried hitting it a bit, but it didn’t help. She took out her phone too. “No reception either. It’s these damn woods.”
She kept checking both her phone and the radio as they neared the chapel. It was up the hill, through some more trees, but that was it. Daniel parked the car as silently as possible. He had long turned off the lights and the siren, the headlights as well.
He was about to get out of the car when a firm hand on his forearm stopped him. “What are you doing?” Hampton hissed.
“What do you think?” he asked, a little dumbfounded. He had thought his intentions were clear enough. “Mr. Wayne may not have much time left. I’m going in.”
“Alone? No, you’re not.”
He ignored her words. They held the same rank, technically, so he could. “You stay here, keep trying the radio, call for backup.”
Her grip on his hand firmed. “We both stay or we both go.”
“No, I’m the one who's going. You got your wife, your girl, what is she, already four now?”
“Martinez—”
“I don’t have time to argue,” he said and pulled his hand from her grip. He heard her low curses as he shut the door behind himself, but she stayed inside the car, the radio in her hand again.
Daniel ran, bent low, before he got too close to the chapel, he tried radioing Hampton. It worked, so at least they could communicate short-distance.
So far, Martinez didn’t see any sign of the five kidnappers, nor the Riddler. Not even Mr. Wayne. The van definitely wasn’t there.
He didn’t want to go through the main door, it was old and would be too loud, so he sneaked around the back, he remembered that there was a door somewhere alongside this wall. The door was indeed there, Daniel cheered a little in his head. Even after all these years, he could vaguely recall the layout of the chapel. He knew there was even a small cellar in there. They had kept a lot of alcohol bottles in there during their teen years.
The window in the background of Riddler’s video showed one of the windows in the main room. The cross had never been there, definitely not one big enough to tie an actual person to, so that must have been Riddler’s touch, but it was undoubtedly in that room.
Daniel went in, his gun ready in front of him. He stepped carefully, so as to avoid hitting any glass or crunchy dried leaves. He heard Riddler when he got closer, but he didn’t suddenly rush in, no, Daniel kept his careful steps.
“—really, I didn’t expect that. I should have, shouldn’t I? Which billionaire opens their own mail. For a moment, I’ve forgotten just how different you are from the rest of us. The Gotham’s very own prince. Hardly the charming type, though.”
Martinez was now close enough to see them. The Riddler had the mask on, he turned to turn on a camera, a phone attached to a stand, a couple meters in front of Mr. Wayne. Daniel watched as the Riddler said something to Mr. Wayne, then started speaking to the camera, prerecording his next video.
He turned to check on Mr. Wayne. He was in nothing but his trousers, the blood had dribbled from his forehead, onto his chest, but it looked dry now, the bleeding must have stopped. It meant the injury wasn’t too bad, but he might still have a concussion from the blow itself. He looked incredibly pale in the weak light of the chapel, but he always sort of looked like that. But what surprised Daniel the most, was the absolute calm the man exuded. Form experience, the civilians rarely reacted like this under pressure and being kidnapped, about to be brutally murdered, was as much pressure as one could get. Mr. Wayne should be terrified, crying, but he wasn’t. Even the former commissioner had been panicking.
Daniel was certain he had made no sounds as he approached. The Riddler was still going on about some shit, and as he turned into the camera directly, turning his back to his newest victim, Mr. Wayne’s eyes snapped to Martinez, their gazes meeting for a brief second. Martinez froze. He had been so sure, but if Mr. Wayne had heard him, the Riddler would have heard him too. But he didn’t seem to be aware of the cop’s presence at all.
Done with his little speech, the Riddler bent down, shuffled in a duffle bag and straightened with a hammer and a bunch of long nails in his hands. He turned to Mr. Wayne and if not for the mask, Martinez would have been positive the man was grinning in delight. He was truly sick.
Mr. Wayne tensed, Daniel could see it all the way from here, but still, Mr. Wayne didn’t start crying. His mouth was taped, the red lines written over it already. He just watched Riddler with an eery calm around him.
Martinez figured this was the best time to come out, when the Riddler had his back to him. “Police! Drop it!” he yelled out.
The Riddler ducked and instead of dropping the items, he ran behind Mr. Wayne, laughing maniacally. He held a single nail against Mr. Wayne’s throat.
“Son of a bitch,” Daniel cursed out loud. He couldn’t shoot now. He considered himself a pretty solid shot, but he wasn’t that good and hitting Bruce Wayne would not look good on his file. He would never forgive himself either.
But Mr. Wayne remained calm, his gaze fixed on Martinez now. But Daniel, he had to keep his eyes on the Riddler.
The Riddler recognized he was at the advantage here, and started negotiation. “Drop the gun.”
Martinez played along. “Not until you drop the nail. How can I trust you of all people not to kill Mr. Wayne as soon as the gun is down, huh?”
“Why would I drop it when you clearly won’t shoot as long as I have this shield?”
“I don’t know why you are so sure of yourself. Did you think I came alone? C’mon, now. There are more officers outside. You won’t be able to get out of here, but you can make it better for yourself. Don’t add another murder to your long list of crimes.”
“You think that is going to work on me?”
Martinez shrugged a little. “You might be proper crazy, but you’re just trynna help Gotham, isn’t it so? Bruce Wayne is an innocent man in this. You got the wrong Wayne. The one you want’s already long gone. Bruce didn’t have anything to do with what his father did. He was too young for that. Don’t tell me you don’t see that. He’s not his father, why should he be paying for his sins, then? It’s a bullshit strategy to go after him for something like that.”
“I’m sure Bruce here has his fair share of dirty little secrets. All the men like him do.”
“Do you have any dramatically edited videos to prove that too?” Martinez said before he could filter that thought.
He took the following heavy silence as the Riddler getting offended. Daniel had to backtrack somehow, and do so quickly. He needed to save Mr. Wayne and not get him killed faster.
“Okay, fine, you’ve been right so far, but this? Killing a man who hasn’t done anything wrong isn’t really your thing. If you do this, how are you better than any of the men you have revealed so far?”
The Riddler was silent again, but it was a different kind of silence this time. He leaned in close to Mr. Wayne’s ear, but it was so quiet in the chapel that Daniel could hear him, “Your cop friend might have just saved your life, Mr. Wayne, but don’t get too comfortable. If there’s a secret to find, I’ll find it.” The Riddler then turned those thick frames at Martinez. “At the same time then.”
He nodded, even if he hated it. But it was better than anything else he could have come up with. They didn’t trust each other, so neither would have stepped down first, but surprisingly, they lifted their weapons up in the air at the same time. Martinez slowly bent down, eyes still firmly at the Riddler.
As soon as his gun had touched the ground, the Riddler dropped the nail, but kept the hammer and made a run for it. Martinez had been mistakenly thinking that he stood in the way of the only two exits, apparently not.
Daniel picked up the gun again and ran after the Riddler. He had completely forgotten about the narrow passage leading outside, built for the priests. He heard a motorcycle engine roar to life.
He stopped his chase, knowing he was already too late. He grabbed his radio. “It’s the Riddler, follow him.”
“Did you find Wayne?”
“Yeah, alive.”
“Stay with him in case the rest of the kidnappers shows up. I’m on the Riddler. I’ll call for backup once I have signal.”
Martinez hurried back inside, Mr. Wayne had been taped there for long enough.
“Mr. Wayne,” he addressed him, holstering his gun, “are you okay?” The man seemed to be perfectly lucid. “Sorry about this,” he apologized in advance before he ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. Mr. Wayne showed no indication of the pain he must have felt.
He licked his lips before speaking, “I’m fine.” His voice came a little hoarse from misuse, and oddly familiar.
Martinez recalled the camera, glared at it, and hurriedly stopped the recording. Mr. Wayne deserved some privacy. Daniel didn’t touch the camera further, it was evidence now.
He went back to Mr. Wayne. He turned to his taped wrists, inspecting it. If it had been a rope, maybe he could have untied it, but the tape… Daniel ran his hand across the tape, feeling how thick the layers were, touching Mr. Wayne’s hand without thinking, focused on the tape. He didn’t register Mr. Wayne tensing.
“I can try cutting it,” he said and moved his hands to pull out a pocket knife from one of his belt pouches. It was hardly a typical police equipment, but it was Gotham, one can never be too sure. He sure was grateful for it now. But it wasn’t as sharp as he would have liked. It would take a while, so he got right to it. “Where is Batman when you need him for once,” he mumbled under his breath. Mr. Wayne sent him an odd look he couldn’t read.
He kept working on the tape, it was taking so long and Daniel couldn’t help it, the small-talk coming from his mouth naturally. “You’re really calm, you know that?”
The man didn’t reply. No matter what Daniel commented on, Mr. Wayne didn’t say much. He supposed the man might still be in shock, even if it didn’t seem so from the outside.
He tried a different tactic.
“You were coming from the hospital when they got you, right? How’s Mr. Pennyworth doing?”
“Alfred?”
“Yeah. You always looked rather close to me.”
If he was reading the micro-expression on his face right, Mr. Wayne was rather surprised at his statement. But Daniel had watched Mr. Wayne periodically appear on the tv and news his whole life. He couldn’t not take notice of Mr. Pennyworth as well.
“We are,” Mr. Wayne said at last.
“Good, good. So how is he?”
“He woke up, just before. His condition’s stable.”
Martinez hummed. “Glad to hear that. He must be worried sick about you right now.” He was almost done with the other hand.
Mr. Wayne cringed a bit. “I don’t make it easier for him.”
“Ah, well, he’s been at your side how long? There must be a reason why he stayed so long. Maybe you’re not so bad,” Daniel said, sending the man a small smile before returning his gaze to the knife in his hand.
Mr. Wayne didn’t answer, but that was okay. He had managed to get him to talk at least a little bit.
Daniel cut through the final layer. He had to swiftly hold the man up as his legs were still taped in an awkward angle and he couldn’t quite stand. “Whoa, okay, I got you.” He had to be careful with the small knife.
“Hold onto me,” he told Mr. Wayne as he slowly manoeuvred his body so that Mr. Wayne could support himself on Daniel’s shoulders and back as he had to bent down and cut the tape from his legs. Here, the tape wasn’t layered so thick, it had been his hands that needed to support most of his weight. Martinez also had more space to move the knife around without injuring Mr. Wayne so it went much faster. Bruce stumbled into him when he was finally freed, nearly falling over Martinez, but he straightened in time and steadied him.
“You should sit down,” Daniel said, his concern clear in his voice.
Mr. Wayne nodded.
Daniel helped him to the first old wooden bench still left in the chapel. He had to help him walk till the blood and feeling returned to Mr. Wayne’s limbs. He must be really uncomfortable right now, but he kept walking without protest. It was a little awkward, holding him up when he was much taller, but they managed, their pace slow. Daniel felt the scar tissue under his hand, at Mr. Wayne’s hip. He realized he had seen more of those when inspecting Mr. Wayne for any injuries and when he was cutting him down from the cross.
“You have a lot of scars,” his treacherous brain let slip before he could think better about how inappropriate and very much not his business that was.
There was a pause. “I exercise a lot.”
Clearly, Martinez could appreciate a well-sculpted chest when he saw one, but he hadn’t exactly seen many scarred casual gym goers. And Daniel spent a lot of his free time at gyms—at the station or otherwise. He couldn’t help turning his head to face Mr. Wayne, his cheek brushing those nice muscles. Martinez shot him a dubious look.
Those intense blue eyes met his. “I’m not good at it.”
He snorted, but didn’t keep arguing. Maybe he had gotten the scars while exercising. Martinez sure didn’t know what kind of sports incredibly rich people were into.
Mr. Wayne sat down on the bench. Martinez tried the radio, but nothing still. After he put it down, his attention got caught on Mr. Wayne’s revealed hands, now littered with goosebumps. He hadn’t said anything at all about being cold, but the proof was right in front of Daniel. Mr. Wayne sat there, head bent low, his hair in his face, eyes closed as he allowed himself to rest.
Mentally, Daniel cursed at himself. He quickly stripped off his jacket. It wouldn’t fit, but it was big enough and would provide some warmth, at least temporarily. When he put the jacket over Mr. Wayne’s shoulders and back, his head snapped up at the sudden feeling, as if he had spaced out for a second there and hadn’t heard Martinez moving at all.
This got him worried. Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder, atop his own jacket. “You sure you’re okay?” Now, Martinez was almost certain Mr. Wayne had a head injury.
“I’m alright,” he said, but he didn’t quite meet his eyes. He didn’t shrug off Daniel’s hand either. But then Daniel himself realized where his hand still was and let go, clearing his throat awkwardly.
He fished out his flashlight, turned it on. He looked around the chapel, still standing next to Mr. Wayne. He wanted to sit down next to him, rest, it had been a long day, but he couldn’t. He needed to stay alert in case anybody came back. He was still technically on duty.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Wayne said out of nowhere.
Daniel frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Wayne. The Riddler is crazy, this—”
“That’s not—” he cut himself off. Daniel watched him, waiting for him to find the words he wanted. “At the funeral. You said hello and I wasn’t—”
“Oh, that,” Daniel was the one interrupting this time, laughing a little good naturedly. “Don’t worry about that, I know you don’t really know me.”
“Still.”
“It’s all good, Mr. Wayne.”
The cops showed up soon after. The Riddler had escaped again. Mr. Wayne was taken from him by the medics, but before he went with them, he gently took the jacket and instead of discarding it on the ground in a haste, he folded it in half and handed it back to Daniel. He took it and put it back on after they wheeled Mr. Wayne off.
Then it was a lot of reports again, the police station still full of chaos. Apparently in his absence, Detective Kenzie had been found nearly dead, but he had survived thanks to prompt first aid. Not too long after, the Batman paid the detective a visit, finally doing something. Gordon nearly toppled the extremely tired Martinez on his way to meet the caped vigilante.
His shift had been long over, Daniel working overtime, but he was finally able to go home, even managed a couple hours of sleep before he was called in again. It was Gordon himself, telling him he needed him, telling him not to trust any other officers with this information, to be ready for the biggest arrest in months. He mentioned a lot of crooked cops in their midst, said they needed to be really careful.
Getting breakfast, or dinner, or whatever the appropriate name for food was at this time, Martinez didn’t know, a little lost on time after his schedule being all over the place, he watched the news. He heard the recording there, of the girl getting strangled to death. He quickly lost his appetite.
They gathered to arrest Carmine Falcone. The Batman was there. Then they killed Falcone and the Riddler was found.
When Martinez saw him in the diner, when he got to be the one to arrest him, he couldn’t help being a little more hostile than usual. This man had killed so many, terrified countless others, innocent people. He had tried to kill Mr. Wayne too. He didn’t deserve any kindness and he was going to get exactly none form Martinez.
With the Riddler well on his way to the Arkham, Martinez got a little break when the rest of the cops showed up to bag the evidence. Daniel was too tired to go and stop Batman this time. Gordon was in there, he would let him in either way.
Then Daniel ended up being the one to draw the short straw and had to stay behind to watch the Riddler’s creepy apartment. He still had a long night ahead. And the nights in Gotham, they always seemed to drag on. Long and full of nasty and unexpected surprises.
Martinez definitely didn’t expect to see the Batman again, teach him what a tucker was, and then find a bunch of bombs together. And, god, the Riddler was even crazier than Martinez had thought, and that was saying something.