Perfect Timing 16/? FRM/FRAO overall - disturbing contect
Jim stood at the edge of the road, digging into his coat pocket. "Fucking hell, I know they're in here somewhere." He tried the other pocket, letting out a huff when his fingers curled around the corner of a pack of cigarettes. He tapped out a cigarette, lighting it and then taking a long drag. He tried not to think about how old that pack was. He tried not to think about the rain. He tried not to think about how cold it was and how many hours of overtime he was going to have to authorize and what the budget office was going to say about that. He took another drag, trying not to think about anything at all, trying to let his mind go blank. He let himself get lost in the rhythm of lifting his hand to his lips, taking a drag, blowing it out and then dropping his hand to his side. Finally, though, the cigarette was done and he ground the butt out under his heel. He looked at the dying embers for a moment, then turned around, heading back into the warehouse.
The blaze of the lights was startling after the darkness outside. The room echoed with the footsteps of the officers milling around, trying to stay out of the way of the forensics crew. Every few seconds there was a bright flash as pictures were taken. Jim walked over to an open spot, taking in the scene. It was more horrifying now under the lights, the blood almost seeming unreal. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep any of what he was feeling from showing on his face. It wouldn't do for him to lose control. Not here. Not in front of his men.
"I thought those witch doctors said he wasn't going to hit again for a few weeks." Wuertz nudged Jim's shoulder. "And I thought you quit."
"I did." Jim shrugged. "I never put much stock in what the profilers say, it might as well be black magic as far as I'm concerned. We're not going to solve this by figuring out if this freak's mad at his mother or something."
"That's not how it works, you know." Wuertz answered. "And we need all the help we can get. He's getting worse."
"Yeah." Jim looked at the parts of the body scattered around the room. It was nearly impossible to believe that any human being was capable of such levels of depravity. And it was getting worse. He didn't think that was possible, but it was. His gaze went around the room and he scowled. "Be careful with that!" He pointed at one of the techs. "If you contaminate any of this, we're going to lose any chance of catching this freak!" The tech flinched but Jim couldn't find any sympathy for him. It was going to be old fashioned police work that solved this, not some kind of psychobabble or technical wizardry. All he wanted was solid evidence that would send the bastard doing this away forever when they finally caught him. And it would be when, not if. It would be when if he had work every hour of every day for the rest of his life. He looked back at the body, at the boy's face caught in a scream for eternity. Dark hair and dark eyes and for one sick moment Jim thought it was Bruce when he saw it. If he felt that way, he couldn't begin to imagine what the boy's parents would feel like. "Do they have an id yet?"
"No. That's probably going to take some time, we're looking at dental records though if we're lucky that drive to get parents to have their kids fingerprinted will help." Wuertz replied. "That was a great idea, Jim."
"A great idea that never should be needed." Jim rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work out the knots in his neck. It was getting hot in the warehouse, between the lights and the body heat of all the people milling around. Jim could feel the sweat running down his back. "Did the security cameras catch anything?"
"Nothing so far, they're motion sensitive and there's some images but nothing definite. Whoever this guy is, he's not stupid." Wuertz rubbed at his eyes. "Why can't they ever be stupid?"
"If they were stupid, we'd catch them before they got this bad." Jim said wearily.
"Lieutenant Gordon? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there was a shooting down in the Narrows tonight." The patrolman looked nervous.
"Why are you bothering me about something like that?" Jim took off his glasses, cleaning them with a corner of his coat. "Seriously, that cannot be important enough"
"It was Falcone's nephew who was killed." That caused Jim's head to whip up.
"What was Falcone's nephew doing in the Narrows?" Jim felt an immense headache begin building right behind his right eye.
"We don't know, but it looks like it was a hit. The body was left out in the middle of the street." The patrolman cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt but there were a few witnesses and we're holding them back at MCU."
"Right, right." Jim turned to Wuertz. "Call me if there's anything, anything at all."
"Will do. Go on, there's nothing more you can do here." Wuertz gave him another nudge. "Get going, I've got this."
Jim nodded, then slowly followed the patrolman out the door, reaching for another cigarette.
Jim leaned back in his chair, eyes closed. He still held out faint hope that the sheer amount of aspirin he'd taken would start kicking in at some point. At some point it had to, it was impossible that it wouldn't, if only from sheer volume. That was the hope anyway. The next step was an attempt at a self-lobotomy and he suspected that would not end well.
The phone began ringing and he had one brief, intense moment of joy contemplating throwing it through the window of his office. He reached out, picking it up and managing to mutter something that he hoped sounded like "Gordon. MCU" into the phone.
"Jim. Where are you?" Phil's voice was strained and Jim frowned.
"In my office where you just called me. What's wrong?" Jim pushed up, frowning. "Did something happen, are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine and, yes, I thought you might be in your office. Since you're not here. You know, at the dinner party for the head of the department. You remember, the one you swore you wouldn't miss?" Now Phil sounded quietly furious and Jim had the urge to bash his head off his desk.
"I'm sorry, it's been completely insane tonight. I completely forgot." There was no point in lying, Phil surely figured he'd forgotten by now.
"Yes, I assumed you forgot and not that something happened to you and no one thought to let me know." Phil replied and Jim flinched.
"You're my emergency contact person, you know that." Jim said quietly. "I'm sorry, I would have called but I've been caught up in things all night."
"Right, because there's no one else in your entire department remotely qualified to investigate something without you watching over their every move." Phil shot back. Jim didn't bother replying. Anything that he could say would only escalate things. "Just tell me I'll get to see you at some point in the next week."
"I don't know. I want to see you, you have to know that." Jim gave in to the urge and rested his cheek against the desk. "Phil, it was really terrible."
There was a long silence and then Jim heard Phil sigh. "Another kid?"
"Yeah." Jim said. "It was the worst yet."
"Shit. I'm sorry." There was another pause and Jim fought the urge to close his eyes. Just a short nap. A few minutes, that's all he wanted. "Look, go home, get some sleep and something to eat."
"God, I wish. I can't, I want to be here if there's any news." Jim forced himself to sit up. "I wouldn't say no if you brought down something to eat."
"I'd love to but I can't, I really need to put in the face time at this thing. Tell you what, I'll call in an order from that Chinese place you love, how does that sound?" Jim could hear the smile in Phil's voice. "Not that I understand why, that place is food poisoning waiting to happen."
"Which is why you always eat all of my dumplings when we order?" Jim laughed a little. "You're too good to me."
"Damn straight. Or something. I'll call it in. Also, and this is my official medical opinion, you really need to get some sleep. At least crash out on the couch for a few hours, you won't be thinking clearly if you don't. I'm going to go. Call me when you get home." Phil hung up before Jim could say good bye.
Jim stared at the phone for a minute before hanging up. He knew things weren't resolved but he also knew that conversation could have gone far worse. He knew what the problem was and it was great that Phil wanted to spend time with him but he didn't know what to do. It wasn’t like Phil was completely blameless either. Jim didn't even bother to keep track of how many times they'd had dinner or coffee or anything else interrupted by the sound of Phil's pager and by Phil running out the door. Sure, he didn't like it, but he understood. They were both dedicated to their job. They were both workaholics. They were both trying to save people. That was one of the things that drew Jim to Phil the most. Phil got it, he did, he got why Jim did what he did. He got why Jim loved Gotham so much. He understood, he really did. Jim knew he understood. That made it worse in a way. Jim reached out, downing what was left of his coffee. It wasn't like they didn't want to spend time together. It wasn't like either of them were doing it on purpose. It just was what it was. Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then stood, grabbing his coat. He'd quit smoking tomorrow. He would. But right now he needed the break.