"So?" Marco looked at Gordon. "You're telling me you can't handle one dead guy?"
He gestured around the office, at the overturned furniture and the scratched carpet and the body that had clawed its own chest open.
"I'm here to determine whether there's a supernatural element involved. That seems to be my area of expertise these days."
He gave a faint, self-conscious shake of his head.
"But a conventional murder investigation? Establishing motive, means, and opportunity? That falls within your expertise, not mine. You have been doing this longer than I have been alive."
Gordon didn't respond immediately. He was staring at Dr. Morris' twisted face.
"I've been wondering," Gordon said slowly, "whether this could be connected to what happened at the precinct. Everything we saw that night. It's possible he witnessed something he shouldn't have. It's possible whatever was involved followed him here."
Marco considered that. It wasn't impossible. Gotham had gotten weird enough that "followed by supernatural entity" was now a legitimate theory in murder investigations.
But something didn't sit right.
"From what you've told me, Dr. Morris was a tough man. He had a strong personality and was not easily frightened." Marco crouched beside the body again and studied the dead man's frozen expression. "It would take something truly horrifying to trigger cardiac arrest like this. Something deeply personal."
"There are plenty of things that could do it," Darnell said from the doorway. He leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. "Maybe his wife maxed out his credit cards. Maybe he opened a drawer and found a cockroach the size of his fist."
"Or maybe," Marco said, standing up and brushing off his knees, "he saw something that made every fear he'd ever had come true all at once."
A thought tickled the back of his brain. Some villain he'd read about once, back when he still had time to read comic books. Someone who specialized in fear. He wore a burlap sack or something equally ridiculous. The Scarecrow? No, that couldn't be right. What would a supervillain want with a university president?
He filed it away for later and turned back to Gordon.
"Anything stolen?"
"Nothing obvious. His wallet is still here, with the cash and cards untouched. The office does not appear to have been searched for valuables. Most of the damage seems consistent with panic during his final moments rather than a deliberate search."
He pulled out his notebook and flipped through several pages, scanning his earlier observations.
"We will not know for certain whether any confidential documents or sensitive materials are missing until we complete a full inventory."
Marco frowned. "A wallet proves nothing. Nobody breaks into an office just to rob someone."
He walked to the window and looked out over the campus. Below, students clustered behind the police tape, their phones raised, recording and streaming. The scene was already turning into spectacle.
"What about motive? Crime of passion. Revenge."
Gordon sighed.
"Dr. Morris made enemies. He advanced his career aggressively, and not everyone appreciated his methods. And his personal life added another layer of complexity."
Marco turned from the window. "What do you mean by complicated?"
"Publicly, he cultivated the image of a respectable academic, devoted husband, family man, and community leader. Privately, there have been persistent rumors of inappropriate relationships. Some were students, others were faculty, and a few may have been donors."
"That is going to make this investigation a mess. How many women are we talking about?"
"We don't know yet. And many of the people in his social circle are powerful enough that they won't even return our calls, let alone submit to questioning." Gordon closed his notebook. "It's going to take weeks just to sort through the suspects."
Marco nodded slowly. This was shaping up to be exactly the kind of high-profile clusterfuck that would have the mayor's office breathing down everyone's necks.
"All right," he said after a moment. "From what I can tell, there's no obvious supernatural connection." He swept his gaze across the office again, forcing himself to check every detail. "The floor is clean. The windows were locked from the inside. There are no signs of forced entry. I will return to the precinct and ask Raven whether she senses anything unusual, but my instinct tells me this was ordinary human malice."
"That is what I was hoping to hear." Gordon extended his hand, and Marco took it. "Thank you for coming. I will begin investigating the conventional angles. Financial records, known associates, and anyone with motive."
"Yeah," Marco replied as he turned toward the door. "Good luck. You are going to need it."
Darnell fell into step beside him as they left.
Marco had almost stepped through the doorway when Gordon's voice called out behind him.
"Oh. One more thing."
Marco stopped, something in Gordon's tone setting off warning bells.
"What?"
Gordon lowered his voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening.
"Dr. Strange believes that given the large-scale, high-intensity violence the East End precinct suffered during the ninja attack, some officers may be experiencing PTSD. Or even collective hallucinations."
Marco felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"What are you saying?"
"He intends to personally observe the officers tomorrow. He will be conducting psychological evaluations."
For a moment, Marco just stared at him.
Hugo Strange.
He didn't know much about the man. He'd only seen him once, through a car window on the night they'd been guarding Arkham Asylum. Strange had been talking with Gordon. But he knew enough to know that anyone who voluntarily worked at Arkham, especially anyone who ran the place, was not someone to be trusted.
"Headquarters approved this?"
"Yeah. Sarah thought it was a free mental health benefit and signed off on it. But honestly? I don't like the guy. He's too secretive."
"I couldn't agree more." Marco clapped Gordon on the shoulder, harder than strictly necessary. "Don't worry. I'll be ready for him."
---
Marco pushed through the police tape and into the cool afternoon air. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.
"Get the car," he told Darnell. "I need to make a call."
Darnell nodded and headed for the assault vehicle. Marco found the number he was looking for and hit dial.
It rang three times before Anna picked up.
"Sir?"
"Anna. Is Dr. Quinzel still hanging around the precinct?"
"Um." There was a pause, and Marco could hear loud background noise. "Actually, we're not at the precinct right now."
Marco closed his eyes. "Where are you?"
"At Wayne Center Plaza. The shopping mall." Anna's voice was almost drowned out by what sounded like a department store PA system. "Dr. Quinzel wanted to take Raven out. She said it would help with her socialization and adjustment, and—"
"Put Dr. Quinzel on the phone."
"Yes, sir."
He heard movement on the other end. Then Dr. Quinzel's bright tone came through.
"Hi, Captain!"
"Dr. Quinzel." Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need to ask you a favor. Are you free tomorrow?"
"Of course I'm free. What's...hold on..."
Her voice cut off, replaced by the sounds of multiple women debating the merits of different handbags. Marco waited, listening to retail hell play out over the phone.
After a few seconds, Dr. Quinzel came back.
"Sorry about that. Anna's trying to convince Raven that she needs more than one outfit. It's adorable. What were you saying?"
"Can you come to the precinct tomorrow?"
"Hmm? What's going on? Did something happen?"
"Dr. Hugo Strange will be arriving at the East End precinct soon to conduct psychological counseling for the officers. You know why. The ninja attack left a mark on them. Still, that is supposed to be your responsibility. His sudden intervention makes it seem as though he is encroaching on your territory. It raises questions about your competence."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then Dr. Quinzel laughed.
"Captain, let me remind you of something. You do remember my profession, don't you? That kind of transparent provocation, layered with projection and compensation, is not effective on me. You are attempting to provoke territorial defensiveness by implying professional displacement. I have no intention of antagonizing a renowned colleague merely to assist a police captain who greets me with cold formality and repeatedly limits my access to my most fascinating patient."
Marco grimaced. She had a point.
"Then consider this," he said, shifting to a different approach. "If you come help tomorrow, I will authorize closer observation of Raven. Supervised sessions, proper documentation, full compliance with protocol."
Dr. Quinzel's laughter rang out. "That offer would be far more tempting if it were not already obsolete. At this very moment, the three of us are sharing a giant chocolate parfait. Anna, Raven, and I. Given the nature of our current relationship, why would I need your permission?"
Marco closed his eyes briefly.
Shit.
"She's only fourteen years old," Dr. Quinzel continued, and now there was an edge to her voice. "Keeping her under house arrest at the precinct the way you do is going to cause serious developmental problems. She requires social interaction and normal environmental stimuli."
"All right, all right." Marco held up his free hand even though Dr. Quinzel couldn't see it. "You win. Name your price."
"Oh?"
"Today's expenses will be billed to you. And from this point forward, whenever anything unusual occurs, you will inform me immediately. I expect complete transparency. If the situation presents genuine danger, I reserve the right to decline involvement. I am willing to accept risk, but I do not intend to die unnecessarily."
Marco's first instinct was to refuse.
The idea of giving Dr. Quinzel carte blanche access to every weird case that crossed his desk made his skin crawl. But then he thought about Strange. Compared to whatever unknown danger was lurking in Arkham's shadows, Dr. Quinzel was at least a known quantity. She might be chaotic and exhausting and far too interested in things she shouldn't be interested in, but she didn't have any direct malicious intent toward Raven or the precinct.
"Five..." Dr. Quinzel's voice came through the phone. "Four… three… take your time, Captain. My parfait is melting, and I would hate to rush such an important decision."
"Deal."
"Awesome!" she said instantly. "Then it's settled. I'll be there tomorrow, right on time. Now I really need to go try on the dress Anna picked out for me—"
"Wait!" Marco caught her before she could hang up. "I haven't even told you what I need you to do."
"What else could it be?" Dr. Quinzel sounded impatient now. "You mentioned Dr. Strange's visit and the psychological evaluations. Then you contacted me and reluctantly agreed to my conditions just to ensure I would attend. The conclusion is straightforward. You do not trust him."
She continued without waiting for confirmation.
"You are concerned he might attempt something during the evaluations. You want me present to observe him, identify any irregularities, and intervene if necessary."
The noise behind her grew louder. Marco could hear overlapping announcements, music, and the restless energy of a crowded public space.
"I will make that pompous man who dresses like a Victorian mortician understand exactly who the real professional is! I have to go now. Goodbye, Captain"
The line went dead.
Marco remained still, the phone pressed against his ear as the empty dial tone droned on.
Then he lowered it slowly and let out a breath.
"Fuck."
---
Darnell pulled up in the assault vehicle, horn honking.
"Get in!" he called through the open window. "Where to?"
Marco climbed into the passenger seat and let himself sink back against the seat. Now that the urgency had passed, exhaustion settled over him all at once.
"The Italian Market on Seventh Street."
Darnell glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "We doing grocery runs on company time now?"
"I need to pick up some ingredients," Marco said quietly.
He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to ease the tension that had taken root behind his skull.
"I'm making arancini tonight. I need something familiar. Something to steady my nerves."