Nightwing

September 5, 1949: Quarco, Colorado

This wasn't what he bargained for when he decided to write the book. He thought he'd jump into what appeared to be a relatively innocuous game, hang around awhile, get some good material, and then get out. It all looked so glamorous in the newspapers. They didn't write stories about the seamier side of the business. At the moment his right arm felt almost useless and after the laser blast he'd absorbed he wondered if it would ever be whole again. He hadn't eaten in forty-eight hours, hadn't bathed in more than three days. His left arm was loosing feeling from the handcuffs fastening him to the radiator. The dank basement stank of his urine, as his captors hadn't allowed for his basic hygienic needs. He wondered if he, or she, or they, were even still here.

Through a haze of hunger, fatigue and pain, he tried to stay focused, an increasingly difficult task. He thought he heard sounds coming from upstairs, but it was tough to say for sure. It might just be an audio hallucination at this point.

No. No, there was definitely something going on upstairs. A fight, and a rough one. He heard one crash, then another. A muffled voice spewed a line laced with sarcasm. Then a final crash and silence.

A moment, then two. Surely, three. No sound. Difficult to measure time. Maybe it was all…

Light! Light flooded his prison, blinding eyes accustomed to the dark. For the first time he realized he had a massive headache. Someone coming for him. This was it, then. No strength left to resist his fate. He'd die silently, he thought. No satisfaction for his tormentor.

Suddenly, he felt recognition wash over him as Commander Steel stepped into the light, his red, white and blue uniform pristine, shining like a beacon. Steel recoiled briefly when regarding him, then advanced cautiously. Uncuffing his arm, Steel looked him over briefly, then cast him a reassuring glance. "Hang in there, buddy," Steel assured him. "It's all over. You're gonna be fine."

He almost summoned the energy to nod before the world went black.

Now

The call had come in a little after midnight. An anonymous tip from a female caller had reported a grisly discovery. Dick Grayson had been in his office, stifling a yawn, when he got the news. Despite his years of rooftop crawling, most of which had been done at night, Dick found it very difficult to man an office during the night shift. It was bone-crushingly boring at times, and he itched to be on the streets. Luckily (at least for him), this night would feature plenty of action. A body discovered in Guy Park, apparently the victim of foul play. Two uniforms were close by, and would be first on the scene, but it appeared the presence of a homicide detective would be required. And these days, Dick Grayson fit the bill.

Five years prior, a local nonprofit agency had spent a great deal of money cleaning up and generally beautifying Guy Park, which had been in a state of disrepair for more than two decades. The nonprofit, whose name no one really remembered now, had been rewarded for its philanthropic efforts with apathy, and then bankruptcy. It was long gone, but the results of its largesse - a park much nicer and cleaner than the city around it - lived on.

The body was slumped over a park bench near a small pond. The man was older, clearly on the high side of seventy. He still sat on the bench, his head bent back as if he was craning to see something above him, hands at his sides. His wrinkled features betrayed no shock, merely an indignant resignation to his fate. He was dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks, with brown dress shoes. He was covered in an overcoat, which lay open. A cane lay propped against the bench on his left side.

By this time, several uniforms were on the scene, marking off the area with police tape, even though there were no witnesses in the area. Dick wondered what had become of the anonymous caller who'd discovered the body.

The park was reasonably well-lit, but Dick was glad one of the uniforms handed him a flashlight as he flashed his id and approached the body. "ME here yet?" he asked, receiving a shake of the head in return.

Dick cautiously examined the body, taking care not to disrupt the ME's investigation to come. In a recent case, there had been some suggestion that the ME's report had been altered. Dick had no idea why anyone would be altering reports, but the previous incident had shaken his trust in the ME, and he was glad he got an early look at the body. He had some training in examining dead bodies himself, although he was hardly an expert. There were no obvious bullet or knife wounds on the corpse. Clothing was slightly ruffled, but not really disheveled. Frankly he didn't see anything at all, and wondered if this might have been a natural death. Yet the caller was sure this was murder. Why?

He scanned the ground around the corpse with his flashlight, paying special attention to the cane. It was a nicer model, quite expensive. If this man had been attacked, why hadn't he tried to get his cane to defend himself?

At first he thought it was a trick of the light, but there was no mistaking it. A clear circular piece of glass on the ground in front of the cane. Making sure he was wearing his gloves, Dick retrieved the glass, only to discover it was attached to a thin piece of leather. Dick carefully examined the dirty piece of glass.

"Hey, Casey," he motioned to one of the uniforms nearby. "Is this a monocle?"

BLUDHAVEN COURIER: ITEM
MARLOWE TO MEET WITH GUNN

A new chapter in the city's history may be unfolding as Mayor Marlowe prepares to welcome Heywood Industries CEO Dale Gunn to Bludhaven for a noon luncheon. Gunn, who has been vacationing in Maine, is scheduled to arrive in Bludhaven today for a week-long stay. Mayor Marlowe has spearheaded the city's efforts to attract the attention of Heywood Industries, which has recently announced its intention to expand its operations into the Northeast, a rare move in the present struggling economy.

Gunn has shown interest in Bludhaven as a port city, which could potentially be beneficial for Heywood Industries in terms of overseas shipping. Although talks have been ongoing for several months, this will be Gunn's first official visit to Bludhaven.

Heywood Industries is one of the north's largest manufacturers, employing more than 400,000 workers in its three plants. Analysts estimate the addition of a plant in or near Bludhaven would bring over 100,000 jobs to the area, and add $750 million dollars to the local economy.

"Sorry I'm going to have to cancel for this afternoon, Babs." Dick's sentiment was genuine.

Babs sighed over the phone. She and Dick had planned to spend the day together, something they hadn't done in awhile. The perils of being a two-superhero household, she supposed. Trying to hide the disappointment in her voice, she answered. "Don't sweat it, Grayson. What's going on?"

"Murder, appears to be. We got an old corpse in the park last night." That didn't sound the way he wanted. "I mean, the deceased was old, not the corpse itself."

Babs chuckled. "Never call tell down there. So you're playing detective today?"

"Yeah. Since this one doesn't look like a mob hit or some huge scandal in the making, they're comfortable letting the new guy do it. So I'm running the investigation. We're pretty early on, though."

"Got an eyedee yet?"

"Yup. That part was easy. He had a wallet on him. Our guy's name was…lemme see," shuffling through papers on his desk. "Here it is. Jonathan Cheval."

Babs wasn't sure how to play it, with Dick on duty. "Dick, uh, do you know who Jonathan Cheval is?"

"Huh? No. Should I?"

"Are you playing dumb or do you really not know?"

"Babs, what's going on?"

"Have you ever heard of a costumed super-villain called the Monocle?"

"I think so. World War II era bad guy, right?"

"Yup. Fought Hawkman back in the day. The Monocle used a, well, monocle that doubled as a laser beam to commit crimes. Hawkman put him away for awhile. He served a little time, then dropped off the face of the Earth for decades. Then all of a sudden, about twenty years ago, he showed up as part of the Secret Society of Super-villains, and fought against the JLA. Ended up back in jail and, I thought, stayed there. Dick, the Monocle's real name was Jonathan Cheval."

As always, Dick was amazed by Babs' knowledge of super-villain trivia. "Our guy had a monocle with him. He's about the right age, I guess. What would the Monocle be doing in Bludhaven?"

"Are you kidding? You all have more criminals per capita than anywhere not named Gotham."

"So..." Dick continued. "You got time to do a little digging for me?"

Babs grinned. "So nice to be needed. Well since my afternoon just freed up…"

Medical Examiner's Report (relevant excerpts)
by Caroline Grady, Chief Medical Examiner

Victim appears to be in mid-seventies, although remarkably fit for his age. Identification located on victim's person placed him at seventy-six years of age.

Anonymous caller reported discovery of victim's body at approximately 12:07 am on October 3, 2003. Police arrived on scene at approximately 12:18 am on same date. Examiner first examined body at 12:56 am on same date.

At time of examination, victim showed no obvious signs of distress. Clothes were intact, no evidence of blunt or sharp trauma to face, neck, or body. Very early stages of rigor mortis suggesting time of death between 7:00 pm and 11:00 pm on October 2, 2003.

Victim was removed to morgue for complete autopsy, at which time clothing was removed. Upon removal of clothing, several bright red marks observed around victim's chest and heart. Marks appear to be consistent with burn wounds, appear to be new. Note: victim's clothes showed no signs of burning.

Autopsy and dissection reveal subject sustained massive cardiac arrest.

Conclusion: Difficult to tell whether victim died of cardiac arrest, or due to burn wounds. Also unclear whether burn wounds caused cardiac arrest. Question instrumentality responsible for burn wounds. Does not appear to be natural.

Categorization: Homicide.

One good thing about his new position as a detective was that he didn't have to account for every second of his time. If he was out of the office for a few hours, it would simply be assumed that he was working a case, following up a lead. So long as he didn't abuse the privilege, Dick thought, he could still get in some Nightwing time.

As was the case now, as Nightwing was stealing a few hours of time before sunup. The purpose of the exercise had been to stretch his legs, but he found himself airing out his mind as he swung over the city. Despite the recent increase in mob activity following the death/disappearance of Blockbuster, once Bludhaven's resident crime lord, ordinary street crime had seen a drop-off in the past few weeks. Even the criminals were showing a little good taste after the recent explosion at Crosswhite Memorial Hospital. But now their consciences were starting to fade, and that meant more ‘ordinary’ crimes - muggings, beatings and etcetera - for Nightwing to handle.

While pounding two muggers into submission, Nightwing tried to direct his thoughts to the Monocle case. Now officially ruled a murder, the death had become Detective Grayson's top priority. So what did he know? Jonathan Cheval was a little-known super-villain who had fired laser beams at people for a brief time. After decades of inactivity, he returned briefly to the life, only to land in prison. He'd been released a few months earlier, a decade ahead of schedule. How had he ended up in Bludhaven? Was his death connected to some criminal enterprise? It seemed difficult to believe that the withered old man on the park bench could be a criminal. Of course, Nightwing had just encountered Frank Indrale, a mobster going on eighty and still very much in the business. As far as he knew, Cheval had no ties to any of the Bludhaven mobs, but with the scene shifting so quickly, nothing could be ruled out.

Then there was the manner of death. Before ducking out, Officer Grayson had gotten a look at Cheval's body, seen the telltale burns on the chest. Yet Cheval's features had been placid, and there were no signs of a struggle. Surely he would have protested being burned in that manner. Nightwing could only conclude that Cheval must have known his attacker, must have allowed him or her to get close to him. He thought of Babs' history lesson. As the Monocle, Cheval had used glass to fire beams at people. Imagine, he thought, what some of these clowns could do if they used such remarkable inventions for something other than cut-rate super-villainy. Here was a man who could make fire shoot from a piece of glass, and he decided the best use for this remarkable device would be to commit penny-ante crimes and get in fights with Hawkman. Bizarre.

On the other hand, what effect would a monocle beam have on someone? Wouldn't it burn them, similar to the way Cheval had been burned? Nightwing recalled the monocle he'd found at the scene, much smaller even than a lens on a pair of glasses. The burns on Cheval's body, on the other hand, appeared to cover a much larger diameter than would be possible with the small monocle, which Nightwing doubted could emit a beam larger than its diameter. Of course, using the monocle long enough could simulate a larger burn diameter; but that brought back the issue of time and Cheval's failure, or inability, to remonstrate. It just didn't add up.

Conclusion: the device used to burn Cheval was very possibly a device similar to Cheval's monocle, but it wasn't the monocle found at the scene, or a similarly-sized monocle otherwise in Cheval's possession or of his design. Meaning: somewhere out there was another weapon similar to the Monocle's, but larger in size, and potentially even more deadly. And it was in the hands of a killer.

Nightwing finally delivered the final blow to the final mugger and watched him sink into a heap on the pavement. He secured his captives quickly, not even stopping to attend to their intended victim before taking to the rooftops once again.

Bludhaven Police Department
Inventory Checklist

re: items found on person of Jonathan Cheval, deceased (homicide)

1. Wallet, brown

2. $73.26 cash

3. Driver's license, issued in France, last renewed 1977, expired 1981

4. VIC card, issued to Jonathan F. Cheval

5. Ticket stub, Scare Tactics concert in Washington DC, August 17, 2003

6. Mastercard #5324000000005555 - issued to Jonathan F. Cheval

7. Dry cleaning receipt - Unwashed Cleaners - dated October 1, 2003, amount $15.76

8. Slip of paper containing phone number: (512) 555-1287

9. Lunch card from Fox & Hound restaurant, three of five punches completed

10. Health insurance ID card - Blue Cross Blue Shield - issued to Jonathan F. Cheval

The phone number was obviously a lead worth investigating. A quick check of the department's reverse directory showed the number belonged to Edith Mays, 321-A Grasshopper Court. Dick decided to make the trip himself. He did not know Mays relationship to Cheval. She might be next-of-kin. She might be a suspect. She might be someone Cheval was stalking, for all he knew.

321-A Grasshopper Court was part of Bugstein Apartments, a relatively upscale apartment complex in one of Bludhaven's more affluent areas. Dick wasn't sure what to expect mid-day, but there were lots of people mulling about the apartment complex, most of them older. Dick guessed this was a community that attracted lots of elderly folks. He thought briefly of his own ongoing troubles as a landlord. The city was giving him hell on reconstructing his apartment building, recently attacked and nearly destroyed. Oh well, he thought. An issue for another time.

Dick's reserved tap on the door of Apartment 321-A was greeted relatively promptly. Dick found himself opposite a matronly older woman. She appeared to be quite healthy, but was at least in her sixties. Her hair was totally white. She wore a blouse and a pair of cotton pants. Probably naïve of her to open the door for me, thought Dick. "Yes? May I help you?" asked the woman.

Dick showed her his badge. "Detective Grayson, ma'am, Bludhaven PD. Are you Edith Mays?"

Edith was somewhat agitated as she nodded, and Dick realized he'd probably unnerved her. He was going to have to work on his ‘bedside manner’. On the other hand, she was a suspect, if an unlikely one. Dick tried to give her his most disarming smile. "No reason to be alarmed, ma'am. But I wonder if you might have time to talk to me for a few minutes. We can talk out here if you'd like." He wanted very badly to get inside, but thought the indirect approach might serve him better.

He was right. After scrutinizing his badge, Edith turned back inside. "Oh no. That's fine. Please, come in." She led Dick back into an apartment that was immaculately neat, although Dick got the impression it wasn't all that clean. Knick-knacks cluttered the apartment, probably keepsakes amassed over a lifetime. The TV droned in the background, playing one of the more innocuous soap operas on the air. The lights were mostly out in the apartment, and it was lit primarily with natural light from outside. There was one lamp turned on by an easy chair, in which sat a folded newspaper and pen. Pictures lined the walls. Dick recognized Edith, or younger versions of Edith, in most of the pictures. The largest picture was over the fireplace, of a younger Edith and two men. One of the men, aged significantly, appeared in a smaller picture on an end table. Dick did not notice any pictures of Jonathan Cheval, at any age. Edith retrieved her newspaper and sat in the easy chair. "I was just doing my crossword and watching my stories. Please sit down. Can I offer you anything?"

Dick sat facing Edith on the couch. "No thanks, ma'am."

"Well then, what is this all about?"

"This may be an odd question to you, Ms. Mays, but do you know a man by the name of Jonathan Cheval?"

Edith paled, and then regained her composure. "Yes, yes I do. Mr. Cheval is a friend of mine. Why do you ask?"

"Do you know him well? Have you known him long?" Dick scanned the small apartment, satisfied himself that he and Edith were alone.

"Well, that's two questions, isn't it? I would say I know him pretty well. I have not known him very long, only about two months. Now," she paused for dramatic effect, "would you answer my question?"

Fair enough, Dick thought. "Ms. Mays, Mr. Cheval was found in Guy Park last night, dead." Edith recoiled, a look of denial on her face. Time for the next bombshell. "We have reason to believe his death may not have been of natural causes."

Edith put her hand to her mouth. Dick could tell she was genuinely upset by the news, and that she hadn't known of Cheval's death before his arrival. He saw a single tear form on her face, but she wiped it away before it could reach her mouth. Dick wanted to comfort her, to ease her sorrow in some way, but he also needed to observe her reaction. "Can I get you anything, Ms. Mays?" he finally stammered. "I know this must be upsetting if you and Mr. Cheval were close."

Edith shook her head, still clearly fighting to maintain her composure. Finally, as if through a Herculean feat of will, she managed the task. She looked at Dick with resolute eyes. "I'm sorry. I read in the paper this morning that a body was found, but they didn't release the name and I didn't… didn't make the connection. This…may seem like a silly question, but are you sure? That it was Jonathan, I mean?"

Dick nodded. "I'm afraid so, ma'am. Your phone number was scrawled on a piece of paper we found in his wallet. We don't know how to get in touch with any of Mr. Cheval's relatives, or…"

Edith broke in, not in a rude manner, but matter-of-factly. "As far as I know, Jonathan didn't have any family. Certainly none around here. He'd only lived in Bludhaven a few months."

"Why did he live here if he didn't have any connection to the area?"

"I think he was hoping to get a job, actually." She chuckled despite herself. "Seventy-six years old and still looking for work. He didn't have a pension or anything, after the time he spent, well…you know.."

"If you're referring to his past, yes we know about that." In truth, there was much Dick didn't know about Cheval's past. About thirty five years worth, in fact. Maybe if he played as if he knew, convinced Edith he knew more than he actually did, she'd reveal something worth knowing.

"Yes, well," Edith said primly.

"Ms. Mays, how did you meet Mr. Cheval?" Dick decided to switch subjects.

She thought a moment, lost in a memory. "I met him at the grocery store, as a matter of fact. We almost bumped into one another on the frozen foods aisle. My fault, really; I was carrying some tv dinners and didn't look where I was going. He was such the gentleman, though. Helped me pick up my things, was very gracious about the whole incident.

"We got to talking, introduced ourselves and ended up getting a cup of coffee. He was so nervous, told me he'd not been in the Haven very long and didn't really know anyone."

"Did he tell you about his past?"

"Yes, actually the first time we met. He said he wanted to put it out there, let me know right away who I was dealing with. Said if I didn't want to be around him because of his past, he understood. Told me all about it. Yes."

"Weren't you put off? No offense, but you'd just met him. He was a total stranger."

"Well, he was hardly an imposing figure, was he? He was really frail, had just gotten out of hospital. And he was honest. And a gentleman, such a gentleman…I really didn't see the harm. Besides, all that 'Monocle' business was behind him."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to do him harm?"

Edith thought. "Well, I guess those villain characters make lots of enemies. But I can't imagine anyone hating Jonathan enough to…kill him." She looked at her crossword as she spoke.

Dick completed the interview and thanked Edith for her time. She was gracious as she let him out, but Dick was certain of one thing. Edith Mays was hiding something.

His phone rang before he got to his unmarked. Officer Hugh Drebbin, one of his subordinates.

"Detective? I'm at Cheval's apartment with Officer Whiting. We got his address from Mastercard. I think you ought to get over here."

Silently, Dick fumed. Drebbin and Whiting were overeager and presumptuous. As the lead detective on the case, he should've been present for the trip to Cheval's. Still, he suppressed his anger.

"What've you got?"

"Looks like the Monocle was a little off-center. We've found the works - women's underwear..."

"Maybe he had a girlfriend." Surely not Edith Mays, he thought.

Drebbin continued. "Whips, chains, leather outfits, handcuffs…this is not a normal collection of items. Looks like our boy Monocle had himself an S&M fetish."

"I'm on my way."

To Be Continued...

Previous Issue | Next Issue