Author's notes:  My thanks to Charlene, Rose, and Jim Greeno, for their 
wonderful help.

Angel of Darkness, Devil of Light
by Sandra Miller (smiller@lonestarcomics.com)

~~~~~~~~~~
All the still point of destruction
At the centre of the fury
All the angels, all the devils
All around us can't you see
There is a deeper wave than this
Rising in the land
There is a deeper wave than this
Nothing will withstand

I say love is the seventh wave.
-- Sting 
~~~~~~~~~~

** Prologue **

Dick Grayson shook his head, trying to identify the sound that had awakened him.  
A-ha!  There it was!  He stumbled from the bed toward the pants that lay draped 
on a nearby chair.  His cell phone was still clipped to his belt.  He looked at 
the alarm clock and saw that it was almost nine a.m.

“Dick, *why* does your phone play Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars?” muttered 
a sleepy-sounding Barbara Gordon buried somewhere under the covers of the bed.

“Because when it rings, it’s generally bad news,” he responded, flipping open 
the phone.  “Grayson.”

“Dick?” said a tentative female voice on the other end.

“Clancy?  Is that you?”

“Yeah, ...”

Dick thought he heard her voice break as if she had been crying.  “What’s wrong, 
Bridget?” he asked gently.

“I’ve been arrested!” she blurted out.  “Some New York City detectives showed up 
at my apartment.  They took me in for questioning, and I’ve just been charged 
with David’s murder!”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry for bothering you, Dick, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to 
call,” she said miserably.  “I don’t want to worry my mum and dad since there’s 
nothin’ they can do from Ireland ...”   She broke off, and Dick could hear her 
crying.

“It’s no bother, Clancy!” he replied.  “Um, who’s ‘David’?”

“David Munroe.”  She stopped crying and continued in a tense, angry tone, “I 
*thought* he was ‘Mr. Right’, but I didn’t know there was already a ‘Mrs. Right’ 
in the picture!”  She paused, and then said more calmly, “We had been seeing 
each other for the last ... three months or so.  About a week ago, I found out 
he was married, and we had a huge fight.  I didn’t hear anything more from him 
until the police showed up last night.”  She took a deep breath and continued, 
“At first, they said they just wanted to ask me some questions about David, but 
then they started asking me where I was the night he was killed.  They showed me 
a security tape of someone who looked like me entering his apartment that night.  
Then they told me they were charging me with his murder!  I didn’t do it!”

“Okay, listen, do you have a lawyer?”

“No, that’s one reason I called you - I thought you might know someone ...  
You’ve got to believe me, Dick -- I didn’t do it!”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Clance,” he said soothingly.  “I’ll get someone over to 
you right away.”  He wrote down the details of where she was being held and 
promised he would come by to see her as soon as he could.  After she hung up, he 
bent his head down and sighed.

“I didn’t catch everything, but it sounds like Clancy’s in trouble?” Barbara 
asked.

“Yeah, she’s been charged with second degree murder of some New Yorker named 
David Munroe.  Why does that name ring a bell?”

Barbara thought for a minute.  “Probably because he’s the third in a string of 
New York City policemen who’ve been killed in the last eighteen months.”

“Oh Lord, I remember now.  They were even talking about it at the station; it 
was pretty sensational.  Each of the victims was found naked, showing signs of 
some pretty rough sex, and was stabbed to death.  One of our sergeants started 
talking about leaving Bludhaven to join the NYPD in hopes of getting some of the 
‘action.’  Okay, I’m definitely calling Murdock.”  He sat down at the 
workstation in Barbara’s bedroom and searched through the New York City phone 
book.  Surely someone would be in the office by now.

“Murdock?” Barbara questioned.

“Yeah,” he replied absently.  He dialed the number.

“Nelson and Murdock,” responded the polite receptionist voice.

“Is Mr. Murdock available?” Dick asked.

“Yes, who may I say is calling?”

“My name is Richard Grayson.  Mr. Murdock met my father when he was visiting 
Gotham City a while back.”

A moment or so later, a man’s voice said pleasantly, “This is Matt Murdock, Mr. 
Grayson.  Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Dick replied.  “I have a friend who’s been arrested in New York, 
and she needs a good lawyer.  I’d heard of you from my ... father, Bruce Wayne, 
so I thought I would give you a call.”

There was a short silence on the other end of the line.  Then, “I ... see.  I 
take it you are in the same ... business as Mr. Wayne?”

“It’s something of a family business, yes,” Dick smiled.

“And is your friend also in this business?”

“Oh, no, no.  She ... doesn’t know anything about that.  Bridget just happens to 
be a friend of mine.  She’s being charged with the David Munroe murder.  Will 
you take the case?”

“I’ll certainly go talk to her.”

Dick sighed.  “If you can get bail for her, I’ll cover it, but I have a hunch 
they’re going to deny her any since she’s an Irish citizen -- they’ll worry she 
might flee the country.”

“You’re probably right, but we’ll certainly give it a shot.”

“I’m planning to visit her this afternoon.  Is it all right if I come by your 
office to talk to you?  I’d like to help in *any* way I can.”

“That should be fine.”  Dick heard the smile in the other man’s voice as he 
continued, “I certainly look forward to meeting you.”

He gave Murdock the case information on Clancy and hung up.  Dick turned around 
to see a flabbergasted Barbara staring back at him.

“He knows who Bruce is?  Who you are?  How ... when ...”  She continued 
indignantly, “Why don’t I know about this?!”

“Hey, it’s only fair that he knows, sweetheart!  After all, *we* know Daredevil 
is really a blind lawyer named Matt Murdock.”

** Chapter 1 **

As Matt Murdock stepped into the dank interview room, the aroma of mildew and 
sweat assaulted his nose as his “radar sense” made out the form of the young 
woman sitting at the table.  The shape of her obviously Chinese features was 
something of a shock, given her very Irish name, but with the ease of long 
habit, he kept his surprise from showing in his expression.  

“Ms. Clancy?” he asked, deliberately focusing on a point several inches above 
her head.

“Might you be my lawyer, sir?” she replied.

At least the voice matched the name, Matt thought.  “Yes.  My name is Matt 
Murdock.  Your friend, Richard Grayson, indicated you were in need of a lawyer 
and thought I might be suitable.  Is that acceptable to you?”

She nodded, but as usual, he had to pretend not to notice the action.  He waited 
another few seconds.

“Ms. Clancy?”

“Oh!  Oh, yes, Mr. Murdock!  I’m sorry!  Yes, that’s acceptable to me,” she 
stammered slightly in obvious embarrassment.

He sat down at the table across from her and gave her what he hoped was a 
reassuring smile.  “All right.  Now, I asked the arresting officer for the 
basics of the case when I got here, but why don’t you tell me about your 
relationship with Munroe and what happened the last time you saw him.”

“I first met David when I came to New York on spring break.  He took me out to 
dinner, and we seemed to hit it off immediately.”

Clancy continued her story.  After she returned to Gotham City, Munroe made 
several trips to visit her, and eventually they began alternating between the 
two cities.  Because of her heavy course load and his erratic schedule as a cop, 
they had not been able to see each other as much as they wanted, but Clancy 
hoped that once school was out, she could see more of him.  

When her last final was over, she drove straight to New York and met David at 
his apartment -- he had arranged to be off work for the next two days.  They 
made love most of the afternoon but finally left the apartment around five 
o’clock for an early supper.  They had just sat down at one of their favorite 
restaurants when a blond-haired woman in her early thirties came up to David and 
began screaming at him.

“It took me a few minutes to figure out what she was saying, but then I realized 
she was claiming to be David’s wife.  She said she’d finally figured out why he 
was claiming to work so much overtime.  Then she slapped him and stormed back 
out of the restaurant.  David tried to convince me that she was some crazy 
woman, but I didn’t believe him anymore.  ‘Twas the coffee pot, y’see.”

“The coffee pot?” asked Matt, slightly confused.

“Well, that and some other things that had begun to bother me a bit.  David 
always dressed well, but he never had very many clothes in his apartment.  He 
was never home when I called, and he never really liked for me to call him at 
work.  The coffee pot was the clincher.  David was a coffee addict -- I never 
knew him to go for very long without a cup.  But when I made coffee for him 
earlier that afternoon, the coffee pot and the coffee container were dusty.  
That made no sense.”

“Unless he wasn’t really living in that apartment.”

“Right.”

“So then what happened?”

“I’m afraid David and I had a bit of an argument of our own.  Then I left him in 
the restaurant, walked back to my car, and drove back to Gotham.”

“What time did you get back?”

“It was around eight o’clock, I guess, but I was too keyed up to stay in my 
apartment, so I went to the park for a walk.  I finally got back around eleven 
o’clock or so.  And before you ask, I’ll tell you what I told the police -- as 
far as I know, there’s no one that can verify any of that,” she finished 
dejectedly.

“No one?”

“Nope.  My apartment isn’t fancy enough for those time-stamped security systems, 
and for once, none of my tenants needed anything from me until the next day.  By 
that time of night, the park is pretty deserted, or if not, I doubt we could 
find anyone who could credibly say he saw me.  Believe me, I’ve had a lot of 
time to try to think of someone.”

“Okay.  From what I’ve been told, the police can place you in Munroe’s 
apartment, they have witnesses to your argument, they claim to have a witness 
that says you were seen leaving a bar with Munroe later that evening, and you 
can’t establish that you were in Gotham City at the time of the murder.  That’s 
the bad news.  On the other hand, they have no physical evidence that could 
place you in the apartment at the time of the murder and they have no murder 
weapon.”  He gave her another reassuring smile.  “I’m not going to promise you 
it will be easy, Ms. Clancy, but I do have confidence that we can win.”

He heard her breath catch slightly as she sighed.  “Thank you, Mr. Murdock.  
I’ll try to hold on to that.”

He pulled out one of his cards and gave it to her.  “I need to go now, but if 
you have any questions, or you need anything, please call me.  If I’m not 
available, ask for Franklin Nelson -- he’s my law partner.  All right?”

“All right.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Murdock?  Richard Grayson is here to see you,” his secretary announced 
through the tinny speakers of the intercom.

“Show him in, please, Janice.”  Matt looked up, startled, as he detected *two* 
people in addition to Janice coming through the door.  The young man was 
obviously Grayson; although Matt had subconsciously assumed he would be taller.   
The beautiful woman accompanying him was a surprise as well, as she rolled into 
his office in a wheelchair.  

Once Janice left, Grayson walked over and held out his hand.  “Mr. Murdock, I’m 
Dick Grayson, and this is my friend, Barbara Gordon.”  

Startled once again by the gesture, but appreciating Grayson’s discretion in 
waiting until they were alone, Matt shook hands with them both.  The two men sat 
down, and Barbara rolled next to Grayson.

“This may sound a little strange, but I want to compliment you on your building, 
Mr. Murdock,” she said, in a pleasant soprano voice.  “I sometimes have trouble 
getting around in office buildings, but not today.”

Matt smiled.  “One of my former secretaries was in a wheelchair, and she taught 
me a lot about what worked best.  When we designed this building, I knew she 
would’ve had my head if we hadn’t done it right.”  He leaned back in his chair.  
“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Grayson?” 

“Please, call me Dick.  We just came from visiting Clancy, and she said you had 
taken her case,” Grayson replied.  His voice was a pleasant baritone, and 
although he had something of an upper crust New York accent, there was an 
underlying layer of something more exotic.  Interesting.  “I wanted to offer 
whatever help I could -- and volunteer Babs for any help she could give.”  He 
turned toward his companion with a grin.  “She’s a research librarian and has 
been known to give the Gotham City PD a hand from time to time.  I managed to 
persuade her to come help me.”

“You mean you pouted at me and begged and bribed me to come help you,” she 
smiled.

“It persuaded you, didn’t it?”

She aimed a lazy swat at Grayson, who captured her hand and kissed it with easy 
familiarity.  He continued, “Honestly, we just want to help.  I’ll admit, even 
though I expected it, I was still somewhat surprised you weren’t able to arrange 
bail.  How strong a case do you think the DA has?”

“The bail decision came down to Bridget’s being from Gotham City and a judge’s 
being up for re-election.  Even though I offered to surrender her passport, the 
prosecution convinced the judge she was a flight risk.  All of the evidence 
against Ms. Clancy is circumstantial -- they have no murder weapon, and nothing 
that can really tie her to the victim at the time of the murder.  What they *do* 
have are witnesses to the argument between her and the victim, physical evidence 
that she was at his apartment, and a witness that places her in New York with 
the victim about an hour before he was murdered.  There’s also apparently a 
security tape that implicates Bridget as well.  Bridget says she was in Gotham 
City by that time, but she has no way to verify that.”

“Do you believe her?” asked Barbara.

“Yes, I do.”  Matt sighed.  “Unfortunately, the witness that contradicts her 
story is normally a very reliable man -- I know him.  I’m sure there’s some 
reason he’s mistaken, but I’m not sure how to prove it.”

Dick nodded.  “All right.  I’m assuming that even though this case is almost 
identical to the other two cops who were killed, the DA is not going to bring 
those cases up?”

“Right.  There’s absolutely *no* evidence linking her to the other two murders, 
and they don’t want to complicate their case.  I’ve thought about raising the 
issue myself, but I don’t think it helps our side.”

“Then it seems to me that the best way to get Clancy off is to find the woman 
who actually killed these men,” stated Dick.

“It certainly would make my job easier,” Matt agreed.

“I asked Babs to do a preliminary search to see what these three men had in 
common.”  Dick gestured for Barbara to proceed.

She grimaced.  “Unfortunately, the only thing I’ve found so far was that they 
were New York City police officers killed after picking up a woman for some 
casual sex.  Two were beat cops; one was a detective.  None of the three ever 
served in the same precinct; they didn’t even go to the academy together.  I 
haven’t found any cases that they worked on together, nor did they pick up the 
murderer in the same bar.”

Matt said, “Maybe there isn’t any common factor; maybe she only wants to kill 
cops at random.”

“But how did she *know* they were cops?” replied Dick.  “If they had all been 
beat cops, I might buy that, because of the uniform, but why the detective?  How 
did she know he was police?”  He sighed.  “I think before we settle on random 
choice, we, or rather Babs, should do a thorough background check on these guys.  
I want to know when they were born, where they were born, where they grew up, 
anything you can find out on them.”

Barbara frowned in concentration.  “I can get that information, but it may take 
a little while.”

“Can you do it from the apartment, or do you need to go back home?” Dick asked.

“The apartment should be fine -- Bruce has a nice T1 line I can use to link to 
my servers.  I should be done by the time you’re supposed to take me out to 
dinner.”  She smiled at him.

“Yes, I’m taking you to dinner and a show,” Dick said, in pretend resignation.  
“That was the deal, and I’m sticking to it.”  He turned back to Matt and said 
more seriously, “Would you mind introducing me to your friend who’s the 
witness?”

“Why?” Matt asked, suspicious.  Grayson certainly *seemed* easier to work with 
than Batman/Bruce had been, but maybe the friendliness was as much of a front as 
Wayne’s ditziness.

“Well, I’d like to find out if he actually heard the woman he identified as 
Clancy say anything.”

Matt, remembering his surprise at the contrast between Bridget’s features and 
her distinctive accent, grinned.  “Good point.  Do you want to go now?”

“If you have time.  Babs, why don’t you take your Hummer back to the apartment, 
and I’ll take a cab with Mr. Murdock?”

Barbara agreed, and the three left the office and went down to the parking 
garage.  Matt smiled in some amusement as Dick and Barbara exchanged a rather 
passionate goodbye kiss before she left.  Dick saw the smile and started to 
sputter a bit before he returned a bright grin of his own.

“Yep, I’m a very lucky man,” he smirked.

~~~~~~~~~~

The cab ride to McMurphy’s, the bar where Jerry worked, was quiet.  Matt did not 
want to risk having the cab driver overhear anything, and apparently, neither 
did Dick.  It was early enough in the day that the bar was fairly deserted, but 
Matt could not detect any sign that Jerry was there.  

“Hey, Mr. Murdock!” exclaimed the bartender on duty.  “Haven’t seen you in a 
while!  How’re ya doin’?”

“Hello, Skip,” replied Matt.  “I’m just fine, thanks.  Is Jerry here?”

Skip grinned.  “Naw, he went to go see his daughter.”

“She finally had the baby?”

“Yep!  A bouncing baby boy!  She even named him after Jerry.  From the way Jer 
sounded when I talked to him, he’s not gonna stop smilin’ until sometime *next* 
century.”  

“Do you know when he’s going to be back?” Dick asked.

“Well, knowin’ Jerry and knowin’ his daughter, I’d say she’ll send him home in a 
couple of days, so I figure he’ll be back on Wednesday.”  Skip became somewhat 
more serious.  “You want me to give him a message?”

Matt noticed Dick shaking his head and agreed with him.  This question needed to 
be asked in person.  “Just congratulate him for me.  I’ll check back with him 
later in the week.”

Matt and Dick left the bar.  Dick then stood with his hands in his pockets.

“Great.  Just great,” he said.

“Look, we already know Bridget wasn’t there,” Matt said, trying to cheer him.  
“Two days isn’t going to affect the investigation much one way or the other.  
Maybe Barbara will have something by the time you get back.”

“Yeah, and then I can go out and party while one of my friends sits in jail.  
Woo, what fun!” Dick muttered.  He looked at Matt.  “Yes, I know there’s nothing 
more I can do right now.  Yes, I know I promised Babs.  I’ll probably even enjoy 
it.  But it still doesn’t seem right.”

“Tonight, I’m planning to do some questioning of a more ... direct nature on a 
different case.  Would you care to come along?”

Dick gave him a grim little smile that suddenly reminded Matt of Batman.  
“Sometimes ‘direct’ is the only way to go.”

“I find it somewhat ... therapeutic, myself.”

Dick’s smile gradually became more natural.  “Therapeutic, huh?  I know what you 
mean.  Nothing quite like a ‘hands on’ approach to the legal system.”  He hailed 
a cab.  “Thanks for the invitation.  I might just take you up on it.” 

“Don’t you want to know where I’ll be?” Matt asked as Dick started to get into 
the cab.

“I’ll find you.  I learned from the best.”

** Chapter 2 **

Dick opened the door and wandered wearily through the apartment to the study 
where Barbara had set up shop.  She looked up with a smile as he walked in.

“How’d it go?”

“Guy wasn’t there,” he sighed.  He leaned one hip against the desk and ran his 
hands through his hair in frustration.

Barbara quirked her brows in concern.  “Was he tipped off?”

Her automatic suspicion brought a half-hearted smile to his face.  “Nah.  His 
daughter just had a baby.  He’s supposed to be back in a few days.  Based on 
Murdock’s reaction, I think it’s legit.”  He straightened up and walked into the 
bedroom to change clothes.  He sat down on the bed to take off his shoes.  
Somehow he was not surprised to see Barbara follow him in.  She maneuvered her 
wheelchair next to the bed and transferred herself next to him.  They sat 
quietly for a minute or so.

Finally, she reached over, and taking hold of his chin, gently turned him to 
face her.

“Now, you listen to me, Dicky-boy,” she said sternly, “you are *not* going to 
pull a ‘Bruce’ on me.  You’ve done everything you can do for right now.  This 
case is going to take time, and you’ve got to be patient.  You have done your 
duty as Bridget’s friend, so now you are going to get cleaned up and take me out 
for a night on the town.  Do you understand?” 

Her forceful tone reminded him of earlier days (and earlier lectures) and caused 
him to smile in spite of himself.  She smirked at him in return.  A very 
superior, self-satisfied smirk.  Much too self-satisfied.  He pounced on her and 
managed to pin her to the bed and kiss her until they were both breathing 
deeply.  He pulled back to look down at her.  The smirk had become a sexy grin.  
Much better.

“Woman, if we’re going anywhere tonight, you’d better get a move on.  We need to 
be at the restaurant in about forty-five minutes,” he announced as he rolled off 
her.  She swatted at his back and got back in her chair.  As she rolled toward 
the bathroom, he remembered to ask, “Did you ever decide whether you wanted to 
go to the concert or the ballet?”  He had given her the choice on the drive up 
from Gotham:  New York Philharmonic or American Ballet Theatre.

She turned back around.  “Hmmm.  Ear candy or eye candy.  Decisions, decisions, 
decisions.”  She rolled into the bathroom, and he could hear her start the bath 
water running.  He followed her in.

“You going to need your back scrubbed?” he leered with a grin.

“Somehow I think I’ll get done faster without your help,” she replied as she 
added some bath oil to the water.  “I’m in the mood for eye candy, so let’s go 
to the ballet.”

“Eye candy.”

“Sure -- all those great-looking guys, wearing costumes that leave very little 
to the imagination -- definitely eye candy.”

Pretending to be hurt, he huffed, “What about me?”

“What about you, Dicky-boy?”

“Aren’t I ‘eye candy’?”

“Of *course* you are,” she said mock-soothingly.  “A girl just likes a little 
variety, that’s all.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if we went to one of those Vegas-style revues that comes 
to Bludhaven every few months or so?” he said in an idle tone.

“That’s completely different, Former Boy Wonder.”

“Why?”

“Ballet is *Art*; those revues are just tacky.”

“Ah, I see -- it’s okay for you to look at half-naked men dancing on a stage, 
because that’s Art.  But half-naked *women* dancing on a stage is tacky.”

“I always knew you were a smart one, sweetheart,” she said, patting him on the 
cheek.  He growled at her and scooped her out of her chair and dropped her into 
the tub, still fully clothed.  She retaliated by pulling him in after her.  They 
eventually decided that since they were already wet, they might as well help 
each other get undressed.  Then Barbara decided she really *would* like Dick to 
scrub her back.  And her front.

Babs was right -- helping her with her bath did *not* speed things up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dick smiled as he swung through the city on a de-cel line, enjoying the warm 
summer evening.  The ballet, Le Corsair, had actually been pretty interesting.  
More to the point, it had made Babs happy.  His smile became a grin as he 
spotted a man in a fire-engine red costume almost exactly where he expected to 
find him -- on the rooftop of an old office building that faced an equally old, 
run-down warehouse.  He landed a few feet away from Daredevil and walked over to 
join him near the roof’s edge.  

Murdock turned to acknowledge him with a half-smile.  “I guess you weren’t just 
boasting about being able to find me,” he murmured.  “I’m impressed.”

Dick replied, “Well, since the Titans are based in New York, I try to stay 
current on who works where.  You mainly stay in the Hell’s Kitchen area, and 
this seemed the most likely spot for a stakeout.”

“Any luck on the computer search?”

“When I left, Babs had lots of data, but no matches.  She suggested the three of 
us get together and go through everything to see what we could make of it.”

Daredevil nodded.  “I have to be in court tomorrow afternoon, but my morning’s 
clear.”

“Great.”  Dick looked down on the decrepit warehouse.  “So what’s your situation 
here?”

“You know anything about the Kingpin’s operation?”

“I know he’s been one of the biggest players in the city’s crime scene.  I 
thought he was out of the picture now - I’ve heard conflicting stories, but I 
thought he was either in the hospital or dead.”

“Yeah, which created a power vacuum.  I’ve heard some rumors that there’s 
supposed to be a big drug delivery here tonight to one of the leading contenders 
to Kingpin’s operation, Joe Fortunato.  I’ve also heard rumors that one or more 
of his rivals, probably Monty Montgomery, may try to disrupt things.”  

“Gotcha.”  Dick sat on the roof edge near Murdock and brought out his 
binoculars.  He gave the area around the warehouse a quick scan to familiarize 
himself with the area and the layout.  “When do you expect the show to start?”

“If my informant’s correct, we should see some action in the next half-hour or 
so.”

Dick glanced over at Daredevil.  “All Batman told me was that you were ‘visually 
impaired,’ and that you favored ‘other modes of sensory input.’ “   He grinned 
again; Barbara had been *so* mad about not being told that Murdock was 
Daredevil.  Dick finally got off the hook by admitting that he usually assumed 
she knew everything anyway, and wasn’t it really Bruce’s fault for not telling 
her when he told Dick?  

He continued, “If you don’t mind my asking, how does your ... gig work?  Are you 
really blind or what?”

Murdock smiled somewhat sadly.  “I am blind in the most literal sense -- my eyes 
don’t work.  But the accident that blinded me also made my other senses much 
more sensitive.  I can hear a person’s heartbeat, follow a scent like a 
bloodhound, and ‘read’ a newspaper by touch.  The oddest change was the addition 
of what I call my ‘radar sense’ -- even though I can’t ‘see’ you sitting over 
there, I perceive an ... outline of you in my head.”

“An *outline*?”

“It’s hard to describe.  The best analogy I can think of is to compare it to 
looking at a statue -- you basically see a three-dimensional outline of 
something, but there’s no color.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah,” Murdock agreed with a laugh.  “What I find even weirder is that even 
though I’m not ‘seeing’ any of this with my eyes, I still reference everything 
from eye-level.  Including the stuff behind me.”

“Behind you?” Dick exclaimed.  “Doesn’t that get confusing?”

“Sometimes.  When I first realized what was happening, I thought I’d go crazy!  
But over the years, I’ve learned to ‘focus’ on what I was perceiving in front of 
me and treat the other stuff as a kind of peripheral vision.”

“I get it -- you don’t really notice what’s going on behind you unless something 
catches your attention?”

“Right.  I tend to concentrate a little harder when I’m in a fight situation, 
but I’ve found that adrenaline helps me do that.”

“It tends to sharpen everything anyway.”

“Yep.”  He paused.  “I think I hear our boys coming.  From the west.”

Dick swung his binoculars to the side street on the west side of the warehouse.  
“Yeah.  I count ten guys headed this way.”

“Plus two flanking them on either side of the street.”

“The sides of the street are really shadowed.  Are you sure those two aren’t 
scouts for the rival group?”

Murdock thought for a minute.  “Could be.  Monty’s certainly sneaky enough.  
Which would mean that the rest of his group should be nearby.”  

He sat perfectly still.  Dick found himself almost holding his breath as he 
watched the almost-palpable concentration of the other man.  Murdock turned 
slightly and cocked his head.  He nodded.

“Got ‘em.  They’re circling around from the northwest, to catch Joe’s boys from 
behind.  Fifteen, including Montgomery.”

“How do you know Montgomery’s with them?”

“I recognized his heartbeat,” Murdock said, matter-of-factly.

“O-kayyy,” replied Dick, startled.  “What would you like me to do?”

“You mean you’re actually *asking* me instead of ordering me around?” Murdock 
grinned.

Dick laughed.  “I can definitely tell you’ve met Batman. He does tend to get on 
peoples’ nerves a bit.  That’s why I asked.”

“Heh,” Murdock snorted.  He fired a grappling line from his billy club to the 
roof of the warehouse and swung over there.  Dick followed.  

Matt continued, “Anyway, there’s a group of narcotics detectives who already 
have surveillance on the street down there.  They heard the same rumors I did 
about the drug buy.  I don’t want to tip off Fortunato about the surveillance 
until the deal has actually been made.  On the other hand, I don’t want those 
cops caught in the crossfire of a gang war.”

Dick saw that the other gang was several blocks away.  “So you want to take out 
Montgomery’s men before they disrupt the deal, and then take out Fortunato and 
the supplier after the deal.”

“Right.  The police get a nice-sized drug bust, and I have one less headache.  I 
wish I could get Montgomery off the street as well, but I don’t have enough on 
him yet to make any kind of major case.”

“Sometimes you have to take what you can get,” nodded Dick.  He grinned.  “Shall 
we bust some heads, Mr. Murdock?”

Daredevil grinned in return.  “Indeed, Mr. Grayson!  If you would care to follow 
me?”  He launched a line and swung down to land gracefully in front of 
Montgomery’s gang.  

Dick landed lightly behind him in the shadows.  After Matt’s spectacular 
entrance, he doubted anyone would notice him unless he moved.  Daredevil stood 
in front of the surprised group of men and spoke directly to a tall, lean man 
with dark hair and a large scar that ran down his cheek.

“Why, hello there, Monty!” Daredevil exclaimed cheerfully.  “Nice evening for a 
walk isn’t it?”

The tall man growled, “Get ‘im, boys!”  The men surged forward to attack.  Dick 
shook his head in resignation and began attacking the attackers.  He was able to 
take out most of his opponents with simple punches or kicks, although for a few, 
he was forced to use his escrima sticks.  Glancing up from time to time, he saw 
that Daredevil was fighting in the same fashion.  After several more minutes, 
they met up with each other, and the three or four men who could still stand 
were limping away as fast as they could.  Not surprisingly, Montgomery was one 
of those leaving.

Dick looked at Daredevil, and the two men grinned at each other.  Daredevil then 
launched a grappling line at the warehouse and turned to Dick.

“Well, that was a good appetizer!  You ready for the main course?”

Dick shot a grappling line of his own.  “Hey, as my girlfriend will tell you, I 
am *always* ready!  Let’s go!”

** Chapter 3 **

As Matt regained his lookout spot on the warehouse roof, he was momentarily 
startled to see Nightwing keep going.  Then he realized the younger man had 
spotted the drug sellers and was getting in position to shadow them.  The more 
he got to know Dick Grayson, the more impressed he was.  In many ways, he 
reminded Matt of Peter Parker - otherwise known as Spider-Man.  Both tended to 
use humor to disguise their serious attitudes toward crime fighting.  

Matt had heard Dick’s mouth going non-stop during the fighting with Monty’s men, 
and he had sometimes been hard-pressed to keep from laughing out loud at the 
wisecracks.  And now this same comedian assessed the situation and Matt’s 
position, and he took up the logical, tactical position as casually as he had 
walked into Matt’s office that afternoon.

Fortunato’s men arrived in front of the warehouse just as an SUV carrying what 
Matt presumed to be the drug sellers turned the corner.  Seconds later, the 
vehicle pulled to a stop, and two bodyguards stepped out, followed by a short, 
round man.  Matt heard them confirming the deal; even better, he heard the same 
voices coming through the speakers of the police’s surveillance post.  He waited 
for the main buyer - Fortunato, presumably - to produce the money, which would 
be the best time to make his move, but Fortunato pulled out a cell phone 
instead.  Matt muttered curses under his breath, and he heard similar curses 
coming from both the police and Nightwing.  Unlike everyone else though, 
Nightwing immediately took action.

“Babs, do you have my position?” Matt heard Dick whisper hurriedly.

“I’ve got you, Former Boy Wonder.  What’cha need?” Barbara replied.

“Quick, scan for a cell phone call in my vicinity.  It may be scrambled.”

As Matt listened to Fortunato set up the electronic payment, Matt wondered what 
Barbara could do that the now vociferously complaining police could not.  The 
police were able to hear the conversation between the suppliers and the gang, 
but their equipment was not sensitive enough to catch the phone conversation, at 
least without exposing their position.  Matt heard Barbara mutter under her 
breath for a few seconds.  

“Got it!” she exclaimed.

“Great!” responded Dick.  “Can you see that the cops in the building below me 
get this?”

“Sure.  Hang on a sec.”

Matt then heard a slightly delayed version of the transaction coming out of the 
police’s speakers.  The police stopped cursing.  He grinned and looked over at 
Dick.  

Dick stared back and asked quietly, “So, did it work?”  Matt gave Dick a 
“thumbs-up,” and Dick responded with a grin of his own.  Dick said to Barbara, 
“They got it.  Great work, sweetheart!  Thanks a bunch!”

“You’re welcome.  Looks like a bunch of police headed your way.  You two be 
careful!”

“We will, sweetheart.  I’ll see you soon - looks like we’ve got some street 
cleaning to do first.”

“Bye.”

Seconds later, the deal was finished, and the two groups began to disperse.  
Matt swung down on Fortunato’s men and saw that Dick had done the same with the 
dealers.  Matt heard the surveillance unit give the signal for the police to 
close in, so he knew they only had to keep the situation contained for a few 
minutes.  Four explosive noises worried him until he realized that Nightwing had 
somehow caused the SUV’s tires to blow, which would keep the dealers from 
leaving that way.

Matt laid into one henchman with a roundhouse punch and then took out another 
with a sidekick.  He then had to worry about trying to keep from laughing as 
Dick began complaining at the lack of “witty banter.”

“Y’know, I expected more of you New York City types,” Matt heard him say as Dick 
did a handstand, wrapped his legs around his opponent’s neck, and threw him to 
the ground.  Dick continued, without missing a beat, “If I wanted plain grunts 
and groans, I could’ve stayed in Bludhaven.”  *Wham*  A leaping kick to another 
victim’s chest.  “I mean, you’ve got Broadway *and* Saturday Night Live, for 
Pete’s sake!  This is just not acceptable!”

By this time, Dick had taken out the supplier and his men and was assisting Matt 
with Fortunato’s men.  Matt continued methodically working his way through the 
melee when he heard a cheerful, “Incoming!”

Nightwing had - somehow - launched one of the smaller thugs through the air like 
a missile squarely at Matt’s position.  Matt quickly grabbed his opponent’s 
wrist and ankle and flung him toward the airborne man.  The two crashed into 
each other and dropped like stones.  

Dick yelled, “I don’t suppose I could talk you into to trying out for the 
Knights, could I?  They’ve needed a clean-up hitter for the *longest* time!”

“Sorry,” replied Matt.  “I’m a Mets fan, myself.”

“Oh, well,” Dick responded.  There were now only three men left standing.  The 
sirens were now clearly audible.  The three looked at Matt and Nightwing and 
each other.  They then sat down on the ground with their hands on their heads.  
The police arrived shortly thereafter and took everyone into custody.  In the 
confusion, Nightwing managed to slip away back to the warehouse roof.  After 
Matt had given a statement, he joined the younger man.  Dick was still grinning.

“Well, *that* was certainly a lot of fun!  Thanks for inviting me.  I always 
like to get practice fighting large groups of people.”

“ ‘I’ve been specializing in groups; battling gangs for local charities, that 
kind of thing. You use different moves when you’re fighting half-a-dozen people 
than when you only have to be worried about one,’ ” Matt quoted almost 
subconsciously.

“Princess Bride, right?” Dick said, in delight.  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d 
... watch movies.”

Matt cleared his throat in a combination of regret and embarrassment.  “It was 
my ... girlfriend’s favorite movie.  She especially liked to watch it while I 
was ... out each night.”  When Matt had asked Karen why she liked the movie so 
much, she told him that it reminded her to have faith in Matt and in their love.  
Too bad her faith had not been enough to keep her alive when Bullseye ...  Matt 
deliberately shut off that train of thought.

Dick, showing an unexpected perceptiveness, asked no more questions about 
Princess Bride.  “I guess I’ll call it a night,” he said.  “Why don’t you come 
over in the morning, and we can discuss Babs’ information over breakfast?”

“That sounds fine.”

“Great!  It’s 666 Fifth Avenue - the penthouse.  Say around 8:30?”

“I’ll be there,” Matt replied.  

Dick waved goodbye and then jumped off the roof.  Before Matt could become too 
concerned, he detected Dick’s jumpline go out to a neighboring building, and the 
vigilante swung off into the night.  Matt sat on the roof a little longer.  It 
had been a while since he had seen Sister Maggie.  Maybe it was time for a 
visit.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Matt followed a yawning Dick Grayson into the luxurious penthouse apartment 
the next morning, delicious smells drifted out to bombard his senses and remind 
him he had not eaten much dinner the previous evening.  Dick led him back to a 
small breakfast nook where Barbara setting the table.

“Dick, could you get the glasses down for me?” she asked before rotating around 
to smile a welcome at Matt.  “Good morning, Matt!  I hope you brought an 
appetite because I think Dick and I got a little carried away with our waffle-
making.”

“You want coffee, juice, milk, or some combination?” asked Dick, as he got the 
glasses and walked over to the refrigerator.  “I’m figurin’ on having milk with 
my waffles and then finish with coffee.  Babs has juice and coffee.”

“I think I’ll have milk and then coffee, please.”

“No problemo.”

Breakfast was a cheerful affair, with both Dick and Matt eating lots of the 
buttery-rich waffles and crisp bacon (Barbara had one waffle and complained 
about the differences between men’s and women’s metabolisms).  By common 
consent, conversation was kept light and amusing, with the three of them trying 
to come up with the best “stupid criminal” story.  Finally, Barbara poured 
coffee for the two men and refreshed her own cup.  Dick cleared the dishes from 
the table and loaded the dishwasher.  

“Let’s go in the study, where it’s more comfortable,” Dick said, picking up his 
and Barbara’s cups and motioning for Matt to follow them.  They went down the 
hall to a room that was filled with bookcases.  The slightly musty smell of old 
books filled the room.  Matt noticed that in addition to a stereotypically large 
heavy desk, the room also had a small conference table around which were placed 
several parsons chairs.  A laptop computer sat on one end, and there were a 
number of papers scattered about.  Barbara rolled over to the table where the 
laptop was, and Dick sat at her right and motioned for Matt to take the seat on 
the other side of the table at her left.

Barbara began the briefing.  “Matt, as Dick told you last night, I now have lots 
of facts, but nothing that ties them together.  My search programs can tie any 
two of the three victims together in lots of ways, but nothing that combines all 
three.  Just as an example, victims 1 and 2 were part of the same sex chat room, 
but 3 wasn’t.  Likewise, victims 1 and 3 were on the same Star Trek mailing 
list, and 2 and 3 were on the same X-Files list.”

“So Victim #1 liked sex and Star Trek, #2 liked sex and X-Files, and #3 liked 
Star Trek and X-Files, but not sex?” commented Dick with a sour grin.

“You got it, Short Pants.  It’s like that on everything I’ve checked!  Two of 
them were white; one was black.  One was Catholic, one was Protestant, and one 
was a Scientologist.”  She sighed.

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning,” Dick said.  “Give us name, date-of-birth, 
etc.”

“All right.  Victim #1 was Christopher Joseph McIntyre.  White.  Born 10/25/66 
in Buffalo, New York.  Victim #2 was Marcus Obadiah Harrison.  Black.  Born 
6/15/75 in Brooklyn, New York.  Victim #3:  Theodore David Munroe.  White.  Born 
4/21/68 in San Diego, California.”

“California?” asked Matt in surprise.

“Yep.  At the ... Naval hospital there,” Barbara confirmed, looking at her 
laptop.  “That’s the kind of thing I was telling you about - two born in New 
York, one in California.”

Dick sat in thought for a moment.  “Hmm.  Naval hospital in 1968?  Was his 
father in Vietnam?”

Barbara appeared startled and then typed on her keyboard.  After a minute or so, 
she replied, “Yeah.  Navy Lieutenant Theodore James Munroe is on the birth 
certificate.”  She typed further.  “Okay, Theodore James Munroe served in the 
Navy from 1966 until he retired as a Captain in 1987.”

“What about ...” Dick and Matt said almost simultaneously.  Dick laughed and 
motioned for Matt to proceed.

“What about the other two?  Did their fathers serve?” Matt asked, smiling as 
well.

Barbara frowned and typed.  She paused occasionally to stare at something on the 
screen and then typed some more.  Matt could hear her heart rate accelerate as 
she found something that interested her.

“Well, well, well!” she exclaimed.  “This is very interesting.  Not only did our 
other two victims’ fathers serve in Vietnam, but they were even in the same unit 
- SEAL Team One, Squad C - from 1967 through 1971.  Anyone want to place bets 
that this is sheer coincidence?”

“SEALs?” exclaimed Dick.

“Yep.  Chief Petty Officer Collin McIntyre and Petty Officer Second Class 
Jeremiah Harrison.  McIntyre left the Navy in 1971 and Harrison retired in 
1992.”

“Just out of idle curiosity, should you be able to access that information?” 
Matt wondered.

Barbara looked away from her computer to grin at him.  “What information, 
Counselor?”

Simultaneously, Dick said, “She could tell you, but then she’d have to kill you.  
That would get bloodstains all over the carpet, and Alfred would blame *me*.  
Don’t do it, man!”

Matt laughed along with the other two.  He stopped when he realized Dick had 
stopped laughing and was sitting with a peculiar expression on his face.  
“Dick?”

“Based on this, I think we all agree that the SEAL team is the connection 
between the victims, right?  Which means that it really may *be* just a 
coincidence that all three were cops.  Babs, have any of the other team members 
had sons that turned up unusually dead recently?”

Barbara looked as surprised as Matt felt.  She immediately turned back to her 
keyboard and began typing.  She muttered unintelligibly (even to Matt’s ears) to 
herself, drank some coffee, and typed some more.  After several minutes of this, 
she looked up from the screen.

“You were right, Dick.  Petty Officer First Class Jonathan Mackenzie’s son, 
Christopher, was killed about six months ago in Arlington, Virginia.  He was 
found in a hotel room, naked, and stabbed through the heart.  He was an 
accountant.”

Matt said, “I guess the next question to ask is who’s next on the list?  How 
many potential victims are there?”

Barbara replied, “The last two members of the squad were Ensign Charles Hammond 
and Chief Petty Officer Frank O’Reilly.  O’Reilly died back in 1998.  It’ll take 
me a few minutes to track down any kids they might have.”

“I’ll go fetch some more coffee,” Dick volunteered.

Several minutes later, as promised, Barbara had the information.  “Hammond has 
two daughters, and O’Reilly has two sons and two daughters.  Assuming our killer 
continues going after just the guys, that gives us two possibles.”

Matt suddenly had a thought.  “Is there a chance that one of the daughters is 
responsible for this?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Dick replied, more than a trace of doubt in his voice.  
“Remember, though, we’re looking for an Asian-looking woman, and I would doubt 
these women fit that profile.”

“Right,” sighed Matt.

Dick stood up and stretched.  He then turned to face Matt and said determinedly, 
“Looks like our next job is to talk to these SEALs and try to find out what 
could be coming after them more than thirty years after they left Vietnam.”

** Chapter 4 **

Dick stepped out of the air-conditioned rental car and winced as the Texas 
summer heat assaulted him.  The airline pilot had casually informed the 
passengers as they landed that it was 95 degrees with an expected high of 99, 
and Dick now believed him.  

Retired Commander Charles and Elizabeth Hammond lived in the Fort Worth suburb 
of Benbrook.  Although Hammond had been considerably surprised that someone 
would fly all the way from New York to talk to him, he invited Dick to his 
house.  Dick checked his watch -- he was actually a few minutes early -- and 
made sure he had the right address.  Hammond had described his house as a “white 
frame house, with green trim and a large porch.”  Yep, this was it.

“Are you Dick Grayson?” called out a deep voice.  Squinting against the bright 
sunlight, Dick saw a man sitting in the shade of a huge tree on one side of the 
house.

“Yes, sir!  Mr. Hammond?”

“That would be me, son.  Come over here in the shade before you get sunstroke!”  
As Dick walked over, the man stood up.  Charles Hammond was a tall, fit-looking 
man in his late fifties.  He wore a baseball cap, a t-shirt that proclaimed, 
“Don’t Mess With Texas”, and denim shorts.  

After vigorously shaking Dick’s hand, Hammond said, “I would offer to take you 
inside to cool off, but our air conditioner just quit on us yesterday.  I’ll be 
happy to get you some iced tea, if you like -- it’ll cool you right off.”

“Thank you, that would be very nice,” Dick replied, taking off his suit jacket 
and rolling up his sleeves.  He had never had iced tea before, but anything with 
the word “iced” in it would be welcome.  He sat down in the seat Hammond had 
indicated and finally began to notice the light breeze that was blowing.  Once 
he was out of the sun, the temperature wasn’t *quite* so bad.

Hammond re-appeared shortly with a carafe and a tall glass filled with ice.  
Putting the two down on the small table between the two chairs, he poured Dick’s 
tea.  Dick took a tentative sip and sighed as the cold, crisply sweet liquid ran 
down his throat.  He took several more gulps and then turned to the older man.

“Thank you, Mr. Hammond!  That really hits the spot!”

“I thought it might, son.  So what exactly is it that brings you out to this 
neck of the woods?”

Dick looked down at his glass for a few moments to gather his thoughts and then 
turned his chair to face Hammond more directly.

“A good friend of mine is being charged -- falsely, in my opinion -- with the 
murder of a New York cop named David Munroe.  He was the son of a retired Navy 
Captain Theodore James Munroe.”  Dick stopped as he saw a look of recognition 
flash across Hammond’s face.  “Yes, *that* Captain Munroe.  While researching 
the case, we found that three other members of your team have also had their 
sons murdered in the last eighteen months.”

“Who?” Hammond whispered.

“Collin McIntyre, Jeremiah Harrison, and Jonathan Mackenzie.”  Dick gave the 
other man a grim little smile.  “I don’t want to question them unless I have to, 
and since Frank O’Reilly is dead ...”

“That left me.”

“Yes, sir.  You have two daughters, I understand?” Dick asked in a lighter tone.

Hammond beamed.  “Yes, I do,” he said, while pulling his billfold from his back 
pocket.  He opened it to a family shot that showed Hammond, a small, delicate-
looking woman in her early fifties, and two young women.  “Kerry is my oldest,” 
he said, pointing to an attractive woman a little older than Dick, with short, 
medium-brown hair.  “And Amy is the youngest.”  Amy had shoulder-length light-
brown hair and dimples.  “Kerry’s a doctor over in Dallas, and Amy’s a senior at 
A&M.  Majoring in nuclear physics, of all things.”  Hammond shook his head in 
proud wonder.  Suddenly, he appeared to remember why Dick was there, and a 
slightly dangerous look appeared in his eyes.  “They’re not in any danger are 
they?”

“Well, so far at least, the killer has only been targeting the men, so we 
believe O’Reilly’s two sons are next in line.  But if she succeeds in killing 
them off, I really don’t know whether she’ll go after the daughters next or 
not.”

“You say, ‘she.’  You know the killer’s a woman?”

“All of the men were killed immediately after having sex, and the best 
description anyone’s come up with was that the victims were last seen with an 
Asian or Asian-American woman.  I know it’s a long shot, but I wanted to see if 
you had any idea who might be out to kill your teammates’ children.”

Before Hammond could answer, a black Ford pickup pulled into the driveway 
alongside Dick’s rental car.  The delicate-looking woman from the photo hopped 
down from the driver’s side and walked around to the other side of the truck.  
She wore a lightweight denim jumper with a short-sleeved yellow top.

“Hi, hon!” she called out.

Hammond stood and motioned for Dick to follow him as he walked toward the truck.  
He took one of the sacks his wife handed him and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“Honey, this is Dick Grayson.  Dick, this is my wife, Beth.”  Splitting the 
three sacks between him and his wife, Hammond led them inside the house.

“Since the air conditioner conked out, I didn’t want to make the house any 
warmer by using my stove, so I went out and picked us up some lunch,” Beth 
explained somewhat apologetically as they unloaded the contents of the sacks -- 
slices of barbeque, sauce, potato salad, and beans -- onto the large round 
dining room table.  A ceiling fan kept the air moving, and although it was a 
little warmer than outside, Dick had begun to get acclimated.  Dick tried to 
apologize for barging in on their meal, but Beth wouldn’t hear of it.

“Goodness, it isn’t any trouble at all!  In fact, it’s just as well you’re here, 
‘cause I probably would’ve ordered my usual amount anyway, forgettin’ the girls 
wouldn’t be around to help us eat it all.  Now you just hush and go wash up -- 
the lavatory’s right down the hall on your left.”  She made shooing motions 
until Dick laughingly gave in.

When Dick came back, the three sat down, and Beth said grace.  Dick did not 
think Alfred would regard the murders as proper mealtime conversation, so he 
asked some questions about their daughters.  Charles and Beth were proud 
parents, and this was a favorite subject.  They, in turn, questioned him about 
his family, and he gave them a fairly expurgated version.  

Just as Dick was convinced he could not eat another bite, Beth went into the 
kitchen and returned carrying a tub of ice cream and three bowls.  She dished 
out servings for each of them, and the three went back outside to sit under the 
tree.  While they ate, Dick and Charles took turns bringing Beth up to speed on 
Dick’s errand.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about who all would want to come after us,” Charles sighed, 
“but, to be honest, I can’t really think of anyone who would hate us that much 
who could still be alive.  We had a general policy that dead enemies were much 
safer than live ones.”

“Charlie, what about your scrap book?” Beth asked.

“My what?  Oh, you mean that photo album you helped me put together?”

“Right!  Maybe you might see something that would jog your memory.  I’ll go grab 
it!”

While Beth jogged back to the house, Charles turned to Dick and grimaced.  
“Y’know, I put that album together shortly after I got home from ‘Nam.  Mostly 
at Beth’s insistence, but also to try to put all that stuff behind me.”

Dick nodded in understanding.  He had several photo albums from various 
incarnations of the Titans that, although he didn’t think of them that way at 
the time, acted as a kind of catharsis.

Beth came hurrying back toward them, carrying a dark blue notebook with gold 
lettering on the front, which she plopped down in Charles’s lap.  Dick scooted 
his chair closer to Charles so he could see and pulled out a small voice 
recorder.  Beth stood behind her husband and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  
Charles sighed, patted her hand, and opened the album.  The first few pages made 
him and Beth laugh as they looked at a much younger Charles going through basic 
training and then SEAL training.  Beth sniffled a bit at a picture showing 
Charles boarding a transport plane.  The date written beside the photo read, “19 
September 1966.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” she whispered.  “You acted so cocky and 
so confident, but deep down I knew the reason you didn’t ask me to marry you 
before you left -- you weren’t sure you’d be back.”

“I didn’t want to tie you down, baby,” he replied quietly.  “Especially after 
you saw your best friend left as a widow with a young son to support.  I wasn’t 
gonna do that to you.”

“I know, hon.  I know.”  Beth kissed his cheek.

Charles turned the page.  The next pictures showed scenes aboard ship and of the 
staging areas for the soldiers.  Charles said little beyond pointing out various 
people in the photos.  Then he paused at a picture that showed six smiling young 
men against a jungle backdrop.  His finger traced over each man’s face.

“This was my team,” he said.

Dick looked at the photo which was dated 22 November 1966.  *Didn’t Babs say the 
men were together from 1967 through 1971?*  He read the list of names next to 
the photo.  One name jumped out at him.

“Who’s Norman Sienkiewicz?” he asked.

Startled out of his reverie, Hammond looked at Dick.  “What?  Oh, Sienkiewicz.  
He was killed in, ah, ‘67.  Training accident.  He was a decent guy, but he 
should never have gotten a Budweiser.”

“Budweiser?” asked Dick.

Charles laughed and closed the album so Dick could see the insignia that was 
sewn on the blue cloth.  Now Dick noticed the similarity to Anheuser-Busch’s 
familiar logo.

“Budweiser.”  Charles opened the album again.  “Norm was in over his head almost 
from the moment we got there, but he just wouldn’t admit it.  Darn shame, 
though.  He left a wife and a baby girl behind.”

“So that’s when Harrison joined your team?”

“Yep.”  Hammond turned a couple of pages to show another group shot.  This time, 
the team was in a village of some sort, and one of the men -- Hammond, himself, 
Dick realized -- was holding a small girl in his arms.  The photo was captioned 
“Tan Dien, 27 January 1969”.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a girlfriend,” said Dick, with a smile.

Hammond smiled.  “That’s Rosie.  She would follow us around the village as fast 
as her little legs would go.  One of the guys -- O’Reilly, I think it was -- had 
a daughter about the same age, so he really got a kick out of playing with her.”  
His smile dimmed.  “Rosie’s mother had died a few months before we showed up, 
and apparently she told her daughter that her father was an American.  Rosie 
thus decided we were all her ‘daddies.’  Looking back on it now, we shouldn’t 
have gotten so involved with her - it would only end up hurting her.  But when 
you’re twenty-one, you think you know everything.”  Charles directed a sardonic 
grin in Dick’s direction.

“So what happened to her?” Dick asked.

“I ... don’t know,” Charles sighed.  “We weren’t really based in Tan Dien, 
although we did spend a lot of time there.  In late ‘69 the battle lines 
shifted, and we started to see more ‘Cong activity on our patrols.  L.T. -- Lt. 
Munroe -- worried that if we kept going through Tan Dien, either the village 
would be in danger from us, or we might be in danger from infiltrators in the 
village.  About that time, we were recalled back to Saigon, anyway.”  He lightly 
traced a finger around another picture of the little girl.  “Collin McIntyre 
went back to Vietnam a few years ago with some other vets.  He tried to find Tan 
Dien, but it had been wiped out.  Nobody knew if there were any survivors or 
where they might be.”

Charles flipped through the rest of the album, but nothing further caught his 
attention.  When he would have handed it back to Beth, Dick interrupted.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take pictures of some of those photos.”  He 
pulled out a small digital camera.  Charles handed him the album, and Dick 
turned to the first group picture.  He took shots of the two group pictures and 
several others and handed the album to Beth.  

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help to y’all,” apologized Charles.  “I really 
don’t like the idea of some killer lyin’ in wait for O’Reilly’s two boys.”

Dick handed him a card with both Dick’s and Matt’s phone numbers on it.  “If you 
do think of anything that might help, please give me or Matt Murdock a call.  
I’m assuming that you’ll be talking to your teammates about this ...” he said as 
he looked at Charles.  When Charles nodded, he continued, “I’d just ask that you 
remember that my friend is accused of murdering your lieutenant’s son, and we 
don’t want any of this information finding its way either to the press or the 
District Attorney’s office.”

Beth looked confused, but Charles nodded.  When she looked at him for 
explanation, he said, “Because it doesn’t really help their case yet, honey.”

“But there’s obviously a connection between all these murders!” she protested.  
“Wouldn’t that get Dick’s friend off the hook?”

Dick and Charles shook their heads almost in unison.  Dick replied, “None of 
this gives us an alternate suspect for the murders -- that’s what we need.  
Right now, this is all just a theory; there’s no evidence that points to someone 
other than my friend.”

Noticing the time, Dick took his leave from the Hammonds, thanking them once 
again for the information and the meal and promising to keep them informed on 
the case’s progress.  He drove back to the airport, turned in his rental car, 
and settled down for the hour-long wait for his flight.  He called Barbara on 
his cell phone.

“Hey, Babs!”

“Hi!  How’d it go?”

“Aside from nearly being fed to death, I found out a few things.  It turns out 
there was another member of the team who died in 1967.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  See what you can find out about Norman Sienkiewicz,” he said, spelling 
out the name for her.  

“Anything else?”

“How are you at tracking ghosts?” he asked jokingly.

“Depends on how chatty the Spectre is feeling,” she responded.

“Urk.  No, actually, I’m mostly kidding.  There’s a little girl from one of the 
villages that I’d love to track down, but all I’ve got is the name ‘Rosie’ and a 
no-longer-existing village called Tan Dien.”

“I might have more luck getting the Spectre to talk,” she agreed.  “So what did 
they feed you?”

Dick groaned.  “Tons and *tons* of absolutely delicious barbeque beef, potato 
salad, beans, and some *wonderful* vanilla ice cream for dessert.  It may be 
days before I’m hungry again.”

“Poor baby.  Okay, I’ve got some info on your Norman Sienkiewicz.  Died on 
12/10/67 on a training mission.”

“What about children?”

“I’m pulling that up now.  Oh my!  This could be interesting.”

“What?”

“Norman’s wife was born on Okinawa -- she was a Japanese citizen before their 
marriage.  Their daughter, Kimberly Lynn, was born on 7/18/67.”

“So Kimberly Sienkiewicz is half-Japanese.”

“Yep.”

“And she might hold a grudge against her father’s teammates.”

“She might just decide to deprive them of their children as she was deprived of 
her father,” said Barbara.

** Chapter 5 **

Matt waited as Bridget was allowed into the small conference room. 

“Good mornin’ to you, Mr. Murdock,” she said as she walked over to the table.

“Good morning, Ms. Clancy.  Are you getting along all right?”  Matt made a swift 
scan of her as she sat down.  Her heart rate and breathing seemed normal; the 
institutional smell of the prison soap almost overwhelmed anything else, but he 
found no traces of adrenaline-induced sweat.

“It’s been easier since Dick brought me some of my textbooks,” she replied.  “I 
planned to do some studying and reviewing this summer anyway, and I’ve certainly 
had the time for it, that’s for sure.  This place makes even *biochemistry* look 
interesting!”  She laughed in genuine amusement.

Matt smiled along with her.  “I’m glad to hear that.  I came by to check on you 
and to bring you up to date on what we’ve found out.”  He leaned on his elbows 
and laced his fingers together.  “I believe Dick told you about the two other 
police killings?”

“Uh huh.  He also explained that just as the D.A didn’t want t’ complicate their 
case by bringing the additional murders in, you can’t really use them to prove I 
wasn’t th’ murderer.”

“Right.  *But* since we know you aren’t the killer, we can use the other murders 
to figure out who is.  Has Dick told you about the other homicide?”

“No!  There’s another one?”

“Yeah.  Dick, Barbara, and I were able to piece together that the common thread 
in the three murders we knew about was not that they were police officers -- it 
was that their fathers served together in Vietnam.  That led us to check on the 
other members of that unit -- Navy SEALs, in case you wondered -- and sure 
enough, there was another murder victim.  Not my favorite way to prove a 
hypothesis, but still ...”  He smiled grimly.

Matt continued.  “Dick just got back from Texas, where he talked to the one 
surviving member of the unit who hasn’t lost a son.  Out of that, we’ve got a 
possible suspect:  the half-Japanese daughter of a unit mate who died.  Barbara 
is now trying to track her down, as well as the two remaining potential 
victims.”

“Wow.  It’s been weird enough to find myself embroiled in a cop-killing spree, 
but to find out it’s really some kind of Vietnam revenge plot is rather mind-
boggling.”

“It’s certainly not what I had envisioned either,” he agreed.  He paused and 
then said briskly, “All right, I also wanted to let you know I’ll be meeting 
with the D.A.’s office this afternoon.  It’s mainly to get permission for Dick 
and me to investigate the murder scene, but I’m sure we’ll spend a little bit of 
time talking about the case.  At this point I plan to refuse to consider any 
offer they might make unless you direct me otherwise.  Okay?”

She nodded.  He waited.  

“Oh!  Sorry again, Mr. Murdock!  Yes, I want you to refuse any offers.  Oh, and 
that reminds me ...” Her voice trailed off, and Matt detected her biting her 
lip.

“Yes?”

“When we go to trial, there’s probably going to be an even bigger media circus 
than there was at my bail hearing, right?”  There had been cameras and reporters 
everywhere when Bridget had been charged with Munroe’s murder.

“Assuming we do go to trial, I’m afraid you’re right.”

“I wanted to tell him when he came by last, but I couldn’t get th’ words out 
properly.  I want you to make sure Dick doesn’t attend the trial,” she said in 
an emphatic tone.  

Before he could ask why, she continued, “It’s not that I don’t want him there; 
he’s been a wonderful friend.  But he doesn’t need that kind of publicity -- not 
after what happened with Bruce Wayne.”

“I’ll tell him,” Matt said diffidently, “but I’m not sure he’ll listen to me.”

She sighed.  “It’s funny,” she said.  “When I knew him in Bludhaven, I just 
thought of him as my cute tenant who actually paid his rent on time.  We had fun 
together, and he was the one to encourage me to pursue my dream of medicine.  He 
even told me about the Wayne Foundation scholarship, and I still didn’t suspect 
a thing.  It wasn’t until after I moved to Gotham City and saw a newspaper 
article that mentioned that Bruce Wayne had officially adopted his former ward, 
*Richard Grayson*, that I made the connection.”

“It was a surprise?”

“Complete and utter surprise.”  She laughed.  “I’d even met Bruce -- he came by 
once to visit Dick, who introduced him to me as his friend, ‘Bruce.’ ”

“Does Dick know you know?”

She thought for a moment.  “I don’t know.  When I figured out who he was, I 
almost called him up to yell at him for not tellin’ me, but then I got to 
thinkin’.  It seemed pretty obvious to me that Dick came to Bludhaven to be on 
his own.  He probably worried that if I knew about his background, I might treat 
him differently.  This way, I and his other friends got to know him for 
himself.”

“Well, I’ll try to explain your reasons to Dick, but I can’t guarantee 
anything.”

“I know -- he can be pretty stubborn about supporting his friends.”  She smiled.

Matt reached inside his jacket and brought out a small tape recorder.  “I do 
have one more item to cover with you.  The witness who placed you at the bar 
with Munroe the night of the murder is back in town finally, and I want him to 
hear what you sound like.”  Jerry the bartender had stayed with his daughter an 
extra week because she had experienced some complications following the 
delivery.  Skip informed Matt that Jerry would finally be back at work today.

He turned the tape recorder on.  “Let’s start with the basics.  Why don’t you 
tell me your name, where you were born, that kind of thing.”

She nodded and said, “Okay.  My name is Bridget Siobhan Clancy.  I was born in 
Hong Kong, but my birth mum abandoned me, and I was placed in an orphanage.”  
She smiled, and Matt could also hear the smile in her voice.  “An Irish 
missionary couple wanted to adopt a Chinese baby girl, and they picked me.  We 
stayed in Hong Kong until I was around two, and then we moved to Bhutan.  
Daddy’s a doctor, so he worked in a clinic there, while Mum tried to get to know 
the other women who lived near us.”  Her voice grew grimmer.  “The thing is, 
Bhutan’s official religion is Tibetan Buddhism -- Christianity is against the 
law.  When I was around four, officials found out my parents were missionaries.  
They took my father into custody and ... tortured him.”  Her voice broke 
slightly, but she forced herself to continue.  “They couldn’t get my mum or me 
because she managed to get us to the American embassy -- Mum was an American 
citizen.  Eventually, they were able to get Daddy released, and we went home to 
Ireland.  He recovered, but he was never really strong enough to go back to the 
mission field.  So we stayed in Ireland.”  She shook her head slightly.  “I’m 
sorry, Mr. Murdock!  I didn’t mean to go off like that.  I guess being in prison 
bothers me more than I thought.”

“That’s all right, Bridget,” he replied gently as he turned off the recorder.  
“It sounds as if you needed to get that out of your system.  Are you sure you 
don’t want me to contact your parents?”  

She bent her head.  “Not yet, please,” she said quietly.  “I’m not looking 
forward to trying to explain to them that I was involved in an affair with a 
married man.  Let alone that I’m in jail, charged with his murder.”

“You didn’t know he was married,” Matt said, trying to comfort her.

“If I hadn’t been having sex with him, I probably wouldn’t be in this 
situation,” she stated.  “My parents won’t say anything to me, but I know that’s 
what they’ll be thinkin’.  To be honest, it’s what I’ve been thinkin’ as well.”  
She shook her head slightly.  “I know better -- they raised me better than this.  
Until this happened, I hadn’t realized just how far I’ve drifted away from what 
they taught me.”  

Matt thought for a moment and said tentatively, “Then maybe your being in here 
isn’t a complete loss?”

She smiled slightly.  “I’ve been thinkin’ about that as well.”

“Well, that’s all I need for today.  Did you have any questions?”

“Actually, I do.  It’s a small thing, but it’s been botherin’ me,” she said 
hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“I know she doesn’t fit the profile of the killer you’re looking for, but why am 
I a more logical suspect for the police than David’s wife?  Don’t they usually 
suspect relatives in this sort of thing?”

Matt gave her a sardonic grin.  “She was their first choice.  Unfortunately, she 
had a much better alibi than you.  It was about as airtight as you can get.”

“What was it?”

“Apparently, after she left you and Munroe, she went on a bender -- she was 
picked up for public intoxication and disturbing the peace about two hours 
before he was killed.  At the time of his death, she was in the drunk tank.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Matt walked into McMurphy’s, his white cane in hand.  As usual, an intense 
assortment of smells assaulted him.  Fortunately, the lunch-hour rush was over, 
so he was able to make out the form of Jerry behind the bar.  As he walked 
further into the room, Jerry looked over and saw him.

“Hey, Mr. Murdock!  How’ve you been?”

“Ah, Jerry!  I’ve been fine.  How’re your daughter and grandson?”  He walked 
over to the bar, sat down on a barstool, and put away the cane.  “Coffee, 
please.”

“They’re gonna be okay,” Jerry replied as he poured coffee into a large mug and 
added cream and sugar.  “I gotta tell ya, I was scared when the doc started 
talkin’ about ‘internal bleeding’ and stuff like that.  But 
Violet’s gonna be okay.  The docs let her and the baby go home a couple of days 
ago, and she was well enough to fuss at me for hovering, so she’s definitely on 
the mend.  Do you wanna see some baby ...  Aw man, sorry about that, Mr. 
Murdock!”

Matt gave Jerry a resigned little smile.  “It’s okay, Jer.”  He took a sip of 
the strong coffee.  “Did Skip mention that I was asking about you?”

“Um, yeah,” Jerry replied, still embarrassed about his faux pas.  “He said you 
and some other guy came by lookin’ for me last week.”

Matt nodded.  “That’s right.  I wanted to ask you a few questions that’ll help 
me with one of my clients.”

“Sure thing!  Ask away.”

“This is about the Munroe murder.  My client is the woman you identified to the 
police as having been here the evening he was killed.”

“I know what I saw, Mr. Murdock,” Jerry said defensively.  “She’s the one I saw 
in here.”

“But what did you hear?” asked Matt.  “Did you speak to her?  Hear her voice?”

Jerry thought for moment.  “Sure, I guess so.  Yeah, she gave me her drink order 
-- martini, I think it was.  Then I heard her and the guy talking.”

“And nothing about her voice struck you as unusual?”

“No.  Should it have?”

Matt pulled out the little tape recorder.  “I recorded this earlier this 
morning.  I promise you, this is how my client normally sounds.”  He played the 
tape, although he cut it off before Bridget’s account of her father’s 
imprisonment.  Jerry’s mouth hung open.  

“*That’s* what your client sounds like?” he exclaimed.

“Yes.  You can see why I wanted to talk to you.  The combination of her looks 
and her voice should have been striking enough for you to mention, if you’d 
really heard Ms. Clancy.”

“Well, I can definitely swear that the woman who was in here sounded nothin’ 
like that!”

“And you’ll tell the police?”

“You bet!”

“Great!  Thanks for your help, Jerry.  I really appreciate it.”  Matt paid for 
his coffee and left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where do you get off, interfering with witnesses like that?” yelled Sharon 
Carpenter, the Assistant D.A. who was prosecuting Bridget.  Matt had just 
informed her that she shouldn’t count on Jerry Flanagan as a witness.  She was 
not happy.

“My client wasn’t there, Sharon,” Matt replied calmly.  “Your witness got the ID 
wrong.  Wouldn’t you rather find out now instead of while we’re in front of a 
jury?  Seems to me, I did you a favor.”

Sharon made a low growling sound.  Matt smiled innocently.

“Look,” he said, in his most reasonable tone, “all of your evidence is 
circumstantial at best.  You just lost your main eyewitness against my client.  
Why don’t you just drop the charges so the police can keep looking for the 
*real* killer.”

“Oh, sure!  And I’ll go take a summer vacation on the moon, while I’m at it!”

“I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

Sharon growled again.

“Oh, by the way, I need your authorization for my investigator and me to visit 
the crime scene.”

“Sure, fine, whatever.  Here.  Just leave.”  She scrawled something on a piece 
of paper and handed it to Matt.

“Thanks, Sharon.  I always enjoy our little talks.  We should do this more 
often.”  Matt smiled as he left.  

After Matt got back to the office, he made a call.  “Dick, it’s Matt.  Jerry’s 
retracting his ID of Bridget.”

“That’s great!”

“Yep.  I still couldn’t get a dismissal, but A.D.A. Carpenter is not a happy 
camper at the moment.  I was also able to get authorization for you and me to 
take a look at the crime scene.”

“Cool!  I’ve got the late afternoon shift today, but I can come by tomorrow 
morning.  Will that work?”

“That’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be there around 11:00.”

“See you then.”

Matt hung up the phone.  He couldn’t say why, but he had a feeling that things 
were about to start happening.  Soon.

** Chapter 6 **

Just as Dick inserted the key into David Munroe’s front door, he heard the ding 
of the elevator.  Instinctively, he started looking for hiding places until he 
reminded himself that he had *permission* to be here.  Out of the corner of his 
eye, he saw that Matt had started as well.  He laughed.

“Feels weird being here in broad daylight, doesn’t it?”

Matt laughed as well, running a hand through his thick red hair in 
embarrassment.  “Sure does.  I do most of my crime scene investigations in the 
red long johns, so this is a little unusual for me.”

“I know what you mean.  One of my first days as a cop, I nearly had a heart 
attack when my sergeant walked in on me when I was doing some file work.”  His 
grin became a smirk.  “While I’m thinking about it, since you’re here as Matt 
Murdock, Ace Lawyer, does that mean you’re billing me for this?”

Matt stood dumbfounded.

“You know, ‘billing’?  Filthy lucre?  Money?  The love of which is the root of 
all evil?”

Matt shook himself and replied, “Sorry.  It’s just rather rare for me to be 
working a murder investigation -- especially in the long johns -- and actually 
get paid for it.  Foggy was practically turning cartwheels when I told him I was 
taking a murder case that *wasn’t* pro bono.”  He thought for a moment.  “I 
guess, since I’m here in the suit, I should bill you.”

“Works for me,” Dick replied.

The two men entered the apartment and began exploring.  It consisted of a small 
kitchen/breakfast area, a modest-sized living room, a utilitarian-looking 
bathroom, and a bedroom that was just barely big enough for the king-size bed 
that it contained.

“I see what Clancy meant about the dust -- sheesh!  Even *I* keep a cleaner 
place than this,” exclaimed Dick, as he poked around in the kitchen.  They 
eventually ended up the in the bedroom.  Dick stared at the large red-brown 
stain in the center of the mattress.  Suddenly, he noticed something a bit odd.

“Hey, Matt!  Take a look here,” he said, pointing to a spot near the center of 
the bloodstain.  “Is that a cut in the mattress?”

“I think it is.  Didn’t the autopsy say something about the knife wound going 
all the way through the body?”

“Yeah, I believe so.”  Dick took a pencil from his jacket pocket and carefully 
inserted it into the gash.  

“Won’t the pencil go all the way through the padding, since the top’s been cut?”

“Well, I’m hoping that the blood would be more likely to pool at the bottom of 
the cut, since it would no longer have a direct outlet.  And I think I’ve got 
it!”  Dick used his fingernail to mark the position on the pencil and then 
handed it to Matt.

“See what you think -- about three inches down.”

Matt raised an eyebrow but did as Dick requested.  At the three-inch mark, he 
paused, a frown of concentration on his face.  Then, he withdrew the pencil and 
handed it back to Dick with a nod.

“You’re right.  There’s definitely a different feel to the mattress.  So the 
knife stroke was what, about fifteen inches?”

“That’s not a knife; that’s practically a sword!” Dick exclaimed.  “What kind of 
guy lets a woman into his apartment carrying a sword?!”

“Also, the blow carried a lot of force -- remember the autopsy noted that one of 
Munroe’s back ribs was cracked when the blade hit it.  How can they think a 
young woman of Bridget’s size could do that?  Not to mention, the autopsy 
indicated Munroe didn’t struggle after he was stabbed, even though his death 
wasn’t immediate.  Why didn’t he try to stop her?”

“Actually, Clancy’s a bit stronger the she looks, but I take your point.”  Dick 
grinned sardonically.  “Now as far as your other question, I could believe it, 
given that Munroe had sex right before he died.  Say, he’s lying there, still 
pretty wiped out.  His eyes are closed.  Unlike some of us in this room, he 
wouldn’t notice that the woman on top of him suddenly produced a long 
knife/short sword.  He doesn’t notice anything until she strikes.”

Matt smiled as well at Dick’s scenario.  “I guess I could go for that; although 
I still think there should have been more signs of a struggle *after* he was 
stabbed.”

“Yeah, that bugs me too.  The tox screen was clean, right?”

“Right.  No drugs, except some alcohol, but he wasn’t even legally drunk.”

“Weird.”  

“Yeah,” Matt said, and then his voice trailed off.  Dick could see his nostrils 
flaring slightly.

“You got something?”

“Maybe,” Matt said absently.  “Odd smell.  ... Perfume? ... Astringent -- no, 
that’s him.  Musky.”  He continued to wander around the bed, his forehead 
wrinkled as he concentrated.  He paid special attention to the pillows.  Shaking 
his head, he then went into the bathroom.  Dick followed him and saw him 
sniffing the hand towel that still hung on its hook.

“Got it!” Matt exclaimed.

“What?!”

“Whoever the killer was, she ended up washing her hands in the bathroom.  
Obviously, she wiped off her fingerprints, but her scent is still on this towel.  
It’s definitely not Munroe, and it’s also not Bridget.”

“How do you know it’s not Clancy?”

“Bridget’s scent is on the pillows, and it’s different from this one.  It’s 
certainly an odd one.  Kind of a sandalwood musk, but there’s something else 
mixed in that I can’t place.”  Matt frowned a little in frustration.  “I’m 
pretty familiar with most of the perfumes out there, but this one’s different.  
Very strange.”

“So, if we find the girl who matches that scent, we’ve got our killer?” Dick 
asked.

“Yeah.  Just one small problem.”

Dick sighed.  “How to find one scent out of millions of others, I know.  Still, 
it’s more information than we had before we got here.”

“Right.  Has Barbara found anything on our mysterious Kimberly.”

Dick rolled his eyes and sighed again.  “*That* is currently a sore subject 
around Babs.  I’ve stopped asking about her progress since I’m generally quite 
fond of keeping my head attached to my shoulders.”

Matt grinned back.  “Last I heard she had traced Kimberly’s whereabouts until 
two years ago?”

“Yeah.  Apparently it was a pretty clear trail:  She received survivor’s 
benefits until she was 21, and then got a passport and spent a couple of years 
in Okinawa.  After she returned to the states, she worked at some advertising 
firms until two years ago when she dropped off the face of the earth, according 
to Babs.  No bank accounts, nothing reported to Social Security, no driver’s 
license, nada.  It’s driving Babs crazy.”

As if summoned, an ear-splitting yell exploded from the mini-receiver that Dick 
wore behind his ear:  “WOOOO HOOOOO!!!!!”

Dick grimaced in pain, and he could see that even Matt was wincing from the 
volume of Barbara’s yell.  He activated the microphone in his collar.

“Uh, Babs?  Are you okay?”

“I’m not just okay, I’m the *best*!  Better than the best!  WOOO --”

Dick cut off the audio feed before he lost his hearing permanently.  After 
waiting a few seconds, he cut it back on.  “Sweetheart, have you been ODing on 
the Zesti-Colas again?” he asked gently.

Babs snickered.  “Sorry, Hunk Wonder.  Just thought you’d like to know that I 
found Ms. Kimberly Sienkiewicz!”

*Hunk Wonder?* Matt mouthed at him, incredulous.

Dick shrugged and said, “That’s great, Babs!  Where is she, and how did you find 
her?”

“She’s in Weston, Connecticut, and never you mind how I found her.”

“You called them, didn’t you?” he asked with a huge smile on his face.

“My methods are my own, Mr. Grayson.”

“You did call!  I suggested you call her high school classmates for information, 
and you did!  How many’d you have to try?”

She growled, “Forty-five.  Okay, I called.  I was desperate.”

“Glad I could be of assistance,” he smirked.  Feedback blasted his ear as 
Barbara ostentatiously cut the connection.

Dick and Matt exchanged amused grins.

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t until the next morning, as Dick was riding his motorcycle up I-95 
towards Connecticut, that Barbara relented and gave him the rest of the 
information she had gathered on Kimberly Sienkiewicz.

“It turns out that the reason I couldn’t trace Kimberly was because she’s been 
living with financier Carson Dunlop under the name Kimberly Nogura.  She’s a 
signatory on his household account and on several of Dunlop’s credit cards, 
which probably explains why she hasn’t had a job in two years.”

“Oh, I’d say she had a job, all right,” Dick quipped.

Barbara cleared her throat.  “Dunlop’s probably rather gun-shy about marriage.  
According to my records, he’s paying pretty hefty alimony and child support to 
two ex-wives and three children.”

“On  time?” 

“Automatic deposit, the first of each month.”

“Good for him.”

When Dick was about ten miles from Weston, Barbara contacted him again.

“The computer finally found a pattern on the murder dates!” she exclaimed.  “And 
it’s *weird*.”

“A woman who goes around picking up guys and then killing them is not exactly 
normal, my dearest darling,” he said, laughing.

“This is weird, even for that.  Look, we figured there had to be some sort of 
pattern in the timing of the murders, right?”

“I’m not sure I said there ‘had to be’ a pattern, just that I thought that, 
having waited this long to begin killing these men, it was likely there would be 
some underlying pattern to the dates of the murders.”

“Whatever,” Barbara sighed.  “Anyway, I finally took all the dates in this case 
I could find and tossed them at one of my search programs.  Turns out that of 
the four murders, *three* took place on the victim’s mother’s birthday.”

“What?!”

“And the remaining murder was committed the day *after* the mother’s birthday.  
Anyone want to believe this is sheer coincidence?”

“Yeah, right,” Dick snorted.  “I suppose you’ve looked up Mrs. O’Reilly’s 
birthday?” 

“We’re in luck.  Mrs. O’Reilly will be turning 57 next week.”

“Wow!  So even if Kimberly falls through as a suspect, we have a definite time 
frame to shadow the O’Reillys.”

“Actually, I think we can limit ourselves to just one O’Reilly.  According to 
the operatives I’ve got on them now, John O’Reilly is a very happily married man 
with two young kids.  His older brother Jim, on the other hand, just went 
through a nasty split-up with his girlfriend and is hitting the club scene with 
a vengeance.”

“John’s in Rhode Island, and Jim’s in New York, right?” Dick asked.  For some 
reason, he had a hard time keeping the two men straight.

“Yep.”

Dick turned onto Hidden Meadow Road and whistled. 

“What’s that, Dick?”

“These are some *nice* houses!  Not as fancy as the Manor, of course,” he said, 
hastily, feeling sure Alfred would know if he failed to show the proper respect.  
“You said it was at the end of the street?”

“Yeah.  These are large lots, so you should be able to set up some decent 
surveillance.”

“We’ll see.  There’re a lot of trees, which will give me some cover, but they 
could also get in the way.”

“Whine, whine, whine,” snickered Barbara.  

Dick nobly ignored her.  While they were talking, he found the perfect piece of 
camouflage for him and his bike -- the house next to Dunlop’s was for sale.  He 
pulled into the long driveway, parked his bike under the large awning next to 
the garage, and got off.  He casually removed his helmet and wandered around the 
front of the house, for all the world acting as if he’d ridden here just to view 
this house.  

His wanderings took him around the side and into the backyard, where he noted 
absently there was a nice pool and spa.  After assuring himself that no one 
still lived in the house, he slipped into the wooded area that bordered the 
landscaped yard.  In a matter of minutes, he positioned himself in a large tree 
that offered excellent views of the back of Dunlop’s mansion.  He pulled out his 
mini-binoculars.

“Y’know, Babs, the more I think about your date theory, the less I like Kimberly 
as a suspect,” he said quietly.

“I know what you mean,” she sighed.  “If she’s doing this for revenge against 
the fathers, why pick the mothers’ birthdays?”

Suddenly, Dick nearly fell out of his tree.  Righting himself, he refocused on 
the scene in front of him that had almost caused him to lose his balance.

“I’m afraid we’re back to no suspects, Babs.  There is no way Kimberly could be 
Munroe’s killer.”

“What?!”

** Chapter 7 **

“Pregnant?!” exclaimed Matt, as Dick sat in his office, telling him why Kimberly 
Sienkiewicz was no longer a suspect.

“Yep.  *Very* pregnant,” said Dick, with a grin.  “I had a good view of the back 
of Dunlop’s house, and I had just settled in for some preliminary surveillance - 
you know, casing the joint -- when a woman walked out of the house onto the 
deck.  It was Kimberly, wearing a robe of some sort.  Then she took off the 
robe.”  Dick’s grin became a little sheepish, and he rubbed his forehead.  “I 
realized two things immediately:  she was pregnant, and she wasn’t wearing any 
clothes under the robe.”

“Oh my!  Pregnant woman sunbathing in the nude.”  Matt tried to keep a straight 
face, but Dick’s sense of humor got the better of his embarrassment, and soon 
the two men were laughing uproariously.

Eventually, they calmed down enough for Matt to ask, “So there’s no way she 
could be our suspect?”

Dick snorted.  “C’mon, Matt!  She looked like she swallowed a beach ball!  I 
think Jerry the bartender would have noticed that little fact -- especially 
since his own daughter was pregnant.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Matt sighed.  “I guess we’re back to square 
one.”

“Not necessarily,” Dick said.  He relayed Barbara’s new information about the 
timing of the murders.  “We know Mrs. O’Reilly’s birthday is next Tuesday, and 
Babs thinks the older son is the more likely target.  All we need to do is keep 
an eye on him and catch her before she gets him.”

“So when are we going to tell him?” 

“Tell whom?”

“Jim O’Reilly.  When are we going to tell him he’s a target?”

Dick sighed.  “Matt, you know we can’t do that.”

“What do you mean?  Of *course* we have to tell him!  Maybe he doesn’t want to 
be staked out as bait!”

“He’s not bait.  You were right the first time -- he’s a target, and our telling 
him he is won’t change that fact,” Dick said flatly.  “Look, if we tell him, 
he’s going to do one of two things -- cooperate with us or hide.  Hiding’s not 
going to do him any good; we already know the killer doesn’t mind waiting a day 
to attack.  How long do you think she’ll wait?  But let’s say he cooperates with 
us.  Even assuming he can behave naturally enough, how does his knowing affect 
our plans?”

“It’s still not right!  We can’t just play God like this!”  

“I know that!” retorted Dick, sharply.  He stood and paced around the office, 
running his hands through his hair.  “I don’t like it any better than you, but 
what it all boils down to is that in order to protect O’Reilly, he can’t know he 
needs protecting.  Every way I’ve looked at this scenario, his knowing doesn’t 
help and usually hurts his chances.”  

Although Matt was angry with Dick, he couldn’t help but contrast Dick’s 
willingness to explain with Batman’s insistence on unquestioning obedience.  
“All right, you’ve made your point,” he said, reluctantly.

“Besides,” Dick replied with a grim little smile as he sat down again, “You 
don’t know where he lives; only Babs and I do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Several days later, Matt discovered another difference between Dick and Batman -
- Dick was a lot more interesting to have along on a stakeout.  They were lucky 
in that there was a small park/playground across from O’Reilly’s apartment 
building, so they set up a chessboard and played while they waited for Mrs. 
O’Reilly’s birthday party to end.  Dick said it was a sunny day, so Matt left 
his cane in the car, figuring his dark glasses would pass for sunglasses.

“Now, I hope you aren’t going to tell me that you’re billing me while we wait!” 
exclaimed Dick, sarcastically.

Matt laughed.  “Maybe I ought to -- Foggy’s mother always believed we should 
charge as much as the client could afford.  Plus ten percent.”  When Dick faked 
a lunge across the chessboard, Matt held up his hand in mock surrender.  “All 
right, all right.  Admittedly, I *did* say I would charge you if I was wearing a 
suit, and I’m certainly not wearing that right now,” he laughed, gesturing to 
the worn t-shirt and jeans he had on.

As they played, Matt realized that Dick was an excellent chess player.  Matt 
considered himself better-than-average, and it wasn’t often that he was 
seriously challenged.  After several games, a definite pattern emerged:  With 
his well-trained memory, Matt was probably the better technical player, but Dick 
was an absolute master of elegantly choreographed traps.  After five games (Matt 
won two), they called a halt and pulled out the sandwiches they brought for a 
late lunch.

“So how did you learn to play chess like that?  Did Ba ... Bruce teach you?”

Dick smiled.  “He taught me the basics, but I probably learned most of my 
strategy from Alfred.”

“Alfred?”

“Officially, I guess you’d call him Bruce’s butler; although the better term 
would be Bruce’s *keeper*.”  Dick laughed.  “He’s been in charge of Wayne Manor 
since before Bruce was born, I think.  I’ve known him since I was nine.  He 
handled a lot of the raising of me.”

“If I may, how exactly did you get into all this ...”  Matt made waving motions 
with his hands.

Dick stopped smiling and he drew a deep breath.  “My parents and I were circus 
aerialists.  When the circus owner refused to pay protection money, the mob boss 
arranged for our ropes to be sabotaged.  My mom and dad fell to their deaths in 
front of me.  Fortunately for me, Bruce was in the audience and understood the 
kinds of things I was feeling.  He took me in, and the rest, as they say, is 
history.”  He smiled briefly, and his left eyebrow quirked.  “So what about you?  
How’d you come to be hanging out on rooftops?”

Matt smiled in return and explained how the childhood accident that blinded him 
had changed his life in more ways than that.

“It wasn’t an immediate change,” he continued.  “But as the months and years 
went by, my senses became more and more acute.  My ‘radar sense’ for example -- 
it started out as an amorphous tingling, but over time became more and more 
detailed.  I never really planned on the whole vigilante gig, though.  I was 
going to be a lawyer; just as my dad had promised my mom before she died.”  Matt 
decided not to explain that his mother wasn’t really dead but had become a nun; 
the story was complicated enough as it was.

“Even though I had a scholarship, college and then law school were expensive.  
My dad was a professional boxer, and he fought to make enough money to keep me 
in school.  Just before I graduated from law school, he was scheduled to fight 
in an unprecedented title match -- no one could believe that this middle-aged 
guy could beat the guys he was beating.  Unfortunately, they were right.  My 
dad’s fights were fixed, and now the Fixer wanted my dad to take a dive in the 
biggest fight of his life while I was sitting in the audience watching.  Dad 
refused and won the bout, and the Fixer had him killed.”  He drew a deep breath, 
as memories of that horrible night washed over him.

“I went ahead with graduation, Foggy and I set up the our law practice together, 
and ... I met Karen.”  He paused as new memories replayed themselves in his 
mind.  “I wanted to bring Dad’s killers to justice, but I knew no one would take 
a blind man seriously as an investigator, so I created Daredevil.”  He took a 
sip from his water bottle and grinned at Dick.  “Your turn.  How long have you 
and Barbara been together?”

Dick frowned at him for a moment, but before he could answer, a group of people 
left O’Reilly’s building.

“That’s her!” Dick exclaimed, his heart rate picking up slightly.  “Mrs. 
O’Reilly.”

“I guess the birthday party’s over.”

“Looks that way.  Okay, it’s now six o’clock.  According to Barbara’s 
informants, if Jim stays true to form, he’ll leave in about forty-five minutes.  
Think we should shift over to the car?”

Matt concentrated on the sounds coming from the apartment building.  He narrowed 
his focus until he was sure he was listening to Jim O’Reilly’s apartment.  A 
shower was running.  “Yeah, let’s move.”

They packed up their things and returned to the rather battered car that Dick 
was driving today.  The two men sat and watched the building in silence.  Matt 
thought about re-asking his earlier question, but he really needed to keep an 
“ear” on what was happening in O’Reilly’s apartment.  Fortunately, Dick realized 
what Matt was doing and did not distract him.

At 6:40, Matt turned to Dick.  “He’s coming down.”

A few minutes later, Jim O’Reilly, a tall, lanky man with thinning hair, walked 
out of the building, whistling.  He hailed an approaching cab and got in.  Dick 
waited until the cab was about a block away and then started the car and 
followed.

“How good are you at following cars?” Dick asked as he drove.

Matt smiled ruefully.  “Not as good as I’d like.  It’s hard to track an 
individual car’s exhaust unless there’s something really distinctive about it.”

“Gotcha.”  He touched the receiver behind his ear.  “Babs, you got a minute?”

“Sure, what’cha need?” said a cheerful little voice.

“Do you have me on your scope?”

“Always.”

“You see the car about a hundred yards directly in front of me?  Whoops, he just 
turned right,” Dick said as he prepared to turn as well.

“Got it.  That’s our boy?”

“Yeah.  I don’t want to risk losing him.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”  Dick kept a discreet distance back behind the cab, 
occasionally changing lanes to avoid being too obvious.  Ten minutes later, the 
cab pulled over in front of an old warehouse that had been converted into a 
trendy club.  O’Reilly got out and took a place in the line that was forming 
outside the front door.  Dick pulled over as well and turned to Matt.

“Okay, you keep an eye on our boy while I find a parking spot.  It’s getting 
dark, so you’ll need to take the cane.  You have the communicator I gave you?”

Matt grinned and opened the car door.  Now Dick *definitely* sounded like his 
mentor.  “I’ve got it.  I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“You bet,” Dick promised as he drove off.

Around five minutes later, Dick came jogging up.  Matt frowned.  Admittedly, 
making out the shapes of clothes was a little difficult for him, but it appeared 
to him that Dick was wearing something different.

“Sorry, I’m a little late,” he explained as he reached Matt.  “It took a while 
to find a good spot.”

“O’Reilly just went in.”

“Okay.  I’ll keep surveillance on the inside, so why don’t you change into the 
‘long johns’ and take over on the roof?”

“Why do you get to go inside?” Matt asked, curious.

Dick grinned.  “For one thing, because I thought to bring something appropriate 
to wear, and you would be too conspicuous in there, anyway.  Mainly, because 
while you could track O’Reilly from inside or out, *I* can only track him on the 
inside.”

“Oh.”  Matt was a little surprised at Dick’s honest assessment.  Most of the 
heroes he worked with would probably not admit they were inadequate in some 
fashion.  Neither could he imagine Batman conceding such a thing -- or at least 
explaining it that way.  Finally, he nodded and walked away to change.

By the time he climbed onto the club’s roof, Dick was already inside.  Matt 
pressed the receiver/transmitter behind his ear as Dick had shown him.

“Dick?”

He heard laughter, music, and then Dick’s voice saying, “... no, I’m sorry, I’m 
meeting someone.”

“Dick’s a little busy right now,” Barbara said, laughing.

“I can tell.”

“All right, all right.  I have O’Reilly in sight.  You in position, Matt?” said 
Dick, in mock annoyance.

“Yeah.”

For the next half-hour, Matt split his attention between the growing line of 
patrons outside, and the entertaining sounds of Dick fending off women and men 
trying to pick him up.  Without warning, a hint of a familiar aroma tugged at 
this senses.  Focusing his attention down below, he noticed that a woman had 
just stepped out of a cab.  As she walked to the front of the line, he realized 
she had Asian features, and he caught another whiff -- this was definitely the 
scent he had detected at Munroe’s apartment.

“Dick!”

“... Look, you don’t want to mess with my girlfriend.  She gets *mean* when she 
gets angry.”

“Dick!!”

“What?”

“She’s coming in!”

“Okay, what’s she wearing?”

Matt groaned.  “How should *I* know?  I think it was some kind of floaty dress 
thing, but that’s all I could make out.”

“Sorry, force of habit.  Well, we know where she’s headed, anyway.  Whoops!  I 
think I found her.  Babs, am I sending you a clear visual?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, Former Boy Wonder.”

Matt tensed as he listened.  “She asked O’Reilly if he was alone.  He just 
offered to buy her a drink.  His voice sounds a little off.”

“I know what you mean,” Dick replied.  “His whole body language just changed.”

After several minutes of rather heavy-handed flirting, the big moment came.  
“This is it!” Matt exclaimed.  “He just invited her back to his place.”

“Yeah, they’re paying their tab.  Get ready to shadow them, and keep in touch.  
I’ll follow you as soon as I can.”

“Got it.”  Matt detected the couple coming out of the club.  “They’re getting 
into a cab now.  I’m on my way.”

Readying his billy club, he prepared to fly away into the night.

** Chapter 8 **

With the ease of long habit, Dick fired a new grappling line as he disengaged 
the one on which he was swinging.  He was still about a mile behind Matt and the 
taxi, but he was gaining ground rapidly since he could “fly straight.”  As he 
swung around the buildings, he remembered something he meant to ask Barbara.

“Babs?  Could you check something for me?”

“Like what?”

“You’ve still got those copies of Charles Hammond’s photos?”

“Yeah.”

“I was just wondering ... Could you age that little Vietnamese girl about thirty 
years and compare her to the visual of the suspect?”

“Funny you should mention that,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her 
voice.  “I just finished doing that very thing.  It’s not a perfect match, but 
I’d said it was *very* close.  I think Rosie is our suspect.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, smiling.  “I’m not sure how useful that will be, 
but it might make a difference down the road.”  Looking ahead, if he squinted 
just right, he could make out the form of Daredevil leisurely swinging through 
the night.  “Matt, I think I’m about a hundred yards behind you.  Any indication 
that they’re not going to O’Reilly’s apartment?”

“Nope,” Matt snorted.  “After O’Reilly gave the address to the cab driver, he 
and the woman have concentrated on their attempts to perform mutual 
tonsillectomies.” 

Dick snickered in response, and he could hear Barbara’s giggle in his earpiece. 
“Mutual tonsillectomies, huh?  I can see how such an important medical 
breakthrough would require a lot of ... practice.”

“Oh, they’re practicing diligently, all right,” Matt replied, with a laugh.  
“Whoops, medical research time is over.  They’re at O’Reilly’s apartment.”

Dick could see that Matt was landing on the roof of the apartment building.  A 
few seconds later, he joined the man in red just in time to see O’Reilly and the 
woman disappear into the building.  While Matt monitored the couple’s progress 
up the stairs to the third floor, Dick climbed down the side of the building to 
perch on the ledge of O’Reilly’s bedroom window.  After making sure the ledge 
was sturdy enough to support their combined weights, he whispered to Matt that 
it was okay to come down.  In his ear, Barbara whispered that she was being 
summoned by the JLA, so she would talk to him later.

Now came the part he had been dreading.  Sure enough, through an opening in the 
drapes, he could see their target and their suspect ripping each other’s clothes 
off.  He sighed. 

“Hey, at least you can close *your* eyes,” grumbled Matt.

Dick snorted softly in reply.  He began paying more attention as the action 
shifted over to the bed.  Without warning, the woman’s behavior changed.  She 
pushed O’Reilly down onto the bed and moved into a kneeling position over him, 
straddling his legs.  She began swaying from side to side in motions that were 
both sinuous and erotically graceful.  Dick was able to catch a quick glimpse of 
O’Reilly’s face -- his face, which had been vacantly passionate before was now 
simply vacant.  He turned to Matt.

“What’re their heart rates like?” he whispered.

Matt scowled.  “All of a sudden, hers is so low, I’d almost swear she was 
asleep.  His on the other hand, just hit the roof.”

“You’d never know it from his expression,” said Dick, as perplexed as Matt.

As he watched, the woman’s movements became more and more violent, although 
O’Reilly never reacted.  Even when she finally allowed him to join with her and 
his body had tensed in climax, his expression remained blank.  As he sank back 
down into the bed, she remained in a kneeling position above him.

“This should be it,” Dick whispered to Matt, who nodded.

The woman began swaying again and pulled out one of the hairclips that held her 
thick hair back from her face.  Dick gasped as the small enamel and silver pin 
became a huge knife, with a cobra’s head for a pommel.  She held the knife in 
both hands and raised it high in the air.

Immediately, Dick broke the window and leapt into the room with Matt right 
behind him.

“Hold it, lady!” he yelled, hoping to distract her.  It worked; she turned to 
look at him.  Unfortunately, as soon as Dick looked into her eyes, he found 
himself unable to move.  He watched her leave O’Reilly and idly noted that her 
pupils were now vertical slits like a cat’s or ... a snake’s.  As she stalked 
toward him, now holding the knife in her right hand, he could hear Matt yelling 
for him to move.  In the back of his mind, a little voice that sounded an awful 
lot like Bruce also yelled for him to move, but moving would take a lot of 
effort.  It would be easier just to stand here and ... **THUD**  Matt crashed 
into him, breaking his eye contact with the woman, freeing him from her thrall.

She screamed hoarsely in anger, and suddenly she dropped the knife to the floor 
and changed from a woman into a large, black and gold cobra.  She turned to 
Matt.  “How dare you interfere with my prey!” she hissed.  Dick could see that 
she was trying to hypnotize Matt the same way she had him, but was obviously 
unable to make eye contact.  Dick took advantage of her distraction and grabbed 
O’Reilly, who was beginning to regain his senses, and shoved him out of the 
bedroom.  “Get out of here and call the police!” Dick shouted at him and closed 
the door.

When he turned back, he saw that Matt had managed to get a grappling line around 
the cobra’s “neck” and was attempting to choke her.  Dick leapt on the back of 
the cobra and wrapped his legs around her neck, adding his strength to Matt’s.  
She moved back and forth violently, and Dick thought she was trying to shake him 
off.  Then he saw her tail reach for Matt.  Like the cobra she resembled, she 
moved quickly -- too quickly for even Matt to dodge.  She wrapped her tail 
around Matt and threw him against the wall; he hit hard and lay stunned.  Then 
she used her tail to pluck Dick from her back and brought him around to face 
her.  This time, he avoided making eye contact as he fought to free himself.

“It’sss ssso much more enjoyable when the prey ssstrugglesss,” she hissed as she 
bent over him.  

Without warning, she screamed again, this time in pain, and Dick found himself 
falling to the floor.  He looked up to see that a large man with a broadsword 
had severed the cobra’s tail.  The man, who had reddish-gold hair and wore a tan 
colored jumpsuit, faced the snake fearlessly.   Before she could attack again, 
Dick watched with horror as the swordsman, with one swing of his blade, lopped 
the cobra’s head off.

~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s when the weird stuff *really* started!” he told Barbara as they sat on 
her couch later that night.  She had contacted him just as the police were 
arriving, so he promised he would explain everything when he came over.  He 
finally got to the clock tower around 1:30 am, and she fed them both a very late 
dinner.

“A snake-woman and a mysterious guy with a sword aren’t strange enough?” she 
asked, sarcastically.

He snickered.  “Not even *close*!  As soon as the cobra’s head was cut off, she 
changed back into our girl Rosie, who dropped to the floor unconscious.  
Mysterious-guy then salutes me with his sword and says ‘Dza devlesa.’  I hear 
Matt groan as he comes to, and I turn to check on him.  When I turn back around, 
sword-guy is gone.”

“Dza-what?”

“Dza devlesa.  It’s Rom for ‘God go with you.’“

“A mysterious guy with a sword who speaks Rom and disppears,” she repeated, 
puzzled.  “Do you think sword-guy pulled a Bat-style disappearing act on you?”

“I don’t see how he could.  I was between him and the window.  Here’s the next 
strange thing, though.  When I asked Matt what he thought of the guy, Matt 
didn’t know what I was talking about!  He didn’t detect the guy, nor did he hear 
him.”

Barbara whistled softly in response.

“Yeah.  *Then* Rosie regained consciousness and started crying.  While I was 
trying to get her calmed down, Matt tracked down O’Reilly and brought him back 
inside to get dressed.  When he walked back in, we hit pay dirt.  Rosie 
confessed to everything -- the attack on O’Reilly *and* the four murders.”  
Looking down at his empty cup, he interjected, “Hang on, I’ll get us some more 
coffee.” 

When he came back, he sat down, handed the two mugs to Barbara, and casually 
lifted her into his lap.  She grinned and handed him his mug.  “Much better!” he 
sighed. 

“Okay, where was I?  Oh yeah.  Rosie, who managed to get to the U.S. as one of 
the ‘boat people’, got involved with some sort of really freaky cult about three 
years ago.  Her ‘inner guide’ convinced her that all her problems in life were 
the result of being abandoned by her ‘daddies.’  The guide suggested that what 
she needed to do was to eliminate the ‘false’ children of her daddies, and then 
the daddies would love her and take care of her.”

“That’s sick!” Barbara exclaimed.

“She claims that once she agreed to all this, the guide told her when and where 
she was to meet each victim.  From the moment she met the victim, everything 
then became dream-like.  Then she would wake up, and she would be naked, in a 
strange room with a dead man, and blood all over her hands, but it wouldn't 
bother her.  This time, though, when she ‘woke up,’ she realized everything she 
had done, and it horrified her.”

Barbara frowned.  “And you believe her?” she asked skeptically.

“Maybe,” shrugged Dick.  “The main thing, in my opinion, is that she told the 
same story to the cops when they showed up.  She knew details about the three 
New York murders that only the murderer would.  Plus, she had the murder weapon.  
That should be enough to get Clancy completely off the hook.”

“Great!”

“Yeah.  Matt figures she’ll be released in a few days, so I’m going to try to 
head back there to pick her up, depending on my shift schedule.”

“Before you head anywhere, Former Boy Wonder, *we* are heading off to bed!  I’m 
tired, and you look wiped out.”  She scooted off his lap and into her chair.  As 
she rolled out of the room, she paused and turned her head.  “Well?  Are you 
coming?”

Dick grinned and got up to follow her into the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Dick rode his motorcycle over to Wayne Manor, enjoying the 
bright summer day.  Over breakfast, Barbara mentioned that Alfred had called and 
wanted to see him before he went back to Bludhaven.  He drove up to the side 
entrance nearest the kitchen, and rapping on the door, walked inside.

Alfred walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.  “Master 
Dick!  It’s so good to see you, young sir!” he smiled.

“Hi, Alfred,” Dick replied.  “I was planning to come by to see you anyway, but 
your message to Babs last night sounded very mysterious.  What’s up?”

For one of the few times Dick could remember, Alfred looked a little hesitant.  
He wiped his hands some more and seemed to come to a decision.  

“Why don’t you come with me to the breakfast room, and we can talk.”

Dick followed the older man into the large sunny room and sat where Alfred 
motioned him.  Alfred disappeared into the kitchen for a moment and then 
returned bearing a tea tray and cups.  Still silent, Alfred poured a cup for 
himself and Dick and then sat down across from him.

“Master Dick, would it be safe to say that you experienced something ... odd ... 
last night?” he finally asked.

Dick gave a short laugh.  “I think ‘odd’ is a bit of an understatement, Al.  It 
was *bizarre*.”

“May I ask in what way, sir?”

Dick summarized the case and everything that had happened.  “The thing I find 
really weird is the guy with the sword.  He showed up just in time to rescue me, 
spoke Rom, and then disappeared.  And I’m the only one who saw him,” he 
finished.  “The other weird thing was the way I felt.”  He paused for a moment 
to collect his thoughts.  “I didn’t tell Babs, but when I first saw him, I was 
more scared of him than I was of the snake-woman!  He was just so *big* and so 
... *bright*.  Then, he spoke a phrase I remember my dad using a lot, and 
suddenly, it was as if he was family.  I just don’t get it.”

One of the brightest smiles Dick had ever seen suddenly appeared on Alfred’s 
normally reserved face.  “That is truly wonderful, Dick!  Truly wonderful.”  His 
smile became a grin at the look of puzzlement on Dick’s face.  “Let me explain, 
young sir.”

He took a deep breath.  “For years, I have been watching as Master Bruce, and 
then you, and others have gone out each night on Master Bruce’s  ... crusade.  
Early on, having to sit by and wait, fearing I would hear that one of you had 
been hurt or ... killed nearly drove me mad.  Then I realized that there *was* 
something I could do.  Each night I find a few quiet moments and pray.  Most 
nights, my prayers are simple ones asking that all of you be given strength and 
wisdom and that you would return safely.  Sometimes, I may pray about a specific 
case.  Last night, though,” Alfred stopped and shook his head in wonder.  “Last 
night I received an almost verbal command to pray for *you* specifically and 
extensively.  I also received a verse:  Ephesians 6:12, so I stopped and looked 
it up.”

A tentative, almost shy smile appeared on Dick’s face.  “I never knew you prayed 
for us, Alfred.”

Alfred  ducked his head a bit as he got up from the table.  “I was always 
somewhat ... reluctant ... to discuss that part of my ‘duties’ with anyone, 
especially Master Bruce.  It was wrong of me, perhaps, but I was not sure how he 
would take it.”  He walked over to the buffet and brought back a large book that 
was lying on top.  Dick could see that it was Alfred’s well-used Bible.  He 
opened to a marked page and began reading in his wonderful, stage-trained voice:  

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, 
against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the 
spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.”

He put the book down and continued.  “After reading this verse, I became gravely 
concerned, so I prayed earnestly for your safety.  After some time had passed, I 
felt a sense of peace and ... comfort.  Another verse came to me, although this 
passage was more familiar:  Psalm 91:11-13.  And after what you have told me, I 
cannot think of anything more apt.”

He flipped to another marked passage and read: 

“For He will give His angels charge concerning you, 
To guard you in all your ways.
They will bear you up in their hands,
Lest you strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread upon the lion and cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you will trample down.”

** The End **