A Comedy of Errors

It was a sign of his deep state of denial, combined with temporary post-sleep amnesia, that when Crane awoke the next day, he had almost forgotten entirely about Izzy Skinazzi.

"The headlines at this hour: after years of decline, the murder and gang activity rates in Gotham are up," intoned the serious voice of the disc-jockey. "But air pollution levels are down and forecast says, slight chance of rain."

“Well, there’s a mixed message for you,” the Joker said as Crane dragged his feet to the coffee pot. “The chances of me being killed suddenly and violently are up, the chances of me being killed slowly by lung cancer are down, and either way, it might rain!"

Joker was lying back on an old, beat up couch reading a paperback copy of Helter Skelter. The two men had missed each other the night before, since when Crane arrived back at the warehouse, he had refused to talk and almost immediately collapsed into bed.

“How was the after-party?” Joker asked as he flipped over a page of his book.

“There was a shooting at the club,” Crane answered.

“Who got shot?”

“I’m not sure, I didn’t see,” Crane said. “But I know Maroni was out there.”

“Ahh. You know, if Sally gets iced, I hear Dan Terrett is next in line to take over for the Family.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Well, Perez Hilton, obviously.”

Crane rolled his eyes, but, at the mention of ‘Terrett’, he jumped. “That reminds me!” he said. He entered the space where the Joker was sitting and crouched by him. “Evan Terrett said something very interesting last night. Something about Izzy’s murder.”

“Really? And what did he say?” Joker asked.

“Did you ever study Shakespeare in school?”

Joker thought for a moment. “I liked Hamlet,” he answered. “It was like The Lion King, only without the animals. Or musical numbers,” he added as an afterthought.

“Did you ever study Julius Caesar?”

“Probably. I don’t remember much from my early years.”

“Well, Evan studies English at the University, and he made a fascinating connection between Caesar and Skinazzi.”

“Also, three cheers for alliteration,” Joker said.

Crane shook his head. “Izzy was stabbed to death on March 15th, as was Caesar in Act Three,” he explained. “Beware the Ides of March.”

“But, couldn’t it also just be coincidence?” Joker asked.

“That’s exactly what Maroni said,” Crane replied, and the shadow of his doubt grew further in his mind. Trying to shake it off, he quickly added, “but don’t you think it’s worth looking into?”

“I’d wait for a pattern to emerge, if I were you or the police,” Joker said. “Wait for the modus operandi. To be honest, as long as they don’t fuck with me, I really don’t care about it.”

Crane wished his partner wasn’t so shamelessly nihilistic.

“But, think about it,” he added. “All the most infamous serial killers have had some sort of gimmick, some kind of identity and brand to mark their crimes. Jack the Ripper, The Zodiac, the BTK Killer, Son of Sam, Charles Manson,” he said, pointing to the book.

“But there’s only been one killing so far,” Joker pointed out.

Crane clenched his teeth. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said, getting up.

“You do that,” Joker said, returning to his book. Crane pulled on his blazer and a pair of sunglasses and finger-combed his hair.

“Call me if something comes up,” Crane said, and with that, he left.

The weather was much the same as it had been for the past week or so. It was chilly, but not too cold. The sky was overcast and the clouds were low. To be safe, he had tucked his Scarecrow mask and a canister of his fear gas in the inside pocket of his blazer.

The drifters on this side of the River struck a sense of trepidation in Crane. It wasn’t that he felt scared - Crane knew that he could handle an aggressive panhandler - but more concerned. Whilst working in Arkham, a patient had once revealed to him that he had stabbed a man with a dirty syringe when the man refused to pay him after an impromptu street performance. Crane could only imagine as to what effect it later had on the man’s life.

He avoided eye contact with anyone and everyone and let his feet lead him to where they may. He passed a tattoo parlour, a Salvation Army and an adult store with a sign that was advertising 25 Cent Peep Shows. In this scummier side of town, he passed the studio for the Multicultural channel, where outside, in fitting fashion, was a young couple, the Iranian boy a good head taller than the pale blonde he was passionately kissing. Crane wished them the best.

Finally growing restless in the east corridor of the city, Crane made his way over to the monorail station. The rickety monorail passed the Wayne Enterprise building on it’s way to a more classy part of town, where Crane decided he would like to waste his time. He knew that he probably should be working on developing his crystallized toxin, but felt too preoccupied with his thoughts. He made a mental note to get back to business the second he had another free moment. Crane disembarked at the Burrard station, and feeling much more confident in that he wouldn’t likely be stabbed with needles in this neck of the woods, meandered aimlessly down the long commercial avenue. There were high end shops on each side of the street, and at least three Starbucks within a two block radius of each other. There was also a Virgin Megastore which was parallel to the headquarters of GCN. A couple stores down from that was a mom-and-pop café, where out of the corner of his eye, Crane caught Miss Eva Frederiksen, sitting by the window, enjoying her soup and sandwich.

Crane tapped gently on the glass. Eva looked up and her face lit up with recognition. She motioned for him to come inside and sit with her. Crane gladly obliged.

“Fancy seeing you down here,” Eva said. “Bit of a hike from Arkham.”

“I didn’t have to work today,” Crane lied. “What have you been up to? It’s nice to see you, again.”
“Oh, not much, you know, same old,” Eva replied with a wave of her hand. “Are you hungry?”

“No thank you, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You look famished,” Eva said. “Seriously, you look like you’ve lost quite a bit of weight. I’m sure the stress of your job must be taking it’s toll on your body. C’mon, have some lunch.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it. I get a GCN discount here. My treat,” Eva said, and beckoned over a waiter. “What do you like?” she asked him.

Flustered, Crane answered quickly, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

“How’ve you been doing?” Eva asked.

“Not too bad,” Crane said. “Just, you know, going a day at a time. What about you?”

“I’ve always wanted to do a miniseries about the rehabilitation process,” Eva said. “You know, exposing one’s rise from being locked in a prison or asylum and watching them grow and eventually integrate back into society. Feel good pieces. But my goddamn cocksmoker of a boss has me doing a series right now on the fucking funeral business.”

“That is an excellent idea for a piece,” Crane said. “It is a incredibly awarding to see how your work helps people regain normal lives.”

Eva nodded. The waiter brought over a generous bowl of tomato soup and a Hoagie and set it in front of Crane.

“Thank you very much,” Crane said, and despite his earlier remarks, ate with gusto. He was very hungry.

“What’s it like, working up at Arkham?” Eva asked.

Crane wiped his mouth with a napkin. He pondered this for a moment. He pondered how he should word it. It had been a while since he had left the Asylum.

“Outside, you can be a giant,” he said, as the droves of civilians walked past the café window. “But in there, only the mind can grant you power.”

“You enjoy the reversal.”

“I respect the minds’ power over the body,” Crane corrected. “It’s why I do what I do.”

It seemed to be a satisfactory answer for Eva. Crane was glad that she didn’t ask any more questions. The two sat in silence for a moment. “Whatever happened to that drug bust I saw you at the other week?” Crane asked.

“Dunno,” Eva said. “Guy got put in jail, last I heard, he was awaiting his trial date.”

“What was his name?”

“Greg Howard, I believe.”

“Was he connected to the Padovanni’s?”

“I don’t know,” Eva said. “I think he was just some small time drug dealer. Rumour has it he also had a grow-op in his basement. I don’t know all of the facts yet.”

“I see.”

They were quiet again for a moment. Crane continued his questions. “I’m sorry, I’m so out of the loop. What else has been happening in the city?”

“The same kinda shit that every other city has to deal with, really,” Eva said. “Traffic, the economy, drugs, crime, murder, etcetera. There was a kidnapping and murder of a young autistic boy the other day. Such a sad story. Myself and a few other ladies got a bit teary eyed. But other than that, no real big stories.”

“It must be a challenge to work in a field where you can’t let your emotions get the better of you,” Crane said. “Do you ever feel as though this has repressed your emotions?”

Eva contemplated this for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not a robot, Jonathan. We’ve all had a good cry every now and then, but off the air - Nine eleven, the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, Lady Di - but, you’re right, we do have to keep our emotions in check when the cameras are rolling. It’s my job. We’re not supposed to be emotional, we’re supposed to be objective. Although, admittedly,” and here she chortled, “I was a bit depressed when I heard Billy Mays died.”

Crane chuckled.

“You really don’t watch any TV at all?” Eva asked, as if it was so impossible to believe.

“I just don’t have the time, or the money,” Crane answered simply.

“But what about the internet?”

“I really only use it for email,” Crane lied again. He hadn’t checked his email in months.

“In some ways, I kind of envy you,” Eva said.

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re always so plugged in, what with the Crackberry’s and iPOD’s and Macs and just … everything keeps you tied in. You‘re always accessible. It’s disconcerting at times.”

“I definitely am living in a simpler time,” Crane laughed.

The two of them finished their lunches and easily wasted away an hour talking. They leapt from topics such as high-school nostalgia to movies and literature to even the most inane and random topic they happened to tangent into. Crane was so wrapped up in conversation, that he was unaware of the Roger Ebert man when he came into the shop, and only noticed him when the man decided to go over and chat him up.

“Well, Doctor Crane, what are you doing out and about on this day?” the man asked, holding a wrapped sandwich in one hand. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

Eva blushed. “I’m Eva, I work for GCN.”

“Well, isn’t that something,” the man said. “How are you after er, last night?”

“I’m fine, we’re all fine,” Crane answered quickly. He wanted the fat man to go away.

The man opened his mouth as if to continue, but was cut off by his ringing phone. He withdrew it from his pocket.

“Yes, sir? Oh, my …. Yes sir, right away. You,” he said firmly to Crane, “come with me. It’s an emergency.”

Crane looked at Eva apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I really should go,” he said.

“No, it’s fine, I understand,” she said. “Go do your job, okay?”

Crane nodded.

“Call me sometime, okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Crane responded. He followed the fat man outside, and hailed a cab.

“What’s going on?” Crane asked once the cab had taken off.

“Are you insane, Crane?” the man snarled as he grabbed the lapels of his blazer. “Haven’t you even given a moments thought about the dangers of fraternising with the media?! One slip, and you’ve caused the downfall of the entire family, you insolent boy.”

Crane grasped the mans’ hand and forcefully removed it from his coat. “I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, but do not mistake me for a fool. I do not have to justify myself to you. The fact that my acquaintance works for GCN is irrelevant. Don’t you yourself have a son who works in radio? Now tell me; what is this big emergency?”

The man trembled. “Something at Maroni’s house, something about Izzy … I can’t explain it.”

“Is Maroni dead?”

“No, he sounded alive and well on the phone. There apparently was a break-in at the crematorium and … I don’t know how to explain it.”

Silly old fool, Crane thought with contempt.

The cab headed into the affluent neighbourhood that was known as the British Properties. It was by the outskirts of the city and had a view of the downtown and the winding river from atop a large hill. This was the habitat for Gotham’s extortionately wealthy. Each house was somewhat secluded and had a gated driveway and was surrounded by lush hedges. At least four stories high, the houses themselves were more befitting to miniature castles. Maroni’s was white with dark gray matte trim, and the exterior seemed to glow where the Sun hit it. It reminded Crane of the city of Minas Tirith, without the towering white bastion of stone.

A fairly sizable crowd had gathered outside the gate to the Maroni estate. Crane easily spotted Tatiana, who was standing next to the Joker. The only cops present were Meza & Hernandez. There was a sheet laid over a figure on the ground, and from behind it, a long leather harness that would have been used on a horse. Crane could see scuff marks on the ground from where the figure had evidently been dragged.

“What happened here?” he asked.

“Apparently,” Joker said, “someone broke into the crematorium last night and stole Izzy’s body. They then dragged her along this stretch of road by that harness.”

“That harness is used for horses,” Crane said. “I don’t see any hoof marks and there are no stables around for miles.”

“That’s vot dey said,” Tatiana said, pointing to the cops.

“Well then, how would they drag her?”

“The most likely answer would be by car,” Joker shrugged.

Crane shook his head. “This is disgusting. Poor girl. Could it be the Padovanni’s?”

“It’s possible. They could be using this as a poor attempt to intimidate us.” Joker laughed. “This is puppy shit.”

The three of them stood in silence for a moment. Dan Terrett walked by and Crane grabbed him by the shoulder. “Oh, Crane, so glad you’ve finally arrived,” he said. “We were hoping you might be able to pull a psychological profile of the kind of person who would do this.”

“Only someone who could benefit from intimidation.”

“The Padovanni’s.”

“That’s what it would appear to be,“ Crane said. He contemplated the situation for a long moment. He had an idea … he wasn’t ready to let go of his theory yet.

“Dan, can I get you to call up Evan? I need to ask him a question,” Crane said.

“I’ll try, but he’s probably in class right now.”

“Please do.”

Dan withdrew his Blackberry and called his brother. After a moment, he hung up. “He’s not answering.”

“Try again.”

“What do you need him for?”

“I just had an idea, I need his expertise.”

Dan raised an eyebrow and tried again. This time, after his moment, he left a snarling message that went something like, “Evan, you fucker, pick up. It’s an emergency.”

Within five minutes, he had called back.

“What do you want?” Evan asked testily. “We were discussing the idolatry in Paradise Lost.”

“Doctor Crane has a question for you,” Dan said, and he handed the Blackberry over to Crane.

“Evan, I’m so sorry I had to pull you away from your class,” Crane said. “But I need to ask you a question.”

“What is it?”

“What is that Shakespeare play where the guy gets dragged by a horse?”

There was a pregnant pause while Evan thought. “Well sir, I believe that’s Troilus & Cressida. Hector is killed by Achilles and his warriors, and after he is dead, Achilles drags his body around the city walls by a horse. ”

Crane smiled wide. “I knew it,” he said softly.

“Knew what?”

“Oh, never mind.”

“Just out of curiosity, why do you need to know now?”

“It’s … “Crane searched for the proper word. “Complicated. But, thank you so much. You’re a smart kid.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Get back to class.”

Evan hung up.

Crane handed the Blackberry back to Dan and couldn’t help but smile. It was a tight lipped smile, one that poorly masked a sense of pride swelling up inside. It was the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled that gave him away.

“You look veird ven you smile,” Tatiana said, furrowing her brow. “Stop smiling.”

“What was that all about?” Dan asked.

“Well, the Doctor here,” Joker said, “has this crazy theory that the person who killed poor Miss Skinazzi here also has a fetish for murder and death, a la Shakespeare. Apparently, it was your brother who put the idea into his head.”

“God, that kid has a big mouth.” Dan shook his head.

“No, I mean it. Stop smiling.”

“So, Doc,” Joker said. “Where you on the right track?”

Crane answered, “I think we could be onto something here.”