Bruce whirled to come face to face with Dianne.
He let out a breath and leaned against his knees. “For chrissakes!” he swore. “Could you have been a little quieter about following me?”
“I’m the one who surprised you?” she exclaimed, holding her arms out wide and answering with a swear in Tagalog that he couldn’t understand. She really is upset, he thought. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Is Harvey with you?”
“I made Harvey save our spots. Now, tell me what’s going on with you. You’re attacking Richard, you’re wandering off alone to the crime scene where you got into trouble—come on, Bruce!”
“Nothing. I’m just taking a look.”
He met her withering glare. Bruce could tell from the light in her eyes that she already knew he was hiding something from her—it was far past the point when he could continue keeping secrets. Besides, she’d already caught him sneaking around.
“Fine.” Bruce crossed his arms. Taking a deep breath, he began telling Dianne about Madeleine. The first time she’d spoken to him. Her past crimes. Being involved in Draccon’s investigation. He spoke in a rapid, hushed voice, as if someone might overhear him and send word back to Detective Draccon.
When he finished, Dianne’s face had changed from brown to ashen. “I can’t believe they roped you into something as crazy as this. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“They needed my help.”
Dianne gave him a pointed look. “Listen, let’s say that this girl—who is an unhinged murderer, I’d like to remind us both—was telling the truth. How have the police not found any evidence yet? They combed this street corner for weeks without finding so much as a hint of what the Nightwalkers might have been up to.”
Bruce held up a hand. “And if there’s nothing to find, then all I’ve wasted is a night of my time. But what if Madeleine gave me an honest hint? She told me to pay attention to the north wall. Maybe there’s something the cops missed.”
Dianne leaned forward and squinted at Bruce carefully. “Oh, I get it,” she declared after a moment. “I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“You. What’s up with you—I’ve figured it out.” She crossed her arms and peered at him. “You like Madeleine. You’re all hung up on her.”
“What?” Bruce leaned away from her. “That’s what you got from what I told you?”
“It’s obvious, Bruce. Remember Cindie Patel from seventh grade? You were wild about her—remember when she lost her grandmother’s bangle during lunch, and you skipped five lunches after that just to look for it?”
“Hey, I found that bangle.”
Dianne clapped her hands twice. “Focus, Bruce! You always need to be the white knight, and now you’re obsessing over a random hint from this girl to the point where you’re willing to risk your probation. It’s the exact same thing.”
Bruce gave her a wry look. “Except I knew Cindie Patel because she sat next to me in Biology, and I know Madeleine because she’s in jail for three murders.”
Dianne waved a hand in the air. “Details. You know what I mean.”
Madeleine materialized again in Bruce’s thoughts. Maybe she’s right. But that made no sense at all. “Look, I’m here because I want to be,” he said, firmly this time. “That’s it.”
“Whatever. You know, Harvey would be pissed at you if he found out this is what you’re up to right now. And he’s got a point, Bruce. Sometimes you should trust the police to do the right thing. If Draccon finds out you’re snooping around like this, they might even extend your sentence.”
Always curious, aren’t you? He shook his head, trying to shake Madeleine’s words out of his head. “How about this: if I find nothing—”
“If we find nothing.” Dianne shrugged at him. “I’m involved now. I can’t just leave you here.”
Bruce glared at her, but she didn’t look away. “Fine. If we find nothing, I promise I’ll never do this again. Ever. But you can’t tell anyone else about this. I’m serious.”
Dianne scowled at him. “You owe me one, for making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
At that, Bruce gave her a wry smile. “All right, all right. I owe you one. Thanks for looking out for me. And hey—Lucius is throwing a huge gala in a couple of weeks, to demonstrate some of WayneTech’s drone security technology. Do you want to come with me and make sure I don’t get myself killed?”
Dianne gave him a sideways look. “Really?”
“It’s pretty fancy.”
“Will they be serving good food?”
“The best,” Bruce promised.
She considered for a moment with pursed lips. “Okay,” she said. “Sounds like a plan.”
Bruce gestured to the corner of the block. “Stay over here, by the frame of that doorway. There. You’re not so conspicuous now. Keep a lookout for me. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, call someone.”
“Fine. But only if you stay on the phone with me the entire time.” Dianne took out her phone and tapped it twice. “And if it actually takes you longer than thirty minutes, I’m sending every cop in Gotham City after you.”
“Fair enough.”
Bruce headed away from Dianne and back along the fence. It wrapped all the way around the building without a single break, leading him right back to where he had started. He paused after another round, rubbing his eyes from staring so hard at the building.
What was he looking for, anyway?
Something in the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He looked down at the chain-link fence. He frowned, looking harder.
The fence was unbroken, sure…but along the chain link was a series of metal bumps, what looked like former breaks in the fence that were then welded back into place. It was a subtle detail, one that Bruce had nearly overlooked. But there was no question about it. The fence was welded shut. Which meant someone else had cut through it at some point, then carefully hid any tracks.
Construction workers. GCPD investigators. Private detectives. Bruce ran the series of noncriminal possibilities through his mind. It could mean nothing at all, of course…but this was a former crime scene, and an unsolved one. What if the Nightwalkers had been up to more here than just destroying the Bellingham legacy? Bruce looked back up at the facade of the building. Something had made someone return here, without wanting anyone else to know.
He swung his backpack around and unzipped it, took out his ski mask and gloves, and pulled them both on tightly until his face and hands were hidden from view. He held up the bolt cutters, carefully placing each bolt between the metal teeth. Clink. Clink. One by one, they popped off, dropping soundlessly into his waiting palm. He tossed the broken bolts into his backpack and zipped it up. The overlapping fence swung open a hair. Bruce pushed it open wider, until there was just enough space to slide through, and then he inched his way in, disappearing past the black tarp.
Wooden boards were nailed all along the side of the building, but enough gaps existed for him to climb through. Inside, the space smelled musty, claustrophobic, the air reeking of dust and the tang of metal. Bruce waited for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. He felt comfortable here in the darkness. Immediately after his parents’ deaths, he had spent many nights tucked in the safe black space of his closet, or in an empty pantry in the mansion, or up in the attic, where a cold draft blew. So many of his classmates had been afraid of the dark, as if it could hurt them. But Bruce knew the darkness hid him as well as it hid anything or anyone else. The darkness was an advantage.
His reflexes were on alert now, honed by all the hours spent at the training gym. As things gradually started to take shape in the dim light, he realized that he was standing in a single open room. Edison bulbs dangled from the ceiling’s exposed beams, half of them burst open and broken, leaving shards of glass strewn across the floor. Everything had been draped in sheets—tables, chairs, machines. The dust on the floorboards was marked with shoe prints, perhaps from the police who must have passed through here. Perhaps from others, too.
“This place is a mess,” Bruce whispered into his phone.
“What did Madeleine say to you?” Dianne answered.
“The north wall,” Bruce murmured back, orienting himself. “The bricks that line it. She said to look there.”
He turned to the north wall. It stretched unbroken from one end of the room to the other—and sure enough, lining the bottom third of the wall was a layer of old brick, dark against the white paint above it. Bruce headed toward the closest end of the room, stopped right in front of the wall, and bent down. He ran a hand along the bricks. They were all covered in a fine layer of dust, just like everything else here.
So, Madeleine was right about this, had known the north wall would have bricks lining it. She must have been here before.
“Anything? What exactly are you looking for?” came Dianne’s voice.
“Something unusual,” Bruce replied. He suddenly felt foolish as he ran one hand along the bricks, slowly making his way down the room. He had no idea what would count as unusual, either—only that if he found it, he would know.
He had made his way across almost the entire length of the room before his hands paused on one of the bricks. Something felt odd about the texture of this brick—slightly smoother than the rest, as if it were handled more than the others. Bruce frowned and leaned down to get a closer look.
“Hang on,” he whispered. “I think I found something.”
“What is it?” Dianne asked.
“This brick feels weird.” He gingerly pushed on it. “It’s not sealed in like the rest. The edges don’t quite meet the mortar holding it to the others.”
Bruce pressed harder. Nothing gave, at first. Then—all of a sudden, the brick pushed inward by an inch, and the wall shuddered. He jumped back, nearly dropping his phone. When he looked up, he saw that a part of the brick wall had slid sideways by half a foot, revealing a gap of darkness.
Bruce stared numbly for a moment. Then he took a tentative step into the black and felt with his shoe for a foothold. Stairs. There were metal steps behind this wall, leading down a narrow shaft to somewhere beyond view.
“Dianne,” he whispered, eyes wide. “There are stairs behind this wall.”
Dianne uttered a curse over the phone.
Madeleine actually told the truth. Bruce shivered, wondering why she would help him—wondering if perhaps she was trapping him instead.
“Don’t go down there.” Dianne echoed his thoughts. Bruce could hear fear in her voice now. “Whatever you find won’t be good.”
He shook his head. “I’m going. Keep an eye out up there. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”
“You’d better find something suspicious down there,” she retorted, “with all the trouble you’re going to. You owe me big-time—you owe me so much you’ll be paying off loans for years.”
Bruce chuckled, then turned back around and wedged himself through the narrow opening. Down into the gloom. It was slow going—the steps were narrow and high, and wound down in a spiral. He stopped and tested his foothold at each step before putting his weight on it. Gradually, he descended through the darkness, one stair after another, until his foot finally hit what felt like a concrete floor. He was in a narrow space, and the air here was tight, full of dust. He forced down a cough.
“I’m at the bottom,” he whispered, hoarse. Nearby, he could make out the dim outline of an abandoned construction barrier.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I have no idea,” Bruce whispered back. He stood up and lifted one arm slightly above his head, trying not to bump anything. His hand hit the ceiling. It felt rough, like unfinished concrete. He held out his phone in front of him and turned on its flashlight.
The phone illuminated the space several feet ahead of him. It was a tunnel that led into pitch black. To Bruce, the tunnel reminded him of the narrow passageways in the cave near his family’s estate, and the bats that sometimes poured out. He half expected them to come barreling toward him now.
What are you so curious about? The thought raised goose bumps on his skin, but he tightened his jaw and stepped forward. He kept his footsteps completely silent. “I’m heading in,” he murmured.
The tunnel went on longer than Bruce expected, and the ceiling grew lower and lower. Why would Madeleine send him down here? What did she know about this place? What if the tunnel collapsed?
What if someone else is also down here? Bruce suddenly pictured an armed man waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, gun pointed straight at him.
He kept going.
Finally, the tunnel before him opened up into a larger space. He stumbled as the ground fell a half step.
The ground was different here—polished, finished. His phone’s flashlight cast a small glowing circle on the wall. He shone the light farther until he saw a switch. There.
He flipped it on.
Fluorescent light blinded him. Bruce’s eyes squinted shut, and he shielded his face instinctively. When he opened his eyes again, he sucked in a gasp of air.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“What?” Dianne said, her voice pulled tight like a string. “What is it?”
Bruce stood staring at a room stocked half full of ammunition. Guns, bullets, extra clips. There must have been at least a hundred weapons of all shapes and sizes here, laid out on tables and hanging on the walls. He gaped. This looked like a military arsenal.
“Bruce,” Dianne murmured over the phone. Even though she couldn’t see what he was seeing, she could hear the tension in his silence. “Get out of there. I’m coming for you.”
A faint sound drifted toward Bruce. He froze. It came from the other end of the room, where a second door led out. It was a voice, male and deep, frustrated. He sounded like he was talking to someone. Immediately, Bruce flipped the light switch and turned off his phone, shrouding the room in darkness again. He started to back up.
Too late.
The second door opened—and a man’s silhouette stepped in, still talking loudly as he switched on the light. Bruce glimpsed a pale worn face, a beard. “Look, I don’t have time to babysit this storage anymore. Tell them to bring the truck tomorrow night so we can move the rest—”
His words cut off as his gaze fell on Bruce. The two of them stared at each other for an instant, both stunned into silence.
The man squinted at Bruce’s mask. “Hey—you’re not—did the boss—”
Bruce started sprinting away, but the man bolted after him. Right as Bruce reached the narrower part of the tunnel, he felt rough hands grab him by his shoulders. His fighting instincts went on autopilot. Bruce twisted free of the man’s grip and brought his fist up to punch the man’s face in the same motion.
His opponent blocked his blow, barely, and threw his own jab at Bruce. Bruce ducked down. He swung a leg out, catching the man hard enough in his calves to send him toppling. Bruce turned to run again, but the man’s fingers hooked onto his pant leg, dragging him down, too. Both hands grabbed at the mask on his face.
It left the man defenseless for a moment. Bruce swung up with every ounce of desperation inside him. His fist connected with the man’s chin, landing exactly where it needed to—his opponent’s head rocketed back. His body flopped, suddenly limp, and he collapsed on the floor.
Shaking from head to toe, Bruce stared down at the unconscious man lying at his feet. His limbs burned. Were there more people down here with this guy? Stockpiling weapons. Madeleine had led him straight to it. She had helped Bruce, when the police had failed for months to get her to talk.
Draccon’s going to kill me for this.
But what were they stockpiling weapons for? There was so much ammunition down here that it seemed excessive for anything less than a full-on raid. And what if this wasn’t the only hideout? An ominous premonition weighed on him. What were the Nightwalkers planning that would require so many weapons?
I should tell the police that I was here.
But what would he tell them? That he acted on a hunch based on the words of a murderer? That he was trespassing? He might get into even more trouble this time around—and he was in no mood for that. Let the police piece it together from here. They’ll find the cut fence and the opened wall.
Bruce switched his phone back on, his hands still trembling. A call from Dianne rang immediately, and when he picked up, she was shouting something in a thin, high voice, a sound of near panic. “Bruce? Bruce! Where the hell are you? I called the police. Get out of there!”
“I’m okay. I’m heading up,” Bruce said to Dianne as he hurried back the way he’d come, the mystery of the hideout still hanging over him.