Chapter Text
"Jason Todd."
The man on the opposite side of the table shifts, leaning back a bit further in his chair to meet his eyes with the smallest possible tilt of his head. "That's my name, yeah."
His voice is on the deeper end, a hint of a smoker's rasp at the back of his throat. There's nothing to his tone but lazy amusement, like he hasn't been sitting in this little concrete room for the last four hours; no company but the little paper cup of water near his cuffed hands and the little blue light on the camera in the corner. That's not usually the reaction they get, and Dick privately thinks it's damning in its own right. Cops make people nervous. Being detained either makes people panic, or it makes them angry. Calm usually means guilty, not to mention arrogant.
A suspicious reaction doesn't count as evidence, though, so here they are.
"Are you aware of why you're here?" he asks, keeping his gaze steady, not rising to the provocation of that tone.
"One of the officers said something about it, but I was a little busy getting my head slammed into the hood of the cruiser." Todd’s fingers flick up, head tilting to draw attention to the darkening bruise stretching from temple to jaw, along the left side of his hairline. Broad shoulders roll in an easy shrug, shifting the nearly fresh-blood red fabric of the formal shirt, hiding exactly how defined the muscles beneath it are. "So no, can't say that I do. Must have missed that bit."
Shit, that's not going to look great. The cruiser's dashboard camera probably got a pretty decent shot of it, too, so it's guaranteed that the lawyers will bring it up if it gets that far. (Odds are pretty even between it just being a stupid officer, or someone in his pocket. Charges of unnecessary violence look pretty good for the defense in court.) Frankly, Dick doesn't know why there's not a lawyer here already; he'll take it, though. Any second he can get without a lawyer nitpicking every word and little tiny legal necessity, he'll gladly take.
"There was a murder. An associate of yours." Dick sits down in the opposite chair, but keeps his file closed for now.
Todd shifts forwards, easing the chair out of its lean and bracing both elbows against the table as he leans forward. The chain between the cuffs, hooking him to the table, rattles a bit. "That a fact or a guess?"
Dick flicks his gaze from one blue-green eye to the other. "That it's murder or that you knew them?"
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. "Why not all of the above? Might as well throw in that they're dead at all, while you're at it. I'd really hope you're sure of at least that, though." He knows he hasn't managed to quite restrain the tightening of his jaw when Todd leans back again, gaze flicking to the camera in the corner.
There's not anyone on the other end — the equipment's running automatically, and he doesn't have any kind of a partner watching from behind the mirrored glass behind him — but Todd doesn't need to know that. Let him think the whole precinct's watching, if that's what's going through his head. Any edge Dick can get, he'll try for. He's going to need it.
That's why he only offers, "We're sure it was murder, yes."
Todd waits, watching him as he opens the file, tilted towards him so only he can see the bundle of papers inside. Dick takes his time paging through, entirely unnecessarily. He's had four hours to remind himself of every detail of his case, there's not a thing in here that he doesn't know. It's not as thick a file as he'd like, but that can't be helped. It's obvious enough that it was a murder — hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head, execution style — but there's not much of any evidence to go on.
There are, however, a whole collection of other similar murders. Single gunshot wound to the back of the head, various injuries; sometimes clearly some form of torture, sometimes more in line with defensive wounds. Sometimes nothing at all. It only took reading over a few files to see the near constant notation. Primary suspect: Jason Todd.
For someone with so many notes about him, Todd's file itself is suspiciously thin. A conviction from when he was eleven, time served in a juvenile detention center, records sealed, and a suspected murder charge for the death of a Roman Sionis when he was nineteen, case dismissed. Not nearly enough for the way the other officers here avoid his eyes when he brings the case up, or get loud and divert the conversation sharply away from his questions. They’re not subtle.
“Detective…” Todd’s gaze shifts down to look at the name clipped to his shirt. “Grayson, is it?”
He doesn’t look up. “That’s my name, yeah.”
“Detective Grayson, this is going to be a really long conversation if you don’t give me any information.”
“Got somewhere to be, Todd?”
“Jason is fine. How about dinner?”
Dick blinks, lifting his head. “Excuse me?”
“Just saying, you’ve had me in here for what, three hours? Four?” Todd shrugs. “At some point, dinner would be nice. Or breakfast I suppose, if you really want to stay here all night. You got the stamina for that, Detective?’
There’s a sharpness to the way he smirks, eyes just slightly narrowed like he’s looking for a reaction more than anything else, that says the implications in his choices of wording are absolutely intentional. Not the first time Dick’s been flirted with by a suspect, if he’s honest, but he doesn’t like it any more now than he has before.
“I’m not in any rush.” He shuts the folder, sets it down and meets Todd’s gaze squarely. “And you can keep the innuendos to yourself, or one thing I’ll absolutely charge you with is harassment. That clear, Jason?”
Todd’s smirk widens to a grin, and he leans back further into the chair with a smug air of victory. “Yes, sir.”
Well, he got his reaction, anyway. Dick feels like he missed a step somewhere, some critical thing that’s put him on the defensive instead of more firmly on the offense where he wants to be. Hell, maybe it was right from the start, when Todd wasn’t shaken by the normal waiting game.
“I can’t say I’ve heard your name before, Detective.” Todd's gaze is just as sharp as the smirk was. “Your accent’s not Gotham, either. Where are you from?”
“This conversation’s not about me, Mr. Todd.”
“No, but I figured I might as well take the conversation somewhere, since you won’t give me any information about this supposed murder I’m here to talk about. I'm really not going to be much help without at least a few details; the best I can give you right now is that I haven't heard about any 'associates' of mine dying recently." Todd pauses, expression shifting very deliberately into something skeptical. "It's recent, right? I mean, this isn't some random thing from like six years ago?"
Dick considers lying for a couple moments, but settles on, "Relatively recent, yes. Why? Did something happen six years ago I should know about?"
“If you’ve looked at my record, you should already know that, shouldn’t you?”
Six years ago, Jason Todd was nineteen, and on trial for the murder of his supposed guardian, Roman Sionis. Set to inherit a multi-million dollar company, as long as the courts didn’t think he’d killed his ‘father’ to get it. He wasn’t found innocent, but he wasn’t found guilty, either. Case dismissed, something to do with the evidence being lacking. The records are vague enough that Dick suspects they’re that way intentionally. A lot of things about Todd are. It doesn’t matter at this point; someone else confessed to the murder a year or so later, something about skin-melting make-up products sent through to production. Permanent disfiguration is a pretty decent motive for murder, but that doesn’t mean Dick believes it.
“Roman Sionis,” he says out loud, just to confirm it.
Todd’s eyes narrow slightly. “Genuinely a piece of shit, but facts are the same now as they were then, Detective. It’d be hard to get an accurate representation of what went down without being here, though. Lot of details got glossed over.”
“I was getting that impression, yeah.”
“You tried talking to the officers that were around at the time?" It almost actually sounds like he’s trying to be helpful.
Dick thinks he manages to keep his expression at least mostly cool. “Funnily enough, none of them seem to want to talk about you.”
Todd’s mouth flickers into another small smirk. “Imagine that. Maybe they’re just not interested in opening up old cases, Detective Grayson. It was solved; why bring it up again?”
"Maybe it has something to do with the case I'm investigating now," Dick offers, hunting for any twitch of reaction, any blink out of place.
"Can't see how, but then you haven't told me anything about your 'relatively recent' case, so I couldn't tell you. Unless you want to fill me in on some of the details? What is it? Another businessman? Ward to an unfortunate orphan?" Todd leans forward again, arms bracing against the table again. "Or is it just because you think I know him some way? Cause I hate to tell you this, but I know a lot of people."
"I was getting that impression, too. Everyone seems to know you, anyway."
Todd smiles. In it, he can see the confirmation. Cops, criminals, judges, 'businessmen'… Everywhere Dick turns, everyone he talks to, knows Jason Todd in one way or another. No one is interested in helping him pursue that lead. The second he mentions that name, everyone shuts right up.
This case was never meant to go anywhere; that was obvious the first second that the file was dropped on his desk, with a sneer and narrowed eyes. Freshly transferred, meant to fail, meant to teach him how things in Gotham work, he's sure. He saw it happen in Bludhaven. Hell, they tried to do it to him in Bludhaven, but he scraped out of that. He'll scrape through this, too. No one's going to stop him. Not his coworkers, not the gangs, and not Jason Todd.
"One bullet to the back of the head. Found dead in their apartment. Door was broken open."
"Shame. Still doesn't ring any specific bells, though, and I didn't magically learn about any 'recent' murders while I've been sitting here across from you, so… You asking for my opinion on what happened, or what?"
"If you're offering."
Todd laughs; it's a rough bark of a thing. "Alright…” He spreads his hands as far as the links of chain will let him, cocks an eyebrow. "Anything stolen, then? Any other injuries? Was it a man or a woman? Signs of a struggle? Hard to give you any kind of an answer without a little more information, Detective, but if you want me to take a guess anyway…”
"No struggle, and no other injuries. Man. Place was a mess, but there did seem to be some things missing. Wallet and a computer, most notably. Had an opened safe; empty."
Not all of that's true, but Todd doesn't react one way or another to the bits that aren't. Just clasps his hands, gaze sliding over the table to rest towards one wall. He genuinely looks like he's in thought; hell, maybe he's trying to figure out exactly what murder Dick's investigating. He'd bet there are plenty the police don't know about, and some they've just chosen not to care about at all. Maybe his made up details actually match something he's not supposed to know about.
"Well, your easy answer is a robbery gone bad. Thieves break in, get the guy on his knees or against the wall or whatever. Ransack the place, take anything easy to carry, but your victim says something stupid, or makes a dumb move, or whatever. Robber with the gun is twitchy, shoots before he thinks; they make a run for it, assuming the cops will get called about the gunshot." Todd's gaze flicks back to him. "But since you're talking to me, I'm going to assume that you don't think that's what happened. So, let's think about it a different way…”
Dick sits back, and waits. Todd's thumb rubs a path along the top finger of his other hand, where they're clasped.
His voice drops, quiet and almost intimate feeling with the way those eyes hold his gaze. "So this man, he does something he shouldn't, pisses someone off. They send someone to take care of him. But see, even silenced gunshots are loud enough to get peoples' attention, so it wouldn't make much sense for the killer to take his shot, then stick around and take things. Too much time. Your first responders, on the other hand, they've got time, and they can call it in as whatever they want. Home invasion sure is an easier job than a potential assassination, and if they go home with some extra cash, a new computer, well… that's just bonus, isn't it?"
It's a good story. Fits the lies he told, and the truths. No slips, all hypothetical, and no details he shouldn't know, or corrections to what Dick offered as facts. Whatever else he is, Todd's definitely not an idiot. Word games probably aren't going to get him anywhere, not that he means to stop playing them. Not until he runs into the time limit for how long he can keep Todd here without charging him, anyway.
"You think that's what happened? An assassination covered up by police corruption?"
His lips tug into a smile. "No, not really. Robbery's much more likely. You wanted a story, though. Enough intrigue for you, or should I try again? Maybe if we guess enough times, we'll stumble over the right answer; that's basically how your job works, right?"
Dick forces his jaw to loosen before his teeth can really grind. "Not usually," he says, keeping his voice as calm as he can manage. "Mr. Todd, I asked for your opinion, not a story."
"Well my opinion's that it was the robbery idea, or at least something close to that." Something in Todd's gaze flickers, his smile cools a bit. "Speaking as someone who spent a good few years on the streets of Gotham, Detective? When people know they're going to die, they fight, tooth and nail. You get clean deaths when people think they have a chance to live."
It doesn't quite gel with what he understands of Todd's past, at least, he doesn't think it does. But he hasn't dug all that deep into the details, just the crimes themselves. He's missing something. "Know that firsthand, do you?"
Todd doesn't react to the bait, just holds that cool smile. "Third. A few times." His head cocks, gaze flicking towards the door. Dick can't help glancing that way too, but there's nothing. There's a stomp of boots, though, distant but just audible. "I think that's curtain, Detective."
It's a hell of an assumption to make, but Dick's only gotten as far as opening his mouth to rebuke the idea when the door shoves open, hard enough to slam against the wall. Two men stand in the doorway, the first with a pressed uniform, red face, short greying hair, and a truly thunderous expression over the high rise of broad shoulders. The second behind him, narrowed eyes and a glare, not as put together and mostly hidden considering he's shorter and smaller. The Captain and his all too nosy next-desk neighbor. Shit.
"Detective Grayson! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
He tenses, barely has time to stand before Captain Stephen's in his face, looming over him like some kind of drill instructor. "I—"
"Shut your mouth! You don't get to harass private citizens, Grayson; I don't care what kind of big shot you think you are, coming out of that shithole city with your shiny new medal and your nose up IA's ass. This is my precinct, and if you want to keep your job you'll leave the respected citizens of this town alone unless you've got some goddamn evidence to charge them with! You understand me?!"
To his side, Dick sees his apparent snitch unlock the cuffs around Todd's wrists, and step back to let him stand. He doesn't look, though, not with the Captain in his face like an angry mastiff, teeth all but bared.
He swallows down every smart-ass comment he wants to make, every way he wants to snap, and forces out a, "Yes, sir." Now is not the time to bring up that he does have just one tiny shred of evidence. Not enough to charge, but enough to question, surely.
It's obviously not enough to appease, but Todd cuts in with a calm, "It's alright, Bill," just as Captain Stephen inhales for another round. "I'm sure Detective Grayson was just being a little over enthusiastic; everyone makes a mistake now and then."
He did not make a mistake—
Dick bites his tongue and doesn't argue, turning his head just enough to actually look at Todd. He knew the basic height, measurements, all that, but seeing it in person is different. Finally standing, head lifted to look right at him and shoulders back, he's tall. Six feet doesn't usually feel that much bigger than Dick, but he's just big, and the difference in muscle mass is not at all hidden under the tailored shirt. The license Dick looked up said he was two hundred pounds; they usually aren't completely accurate, but looking at Todd, he believes it. Dick likes to think that he’s pretty high above average when it comes to being physically fit, but there’s a decent thirty pounds of difference there and it feels obvious.
He's handsome, too. The black hair is cut short, but not military, and his eyes are a blue-green shade that the picture on his license doesn't really capture; it's enough to distract from the fact that his nose has a little crook in it, like someone broke it once upon a time. Dick knows what people call him, what they think of him, and Todd isn't that, but he's certainly a rougher kind of handsome. It must serve him well.
"I don't think anything else needs to be made of this," he's saying, gaze steady on the Captain's face. "Detective Grayson's new to Gotham, isn't he?"
He was trying not to give any more information about himself, but Captain Stephen doesn't give a shit about his privacy. "Yes. Transferred from Bludhaven just a couple weeks ago."
"So it's just an adjustment period." Todd's hands come to his pockets, looking over at him. "Nice to meet you, Detective. If you end up with any more questions, you can give my company a call and schedule a meeting. I'd be happy to assist in your investigation however I can, of course. I'm always willing to do my civic duty whenever it's needed."
Yeah, he's sure. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Todd," Dick says, because he can't bring himself to actually say thank you.
A smile tugs at one edge of Todd's mouth. "Good. And of course, if you change your mind about dinner, just let me know. I'm sure I could clear some space in my schedule for some... grilling. I know a couple excellent teppanyaki restaurants."
It's been a long time since someone was enough of a smooth talking ass to make him blush and want to punch them at the same time, but that's exactly what happens. His jaw tightens, and Todd gives a shallow grin, clearly aware of the reaction he's inspiring. Dick tries not to too accurately imagine what it might be like to break that nose again and add another crook to it.
Neither Captain Stephen nor nosy-neighbor Rogers even twitches at the blatant come on, and that oddity distracts him enough that he manages to keep his mouth shut. It’s not as much of a problem as it used to be, even while he was growing up, but a big ex-military looking man like Stephen? And a snitch like Rogers? Both apparently corrupt police? He’d expect at least a little homophobia, or some extra-masculine posturing to distance themselves from the idea.
"Have a good night, Detective. I'm sure I'll see you around, one way or another." Todd circles the table, heading for the door.
Stephen shoots him a nasty look and says, “I’ll be escorting Mr. Todd out with our sincerest apologies. Rogers, I want him in my office by the time I get back, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dick doesn’t get a chance to defend himself, but he’s pretty sure anything he could say would only make it worse, so maybe that’s best. Captain Stephen follows Todd out of the room, and Rogers crosses his arms and does a very bad job of not looking smug.
“Well, you really stepped in it, didn’t you, Grayson?”
He doesn’t bother answering, just takes his file from the table and heads out.
It’s not like he wasn’t warned. The IA officer in charge of his case had given him a truly concerned look when he said he wanted his transfer to be to Gotham. Tried to talk him out of it, but in the end they did offer him a transfer anywhere he wanted, and his statements were given, the evidence collected. They didn’t need him anymore. If he wanted to step into one of the most notoriously corrupt cities, with everyone already knowing that he’d gladly work with IA, well, that wasn’t their responsibility.
He knew what he was getting into. If he has to personally throw every abusive, bribe-taking, corrupt cop here out on their asses, he will.
Gotham’s ‘finest’ aren’t going to stop him.