After some discussion, the strategy was set: Cobblepot would wait for the crew to approach him, Gordon would investigate recently released felons in the police records, and Marco would handle...
"You're meeting with other informants?" Cobblepot asked. "May I ask what kind of—"
"There are no other informants. I was bullshitting him." Marco slammed on the brakes, pulling up outside Cobblepot's bar. "Gordon's not just going to check ex-cons. He'll re-examine the vault robbery scene, comb through every black-market channel in Gotham, investigate every known violent gang. All that legwork."
He put the car in park. "I'm not interested in accompanying him on that wild goose chase. Sure, all that work might throw the crew off a little, but it won't lead to any clues. Alright, this is your stop."
"Thanks." Cobblepot climbed out of the car, then turned back. "Not coming in for a drink?"
"Next time. Oh, and tell your people to be careful. Before these guys come for you, they might kill one or two of your crew to make a statement. Think about what you need to prepare."
"I'll be careful."
Marco turned the car around and headed straight for the Tax Department Building at Civic Plaza. He kept his head down and moved quietly through rows of cubicles until he reached Hale's workstation.
"Hi, Ms. Hale. Sorry I'm a few days late."
"If apologies worked, a lot of people wouldn't be getting tax penalties." Hale looked at Marco over the rim of her glasses. "A police officer should understand that better than most."
She checked her watch. "It's fifteen minutes before lunch. Please wait at the front desk. And also..." She nudged a large cardboard box under her desk with her foot. "Please move this out yourself."
"Uh... alright."
Marco felt completely outmatched. He picked up the box and slunk away. Only after he sat down on the waiting bench near the front desk did it occur to him:
"I'm the one paying her!"
When the clock struck noon, Hale appeared in his line of sight almost to the second. He estimated she must have timed her departure down to the exact moment her lunch break began. He picked up the box and walked toward her.
"Ms. Hale, to make up for taking your time, let me buy you lunch. We can discuss the..." He tapped the box lightly.
Hale focused for two seconds, then nodded. "There's a small place nearby called Sunflower Bistro. Mediterranean cuisine. Not many people, nice environment, no reservation needed. Will that work?"
"Ah? Oh, yes. Of course. I can eat anything."
Hale wore low-heeled, soft-soled leather shoes that made almost no sound. Marco followed behind carrying the box, feeling a bit like a pack mule. They crossed the plaza and reached an inconspicuous restaurant. A clean serif-lettered sign hung at the entrance. The interior had warm gray stucco walls, dark wooden floors, linen tablecloths on the tables, with olive oil bottles and small baskets of bread.
There were only three or four occupied tables. After the owner seated them, Hale opened the menu and immediately handed it to Marco.
"No alcohol. One Caprese salad, one grilled salmon."
She nudged a slightly crooked fork and knife into perfect parallel alignment, then looked at him and asked, "Ready? Officer, we should begin."
"Ah! Oh... yes, yes!"
Marco had never eaten in a place like this before. The moment he saw the prices, his eyes nearly popped out. Since he couldn't find anything familiar, he hurriedly ordered two dishes. The owner gave him a strange look before leaving, while he sat stiffly upright.
"Alright, Ms. Hale... about these documents, what can you tell me?"
"I've sorted everything into categories and marked them with different colored bands and labels."
Hale leaned down and pulled a sheet of paper from the top of the box.
"This is a summary of the situation. If these documents came from CPS, then yes, their accounts have major problems. But I'm not a police officer. I can't say whether it's related to child trafficking."
She traced the lines of text with her finger.
"First, their accounts show large amounts of periodic donations. I traced the sources, they all come from shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands or Seychelles. Second, they have many unusual shipping expenses: costs several times higher than normal goods, yet the declared items are just everyday products like blankets, clothing, toiletries."
She flipped to another page.
"Third, the cash flows don't match the products or the supposed business operations. A lot of the outgoing funds end up in personal accounts belonging to CPS administrators and city government officials. If you can obtain CPS's public financial statements and cross-reference the dates, you'll probably find even more discrepancies."
One term after another hit Marco's brain. By the end, he managed to summarize it: The accounts are dirty.
That was enough.
Seeing that Hale had finished speaking, he quickly took the summary sheet and carefully placed it back in the box.
"Thank you, Ms. Hale. I've taken far too much of your time already. Let's eat."
Hale nodded as the owner laid out three bowls of soup in front of Marco.
"What is this?" Marco looked at the bowls in front of him, then at the grilled fish and salad placed before Hale.
"It's the meal you ordered, sir. And one of the soups is on the house."
Marco watched helplessly as Hale calmly and unhurriedly ate her low-fat, healthy lunch, complete with buffalo mozzarella, while he could only sit across from her and gulp down soup. One of them was even the mushroom flavor he hated most.
The two of them had spent a hundred and twelve dollars, not including tip, and he was supposed to waste it?
The result was that even after he returned to the precinct, his stomach was sloshing around like Gotham Harbor. He dropped the box by his feet, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long breath.
"Whew... urp!"
Alan poked his head in through the door. "Captain!"
"Uh... oh!" Marco sat up straight and waved him in. "Go on, what's up? How's it going today?"
"Anna went out on patrol. I had Otis follow her, but the two of them... I was worried they'd screw something up, so I sent Officer Wilson along too."
"You're a Level-2 officer now. You're on equal footing with him." Marco said lazily. "He went... well, forget it. Darnell won't cause any big trouble when it matters. Anything happening in the station?"
"The chief went to visit Steven's family. The dismemberment cases are still being argued over with headquarters. Engels Jewelers reported that a few valuable pieces have gone missing... everything else is just fights, petty theft, that kind of thing."
"Mm." Marco nodded, lifting the box and handing it to Alan. "Store these materials. Later, give the summary on top to the chief, see what he wants to do."
---
Click.
Hale stepped into her apartment and shut the door behind her. She reached for the light switch...
"You shouldn't have aided an enemy of the Court."
The voice came from the darkness.
"Mm."
Hale responded casually, then flicked the light on.
Soft light filled the room. On the living-room sofa sat a man in an expensive suit and a silver-white mask. Behind him, in the shadow, stood a figure, perfectly still, like a statue. It wore the metallic owl-shaped mask she knew all too well.
A Talon.
Hale acted as if she hadn't seen them. She set her briefcase on the cabinet by the door and carefully adjusted the strap. Then she took off her coat and hung it neatly on the rack.
The man on the sofa was clearly getting impatient with her indifference. He cleared his throat, his voice growing tense.
"Ms. Hale, the CPS files you've been reviewing involve areas you shouldn't be digging into. The work you've done for that police officer harms the Court's interests. The Court expects you to forget everything you saw and terminate all cooperation with the Gotham City Police Department."
Hale finally turned her gaze toward them. She looked from their faces to their feet. On the light gray cashmere carpet was a very visible trail of dirty footprints.
"You've soiled my carpet."
"Did you not hear me?" The man's voice rose. "You should know, the Court does not request. You know the consequences of refusing us."
As his words fell, the Talon lunged.
It moved like lightning, faster than human reflexes should allow. A feather-shaped blade gleamed in its fingers, aimed directly at Hale's throat.
In the blink of an eye, the two figures passed each other.
The Talon staggered forward two steps. Then it dropped to its knees. A thin line of dark blood seeped between its fingers as it clutched its throat, the flow increasing rapidly, unstoppable.
Hale took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from her hairpin. She pinned it back into her bun, then walked up to the terrified Court member and placed the used handkerchief on his trembling knee.
"I don't wish to spread my wings again. Right now, I am only an ordinary tax auditor. And I won't give that police officer any assistance beyond my professional duties."
She glanced back. The Talon lay motionless on the floor, blood spreading slowly across the carpet.
"But you all had better stay far away and stop bothering me."
She leaned forward slightly. The eyes that had spent the afternoon focused solely on numbers now gleamed with something cold.
"You tore my curtain. You dirtied my carpet. You know my account number. Now take this body and get out of my home. If you're lucky, maybe you can get it back on its feet again."
The man scrambled to his feet, not looking at the body on the floor. He stumbled out the door and disappeared down the stairwell without another word.
"Idiot."
Hale shook her head, walked to the phone, and dialed a number.
"Hello? Property management? I need to have some large waste items removed. Yes, tonight would be ideal."
She hung up and sighed.