It started that summer

What family is for

I stood over the Joker's body, the stark fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on his body bag. The woman in the lab coat who had arranged our brief access had left us alone with the corpse. I quickly unzipped the bag, and Gordon stared uneasily. His eyes flicked between me and the Joker's mangled form.

"What exactly are you hoping to find here, Batman?" he asked, his voice concerned.

"Answers," I replied. I grabbed a pair of gloves and began examining the Joker's wrists. "His restraints weren't secured properly. He had the opportunity to attack Red Hood but didn't act immediately."

"Well, the Joker's insane," Gordon said, raising an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting an inside job?"

"Or someone managed to get inside to let him out," I said, pointing at the Joker's wrists. "These restraints should have left marks, even if they were recently removed. Arkham's security protocols are strict, particularly for someone like the Joker. He's been free for weeks, possibly months, but chose to stay put. Why? What else was he doing?"

Gordon frowned thoughtfully. "Given the history between Red Hood and the Joker, could they have been working together? Maybe something went wrong, and Red Hood returned to settle the score. The timing aligns with what happened to Nightwing—" I tightened my jaw, trying to focus while hearing his name. Gordon, noticing my reaction, quickly shifted topics. "I've got my best men investigating the staff on duty that day. After the Joker was shot, the security footage went dark."

"Let's see if we can find anything," I said, pulling back the sheet that covered the Joker's disfigured face. "Hold this for me," I instructed, gesturing for Gordon to lift the sheet as I examined the wound.

Gordon held the sheet, his eyes scanning the room as he watched me. "What are you looking for?"

"The brain matter might provide a clue. If there's something we're missing, it could be hidden there."

Jim gave me a skeptical look. "I'm not sure there's much to find here. The evidence seems pretty conclusive."

"There's always something," I insisted, "The bullet wound is too clean. And these bruises," I said, pointing to the Joker's torso, "don't match up with a struggle. Something's off about this whole scene."

Jim sighed frustrated. "Possibly, or, you're overanalyzing. The Joker is dead," He looks at the body, "And the evidence is in front of us."

"But what if this isn't the Joker?" I argued, my voice rising. "What if this is part of a larger scheme? The restraints, the bullet wound—it doesn't add up. What if someone else was involved?"

Jim's expression hardened. "Look Batman, I respect you and you've been right lots of times. But now, it sounds like you're letting emotions cloud your judgment. I know you and Nightwing are close but we need to be practical. There's no solid evidence to suggest this isn't the Joker. Let's focus on the facts and avoid jumping to conclusions." I knew I had to balance my drive for answers with a clear-headed approach. This has to be done with precision and restraint. After our time was up we left the morgue, Gordon trailing beside me with a worried look. "Why don't we grab a coffee? You could use a break."

I barely heard him, my mind consumed with a million other things. "No, thanks," I replied, my voice distant. Jason's actions were heavy on my shoulders. Jason killed the Joker. Anger pulled me down when I thought of him, then guilt, and then frustration. I was furious with myself. I should have been there to stop him, I should have intervened before things spiraled out of control. The idea of him being a criminal, even if it was a result of the Joker's manipulation, was something I couldn't think about any longer. I thought about my kids and frowned. Keeping my distance from them will protect them from the fallout of my failures. If I involve them, they might get hurt, or worse, they might make things more complicated. I need to handle this alone, to keep them safe until I get a clearer picture.