Case 1.3: Riding with Renee
- Location
- the point is of no return and you have reached it!
Case 1.3: Riding with Renee
Gotham City, NJ—September 3, 2020
Winning vote: Call Renee, Crowne College, talking to a survivor of the first Pygmalion and announcing a Wayne-funded scholarship
Even when she wasn't required to wear the Gotham City P.D. blues and grays, Renee Montoya was a woman in uniform. Dressed in a beige blazer-trench coat-turn-maxi dress with her police badge matching a boutonnière on the opposite lapel, with the clear silhouette of her handgun at her hip, she cut an imposing figure while she leaned back against your Ferrari.
"Mr. Wayne," she calls out, smiling as you made your way down the Wayne Manor steps. Alfred follows behind you, finishing locking up the manor's front doors and engaging the manor's security system on his way. "Always a pleasure."
"Thanks for coming out tonight, officer Montoya," you reply, making your way over to the car. She opens the car door for you and steps aside, letting you take your seat in the open-top convertible before she sits down beside you. Alfred takes the driver's seat and starts the engine.
"Hey, if you didn't give me a call, there's a good chance they'd have me tailing some other rich prat." Renee smirks at you after the taunt, before shaking her head. "The commissioner wants all hands-on deck tonight for the event with everything that's been going on recently. I'd have tried to consolidate the event and make all the security worker's lives easier," she lets her words linger for a moment before she shakes her head. "But that's not quite my call."
You don't fully disagree with her. It would be easier to make sure the night went smoothly if the event was localized to one part of the city, but the widespread and easy access of the celebrations tonight were part of the point. The goal was to create accessible hope; it's a lot harder to feel hopeful packed on the inside of a secure bunker and it's a lot harder for the average citizen to get involved in it.
"Well, you know you and the department have my ear, officer. If you have concerns you want raised at the Renewal board meetings," concerns that the department's talking head on the board wouldn't bring up themselves, "I'd be happy to get those discussions started."
"Thanks, Bruce," Renee says, stifling a small sigh. Alfred scans his finger-print onto a sensor within the car and opens the gates to the Wayne property. The second you leave the walled-in grounds, members of the press are on you, flashing photographs of you and your company and calling out questions that aren't quite audible for you to respond.
Renee reaches into her purse and subtly pulls removes a flash-drive from it, hiding it between her fingers before she sets it down in the car door's cup-holder. "Jim wanted me to pass this onto you. Just in case you wanted to try your hand at some more consulting work down at the office." Her tone is a bit uncomfortable, but there's a resolve behind it. "Either way, it'll keep you a bit more up to date than the average press release."
You nod. You're sure Alfred will hook it up and start analysis once the attention follows you away from the car.
Gotham City, NJ—September 3, 2020
Winning vote: Call Renee, Crowne College, talking to a survivor of the first Pygmalion and announcing a Wayne-funded scholarship
Even when she wasn't required to wear the Gotham City P.D. blues and grays, Renee Montoya was a woman in uniform. Dressed in a beige blazer-trench coat-turn-maxi dress with her police badge matching a boutonnière on the opposite lapel, with the clear silhouette of her handgun at her hip, she cut an imposing figure while she leaned back against your Ferrari.
"Mr. Wayne," she calls out, smiling as you made your way down the Wayne Manor steps. Alfred follows behind you, finishing locking up the manor's front doors and engaging the manor's security system on his way. "Always a pleasure."
"Thanks for coming out tonight, officer Montoya," you reply, making your way over to the car. She opens the car door for you and steps aside, letting you take your seat in the open-top convertible before she sits down beside you. Alfred takes the driver's seat and starts the engine.
"Hey, if you didn't give me a call, there's a good chance they'd have me tailing some other rich prat." Renee smirks at you after the taunt, before shaking her head. "The commissioner wants all hands-on deck tonight for the event with everything that's been going on recently. I'd have tried to consolidate the event and make all the security worker's lives easier," she lets her words linger for a moment before she shakes her head. "But that's not quite my call."
You don't fully disagree with her. It would be easier to make sure the night went smoothly if the event was localized to one part of the city, but the widespread and easy access of the celebrations tonight were part of the point. The goal was to create accessible hope; it's a lot harder to feel hopeful packed on the inside of a secure bunker and it's a lot harder for the average citizen to get involved in it.
"Well, you know you and the department have my ear, officer. If you have concerns you want raised at the Renewal board meetings," concerns that the department's talking head on the board wouldn't bring up themselves, "I'd be happy to get those discussions started."
"Thanks, Bruce," Renee says, stifling a small sigh. Alfred scans his finger-print onto a sensor within the car and opens the gates to the Wayne property. The second you leave the walled-in grounds, members of the press are on you, flashing photographs of you and your company and calling out questions that aren't quite audible for you to respond.
Renee reaches into her purse and subtly pulls removes a flash-drive from it, hiding it between her fingers before she sets it down in the car door's cup-holder. "Jim wanted me to pass this onto you. Just in case you wanted to try your hand at some more consulting work down at the office." Her tone is a bit uncomfortable, but there's a resolve behind it. "Either way, it'll keep you a bit more up to date than the average press release."
You nod. You're sure Alfred will hook it up and start analysis once the attention follows you away from the car.
Case Information Acquired: Jim Gordon's Thumb Drive
The attack on the Crowne Ballet: The first major attack believed to be associated with Pygmalion II: Four women killed; two women kidnapped.
No bodily mutilations were performed on the four women killed at the Crowne Ballet, but they were outside of the target range of the other victims. Three of the victims killed were two mothers whose students attended ballet classes, an elderly ballet instructor. The fourth of the victims killed fits the age range, but may have been considered undesirable by the killer due to her weight. Post-mortem suggests that she suffered from anorexia nervosa.
The two victims kidnapped were twin daughters of the Panessa family, a lesser family of the Cosa Nostra mob. They were both juniors in high-school, seventeen, private students of the Crowne Ballet under instructor Azzura Berengetti and members of Gotham west's St Mary's private school Dance and Show Choir programs.
Recent Six Families Attacked: As mentioned in the earlier case file made available, there have been six families recently attacked by the Pygmalion II killer or Pygmalion II group.
Disappearances (connection unclear): Re-connect with leads and insiders in the clubs. Dancers have been disappearing from their jobs at higher rates. Call-girls unresponsive. Could be people leaving the trade and moving to a better life; could be someone making them into targets.
Audio File: Jim Gordon/Lazlo Valentin, 04/01/2015
No bodily mutilations were performed on the four women killed at the Crowne Ballet, but they were outside of the target range of the other victims. Three of the victims killed were two mothers whose students attended ballet classes, an elderly ballet instructor. The fourth of the victims killed fits the age range, but may have been considered undesirable by the killer due to her weight. Post-mortem suggests that she suffered from anorexia nervosa.
The two victims kidnapped were twin daughters of the Panessa family, a lesser family of the Cosa Nostra mob. They were both juniors in high-school, seventeen, private students of the Crowne Ballet under instructor Azzura Berengetti and members of Gotham west's St Mary's private school Dance and Show Choir programs.
Recent Six Families Attacked: As mentioned in the earlier case file made available, there have been six families recently attacked by the Pygmalion II killer or Pygmalion II group.
- Bonham family: Family of five. Father worked in construction; mother was a nursing assistant at the Gotham general hospital. Two high-school aged daughter. First was a member of the chess club; her left hand was taken and her right arm was flayed. Second was a soccer player; she received major skin-grafts, facial alterations and is currently being treated for major infections. One elementary-aged daughter; her right hand was removed and re-attached to the high-school aged daughter.
- Potential for follow-up with Emma Bonham. Expected hospital stay: 3 weeks.
- Demetri family: Family of three with a live-in grandparent. Father was a high school teacher at St. Mary's private school. Mother was a housekeeper and an aspiring artist. Her right hand was taken and her face flayed. Daughter was a member of the Cosa Nostra dance team. Her feet were removed. The grandfather had his tongue removed.
- Van Haus family: Family of two; a single-father and a recent high-school graduate daughter. Father worked in accounting for Wayne Enterprises. You should send a bouquet to his next of kin. His feet were nailed to the floor. The daughter's employment history was unclear and likely illicit. Her hands were replaced with hands of an unidentified third party, which were clasped around her neck when the body was found.
- Oswald family: Family of four. Father worked in sales. Mother was a hotel manager. Two children; a high-school aged daughter and a elementary-aged son. Parts of the son were grafted to the parents and poorly beautified. The daughter is recovering from severe infections from failed skin grafts and a severed hand in the hospital.
- Potential for follow-up with Keira Oswald. Expected hospital stay: 1 month.
- Starr family: Family of six. Mother was an actuary. Father stayed at home to raise the four daughters. Bodies of the four daughters were hard to distinguish due to the amount of lacerations, flayed flesh and cross-sibling grafting that took place. Mother's cause of death may have been suicide. The father's body was relatively unharmed; autopsy suggests his death was related to chemical exposure.
- Zemeckis family: Family of three. The mother was a barista. The father worked at Wal-Mart. Wealth far outstretched the work that either of them did. The mother owned high tech camera equipment. Both the mother and daughter, a recent high school graduate aged 20, had large social media followings. Mother and daughter's faces had been surgically swapped. Mother's left hand was taken. Daughter's right hand was taken.
Disappearances (connection unclear): Re-connect with leads and insiders in the clubs. Dancers have been disappearing from their jobs at higher rates. Call-girls unresponsive. Could be people leaving the trade and moving to a better life; could be someone making them into targets.
Audio File: Jim Gordon/Lazlo Valentin, 04/01/2015
UNKNOWN: "Six minutes. If he makes any funny movements, Dr. Crane is on standby to issue punitive shock treatments and our health monitors are right outside the door."
JIM: "Thank you. I appreciate your collaboration here." The door slams. Muffled movement.
"Mr. Valentin. There's a few more questions that I'd like to ask you to clear up some of the confusion from our last visit. Would that be alright?"
Scratching. Low audio input static.
JIM: "Alrighty then. To get us started—"
Crashing. High audio input static. Unsure laughter.
LAZLO: "New girl who works here. Good eyes." There's an animalistic excitement in his voice. His voice is on the verge of cracking, muddied with high audio static. "Hooded lids. Blends the stitching better. Kind looks to her, rests on bad bones. Would be a good doll. Bad chassis."
Knuckles cracking on the table. High audio input static. Microphone adjusted; clearer audio coming through now.
JIM: "Now, as uh, disturbing as that may be, that's not what we're here to talk about today. Last time we spoke, you suggested you were interested in sharing some information on where you first received your shipments of CIRL, street-name Dollmaker, and who you received them from."
Giddy laughter. It sharpens into something dark.
LAZLO: "Old fucking hags from New England. Ugly blights. Not a part of them worth keeping. Chop them up. Keep the ligaments. Spread their bodies out in a spiral. That'd show them."
Pen scratching on paper.
JIM: "You received your first supply of CIRL from women in New England?"
LAZLO: "No. Hags. Wrinkled, unfit, impure, despicable bags of—" Lazlo's rising voice is cut off by overwhelming static.
High audio static lingers. Knocking on the table is the first sound that breaks past. The static is fading.
JIM: "—hell was that, Crane? Fuck,"
CRANE (?), warbled over INTERCOM: "Sorry."
JIM: "Fuck, man. Is he going to be alright?"
Low audio input static. Warbled moaning in the distance.
JIM: "Mr. Valentin, are you with me?"
LAZLO: "Doctor. Doctor Lazlo Valentin, officer. I am a doctor. I am a surgeon. I am a sculptor. I am on a mission."
JIM: "Please focus on what I'm saying to you, then, Dr. Valentin. I'm happy that we're able to be having this conversation. Do these New England—"
LAZLO: "Have you read Metamorphoses, detective Gordon?" Lazlo's words were spoken with absolute and frightening calm now, breaking away from his earlier mad rambling.
"No, your hands aren't the type for the arts. In the days of ancient Greece, there was a great sculptor. A great man who saw the wickedness in the hearts of hags, and carved a Woman of luxurious ivory, free from their fickle thoughts,"
"The gods were fond of him, detective. They saw his work and said it was good, and they gave life to that ivory, and made a Woman true, a woman free from the thoughts of the age and the mad babbles of everyday life. Not a hag. Not a bite. Not a blight. Not a d—no. No, no, no. They saw what he did and they said it was good. What I do is good. I am on a mission. I will not be stopped. I will not be shaken."
High audio static. Heavy panting from across the room between each of Lazlo's spoken words.
LAZLO: "These walls can't hold me. These walls can't hold my spirit. My day will come. My will be done. My wife, by my art made heaven, I will see her done. The new girl's eyes. Good lids. Tennis-playing arms. A vocalist's throat. Soft hands, shapely hands. Waxed. All waxed. Perfection made flesh by my hand, detective—sk—"
Heavy panting turns to a guttural growl. Table shaking. High audio static. Door swinging open through absolute high static. Warbled cross-chatter between JIM, CRANE (?) and UNKNOWN voices.
Audio file ends. Gordon's notes mark the meeting as "the most coherent" of his attempts to speak with Dr. Lazlo Valentin.
JIM: "Thank you. I appreciate your collaboration here." The door slams. Muffled movement.
"Mr. Valentin. There's a few more questions that I'd like to ask you to clear up some of the confusion from our last visit. Would that be alright?"
Scratching. Low audio input static.
JIM: "Alrighty then. To get us started—"
Crashing. High audio input static. Unsure laughter.
LAZLO: "New girl who works here. Good eyes." There's an animalistic excitement in his voice. His voice is on the verge of cracking, muddied with high audio static. "Hooded lids. Blends the stitching better. Kind looks to her, rests on bad bones. Would be a good doll. Bad chassis."
Knuckles cracking on the table. High audio input static. Microphone adjusted; clearer audio coming through now.
JIM: "Now, as uh, disturbing as that may be, that's not what we're here to talk about today. Last time we spoke, you suggested you were interested in sharing some information on where you first received your shipments of CIRL, street-name Dollmaker, and who you received them from."
Giddy laughter. It sharpens into something dark.
LAZLO: "Old fucking hags from New England. Ugly blights. Not a part of them worth keeping. Chop them up. Keep the ligaments. Spread their bodies out in a spiral. That'd show them."
Pen scratching on paper.
JIM: "You received your first supply of CIRL from women in New England?"
LAZLO: "No. Hags. Wrinkled, unfit, impure, despicable bags of—" Lazlo's rising voice is cut off by overwhelming static.
High audio static lingers. Knocking on the table is the first sound that breaks past. The static is fading.
JIM: "—hell was that, Crane? Fuck,"
CRANE (?), warbled over INTERCOM: "Sorry."
JIM: "Fuck, man. Is he going to be alright?"
Low audio input static. Warbled moaning in the distance.
JIM: "Mr. Valentin, are you with me?"
LAZLO: "Doctor. Doctor Lazlo Valentin, officer. I am a doctor. I am a surgeon. I am a sculptor. I am on a mission."
JIM: "Please focus on what I'm saying to you, then, Dr. Valentin. I'm happy that we're able to be having this conversation. Do these New England—"
LAZLO: "Have you read Metamorphoses, detective Gordon?" Lazlo's words were spoken with absolute and frightening calm now, breaking away from his earlier mad rambling.
"No, your hands aren't the type for the arts. In the days of ancient Greece, there was a great sculptor. A great man who saw the wickedness in the hearts of hags, and carved a Woman of luxurious ivory, free from their fickle thoughts,"
"The gods were fond of him, detective. They saw his work and said it was good, and they gave life to that ivory, and made a Woman true, a woman free from the thoughts of the age and the mad babbles of everyday life. Not a hag. Not a bite. Not a blight. Not a d—no. No, no, no. They saw what he did and they said it was good. What I do is good. I am on a mission. I will not be stopped. I will not be shaken."
High audio static. Heavy panting from across the room between each of Lazlo's spoken words.
LAZLO: "These walls can't hold me. These walls can't hold my spirit. My day will come. My will be done. My wife, by my art made heaven, I will see her done. The new girl's eyes. Good lids. Tennis-playing arms. A vocalist's throat. Soft hands, shapely hands. Waxed. All waxed. Perfection made flesh by my hand, detective—sk—"
Heavy panting turns to a guttural growl. Table shaking. High audio static. Door swinging open through absolute high static. Warbled cross-chatter between JIM, CRANE (?) and UNKNOWN voices.
Audio file ends. Gordon's notes mark the meeting as "the most coherent" of his attempts to speak with Dr. Lazlo Valentin.
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