DC Elseworlds 1. Chapter 1

Penthouse Legend

New York – Transient Hotel

The faceless, the nameless and the forgotten inhabit the square box rooms. Paint peels and flecks off the water stained walls. A constant din of moans and cries shatter the silence throughout the night.

In room 116, an old man struggles for breath. He was someone once, but now he's reduced to this. He's just a shell. His body has turned against him. The cough rips through him, threatening to tear him apart.

There's a knock at his door, but he doesn't have the strength to answer. The door opens and a shrouded figured enters. The old man struggles to sit up. Just this simple exertion causes him to sweat. He looks at the shrouded figure through hollow sunken eyes.

"Did you bring it," he asks. His voice is thin and reedy, barely above a whisper. The figure nods and holds up a case. The old man briefly smiles, then bows head and slowly nods.

"It will happen tomorrow night, just as you asked."

The shrouded figure sets the case down on the only table in the room and leaves. The old man sits there for several minutes just staring at the case. Finally he reaches for his cane and struggles to stand. His steps are unsteady as he shuffles over to the table. His dry, cracked, boney fingers reverently stroke the case and a smile once more spreads across his aged lips.

* * *

New York – The Courtroom

The packed gallery is buzzing with anticipation. Reporters take their seats, while news crews go live with updates. At one table is District Attorney Flint, along with his three aids. His well-tailored suit speaks of success and power. His tanned, even features play well on camera with the voters. In his middle forties, there is talk of higher offices in his future. Part of his popularity is his unusual practice of trying cases himself. They are always the most high profile cases, but it sends the message to the voters that he's not afraid of roll up his sleeves and do the dirty work.

At the other table are Defense Attorney Moor and his client. Attorney Moor is from the public defenders office. He's been assigned this case. He's a small man in a plain black suit. He has a world weary look about him like someone that has seen their dreams slip away. The sweat shines off his balding head. He nervously watches his client, even though the older man completely ignores him. The client wears what appears to be a brand new suit that hangs off his skin and bones frame. He insolently looks around the court, but says nothing.

The bailiff stands and a hush goes over the crowd.

"All rise!"

Everyone in the courtroom stands as the judge enters the room.

"Superior court no. 27 of the State of New York. The Honorable Judge James T. Gable presiding."

The judge sits down and the crowd immediately does too. The air is electric, everyone has been waiting for this moment. The judge looks down at the papers in front of him and then at the district attorney and the defense.

"The People of New York versus …. Dr. Macabre," The judge reads and then looks over at attorney Moor. "Is this a joke, Mr. Moor? If it is, this court is not amused.'

Moor quickly stands and looks nervously at the judge.

"That-That's my client's name, Your Honor. He had it official changes fifty years ago," Moor explains.

"Damn unusually," the judge mutters. "All right, if that's his name. The People of New York versus Dr. Macabre. Are both parties ready?"

"We are your honor,' district attorney Flint replies.

"Yes, your honor," Attorney Moor says. The judge nods in acceptance and turns to address **you, the reader**.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you are the jury in this case. I instruct you to listen to the testimony carefully and pronounce your judgment to the best of your ability and integrity. You are to determine if the defendant is Guilty or Not Guilty and his fate rests in your hands. The district attorney may now proceed."

Flint slowly rose from his chair, buttoning his jacket and moved towards the jury. He flashed a brief smile and then seemed to consider his words carefully.

"Your Honor. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury on the night of December 22nd, while most of us were enjoying the Christmas spirit, a desperate struggle between life and death was happening fifty floors above the city. The body of a man came crashing down through space and landed at the foot of the Rand apartment tower. The man's name was David Merryweather. The name might not mean anything to you now, but Mr. Merryweather was a hero. In another life he was known as Cat-Man. In that alter ego, he served this country in World War 2 and beyond. He was there to fight the criminal masterminds, both big and small, that tried to grab power for themselves. His whole life was dedicated to freedom. In the early days he fought with his sidekick and loyal friend, Miss Katie Conn, who was known as Kitten."

Flint turns and points to an attractive older woman sitting in the front row.

"They were symbols of what was right about this country. Even after Miss Conn stepped away from crime fighting, Mr. Merryweather continued. The costume heroes we all have come to rely on today owe a debt to Mr. Merryweather. So do we all.'

District attorney Flint turns away from the jury and walks back towards the center of the courtroom. He stops right in front of Dr. Macabre.

"Don't let his appearance fool you," Flint says. He points a finger at Macabre. "One of those criminals that Cat-Man stopped time and time again was none other than Dr. Macabre. This man was Cat-Man's archenemy. He tried to kill him and countless others over the years. It was only through his constant vigilance that Cat-Man, Mr. Merryweather finally triumphed and put this man away for twenty years."

Flint looks in disgust at Macabre, but he insolently returns the look. Flint shakes his head and moves over the railing in front of the jury.

"Yes, David Merryweather was a hero, ladies and gentlemen. He defended this country until age and injuries finally caught up with him, as they do us all. He finally took his well-earned retirement. Even at his advanced age, he still had a zest for life. He finally took a wife, Mrs. Lisa Merryweather."

Flint turns and points out the young widow dressed in black in the front row. Lisa Merryweather is twenty-eight, almost sixty years younger than her husband. She is a strikingly beautiful, with long blonde hair and a slender, eye catching figure. She has tears in her eyes, as she looks over at the jury.

"David Merryweather thought he'd found peace and happiness at last. A beautiful young wife, money and time, things were good for David. The recent revival of interest in the Golden Age heroes gave him a new career. Through appearances, conventions and card shows, he made a sizable income. There was even talk of a movie of his life. Alas, all that ended December 22nd. It seemed David's past caught up with him."

Flint's face shows his sadness, as if it is difficult for him to tell the next part. Taking a deep breath, he turns his gaze back to the jury.

"The evidence will show on the night of December 22nd, while Mr. Merryweather was spending the evening catching up with his former partner, Miss Conn, that man sitting right there, Dr. Macabre knowingly and viciously attacked them both. He was determined to kill, ladies and gentlemen. David Merryweather was a hero to the end. He saved an unconscious Miss Conn from certain death, but in the process, Dr. Macabre performed his final evil act. He pushed David off the balcony of his penthouse apartment and to his death far belong."

Flint turned and pointed at Macabre.

"That man murdered a hero, ladies and gentlemen and it's your duty to see that he's punished."

Flint took one long last long at the jury and slowly walked back to his seat.

* * *

"Is the defense ready with its opening statement," the judge asks.

Defense attorney Moor nods and stands up. He adjusts his wrinkled suit coat and picks up a legal pad before walking over to the jury. He puts his hand to his chin as he reads something from the pad and nods.

'The defense agrees with some of what the District attorney said in his opening statement, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. It was December 22nd and David Merryweather did die from falling off his penthouse balcony, but other than that, we respectfully disagree."

Moor looks at the jury for the first time. Another thought seems to occur to him.

"Oh, and yes, David Merryweather was a hero from the Golden Age."

Moor begins to pace back and forth glancing at his notes.

"As far as the evidence goes, well, that is still to be decided. There was no confession, ladies and gentlemen. In fact, my client, Dr. Macabre hasn't spoken a word to anyone including me about that night. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? If he were really the archenemy of Mr. Merryweather, wouldn't he be proclaiming his triumph? After all, he'd won after all these years, yet not a word."

Moor turns and looks at the jury.

"The district attorney failed to mention there is no physical evidence that my client pushed David Merryweather over the railing. The only witness, Miss Conn was unconscious when it happened. The district attorney wants this to be a simple morality play, good versus evil, hero versus villain, but we all know life isn't that simple."

Moor stops and looks over at his client. Dr. Macabre wasn't even paying attention. Moor sighs and turns back to the jury.

'I'll let you in on a little secret, I don't like my client," Moor said. "It's easy not to like him. He's a villain, right? It seems so natural and reasonable that he did it. We're all thinking it. There's just one thing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in our system you have to prove it. That's one of those rights heroes fight for. You don't hear it mentioned much, what with terrorists, Super villains, alien invasions and all the rest of the threats out there. Innocent until proven guilty, it doesn't sound as sexy as battling the Joker, but it's more important. It protects you and me, even people like Dr. Macabre, from the rush to judgment. The state has to prove Dr. Macabre killed David Merryweather beyond a reasonable doubt."

Moor walks over and puts his note pad down. He turns around, his hands in his pockets and walks back over to the jury.

"David Merryweather died on December 22nd,' Moor solemnly says. "Who, if any, are responsible is what this trial's about. I only ask that you keep an open mind as you listen to the evidence. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen."

Moor takes one long last look at the jury and then walks back to his seat.

"We'll take a thirty minute recess and then the prosecution will call its first witness," the judge says. He bangs his gavel and court is adjourned.


	2. Chapter 2

Witnesses

Part 1

New York Courtroom

Judge Gable returned and court is called to order. It took a few moments for the gallery to quiet down. The judge lightly raps his gavel and then turns to the District Attorney.

"Mr. Flint, are you prepared to call you first witness?'

"We are your honor," Flint says in a loud clear voice.

"Than proceed."

"The state calls Dr. Samuel Fuller to the stand."

People turn left and right, interested to see who this is. A small neat man stands and makes his way to the witness box. He takes his seat and the clerk walks over with the bible.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" The clerk says this with a practiced air, as if he's said it a thousand times before.

"I do."

The clerk nods and moves back to take his seat. DA Flint adjusts the buttons on his jacket as he moves towards the witness.

"Would you please state your name and occupation for the court, sir?"

"Dr. Samuel Fuller, assistant medical examiner for the city of New York."

"How long have you been with the office," Flint asks.

"Eighteen years."

"On the night in question, December 22nd, were you called upon in your official capacity?"

"Yes. I was called to examine the body of David Merryweather."

"What did you find,' Flint asks.

"The victim was crushed to a extreme degree."

"Were you able to indentify him conclusively?"

"Yes, through fingerprints, dental records and DNA we were able to positively say the victim was David Merryweather."

"Cause of death?"

"A fall from an extreme height. This led to massive internal injuries, countless broken bones and the crushing of the head and upper torso," Fuller explains in a very matter of fact way.

"In you expert opinion, would it be possible to survive a fall from 50 stories, Doctor?"

"Other than a miracle, the chances are infinitesimal."

'Thank you, doctor, no further questions," Flint says and then walks back to his seat. The Judge turns to Defense Attorney Moor.

"Your witness, Mr. Moor."

"Um, thank you, your honor."

Moor sits for a moment looking through his notes. He wipes the sweat from his brow and then slowly stands. He doesn't look at the witness.

"The victim died from a great fall, is that correct, doctor?"

"Yes."

"Any way to determine whether he was push or fell?"

"Do to the extreme damage caused by the fall, no," the doctor admitted.

Mr. Moor nods and looks up at the doctor for the first time.

"Mr. Merryweather was a man in his eighties, correct?"

"Yes."

"What sort of shape was he in," Moor asks. "I mean prior to the fall of course."

"For a man of his age and former vocation, I would say he was in moderately good health," Fuller replies.

"His former vocation?"

"Superhero," Fuller says.

"Oh, yes, we can't forget that," Moor nods. "What exactly do you mean by moderately good health, doctor?"

"Well, during our examination, we noted several old wounds and compound fractures," Fuller explains. "Mr. Merryweather received a lot of physical punishment in his life."

"I noticed in your report that you did a toxicology work up on Mr. Merryweather. There seems to be a rather large number of drugs in his system. Can you explain that?"

"It's very simple really," Fuller smiled. 'Mr. Merryweather was an elderly man. Like most people his age, he was under a doctor's care for several chronic ailments, high blood pressure and sugar diabetes for examples. The list of prescription drugs proscribed to him by his doctors matched up perfectly with the toxicology results."

"I see," Moor replies. "Some of these are pain killers are they? Rather powerful ones at that."

"Those were also prescribed for his ongoing ailments."

"So would you say Mr. Merryweather was heavily medicated most of the time?"

"Objection!' Flint was on his feet as soon as the question was asked. "Calls for speculation, your honor!"

"The man is a doctor," Moor adds.

"Objection overruled, witness may answer the question," the judge rules.

"Doctor?"

"Heavily medicated is a misnomer, Mr. Moor," The doctor slowly replies. "Mr. Merryweather would have been in considerable discomfort without the medication. I believe his doctors were thorough and acted wisely."

"No further questions."

"You're excused, doctor. Next witness."

The doctor stands and walks back to his seat. DA Flint calls his next witness.

"The state calls Detective Ross Turnbull to the stand."

A large, overweight man stands and makes his way to the witness box. He takes his seat and the clerk walks over with the bible.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" The clerk says this with a practiced air, as if he's said it a thousand times before.

"I do."

The clerk nods and moves back to take his seat. DA Flint moves towards the witness.

"Would you please state your name and occupation for the court, sir?"

"Ross Turnbull, detective, first class, homicide division, for the city of New York."

"How long have you been with the force, detective," Flint asks.

"Going on fifteen years."

'You're the investigating officer in this case?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could tell us about that night, please?"

"The call came in at 10:05 PM. I arrived twenty minutes later. The responding officers had cordoned off the area. The body of David Merryweather was lying in the street in front of the Rand Tower. He was obviously dead, so I started an investigation of the matter," Detective Turnbull says with an air of authority.

"What did you find?"

"During our investigation of Mr. Merryweather's apartment, we found Miss Conn unconscious on the floor and signs of a struggle."

Everyone turns to look at Miss Conn in the front room. She shows no emotion, but seems very focused on listening to the proceedings.

"When you say signs of a struggle, what exactly did you find?"

"Furniture was overturned, plants smashed against the carpet, the sliding doors to the balcony were thrown open and there was a trail of mud leading to the edge."

"Mud?"

"The plants that were broken scattered dirty everywhere. The struggle only added to that."

"Please continue," Flint instructs.

"Forensics was called and my people began to canvass the area for witnesses. When Miss Conn was revived, she informed us that she'd been hit from behind but before she passed out, she saw Mr. Merryweather struggling with someone. A dark figure in a cape, she described the person. During out canvass, several witnesses reported seeing an older man, dressed in an odd outfit, wearing a cape fleeing the building. I put out an all points bulletin and three blocks from the scene a patrol stopped a suspect."

"Do you see that man in the courtroom today?"

"Yes, he's sitting right over there, Dr. Macabre," Turnbull says, pointing his thick finger directly at Macabre.

"What then?"

"I had him brought in for questioning," Turnbull continues. "We found a blackjack on him that matched the wound on the back of Miss Conn's head on him. There were several cuts and scrapes of his face and chest, but he had already wiped them clear. The suspect refused to speak, even to give us his name. It was from other sources and witnesses we learned that Mr. Merryweather used to be Cat-Man. Seeing that he once was a superhero, we went through the old logs of supervillians until we identified the suspect. I also asked some of the retired members of the force from back in the day to corroborate that the suspect was indeed Dr. Macabre."

"And were they able to do this?"

"Yes, they all remembered Dr. Macabre."

For the first time during the trail, Dr. Macabre smiles. It's a cold, vicious smile. He still remains silent.

"Were you able to place Dr. Macabre at the scene, detective?"

"Yes, through witness testimony and fibers found on his costume and cape that matched perfectly with the victim's carpet. The science boys were able to match the blackjack we found on him with the wound on Miss Conn. In our investigation, we found countless threats from Dr. Macabre against the life of David Merryweather."

"Thank you, Detective, no further questions at this time."

DA Flint walks back to his table.

"Your witness.'

Moor slowly rises, holding his ever-present notepad.

"Did you find any fingerprints from Dr. Macabre at the scene, detective?"

"No, but the suspect was wearing gloves when he was arrested."

"I see," Moor replies. "Any hair samples, DNA of him at the crime scene?"

"No, but again, Dr. Macabre is completely hairless, so that tends to rule out finding any."

A light wave of laughter rolls across the courtroom.

"Good point," Moore admits. "You said carpet fibers were found on Dr. Macabre that matched the victim's carpet, is that correct?"

"It is."

"Was it a special blend of carpet, unique in some way?"

"It's expensive, if that's what you're asking."

"Well, it' s the penthouse, I'd hope it would be. No, detective, I'm asking is Mr. Merryweather the only owner of that carpet? Isn't it used in other apartments in the complex?"

"Well, yes, but we checked those out and no one reported anything missing or having seen Dr. Macabre."

"Did anyone report seeing him at Mr. Merryweather's?"

"No," the detective reluctantly admits.

"Interesting," Moor murmured to himself. "As for Miss Conn, she was a hero back in the day, as well, if I remember right. Did she recognize Dr. Macabre as the figure she barely saw before passing out?"

"No."

"And the blackjack, it's a commonly sold item, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, detective, no further questions."

Moor moves back to his table and the detective walks back to his seat.

"As it is almost three thirty, the court will adjourn for the day and continued tomorrow morning at 8AM." The judge says. He then raps his gavel. "Court is in recess."


	3. Chapter 3

Witnesses

Part Two

New York

The media circus was in full three-ring mode. David Merryweather's death had all the elements. Most reporters had never heard of Cat-Man and had to scramble to their laptops to Google his name. It was perfect; he was a superhero from the Golden era, suspected of being killed by his archenemy, Dr. Macabre. Cat-Man versus Dr. Macabre in a fight to the death read the graphics on all the news and entertainment shows. It was an easy story to tell hungry viewers of the sensational. Simple good versus evil always played well. The story even had a fair damsel, the young attractive Mrs. Merryweather.

The paparazzi and legitimate press shouted questions and jostled for shots. The widow Merryweather posed in her appropriately tasteful, yet flattering black outfit. She even managed a tear when asked about her dearly departed husband. That footage would lead all the programs that night. She was becoming well known in her own right, although no one was rude enough to say she was the winner in all this.

District Attorney Flint refused all questions, but made sure he refused them directly into the camera. The viewers would understand he was a man that was all business. Hopefully they would remember that when Election Day rolled around.

Katie Conn, the former Kitten, refused all questions and posed for no photos or video. Head down, she walked with a purpose up the steps and into the courthouse. She was the one player in this drama that didn't play her part.

The greatest excitement was reserved for the accused, Dr. Macabre. When he was brought to the courthouse extra security had to be called to keep the reporters at bay. He said nothing, but stared cold and menacingly as they lead him into the courthouse. He seemed right out of central casting and the media ate it up. Ratings would be through the roof.

* * *

Inside the Courtroom

The usual din of conversation and jostling for seats preceded the judge entering. The crowd settled down and the trial resumed.

"Mr. Flint, call your next witness," the judge instructs.

"The people call Wilmer Danby."

The name is unfamiliar to the crowd and they whisper questions back and forth as a small, older gentleman makes his way to the witness stand. Mr. Danby gives the impression of someone not used to being in the spotlight. He is nervous, yet does his best to remain outwardly calm. His thin white hair is slicked down precisely. The brown suit he has on, seems from another era, yet it is of good quality and neatly pressed.

The clerk makes his way over to him and holds up the Bible. Mr. Danby swallows and puts his hand on the book.

"You solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please take your seat.'

Danby sits, smoothing his jacket, as DA Flint stands and makes his way towards him.

"For the record, would you state your name and occupation?

"Wilmer James Danby. I'm employed at the Rand tower."

"In what capacity, Mr. Danby?"

"Night security guard is my official title, but I also act as doorman and front desk relief," he explains. "Whatever the tenants need really."

"Were you working the night of December 22nd, Mr. Danby," Flint asks.

"Yes, sir."

"On that night, did you see the defendant, Dr. Macabre?"

"Yes, sir."

"Could you tell us about it please?"

"At nine forty, the lobby was rather busy because of the holiday approaching. I was helping some of the tenants with their packages, when I saw Dr. Macabre. You need a key to get inside, but he slipped in right behind one of the tenants."

"Nine forty, are you sure?"

"Absolutely, sir. I've been at the tower for many years and have a set routine. It's down to the minute," Danby explains.

"How many years, Mr. Danby?"

"Thirty seven, sir. I've been there since it opened."

"So you know most of the tenants and would be aware of who belongs there and who doesn't, correct?"

"Correct, sir."

"Are you sure it was Dr. Macabre you saw that night?"

"Oh yes, sir, that's not a face you easily forget."

A chuckle goes through the crowd and Danby blushes. The judge gavels them to be quiet. DA Flint continues.

"So when you saw the defendant enter, what did you do?"

"I called for him to stop. Every guest has to sign in, but he didn't seem to hear me. Something seemed to go haywire with the security cameras and the front door lock, so I had to take care of those. Tenants were having trouble getting inside the building and they are always the priority."

"Was that the only time you saw him that night, Mr. Danby?"

"No, later, at ten seventeen he emerged from the elevator. He was wiping his face and hands. He seemed in a rush. I tried to get his attention, but with all the excitement going on outside he slipped away."

"Thanks you, Mr. Danby, no further questions."

Flint makes his way back to his seat.

"Your witness, Mr. Moor,' the judge says.

"You said something went haywire with the security cameras, is that correct, Mr. Danby," Moor asks as he slowly rises. He is writing something on the legal pad.

"Yes, sir."

"So there's no video of Dr. Macabre entering or exiting, is there?"

"No, sir."

"You also said you saw him head for the elevator. Did you see him get on or what floor he got off?"

"No, sir, it was rather busy that night."

"Oh I understand completely, Mr. Danby," Moor replies. "I imagine around the holidays is your busy season.'

"Yes, sir."

"So in all that commotion, with tenants needing help and the security system going haywire you saw my client for what? Maybe fifteen, twenty seconds?"

"That sounds about right, sir."

"How far away was he, Mr. Danby?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"When you saw him, how far away from him were you?"

"Twenty, twenty five feet, sir."

"And the second time you say you saw him, with all that commotion going on outside, how far?"

"About the same, sir."

"You said you've worked at the Rand tower for thirty seven years? Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you, Mr. Danby, if you don't mind me asking," Moor ventures.

"Seventy one, sir."

"Congratulations, Mr. Danby. Most men your age would be thinking of retirement, not working full time."

"I like my work and the tenants, sir."

"Did you know Mr. Merryweather?"

"Oh, yes sir, Mr. Merryweather was a great man. He'd been at the tower since it opened too," Danby replies. "Always took the time to say hello and ask how I was doing, even the last few years."

"The last few years?"

"Since the stroke, sir," Danby informs him. "Mr. Merryweather had a stroke a few years ago. It made it difficult for him to walk and talk, but he still managed somehow."

"So the last few years were hard for him?"

"Yes, sir, but he never complained, not him. I remembered him from the old days when he was Cat-Man. A hero to the end, sir."

"Thank you. No further questions," Moor says.

"Witness is excused."

Mr. Danby gets up and walks back to his seat. DA Flint looks down at his list and then calls his next witness.

"The state calls Dr. Roland King."

A man in his late fifties gets up and makes his way towards the witness box. He has the air of someone trying to look younger and more distinguished than he actually is. He is wearing an eye patch and glances at Macabre as he walks by. Dr. Macabre smiles his cold smile at him.

The clerk makes his way over to him and holds up the Bible.

"You solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please take your seat.'

"Please state your name and occupation, sir," Flint asks.

"Dr. Roland King, psychiatrist, also a visiting doctor for the State of New York Correctional system."

"In your capacity with the state, doctor, did you come into contact with Dr. Macabre?"

"Yes, I interviewed him several times for an evaluation," King responses.

"During these interviews were you able to draw any conclusions about the defendant?"

"Yes," King says. "Dr. Macabre is a sociopath with megalomaniacal tendencies."

"That's a rather strong conclusion, doctor, would explain please?"

"Certainly. Dr. Macabre is classic case study of a super villain. I've been tempted several times over the years to write a paper on him. He cares nothing for society or his fellow human beings. His one goal is power and he uses any means necessary to get it. Fear, horror and murder are his common weapons."

"During these interviews, did Dr. Macabre ever mention Mr. Merryweather?"

"Frequently," King answers. "As the man that put him away, Dr. Macabre blamed Mr. Merryweather or Cat-Man, for all his failures in life. He was obsessed with revenge and often spoke of murdering him."

As collective gasp goes through the courtroom and the judge quickly gavels them to order. Dr. Macabre smiles at the reaction.

"Doctor, he spoke directly of murdering Mr. Merryweather?"

"Many times. He often lamented not finishing him off in their battle that ultimately led to his incarceration. He spoke of developing something called the 'death touch', which I assumed related to his obsession with Mr. Merryweather."

"So killing Mr. Merryweather was of primary importance to him?"

"In my opinion, absolutely. It was his life's goal."

"Thank you, doctor. Oh, what did you recommend after conducting these interviews?"

"That Dr. Macabre was a threat to society and shouldn't be released under any circumstances."

"Again, thank you, doctor. Your witness," Flint says and then sits back down.

"Your witness, Mr. Moor."

Moor has a smile on his face. He shakes his head and brings his fingers up to his mouth as he looks at his notes. Slowly he stands and buttons the middle button on his suit coat. Picking up his legal pad, he steps out from the table.

"Would you say the opinion you just gave was an impartial opinion, Doctor," Moor asks.

"Yes, of course," King replies. There's almost an insulted tone to his reply.

"How did you lose your eye, Dr. King?"

King flushes for a moment and adjusts his tie.

"Your client, Mr. Attorney ripped it out with his bare hands."

A gasp goes through the crowd and they begin to whisper excitedly. Dr. Macabre chuckles. The judge quickly gavels everyone to be quiet.

"So the man brutally attacks you and you're not just a little bit bias?"

"No, I've always prided myself on be professional."

"Of course, of course," Moor nods. "I applaud your dedication. Me, I'd hold a grudge, but I guess I'm a lesser man than you, doctor."

"Objection, your honor," Flint immediately says.

"Sustained," the judge rules. "Jury is to disregard the defense attorney's comments."

"My apologies," Moor says. "Now doctor, you said you work for the correctional system of this state, correct?"

"Yes."

"So I take it you do many interviews and evaluations of prisoners in that capacity?"

"Yes, I've done hundreds, perhaps thousands over the years, " King replies.

"I imagine you've met your share of harden criminals and some of the worst offenders the system has to offer, correct?"

"Yes."

"Any of them, other than Dr. Macabre, voice desires to kill?"

"Well, yes," the doctor admits.

"Did most of them do it?"

"I don't have the precise numbers right here in front of me, sir, but yes, I believe some of them did."

"Would say it was the majority?"

"Not the majority."

"I have the numbers, doctor, would you believe it's a rather small percentage that actually do follow through on their threats?"

"If-If that's what the numbers say," King replies. "I have no reason to disagree."

"So most of them are just angry at being caught and are sort of venting at the person that caught them, aren't they, doctor?"

"Yes, but I don't believe that is the case for Dr. Macabre."

"Oh, that's right, you said he's a megalomaniacal sociopath with an obsession with revenge on Mr. Merryweather," Moor reads from his pad. "Do I have that correct, sir?"

"Yes, those were my findings," King says with confidence.

"I believe you said it was his life goal, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"You testified that your recommendation was to deny Dr. Macabre release, is that also correct, sir?"

"Yes, it is."

"Were your recommendations followed?"

"Sadly, no and we see what happened," King replies.

"Do you know when Dr. Macabre got out, sir?"

"I believe it was twelve years ago."

"Seems like a long time to wait over something you're obsessed about, doesn't it? Dr. Macabre isn't a young man, sir. If it was really his life goal, wouldn't he have acted sooner?"

"I stand by my recommendation, sir," King defiantly says.

"Are you sure you're not just a little bias, doctor?"

"Objection!" Flint again rose. "Asked and answered, your honor!"

"Withdrawn," Moor quickly says. "No more questions for this witness."

"Witness may step down."

King stands and walks back towards the gallery. Dr. Macabre chuckles as he watches him.

"As it's nearing the lunch hour, the court will be in recess for one hour," the judge announces. He raps his gavel and the crowd begins to stir.


	4. Chapter 4

Witnesses

Part 3

New York Courtroom

The lunch break was over and the trial is about to resume. Everyone quiets down as the Judge takes his seat. He gazes over the crowd and then turns his attention to the District Attorney.

"Mr. Flint, are you prepared to call you next witness?"

"I am, your honor," Flint replies.

"Proceed."

"The State calls Jungle Lil."

A mixed reaction goes through the crowd, as an older woman stands and heads for the witness stand. The murmurs continue as everyone gets a look at her. She appears to be in her seventies, but desperately wants to look younger. Obviously dyed carrot red hair flows down her back. She's a big, blousy woman. She's wearing leopard print slacks and top, much too tight for a woman her size. Around her neck is some sort of tribal necklace, that appears to be made of teeth, yellowed teeth. Her makeup is too thick and bright. She walks with small steps as the five inch heels she has on only allows that.

It's obvious she's excited to be here, smiling at everyone as she takes the stand. The clerk makes his way over to him and holds up the Bible. Jungle Lil puts her hand on the book.

"You solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"Sure thing, honey," she says. She gives the clerk a wink. A ripple of laughter goes through the gallery.

"A simple yes or no, ma'am."

"Oh, yes, of course, I do."

"Please take your seat.'

Lil is perched on the edge of her seat, her hands resting on the front rail, as DA Flint stands and makes his way towards her.

"Why don't we get the question everyone's thinking out of the way first, shall we," Flint says with a smile. "Jungle Lil? Could you tell the court how you came to have that name, please?"

"Happy too, doll," Lil says brightly. "In deepest, darkest Africa, far from the ways of man lived a tribe of great warriors. They were known as the Kombe tribe and …"

DA Flint cuts her off.

"Just the relevant information, please."

Lily seems unhappy not to get to tell her story, but complies.

"The Kombe tribe adopted the young daughter of an archeologist after her father died. That would be me. I was called Jungle Lil by the tribe because they found a picture of me that had the name written on it. I grew up to be a protector of the tribe and the jungle fighting off villainous white explorers, rival tribes, and jungle beasts."

Flint isn't happy she added to the basic facts, but lets it go.

"So you were a superhero, correct?"

"Was and am, honey."

"In your heyday, did you know Mr. Merryweather or as he was known, Cat-Man?"

"Yes, we fought against the force of evil many times," Lil replies. "Kitten was there too. Hey, Katie, long time, no see!"

The crowd laughs as Lil waves to Katie Conn in the front row. Miss Conn seems embarrassed.

"Miss Lil, I would remind you this is a murder trial," Flint says to her.

"Oh, yes, of course, I understand completely," replies Lil.

"Now during these team ups with Mr. Merryweather did you happen to meet the defendant, Dr. Macabre?"

"Yes, of course, Dr. Macabre was Cat-Man's nemesis. He tried to kill David countless times."

"Have you ever heard Dr. Macabre make threats against Mr. Merryweather's life?"

"More than once, let me tell you," Lil replies. "You see Cat-Man, David, managed to ruin all of Macabre's plans time and time again. It became like an obsession with the Doctor to kill Cat-Man. Even when David finally vanquished Macabre and sent him to jail, Macabre vowed to one day get even and kills Cat-Man."

A rumble of whispers goes through the court and the judge gavels them quiet.

"Did you take these threat seriously, Jungle Lil?"

"Absolutely! Dr. Macabre has killed before," Lil says. "Human life was expendable to him in the pursuit of his goals."

"Thank you," Flint says. "No more questions, your witness."

Lil smiles as DA Flint heads back to his table. Defense attorney Moor looks over his notes and then looks up at Lil for a moment. He smiles as he stands up.

"Is it already if I call you Lil or do you prefer Jungle Lil," he asks.

"Lil's fine, honey."

"When was the last time you saw Mr. Merryweather, Lil?"

"Oh, about a month ago at one of the shows."

"A card and memorabilia show?"

"Yes, the Golden Age heroes are making a comeback," she replies. "It was lean there for awhile, but the classics always come back."

"I take it you've been doing these shows for some time?"

"Yes, I've been on the circuit since the seventies when it started."

"Was Mr. Merryweather on the circuit too?"

"No, David was never that interested in talking about the past. It was only in the last couple of years he got involved," Lil explains.

'Oh, did something change?"

"He got married to that cute little wife of his, that's what change, honey."

Laughter erupts through the crowd and the judge gavels them to be quiet.

"Mrs. Merryweather was interested in the shows?"

"She loved them," Lil says. "Right from the start she go into it, dressing up as Kitten and appearing with David."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes, that girl loves the spotlight."

"How about Mr. Merryweather?"

"David not so much, but he wanted to make his wife happy," Lil replies.

"You know, I was curious," Moor starts. "You said you were the protector of your tribe back in Africa, correct?"

"Yes, I was for many years," Lil agrees.

"What happens that brought you back to the states?"

"Oh, that's a long sad story, hon. In the late fifties and sixties the decolonization of Africa really picked up speed. The slogan was Africa for Africans. You can't blame them really, but for white heroes like me that put us in an uncomfortable position. We were kind of the symbol of the white man's ruling over the black people. It didn't matter that I was raised there, times change. The young want to do things their way."

"I'm sorry," Moor says. "It must have been a difficult time for you.'

"Like I said, times change, honey," Lil offers. "It catches up with all of us, sooner or later. The new push aside the old, that's the way of the world."

"Time caught up with Mr. Merryweather too, didn't it, Lil?"

"No one escapes, daring, not even the great ones like Cat-Man. One day your body just can't take it anymore. You have to except it and move on."

"Was Mr. Merryweather able to move on?"

"I think it was difficult for him," Lil admits. "After that last battle with Dr. Macabre I didn't see him for years. He seemed to cut himself off from all his old friends. That's why it was so nice when his new wife got him back out and meeting people again. I guess we all deal with it in our own way."

"Thank you, Jungle Lil, no further questions."

"You're excused, madam," the judge says.

The smile has slipped from Lil's face. She nods and slowly exits the witness box and heads back to her seat. The judge turns to DA Flint.

"Call you next witness, Mr. Flint."

"The State calls Walt Whitney."

A distinguished older gentleman stands and makes his way to the witness box. His hair is completely white, including a rather dashing mustache. He wears a well-tailored pinstriped suit. He takes his place and the clerk makes his way over.

"You solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please take your seat.'

DA Flint moves up towards the witness.

"For the record state your name and occupation, please."

"Walt Whitney, retired."

"And before you were retired, sir?"

"I was a journalist for one of the local papers and secretly a crime fighter named Bob Phantom."

A wave of titters and giggles goes through the crowd. The judge quickly gavel's them quiet.

"I would ask the ladies and gentlemen of the gallery to show the witness some respect."

"It's all right, judge," Whitney says. "It was a different time. I'm sure most to the gallery is much too young to remember.'

"Still this court will not tolerate such behavior," the judge replies. "Continue, Mr. Flint."

"In our roles as journalist and crime fighter, did you know Mr. Merryweather?"

"Yes, I covered his career as a reporter and got to know personally through our mutual fight against criminals and evil."

"How about Dr. Macabre?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"We've hard testimony that he was Cat-Man's archenemy, is this a fair account, sir?"

"We all fought against Dr. Macabre, but he had a special enmity against David, yes."

"In your career did you ever hear him voice threats against Mr. Merryweather's life?"

"Often," Whitney replies. "David stood up against his crimes and the horrors he tried to commit. As a reporter I covered Macabre's trial and was witness to him swear an oath in front of the whole court that one day he would kill David."

"Was that the last time you heard him make such threats, sir?"

"No, I covered all his parole hearings for the paper. Dr. Macabre never showed any remorse for the people he killed or the crimes he committed. Each time he was asked, he stated the first thing he would do when he got out was kill Cat-Man. His parole was always denied."

"But eventually he served his time and did get out, didn't he?"

"Yes, although I was opposed to it, he'd served his time so there was nothing that could be done."

"You opposed it," Flint asks. "You don't believe a prisoner can be rehabilitated?"

"Yes, I do and I know David did as well," Whitney replies. "The problem is there are some criminals that will never rehabilitate. Dr. Macabre is one of those. You must understand that he got his start working for Hitler in Nazi Germany. He was one of the true believers in the superior man. The Übermensch if you read Nietzsche's _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_. He adamantly believed he was part of that superior race and thus whatever he needed to do to bring about the master race was justified. After the Nazis were defeated, he took it upon himself to continue their goals, with him as the leader. A man like Dr. Macabre isn't going to be converted by a few prison doctors. He will always believe in achieving his goals by any means necessary."

"Did you take his threats against Mr. Merryweather seriously?"

"Yes I did and so did David."

"Thank you, sir, no further questions. Your witness," Flint said. He moves back to his seat, while defense attorney Moor slowly raises, his notepad firmly in hand.

"Dr. Macabre didn't kill Mr. Merryweather as soon as he got out of prison, did he, Mr. Whitney?"

"No."

"In fact it's been many years since his release and in all that time he's never made an attempt on Mr. Merryweather's life, has he?"

"Until December 22nd, no."

"That still remains to be proven sir," Moor reminds the witness.

"Not to me."

'You were a personal friend of Mr. Merryweather?"

"I like to think so."

"Are you also active in the circuit as Jungle Lil called it?"

"No."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Being a crime fighter, or hero if you will, was apart of my life a long time ago," Whitney explains. "There came a point where I knew I wasn't able to do it anymore. I made the decision to move on. It's a younger man's game, sir."

"That must have been a difficult decision to make?"

"You can only lie to yourself so long," Whitney replies. "I imagine it's like being an athlete. There comes a day when you realize as much as you want to do it, your body can't anymore. You have to step aside for the new heroes to take your place."

"That moment must come to every hero, doesn't it?"

"Yes, some try and fight it, but time always wins. When I faced that moment, I decided to focus my energies on other things. I started another life for myself."

"That's why you don't do the shows?"

"Mostly, yes," Whitney admits. 'I don't need the money and I have no interest in reliving the past."

"And what were Mr. Merryweather's feelings on it?"

"I believe he was torn," Whitney says. "His case is different than most. The ended came too soon and too suddenly for him."

"How so," Moor asks.

"In his battle with Dr. Macabre, the one that put the doctor in jail, David's heart took the full force of Macabre's death hand. He suffered a massive heartache, yet still managed to carry the day. The damage was so severe it pretty much ended his superhero career."

"He was still a relatively young man when this happened?"

"By superhero standards no, but he still had a few years in him," Whitney replied.

"It must have been a difficult time for him," Moor ventured.

"Yes, it was," admits Whitney. "He'd been doing it so long and suddenly it was all taken away from him. I know those first few years were very difficult. He cut himself off from almost everyone, including his former partner, Miss Conn. I made a point to keep in touch over the years, but truthfully, I don't think he ever got over it."

"Yet, Jungle Lil indicated he never showed any interest in becoming part of the circuit until recently."

"Well, that had more to do with Lisa then David," Whitney coolly replies.

"How so, sir," Moor asks.

"An older man with a young beautiful wife will do many things to keep her happy. I think Lisa wanted to be apart of it, so David gave in."

"Did you ever see him at one of these shows, Mr. Whitney?"

"Yes, last year I attended one."

"You don't sound as if you enjoyed it?"

"Well, by that time the David I knew wasn't really himself," Whitney says.

"How so, sir?"

"The last few years hadn't been kind to him. He'd had a stroke, so walking and talking were difficult. He rigged up some sort of contraption, an exo-skeleton if you will, so he could stand and move around a bit, but Lisa really took center stage. She gave the presentation and took pictures with the fans."

"It must have been hard to see your friend like that?"

"It was, I'll admit," Whitney replies. "I was actually happy when I heard about the law suit."

"What law suit, sir?"

"Miss Conn filed a law suit for copyright infringement against David and Lisa. As she was the original Kitten, she claimed to own the rights to that persona. She had an injunction to stop Mrs. Merryweather from appearing as Kitten in the shows. With Lisa unable to appear, that meant there wasn't any show."

"Was Mr. Merryweather angry about this?"

"I know Lisa was," Whitney replies. "As I said, David had trouble speaking and I believe his memory was failing as well. I frankly don't know what he thought of it."

"Thank you, sir, no further questions," Moor says.

"Court is in recess until tomorrow," the Judge announces. He raps his gavel and the day is over.


	5. Chapter 5

Witnesses

Part 4

New York Courthouse – Morning

There is a heightened buzz in the air this morning unlike the usual atmosphere of the already much publicized case. The two women, the star witnesses if you will are going to be called. It takes the judge just a little longer to quiet everyone down before the trial can proceed.

"District Attorney Flint, call you next witness."

The DA stands and in a loud clear voice says, "The state calls Mrs. Lisa Merryweather."

Twenty eight year old Lisa Merryweather stands and makes her way towards the witness box. She is dressed for mourning all in black, yet her outfit is tailored to show off her rather impressive figure. Many men in the gallery nod in appreciation as they watch her walk to the stand. She turns as the clerk comes over, a somber, serious look on her lovely face. The clerk holds up the Bible. Lisa Merryweather puts one hand on the book and raises the other.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please take your seat."

Lisa sits down. She seems to be putting on a brave face as she waits for the DA to approach. He looks over at the jury, his grim expression understood to mean that he wishes he didn't have to do this.

"For the record, please, would you state your name and occupation?"

"Mrs. Lisa Merryweather, actress."

"Thank you, Mrs. Merryweather," DA Flint replies. "I know this is difficult, but I think you're being very brave. I'll keep this short, as you are in mourning."

'Thank you," Lisa says, her voice sounding vulnerable, yet even in tone.

"You were married to the victim, David Merryweather, is that correct?"

"Yes, for six years."

"In those six years, did he ever mention the defendant, Dr. Macabre?"

"Frequently," Lisa replies. "Davey was always worried about me and his past coming back to attack him through me. Dr. Macabre was the man Davey was most worried about. He took all the death threats from Dr. Macabre very seriously."

"He was worried about you, not himself," the DA asks.

"That was the sort of man, Davey was," Lisa says, letting a little smile cross her lips. "He never wanted to worry me. He only thought of others."

'Always the hero," DA Flint nods.

"Yes, he was."

For a moment it seems she will break down, but Lisa pulls herself together and waits for the next question.

"Has there been any threats against yourself or Mr. Merryweather recently?"

"Yes, we received several anonymous letters in the mail," Lisa begins. "They were all addressed to Cat-Man claiming his day of reckoning was at hand."

"Did you take them seriously?"

"Oh, absolutely," Lisa confirms. "I contacted the police immediately and gave them the letters."

DA Flint moves over to his table and picks up a plastic bag. Inside is what appears to be several letters.

"Are these the letters in question, Mrs. Merryweather?"

"Yes, they are."

"People's exhibit A, your honor," Flints says, handing the plastic bag to the clerk.

"There's been mention of your husband's reluctance to appear at conventions until recently, Mrs. Merryweather," Flint asks. "Did you and he ever discuss this?"

"Oh, yes," Lisa confirms. "He was afraid if he appeared as Cat-Man again, it would bring out all his old enemies seeking revenge. It was me that persuaded him that we couldn't let that possibility stop us from living our lives. Now I wish I'd listened to him. He knew better than I did and if I had listened to him he would still be alive."

Lisa pulls a clean white lace handkerchief from her black purse and wipes her eyes. The courtroom is hush as everyone waits to see if she will breakdown. She takes a moment, but remains strong.

"I know this is difficult, Mrs. Merryweather, but just a few more questions," Flints softly says. She just nods that she's all right.

"When these letters started to appear, did you husband ever say who he suspected the were from?"

"Not at first," Lisa replies. "I think he didn't want to worry me, but after more came he finally admitted he was sure they were from Dr. Macabre."

A gasp goes through the courtroom. The gallery begins to excitedly murmur until the judge gavels them to silence.

"Thank you, Mrs. Merryweather, for your patience in this difficult time. No further questions.'

DA Flint smiles at her and then moves back towards his table.

"Your witness, Mr. Moor."

Defense Attorney Moor sits for a moment looking from his notes to Mrs. Merryweather and then to the jury. Slowly he stands, his legal pad in hand.

"First let me offer my sympathies for your lose, Mrs. Merryweather," he begins.

"Thank you."

"You said you were married six years, is that correct," Moor asks.

"Yes."

"I know it's not polite to ask a woman her age, but you would have been what, twenty two at the time?"

"Yes."

"And how old was Mr. Merryweather?"

"Seventy five," Lisa answers.

"That's quite the age difference, isn't it?"

"Davey always seemed younger than his age," Lisa explains. "There was a magnetic quality about him. A certain strength of character and plus he was a very handsome man."

"And a rich one," Moor points out.

"I suppose," Lisa admits. It's clear she doesn't like the implication.

"How did you meet, by the way?"

"We met at an auto show," Lisa replies. "I was working as a spokesmodel for the latest BMW sports coupe and Davey was interested. He started to talk to me about the car and before I knew it we were having dinner."

"Did he buy the car?"

"Yes, he gave it to me as a wedding present," Lisa smiles.

"Nice present," Moor observes. "You said that your husband was reluctant to participate in these nostalgia conventions because he feared his enemies would return and strike at him, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Was that the only reason, Mrs. Merryweather?"

"I believe it was the main reason, sir."

"Yet he hadn't hidden his identity after he retired from crime fighting, did he?"

"No."

"So if his enemies wanted to attack him, they didn't need him to appear at a convention to do that, did they?"

"I wouldn't know," Lisa replies.

"It was suggested by Mr. Whitney that perhaps your husband's real motivation was to please you?"

"Is that so strange, that a husband would want to please his wife or a wife please her husband, Mr. Moor," Lisa asks.

"No, of course not," Moor admits. "So I take it you enjoyed the shows and conventions. Is that safe to say?"

"We both did," she answers.

"Even after Mr. Merryweather's stroke?"

"Yes, I think it was a sort of therapy for Davey," Lisa explains. "It got him out of the house, meeting people, talking with his fans, it was good for him."

"So the fact that he couldn't walk or talk very well, wasn't a problem?"

"We made adjustments," Lisa replied. "I volunteered to be a bigger part of our presentation and took on more of the day to day work involved."

"Did you enjoy this greater exposure and attention, Mrs. Merryweather?"

"We both did," Lisa replies.

"That isn't what I asked," Moor points out. "I asked if you enjoyed it?"

"Yes, I did, Mr. Moor." There's a defiant tone in her voice now.

"It must have been a blow when Miss Conn filed her lawsuit and stop you, wasn't it?"

"It is only a momentary setback," Lisa replies. "My attorneys assure me it will be overturned."

"Your attorneys," Moor observed. "The lawsuit was directed more at you than Mr. Merryweather, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Lisa replies. There's a note of anger in her voice, but she quickly suppresses it. "It hurt Davey considerably that she would stoop to something like that, but I told him not to worry. She claimed she owned Kitten, the character, and we didn't have her permission for me to appear as her. As I said it will all be sorted out shortly."

"Still it must have been difficult after getting use to the spotlight to have it taken away like that, wasn't it," Moor asked.

"It will all be sorted out shortly, Mr. Moor," Lisa repeats.

"Again, madam, that wasn't what I asked," Moor replies. "I asked if it was hard having that spotlight taken away from you?"

"Yes, Mr. Moor, it was," Lisa finally admits. "But I would point out I was already in negotiations with the promoters to portray the Golden Age hero Femme Fatale at upcoming conventions. In fact that was where I was the night of my husband's murder!"

"So you already had a contingency plan in case the lawsuit went against you?"

"I was confident the lawsuit would come out in my favorite, but I wanted to explore every opportunity, Mr. Moor," Lisa explains.

"Very prudent, thinking ahead. I'm glad to see your career isn't suffering, Mrs. Merryweather," Moor replies. "Mr. Merryweather was a wealthy man, who does the money go to in the event of his death, Mrs. Merryweather?"

"We never spoke of money, Mr. Moor, if that's what you're trying to imply," Lisa snaps. "Yes, I was the principle beneficiary, but Miss Conn also received a sizable amount."

"So you'd already thought ahead to negotiate with the promotes to take on the role of another Golden Age hero. How did Mr. Merryweather feel about this?"

'Davey always supported me in everything," Lisa says.

"As a good husband would," Moor comments. "May I ask, was it difficult for him these last few years, especially appearing in public, what with his condition and all?"

"Davey struggled some," Lisa admits. "He was a fighter though, so he looked at this as another challenge."

"So a weak heart and stroke, he saw as a challenge?"

"Yes."

"How about Alzheimers? Was that a challenge too?"

The gallery and Lisa seemed surprised.

"What-What are you talking about?"

"I have a list of the medications he took, Mrs. Merryweather," Moor says, holding up his legal pad. "Dr. Faulkner was his physician, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Your husband must have been in severe pain judging by the number of pain medications he was taking."

"As I said, he struggled with it, but refused to let it slow him down,' Lisa responses.

"Aricept, that's a cognitive drug, mostly prescribed for early stages of Alzheimers by Dr. Faulkner, Mrs. Merryweather."

"Davey was having some difficult remembering, so Charles thought it might help," Lisa explains.

"Charles is Dr. Faulkner, I take it?"

"Yes."

"How long has he been Mr. Merryweather's physician?"

"Almost four years."

"You recommended him to your husband?"

"Yes," Lisa admits. "Dr. Faulkner believed in a more aggressive approach to combating Davey's condition."

"Part of this aggressive approach was to help him continue to perform at the conventions, correct?"

"As I said, Davey loved being in the spotlight," Lisa replies.

"Just not as much as you did apparently, Mrs. Merryweather."

DA Flint stands to object, but Mr. Moor cuts him off.

"No further questions, your honor."

"The witness is excused," the judge says.

Lisa is furious, as she stands and heads back to her seat. She glares at Moor, but he's already going over his notes.

"Mr. Flint, call you next witness."

"The state calls Miss Katie Conn to the stand," Flint replies.

Miss Conn stands and slowly makes her way to the witness box. She is a woman in her sixties, yet still attractive. She wears a stylish, yet conservative tan suit. It's impossible to read her mood as she waits for the clerk. He arrives in front of her and holds up the Bible. She places her hand on it.

"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do."

"Please take your seat."

Miss Conn sits and looks towards the DA. Flint buttons his coat and moves quickly up to the witness box.

"For the record, state your name and occupation, please."

"Miss Katie Conn, retired," she replies.

"On the night of December 22nd you were at the Merryweather penthouse, is that correct Miss Conn?"

"Yes."

"If I may, why were you there?"

"I had hoped to talk with David and straighten things out, concerning the lawsuit. I hoped we could come to an understand so it wouldn't be necessary to go forward with it.'

"Were you able to have this conversation with Mr. Merryweather," Flint asks.

"Unfortunately no, we never got a chance to speak of it," Miss Conn replies.

"Could you tell us what happened that night, please?"

"David knew I was coming so he left the door open for me," Miss Conn begins. "I had only been there a few minutes, when I was attacked from behind. I was hit with a blackjack. I struggled to remain conscious, but eventually lapsed into blackness."

"How do you know it was a blackjack, Miss Conn?"

"In another life, I had quite a bit of experience with them, Mr. Flint, "she replies. This brings a small laugh from the gallery. Miss Conn's expression doesn't change.

"During this time you were struggling to remain conscious, did you see or hear anything?'

"Yes, although the voices seemed far away, I could hear David and someone else shouting. I managed to look up and saw a figure in a black cape over a red outfit struggling with David. In David's condition it was difficult, but he was valiantly fighting the person. Then as I said, the blackness overtook me."

"Calling on your experience as Mr. Merryweather's partner from back in the day, Miss Conn, can you tell us which of his enemies wore such a costume?"

"Absolutely, there was only one person that dress in that particular outfit, Dr. Macabre."

A rumbled goes through the crowd at this revelation. The judge repeatedly slams the gavel down on his desk to restore order. DA Flint waits for the noise to subside before continuing.

"Let me be clear, so there's no mistake, the person in the penthouse you saw was dressed in Dr. Macabre's unique outfit?"

"Yes."

"You are sure it was Dr. Macabre's outfit?"

"Yes, it was very distinct. I'm sure the newspapers have pictures of it in their archives."

Flint walks back to his table and picks up a poster-sized picture. It's of Dr. Macabre back in the day. He's wearing the same outfit Miss Conn just described.

"Is this the outfit, Miss Conn?"

"Yes."

"People's exhibit B, your honor, "Flint says and hands the photo to the clerk. He moves back to his table and picks up another poster-sized picture. It's a much more resent photo.

"People's exhibit C, your honor," Flint says. "This is of Dr. Macabre on the night of December 22nd when he was arrested."

Flint shows the picture to the jury and the gallery before handing it to the clerk. Dr. Macabre has aged considerable between the two photos, but the costume in the exact same. The murmurs go through the gallery and are quickly gaveled down.

"Miss Conn, when you worked with Mr. Merryweather, did you ever hear Dr. Macabre make any threats on his life?"

"Yes, many times. Dr. Macabre said if it took his dying breath he would make sure David died at his hands."

"Thank you, Miss Conn, no further questions."

Flint looks to the jury and then moves back to his seat.

"Your witness, Mr. Moor,' the judge says. Moor sits for a long time, flicking through his notes, before he finally stands.

"You were hit by a blackjack, you're sure of that, Miss Conn?"

"Yes, Mr. Moor, once you've been hit by one you never forget out it feels."

"Touché," Moor replies. "You said you struggled to remain conscious, but we unsuccessful, is that correct?"

'Yes," Miss Conn evenly replies.

"How long did you struggle, two seconds, six?"

"It felt like a lifetime, but I would imagine it was no more than ten seconds, Mr. Moor."

"No more than, but possibly less, say six seconds?"

"Possibly."

"You said you heard voices shouting in that six to ten seconds, correct?"

"Yes."

"You were able to identify Mr. Merryweather's voice?"

"Yes, because of his stroke, it was difficult for him to talk, so his voice was noticeable when he shouted," she explains.

"How about the other voice, could you identify it?"

"No."

"Did you see the other person's face?"

"Again, no."

"So in the six to ten seconds, where you were fighting just to hang on to consciousness, you saw two people struggling, and one of them was wearing black and red, correct?"

"Yes, that's correct," replies Miss Conn.

"While you were doing this struggling, were you dizzy, were things out of focus, Miss Conn?"

"They went in and out."

"So that reduces that time from six seconds even more, yet you had enough time to positively identify Dr. Macabre's former costume on the man struggling with Mr. Merryweather, is that correct, Miss Conn?"

"Yes."

Moor nods and turns back to his notes. He flicks through a few pages before addressing Miss Conn again.

"You said you were there to speak to Mr. Merryweather about your lawsuit?"

"Yes."

"Why were you suing him, Miss Conn? Mr. Merryweather was a long time friend, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was."

"So Mrs. Merryweather was correct, this was more about her, wasn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it was, "Miss Conn admits.

"Care to explain?"

"While I gave up that life a long time ago, I'm proud of the work we did," Miss Conn begins. "I'm proud of the name Kitten, as well. It was given to me because I was young, fifteen when I started working with David. It was Kitten because of my youth and innocence and so I would be a role model for other young women. Mrs. Merryweather has turned that innocent role model into a sex Kitten, eye candy for drooling men. I filed the lawsuit to keep the name I fought for from becoming a peep show at some carnival sideshow, Mr. Moor."

"You have quite the strong opinion on this Miss Conn," Moor observes.

"It's my name and reputation she was tarnishing, Mr. Moor," Miss Conn points out. "Yes, I feel strongly about it."

"How did Mr. Merryweather feel about it?"

"David wants to make his young wife happy, Mr. Moor."

"If you feel so strongly about this, why did you retire, Miss Conn?"

"I dedicated the first half of my life to fighting evil, Mr. Moor," Miss Conn replies. "Much like Mr. Whitney there came a point where it was time to step aside. I decided to contribute to society in other ways. I became a nurse and worked at several of the cities hospitals before I finally retired for good."

"Did you know you were named in Mr. Merryweather's will, Miss Conn?"

"Yes, but I didn't care about the money, Mr. Moor, 'she replies.

""Is that because of you superhero background, Miss Conn, you're above such ordinary things?"

"No, Mr. Moor, I value a dollar as much as anyone," she answers. "As I said, I became a nurse, a surgical nurse, so I made enough money on my own. With some wise investments over the years, I've managed to live quite comfortably."

"I appreciate your candor, Miss Conn," Moor replies. "I know it seems like I'm jumping around here, but indulge me, did you know of Mr. Merryweather's condition?'

"Yes, I knew about his heart problems and stroke."

"And his Alzheimers?"

"I suspected, but had no proof. I haven't seen David much in recent years."

"Oh, why the estrangement?"

"After his last battle with Dr. Macabre, David pulled away from everyone. Fighting evil was the central focus of his life and then suddenly it was taken away from him. As horrible as his death is, I take comfort in thinking that even at the end he was heroic."

"How so?"

"I was unconscious," she replies. "To save you from objecting, I will just say that whoever attacked David and myself, if he was one of our former enemies, could have easily thrown me off that balcony as well. By fighting to the end, David saved my life. He was still a hero."

Moor looks over at the jury and can see Miss Conn is starting to have an affect on them. This isn't going as well as he hoped. He needs to end this before any more damage is done.

"Thank you, Miss Conn. No further questions," Moor says.

"The witness may step down," the judges replies. Miss Conn stands and walks back to her seat.

"Call you next witness, Mr. Flint."

"The State rests, your honor."

A murmur goes through the crowd. The judge starts to raise his gavel, but it stops.

"Mr. Moor, is the defense ready to call it's first witness?'

Mr. Moor stands, looks at the defendant, then the jury, then the prosecution and finally at the judge.

"The Defense rests as well, your honor."

"Rests? You're calling no witnesses, Mr. Moor," the judge asks.

"No, your honor.'

Everyone, including DA Flint is caught off guard by this. It takes a moment for everything to settle down. Finally the judge looks at his watch and addresses the court.

"As it is a late hour, the court will adjourn for the day. We will proceed to closing arguments in the morning. Court adjourned."

The judge raps his gavel and immediately the gallery begins to excitedly talk. The deputies move over and escort Dr. Macabre from the courtroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Closing Arguments

New York Courtroom

The gallery is packed as always. The trial has captured the imagination of the city. It is winding down to its conclusion. There is a large poster of Cat-Man, the victim, David Merryweather when he was much young, in the center of the courtroom. It faces the jury. Dr. Macabre is brought in by the guards and ushered over to his table. Once he is seated, the signal is given and the jury enters. The bailiff stands and a hush goes over the crowd.

"All rise!"

Everyone in the courtroom stands as the judge enters the room.

"Superior court no. 27 of the State of New York. The Honorable Judge James T. Gable presiding."

The judge sits down. It seems the trial has taken a toll on him, but he's here to see it through to the end. He looks down at the papers in front of him and then at the district attorney and the defense.

"Court is now in session. DA Flint are you ready to proceed with your closing arguments," the judge asks.

"I am your honor."

"Proceed."

Flint stands, adjusting his coat, and then walks slowly over to the poster of Cat-Man. He seems to look at it for several moments before turning to the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Flint begins. "I'd like first of all to remind you of what this trial is really about. A man, David Merryweather, was murdered. I want to make sure you don't forget that. Sometimes with all the questions and witnesses we tend to let it slip by us that someone has lost their life.

Every society since the beginning of time has wrestled with the very question you are being asked to decide. Philosophers and academics can debate the nature of it and wonder about the morality, but I take a more personal, direct view. A man's life was ended at the hand of another. The person responsible must answer for his crime.

That's what it comes down to ladies and gentlemen, a crime. The man sitting over there, Dr. Macabre, willfully and knowingly went to David Merryweather's apartment on December 22nd with one thing on his mind. He went to carry you all the threats he'd made in the past and kill David Merryweather.

The defense has tried to cloud the issue, to make you second-guess your common sense. Don't let him fool you, ladies and gentlemen. This isn't a complicated case. All the evidence points to one man, Dr. Macabre. You've heard witness after witness testify to the threats on Mr. Merryweather's life, Macabre has made. You've listened as it was explained how time and time again Mr. Merryweather defeated Dr. Macabre's evil plans. That speaks to motive and premeditation.

You've heard a witness place him in the building. Another witness described the very costume he was wearing when the police arrested him shortly after the murder. That witness always places him in Mr. Merryweather's apartment, struggling with the victim. That gives us opportunity.

All the rest is a sideshow, ladies and gentlemen. It's meant to distract you from one simple truth Dr. Macabre killed David Merryweather. The defense will say if you have even the slightest doubt, you have to let Macabre go. That's not the way it works. The standard is reasonable doubt. If after all you've heard, you can honestly say you aren't sure who the killer is, and then I guess nothing will convince you.

I don't believe that's the case. I think we're all bright people and we understand what's happening here. Strip away all the distractions and you come to one simple conclusion. Dr. Macabre is guilty.

Motive, opportunity, premeditation, those are the keys to first-degree murder. This crime was cold and calculated by a very sane and vicious mind.

I ask you to think of the one man that can't speak for himself, David Merryweather. He was a hero till his last breath. All his life he fought for justice. Because he can't, I will speak for him, give David Merryweather justice in this case. Find Dr. Macabre guilt on all counts. Thank you."

Flint holds the jury's eyes for another moment. He glances at the poster of Cat-Man and then moves back to his seat.

* * *

"Mr. Moor, are you ready," asks the judge.

"I am our honor."

"Proceed."

Defense attorney Moor looks over his notes one last time and then stands. His hands are in his pockets as he walks to over to the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe you are all bright people as well," Moor begins. "In fact, I believe you understand that life isn't as simple as the DA would ask you to believe. This case has all the ear markings that should make it simple, black and white. I think we all know the truth is always somewhere in between, in those grays that make up life.

The real truth is no one knows exactly what happens in that penthouse December 22nd. We're all sure something did, but just can't be sure of what. A man died, that's the one thing we're all sure of. Beyond that, we get into the gray area. A doorman in his seventies, dealing with multiple tenants thinks he saw my client for a fleeting few moments. Miss Conn on the verge of unconsciousness believes she saw a man dressed like my client. What the DA forgot to mention is no physical evidence was found linking my client to the crime scene.

Oh, yes, there are those threats we can't forget those. A man in prison made them years ago. He didn't get out just yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, he's been out for years. Who among us hasn't said things in the heat of the moment, but never actually did them? I know I have and suspect you have too.

The case before you is made up of a series of assumptions. One, the assumption Dr. Macabre really meant those threats all those years ago. Two, he waited years to act on them. Three, the doorman was correct in what he saw in those fleeting moments. Four, Miss Conn, who was struggling from a bash on the head and slipping into unconsciousness, accurately remembers exactly what the unknown assailant was wearing.

That's a lot of assumptions, ladies and gentlemen.

We also have Mrs. Merryweather, the young wife of the victim. She has just as much motive as Dr. Macabre, doesn't she? She marries a wealthy much older man, who's able to fulfill her dreams of stardom. It seems she's living her dream, but there's the messy part about her husband's declining health. She's tied to him, both financially and career-wise. Miss Conn files a lawsuit and suddenly all that is in jeopardy. A new opportunity arrives. She can be a star on her own, without depending on her aged, ill husband. The one catch is the money. She's gotten used to the money. If she divorces him, she gets nothing and looks like the gold digger everyone always thought she was. Now if he is murdered, well that's the best of both worlds isn't it? She's the sympathetic widow, who stood by him. She becomes even more famous because of the trial.

All she needs is someone to pin it on. She remembers the stories her husband has told her about his arch-nemesis from the old days. It's perfect he's already made threats. A few new anonymous threats and you have your story.

Is that what really happened? I don't know to tell you the truth, but then neither do you. It's just as plausible, isn't it? She has her attorney find Dr. Macabre and invite him to the penthouse. I think you can figure out the rest for yourself.

It's not black and white, ladies and gentlemen. We're deep into those gray areas. DA Flint said Mr. Merryweather believed in justice. What he forgot to mention was Mr. Merryweather believed in justice for all, even men like Dr. Macabre. That's what made him a true hero, not a costume and a cape. I ask that you honor that part of his legacy and find my client not guilty.

Thanks you, ladies and gentlemen."

Moor turns and walks back to his seat. The courtroom is quiet for a moment and then the judge turns to the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the bailiff will now escort you to the jury room. I ask you to consider your verdict carefully. It is up to you to determine whether Dr. Macabre is guilty or not guilty of the murder of David Merryweather. The court is in recess and awaits your decision."


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

Great Oaks Correctional Facility

Once a month prisoners were allowed visitors. Because of the nature of the prison, unsupervised encounters were allowed in the common area. Dr. Macabre sat alone at a picnic table under a shade tree. His face was a little thinner, but he smiled as he watched the cloaked figure walk towards him.

"I was wondering when you'd stop," he chuckled. It degenerated into a cough, but he quickly covered his mouth with a handkerchief.

The figure stopped across from him and waited until he regained his breath. Macabre looked up at the figure again.

"I've dreamed of this for many years, but I have to admit I had my doubts I would ever see it," Macabre said. "I never thought you'd be the one."

"Times change," the figure replied and then sat down.

"I never realized you hated him this much," Macabre said.

"I loved him," the cloaked figure said after a moments pause.

"Then why?"

The cloaked figure sat there for several moments, as if thinking on Macabre's question. Pushing back the hood, the figure reveals her face for the first time. It was Katie Conn.

"You wouldn't understand, Macabre," Katie wearily said. Her eyes seemed to be looking off into the distance.

"Tell me anyway. One other person in the world should know why David Merryweather's partner and closest ally would bring about his end," Macabre replied. Katie seemed to think about this for a moment and then reluctantly gave in.

"Yes, perhaps you're right, someone else should know. I did it because David Merryweather is a hero. He saved countless lives and stood up to tyranny again and again. He fought Hitler and countless others. He stopped you from spreading your brand of hate and that was his finest hour. The world is in his debt and should be singing his praises. That's what a hero is, Macabre, someone greater than ordinary men, who accomplishes great things. David was that sort of man, a hero. Can you understand that, Macabre," Katie asked.

"I hated David Merryweather, Katie, but I never denied his courage. I always considered him a worthy adversary."

"Then maybe you'll understand that David Merryweather should have died as he saved the world from you that last time. That's the way hero's die. There should have been monuments built for him, statues erected of him. His funeral should have drawn dignitaries from all over and great speeches should have been made about him. His name should have gone down in the history books with the other heroes. That didn't happen. There was no hero's death for him. In a cruel twist of fate, his great heart didn't know when to quit. Your death hand took its toll and he would never be Cat-Man again."

Katie was interrupted by a spat of coughing from Macabre thated last for several minutes. Finally Macabre was able to get his cough under control. His body shuddered as he gasped for air. Katie sat there watching him.

"But why…why you, Katie? Why now after all these years?" Macabre managed to ask.

"Because of those years, Macabre. Instead of a grand funeral or an outpouring of gratitude, he slipped away, piece by piece. Can you imagine what it was like to watch your friend, a man you loved, reduced a shadow of his former self? Then as if to twist the knife even deeper, his young bride uses him to realize her tawdry dreams of fame. I saw him in the last years being paraded out in front of the crowds that had no conception of what a great man he was. Strapped into a mechanical harness by his loving bride and her doctor after the stroke to be a sideshow freak. His mind was failing, half the time he didn't even know where he was. What sort of life is that, Macabre?"

"A nightmare," Macabre replied sadly.

"I went to see him a month before that night. I begged him, pleaded with him, but he hardly recognized me. It was useless."

"But why kill him," Macabre asked.

"I loved David Merryweather more than anyone in my life. How could I just stand by and watch him like that? With modern medical science how long could they keep him alive? Five years? Ten years? Twenty? The name David Merryweather would fade from memory. He becomes just a footnote in history, a joke to those leering hordes instead of the hero he was. No, I couldn't let that happen." Katie said, shaking her head at the thought. Macabre nodded his head in agreement and waited for Katie to continue. Macabre could tell that now Katie had started she wanted to tell everything.

"I thought the law suit would put an end to it, but I realized his bride's lawyers would find away around it eventually."

"So all that talk about protecting your reputation?"

"Don't be stupid, Macabre, I couldn't care if the young Mrs. Merryweather did the dance of the seven veils as Kitten. Let her have her moment of fame, but the exploitation of David was too much."

"You've left me in a unique situation, you realize," Macabre asked. An evil grin came over his face. "I could tell the truth and implicate you in all of it."

"But you won't, Macabre," Katie replied.

"You don't think so? What's to stop me?"

"Do you know why David was always able to stop you, Macabre? No? It's because you're not as smart as you think you are. You have nothing on me. First, who would believe you? There's no evidence that links me. Second and more important, you're somebody again. A year ago you were a forgotten has-been, a failure, now you're the man the killed a hero. I don't think you're willing to give that up."

"You're bluffing," Macabre growled.

"Than call it, Macabre," Katie replied. "You won't, because you'll have to tell what really happened. How you still couldn't beat a man that was half paralyzed from a stroke with diminished mental capacities. How he still managed to fight you off and how I finally had to help you push him over the ledge. A failure to the end, Macabre, is that how you want to be remembered? The humiliation is something you won't risk."

Dr. Macabre stared at her, a murderous look in his eye, but he knew she was right. He wouldn't risk losing what he'd finally won.

"So what now," he finally asked.

"The hero ending to David Merryweather's life. He died saving the life of another. He finally gets all those honors he richly deserves. His name and legend won't just be a footnote in history. He'll enter Valhalla with the other heroes and legends of old."

"And Mrs. Merryweather," Macabre asked.

"Let her have her moment in the spotlight. It is all she ever wanted any way. She'll try and cling to it as long as she can. I'm sure Jungle Lil can tell you more about that life than I can.

"What about you, Miss Conn? What's going to become of Cat-Man's original partner, Kitten?"

" I'm not the hero David was or someone that wants the spotlight. I'll go back to my life and continue to try to make a difference there," Katie said sadly. Macabre smiled now, as if he knew something Katie did.

"You realize, Katie, that now that you have removed David Merryweather forever, I'm free to reclaim my rightful place as the master villain! Dr. Macabre already has the respect of the new generation. It's only a matter of time before I escape this place and start again!"

Macabre was cut off by another coughing jag. Katie waited patiently for it to subside. Finally as Macabre labored to catch his breath, Katie spoke.

"You may try to regain you passed glory, Macabre, but I doubt it will happen. The world has changed and new heroes have emerged. It would be a long drawn out struggle for you to regain what you lost and you don't have the time."

"What are you talking about? With Cat-Man out of the picture, I have all the time in the world!" Macabre said defiantly.

"No, Macabre, you don't. How do you think I found you after all this time? You went to the hospital over a year ago about your cough. Instead of stealing codeine cough syrup, you should have stayed and found out what was wrong. You're dying, Macabre. All those years you lusted for power, looking for the upper hand have come back to haunt you. All those experiments with isotopes to give yourself your death hand came with a price. From the charts I saw, your body is riddled with cancer by now. You might not want to admit it but I think you know. Your cough is just the first sign, but it will get much worse and fast. You don't have that long to live, so I doubt you'll be a threat to anyone. Enjoy what time you have left. You will not be missed. Good-bye, Macabre."

Katie put her hood back up and walked away. The last sound her heard before exiting was Macabre's hacking cough.

THE END


End file.

DC Elseworlds, Crime, Drama