by Dave Barnowski
Jim Corrigan glanced at his watch as he waited for Helena Wayne. He had known Helena Wayne since the days when her father was the Police Commissioner. Bruce Wayne had personally hired Corrigan. Wayne had known that Corrigan had been the Spectre, and because of that wasn’t physically the age he should have been had he grown older normally. This had meant that Corrigan had to change jobs every ten to fifteen years. Since he’d first become the Spectre, he had been a police detective first in his native Cliffland, then in Gotham City, Gateway City, and Gotham City once again.
Helena Wayne had often come to see her father back when he was the Police Commissioner and she was still in law school. Corrigan’s first job with the Gotham City Police Department was here at Headquarters, handling major cases that Commissioner Wayne wanted Corrigan to oversee. That was how he’d gotten to know Helena Wayne. Later, Corrigan went to work in Narcotics.
Two years ago, Corrigan ran across a drug lord who killed Corrigan and his family. That was when the Spectre reentered his life after more than fifteen years. He once again became the Spectre, and he and his family were brought back to life. Andrea and the kids had no memory of the incident, but Corrigan did eventually tell his wife. He quit Narcotics after that incident and went to work as a precinct detective, which was the kind of detective work he enjoyed the most.
Helena Wayne spotted Jim Corrigan standing at the steps of Police Headquarters. Criminal Law wasn’t her specialty, so she hadn’t been back at her father’s workplace as Helena all that often since his death. Of course, she had been back numerous times as the Huntress, and had a very good working relationship with Commissioner O’Hara, her father’s successor.
She knew Corrigan as a police detective who worked for her father. Bruce Wayne had told his daughter a little bit about James Corrigan, who had been the Spectre back in the 1940s, and how, when the Spectre reappeared in the 1960s, he and Corrigan were separate beings. Her father didn’t know the whole story, but for some reason the Spectre and Corrigan had ended their relationship by the end of that decade. She also knew that Corrigan was once more the Spectre, though neither she nor any other JSA member knew how or why. She did know that this version of the Spectre was not the vengeful spirit that famously killed criminals in inventive ways, but now sought to redeem the felons that he caught.
Several members of the JSA, along with the Batman, only aged approximately one year for every three that passed, thanks to an incident in 1941. (*) But according to her father, James Corrigan simply didn’t age at all, and looked exactly the same as he had in the 1940s. As she approached him, she couldn’t help but notice that he looked exactly as he did the first day she’d met him over a decade ago.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Justice Society Adventure the World’s Not Ready to Learn About Yet,” All-Star Squadron Annual #3 (1984).]
“Hello, Detective Corrigan,” said Helena. “Dick called me and said you needed a lawyer, but he didn’t say why.”
“That’s because I don’t know,” replied Corrigan. “My lieutenant said that Acting Chief O’Malley wanted me here. He also said he nosed around, and O’Malley had something criminal on me. I have no idea what it could be.”
Helena smiled; like many policemen she’d known over the years, Corrigan was direct and to the point. “Well, then, let’s go in and find out.”
As they walked in, Jim and Helena saw a detail of officers preparing to leave. Both knew from sad experience that they were the funeral detail. The Gotham City Police sent detachments to funerals for policemen killed in the line of duty in other cities whenever they could. One of the officers, Charlie, recognizing Jim from his days when he worked at Headquarters, came over and asked him if he was going to be part of the detail.
“No, I’m here on other business,” Jim explained. With a frown he then asked, “Why would you think I would be, Charlie?”
Charlie looked at Commissioner Wayne’s daughter and nodded to her in recognition before answering, “I remember you telling me that you’re originally from Cliffland, Ohio, and the officer who was killed is from there.”
Jim nodded sadly. All the officers he had served with were all either dead or retired by now. Still, he asked, “What’s the name of the officer who was killed?”
“James Grant,” said Charlie. “He was gunned down while off-duty, right in front of the local police watering hole.”
Jim’s composure remained stoic, but the name hit him like a ton of bricks. He made some small talk before excusing himself. Helena followed him into the empty elevator. When the doors closed, Jim put his hand to his face and stifled a sob.
“What’s wrong, Jim?” asked Helena.
“Jimmy Grant is my godson and namesake. His father Wayne was my partner, best friend, and roommate before I became the Spectre. I haven’t seen him since I left Cliffland.”
“It could be another James Grant,” suggested Helena.
“It’s not, Helena. Trust me, I know, and I intend to deal with his murder as soon as we finish with our business here,” said James Corrigan in the voice of the Spectre. A cold shiver ran down Helena Wayne’s spine as she heard the conviction in that voice.
The elevator door opened on the seventeenth floor to the offices of the high command of the Gotham City Police Department. Commissioner Clancy O’Hara, Acting Chief O’Malley, and all the various deputy chiefs who had their offices there. Detective First Grade James Corrigan and his lawyer Helena Wayne went directly to the secretary of Acting Chief O’Malley. Corrigan had told her that O’Malley wanted him there.
Greta Van Snobgrass was a priggish woman who had been with the Department for over twenty years, and had spent the last ten as O’Malley’s secretary. She knew her boss and how he liked to have subordinates report to his office, only to be told that they were instead to meet with either Internal Affairs or some other disciplinary office of the department. She had grown to enjoy seeing the faces of the redirected derelict police officers as she sent them to their fates. She was disappointed when she saw that Corrigan had brought Ms. Wayne with him, because that meant the detective already had some inclination that something was wrong. Worse, he had the first lady of Gotham’s elites as his lawyer. Ms. Van Snobgrass’ disappointment grew when Corrigan took the news that he was to report to interrogation room seven and wait for Internal Affairs Detectives Black and White on the twelfth floor with no sign of emotion.
Acting Chief O’Malley stood in the room next to Interrogation Room Seven. He could see Corrigan and Helena Wayne through a one-way mirror. He could also hear everything that was going to be said through speakers. The law prevented him from listening to their conversation while they waited for the Internal Affairs detectives. The voice that had saved his life suggested that O’Malley listen in, but O’Malley said, “No, I’m an honest cop. And besides, if we want him dead to rights, we have to do it by the book.” The voice said nothing, but O’Malley could feel it laughing contemptuously at him.
The owner of the voice’s consciousness was with O’Malley, but it was also on a pier in Cliffland, Ohio. There, another of its minions was directing the renovation of the old warehouse docks. At least, that was what everyone thought was going on; actually, they were looking for James Corrigan’s original body. It was encased in cement with the remnants of a wooden barrel around it. Much to the pleasure of the Voice’s owner, they had finally found it this morning and were preparing to bring it up to the surface even as Jim Corrigan was meeting with the detectives from Internal Affairs in Gotham City.
Detectives Black and White entered with a sheaf of papers. Detective White was an older black woman, and Detective Black was also female but about a decade younger. Both women might have been attractive and pleasant, but not here and not now. Detective Black got straight to the point as she took out the top paper. “Detective Corrigan, this is a copy of your original application for employment,” she said as she handed him the paper. “And this is a copy of your W2 form.”
Jim took the papers and looked at them. They were all in order. They hadn’t been tampered with at all; they were exact copies of what he had written over ten years ago when he first came to work for the Gotham City Police Department. He looked over at Helena before saying, “Those are exact copies of my W2 and original application, all right.”
Detective White now jumped on Corrigan, saying, “You are agreeing that this is your Social Security Number?”
“Of course it is. I wouldn’t write it if it wasn’t,” said Corrigan in an exasperated manner. He didn’t see what this was leading to, but Helena Wayne had an inclination.
“What are you two assuming about the Social Security Number?” she asked.
“We checked it with the Social Security Administration,” said Detective White, “And there is no way it can be yours, Detective Corrigan.”
“Because the James Corrigan who it was issued to was born in 1900, and there’s no way you’re eighty-eight years old,” said Detective Black triumphantly.
“Lying on your application is a crime, Corrigan,” said Detective White, “a crime which you’ve just admitted to. I’ll have your badge and gun now.”
Corrigan stared at the two detectives and into the one-way mirror that he knew Acting Chief O’Malley had to be standing behind. He was smiling now because he could easily change this with the power of the Spectre. He started shaking his head at the situation, which he found comical, when he suddenly felt very strange.
Corrigan felt hands on his person. Then there was a feeling as if something was pulling his very soul from his body. He started to rise, as he knew he had to get to Cliffland, back to his original body. That was where the pulling was coming from. He grunted as he started to stand. He crashed back down and tumbled onto the floor, as his legs felt as though there were no bones to support him. He lost consciousness as he felt his soul tear in two.
***
Police Technician Emilio Esteban had been on the job for over ten years and had never had a day in which his life was in jeopardy until today. He was running the audio/video equipment that was being used during Jim Corrigan’s interview with the Internal Affairs detectives, Black and White. Esteban was in the adjacent room to the interrogation, monitoring his equipment. Acting Chief O’Malley was the only other person in the room. Emilio Esteban would spend years in psychotherapy after witnessing what happened after the big redheaded detective collapsed.
Esteban had seen other people collapse in interviews before. The redheaded man fell face first onto the table with a loud thud, ringing through Esteban’s earphones. He turned and looked through the one-way glass and saw the detective’s lawyer gently guide his obviously unconscious form to the floor. Esteban silently noted that she was a very strong woman as she lifted the dead weight of the detective with graceful ease.
The two Internal Affairs detectives weren’t panicking, either. Detective White opened the interrogation room door and called for an ambulance, even as Detective Black began assisting Helena Wayne. The detective assumed the man had had a heart attack, but Esteban heard Helena say his heart rate and breathing were both good and steady. It was Acting Chief O’Malley’s behavior and fate that caused Esteban so much trouble after today.
O’Malley stared at the glass when Corrigan collapsed. At first, he thought that he should rush over to the adjoining room, but thought better of it when he saw how well his detectives and Miss Wayne were handling the situation. He realized that they were doing perfectly fine without him and that he would only be in the way. He heard the voice laughing gleefully as soon as Corrigan fell. The laughing at Corrigan’s plight bothered O’Malley. As far as O’Malley was concerned, Corrigan was a cop who had to go because he didn’t follow the rules, but O’Malley didn’t want to see the man in pain or sick.
The laughing suddenly stopped with a sharp intake of air. “Why is he still alive?” the voice screamed. There was a momentary pause before the voice screamed again, “The Ring of Life! He has the Ring of Life.”
O’Malley heard the booming voice. It was loud enough to shake objects in the room. Esteban heard nothing. O’Malley glanced at the oblivious police technician. He was about to order the man out when the voice commanded O’Malley to remove the Ring of Life from Corrigan.
“What is the Ring of Life, and where is it?” whispered O’Malley. Esteban still heard the Acting Police Chief asking himself a nonsensical question.
“It’s on his right ring finger, O’Malley. Take it from him,” the voice commanded.
O’Malley started for the door involuntarily. Then he stopped as the policeman in him started to put things together and didn’t like what he was coming up with. “What will happen to Corrigan if I do?” he asked suspiciously in a normal-toned voice.
“He will die,” said the voice triumphantly. “The Spectre will die!”
“Corrigan’s the Spectre?” said O’Malley.
“Yes,” said the voice. “Once you remove the Ring of Life, Corrigan’s spirit will have to return to his original body — a body that has been on the bottom of Lake Erie for close to fifty years. Corrigan has been dead for many years, O’Malley. The Spectre is but a dead spirit. Remove the Ring of Life, and both return to their just fates.”
O’Malley nodded as his hand went to the doorknob. Then he remembered reading how Corrigan had a wife and family. He pulled his hand away from the door as he said, “The man has a wife and kids. Besides that, he’s a cop. I am not a murderer. I’m a cop. I ought to arrest you for even trying such a thing.”
“Why, O’Malley? I have killed for you before,” said the voice contemptuously.
O’Malley was now perplexed, even though he subconsciously knew the answer to the question he now asked. “Who’d you ever kill for me?”
“Deputy Chief Manelli,” said the voice. “I then arranged for you to be made Chief of Police instead of him, as he had the most seniority. Now go and get the Ring of Life, O’Malley,” ordered the voice.
Acting Chief O’Malley was stunned. He knew it was true, and that knowledge brought a terrible self-loathing upon him. He shook his head as he shouted, “No, damn it! I’m a cop — an honest cop.” He took out the handcuffs he still carried as well as his pistol. “Where are you? You’re under arrest.”
Esteban wanted very much to get out of the room, but O’Malley, who had a wild and crazy look in his eyes, was blocking the door.
“I see,” said the voice. “Unfortunately, I can’t appear to you, O’Malley — not yet, anyways. But tell me, do you want to rescind our agreement? Do you want your shadow back?”
O’Malley couldn’t even tell where the voice was coming from as it spoke in a kind of stereo that was both everywhere and nowhere. “Yes… yes, damn you! I want my shadow back!”
“Very well, enjoy,” said the voice.
O’Malley noticed a change inside himself; he felt whole. He felt better than he had in months. He knew he was going to have to tell Commissioner O’Hara, and that he was going to lose any chance at permanently being chief of Gotham City’s Finest, if not his career. He might even have to go to jail himself, but that didn’t matter, because there was a cop killer loose. He was putting his handcuffs and pistol away when he started to feel flush with warmth all over his body. His left hand went to his forehead, and he moved away from the door.
Esteban stood up as soon as the Acting Chief took a step away from the door. He wanted desperately to get away from this crazy man. They changed positions in the small room. O’Malley went to the window, while Esteban went toward the door. Esteban was watching O’Malley the entire time as he prayed that the crazy Chief didn’t draw his gun again.
O’Malley didn’t, but that never brought Esteban any solace, because O’Malley spontaneously combusted into a human torch. Esteban ran out of the room and never forgot how the poor man screamed during the last moments of his life. Esteban never heard the voice’s booming laugh at the man’s agony, but it was the last thing O’Malley ever heard.