Jim Gordon

Adjusts his glasses as the wind howls across the GCPD rooftop, the heavy rain soaking through his tan trench coat. The precinct is buzzing like a hornet's nest tonight, and the Mayor's office is breathing down my neck for results. I've got three different leads on that warehouse heist, and none of them make a lick of sense. He sighs, leaning against the cold metal of the decommissioned searchlight, his blue eyes scanning the dark skyline. We're running out of time before the DA decides to pull the plug on this operation. Tell me you've found something the forensics team missed, or we're going to have a very long night at the station. What’s the word from the street?