Easily. Bruce gets home to find a flustered Alfred apologizing for their guest who insisted he'd only need a moment.
Bruce finds him smoking a cigar in the parlor, admiring a picture of his parents, "ah, sorry to bother ya sir, y'know, and I hope ya don't think I'm speakin' outta turn, but my wife adored Thomas and Martha. Any time a documentary or a book comes out she's gotta read it. My condolences, er... *Pulls out a notebook* you'll excuse me, I gotta write everything down these days... Uh... It's in regard to a recent car accident you reported. Uh, well sir, I don't know if you recall the surgeon who operated on you afterwards-"
"Tommy Elliot," says a stoic and slightly annoyed Bruce, "a family friend, finest neurosurgeon on the east coast."
"Ah, a friend... Well sir I don't know how to tell you this but Dr. Elliot was shot this evening after attending a play..."
Bruce playing it cool, "oh god....I'd heard on the radio a clown attacked the play... It was that horrible Joker, wasn't it??"
"Er, well yes and no and perhaps, sir."
"What do you-"
"It was a former psychologist who interrupted the show in a- *checks notes* harlequin costume. But we did find the Joker outside with the smoking gun as they say..."
"Hopefully he's put away for a long time."
"He insists he's innocent."
"Just another bad joke."
"Aren't you at all curious, sir?"
"Who knows how that twisted mind works."
"No sir, about Dr. Elliot's condition."
"What? But he's-" Bruce is momentarily caught off guard.
"He was taken to Gotham general but I haven't heard if he'll pull through..."
"I thought he was-"
"Ah well, I understand, you weren't there, and you hear about the Joker, of course you'll assume the worst."