Notes: As usual, oops, I got sidetracked by some other projects. About the time I stopped updating was when I started writing my Halloween story The Case of the Man-Eating House. But now it's done and up, and hopefully I'll be able to fully get back to this story. I have every intention of finishing it!

Chapter Ten

Gregory Sampson berated himself as he dashed madly about his house, gathering papers and buttoning buttons and brushing teeth. He had stayed up so late last night, worrying about Mr. Burger and Lieutenant Anderson, that he had managed to oversleep. Now he would barely have time to make it to court before the trial started. And being late was something he just was not, especially for court.

When the telephone rang, he almost threw up his hands in despair and ignored it. But, worrying that it might be important, he hastened into his study and grabbed the receiver. "Hello?!"

"Oh, good, I caught you," came Mr. Burger's relieved voice. "Sampson, I know you must be in a rush, but I need something from you today."

"Of course," Sampson answered immediately. Now he was glad that he had chosen to pick up the phone. In his mind, Mr. Burger rarely asked anything of him. He wanted to help in any way he possibly could. "What is it, Mr. Burger?"

"Will you please bring in all the files and information you have on the Thompkins case?" Hamilton asked. "A new idea came to my attention last night and I'd like to check up on it while you're in court. It might be the break we've been wanting."

"I'll bring everything," Sampson assured him. "And I already have an investigator looking into the possibility that Harvey Harlen is still alive."

"Good," Hamilton said. "Oh, don't forget the handwritten notes, please. I want a new handwriting expert to go over them."

"Why, Sir?" Sampson queried in surprise.

"Well, there's a chance we may have been misreading the name. I want to be sure." Mr. Burger paused. "I'll let you go, Sampson. Please bring the files to my office when you get here."

"Yes, Mr. Burger. Of course. Goodbye, Sir." Sampson hung up and hurried to collect the desired papers. He had brought them with him the night before, intending to study them further himself. He would have, if not for oversleeping this morning.

Without warning, something cold and hard pressed against the back of his head. He went rigid.

"That's it, Mr. Sampson. Don't move." The voice was unfamiliar, but Sampson knew all too well what the succeeding click meant. "Now, I want the file on the Thompkins case. Hand it over or you'll die."

Anger instead of fear boiled in the zealous prosecutor's heart. "What good will it do you?" he countered. "There are other copies."

"Some things can't be copied. The file, Mr. Sampson." The gun pressed more insistently.

"It's on the desk," Sampson retorted bitterly. "Why have me hand it to you?"

A gloved hand reached out, snatching the folder. "Is everything in it?"

"Everything," Sampson told his assailant. "But taking it is an admission that you or someone you're working for is afraid of what's in it."

"Save your preaching." The hand rifled the folder. "Something's missing. What did you do with it?!"

"What?!" Sampson whirled to look, in spite of the gun. "No; everything is there! I was reading through it just yesterday!"

"You're a liar. What did you do with the rest?!"

Sampson could almost sense the finger beginning to squeeze the trigger. "I tell you, nothing is missing!" he protested. "You're mistaken."

"No, Mr. Sampson." The voice was stone hard. "You are."

Sampson's eyes narrowed. He was not about to accept this from anyone, especially a stranger who had broken into his house. He moved his fingers slightly towards the desk, gathering up his letter-opener. Without warning he jabbed it backwards, right into the other man's side. The yelp and the gun jerking away from Sampson's head said that it had been a most unplanned surprise.

Sampson whirled to face the man, but could see nothing for the mask covering his face. He struck out anyway, punching the intruder and sending him flying backwards. In the next minute Sampson was straddling him, fighting for control of the gun. He hissed in pain as a bullet clipped his upper arm, but undaunted, he wrenched the man's arm into the air.

The letter-opener plunging into his body was as much of a surprise to him as it had been to his burglar. He gasped in pain, falling back as he clawed at the weapon, trying to pull it out of his flesh.

His attacker sneered at him and reached down, grasping hold of the handle. Sampson stared at him, bewildered and on edge. Trembling, he laid his unsteady hands on the other's man glove, but could not stop him from driving the blade in further and then suddenly ripping it out. Sampson wheezed and choked, falling back. While he was still gasping and breathing heavily, stunned from the new wound, he was hit violently over the head with the gun. He collapsed to the floor, motionless.

The intruder struck him once, then twice before straightening and stabbing the letter-opener into the desk. He stood over the body, glowering at what was left of the spunky man who had dared to fight back. His lip twisted in his annoyance at the delay to his searching. Now he had to worry about the wound he himself had received, as well. And he had no time for that.

He delivered a cruel kick to Sampson's abdomen before stepping over the lifeless form and beginning to go through the desk.

xxxx

Deputy Bill Vincent glanced at his watch, which he had been doing every few seconds for the past twenty minutes. "I don't understand this," he said to Sergeant Brice, who was seated at the prosecutor's table near him. "Mr. Sampson is never late. If anything, he's early."

Brice shook his head. It was definitely strange. And in light of the wild night they had all come through, he had to wonder if it meant anything. Sampson had been working on a case that Lieutenant Tragg now thought might tie in with it all.

The judge entered the courtroom and everyone rose. Vincent ran his tongue over his lips, nervous. "Your Honor?" he called.

Judge Penner looked to him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Vincent? Where is Mr. Sampson?"

"That's what I don't know, Sir," Vincent admitted. "May I request a short recess to try to get in touch with him? I know he fully intended to be here."

Judge Penner considered the request and slowly nodded. "So ordered. Court is recessed for thirty minutes. But, Mr. Vincent, if Mr. Sampson can't be located, are you ready to take over for him?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Vincent said. "And thank you."

Immediately he ran into the hall to try again to call Sampson's house. As before, the phone continued to ring in his ear without success. He slammed the receiver down in baffled frustration before hurrying to find Mr. Burger.

xxxx

Hamilton was already aware of Sampson's apparent disappearance, having been trying to call him for the past hour. And Hamilton was nearly fed up with this new oddity. Sampson going missing was not something he needed or knew how to deal with right now. He had barely slept, as he knew was also the case with Sergeant Brice, who was in the courtroom to testify.

He rubbed at his eyes in exhaustion. How Perry could manage on so little sleep almost all the time was beyond him.

His muscles aching, he got up from his desk and headed into the corridor. And he nearly plowed into Bill Vincent when the kid came barreling down the hall towards his office.

"Mr. Burger!" Vincent yelped.

Hamilton reached out to steady both himself and his young deputy. "Bill, Sampson was supposed to bring some important files to me when he got into court," he said by way of greeting. "Did he tell you . . ."

"He didn't tell me anything, Mr. Burger!" Vincent retorted. "He just didn't show up in court. If he doesn't get here in twenty minutes, I'll need to take over for him."

Hamilton nodded, his mind occupied. "Yes, I know. I'm going out to his house right now. You hold down the fort here." He rushed ahead to the elevator and soon was on his way to the ground floor.

Sampson and Vincent were a strange combination, it was true. But Hamilton had hoped that by working with someone even more impulsive and eager than himself, Sampson would take on more responsibility, and that in turn it would help Bill Vincent likewise.

He barely thought of it now. When the doors opened he hastened out, heading for the parking garage.

Sampson would never shirk his duty. For him to fail to arrive, something must have gone horribly wrong. And Hamilton hated to think what it might be.

xxxx

Deputy Victor Chamberlin frowned as he pulled up in front of Sampson's house. Having heard that Sampson had gone missing, and having some time to spare, Chamberlin had come here looking for his friend and comrade. Now, as he sat staring at the half-open front door, he was increasingly sure something was wrong. And he did not want to go plunging into something without letting his location be known.

Taking out his phone, he dialed Mr. Burger's number.

It was answered almost immediately. "Hello?"

"Mr. Burger?"

Still walking to his car, Hamilton frowned and slowed his pace. "Chamberlin?" he said in surprise. "What is it?"

"I heard Sampson didn't make it in yet," Chamberlin explained. "I had some spare time, so I drove out to his house. His car is still in the driveway, but Mr. Burger, the front door to the house is unlocked!"

Hamilton nearly dropped the phone. "What?!"

"I'm going in now to see what's happening." Chamberlin eased himself out of the car and walked slowly and cautiously up to the porch. His eyes widened as he pushed the door open further. There was blood all over it.

The tornado inside the house was another shock. That was certainly not Sampson's doing. He was meticulously organized. Chamberlin wandered through the living room and down the hall, stepping over furniture and scattered papers. It would take hours to clean all of this up. Sampson would be in a tizzy.

"I don't know what happened here, Mr. Burger, but I think someone broke in. Everything's a mess and . . ." Chamberlin came to the study and stood stock still at the sight in there. Particularly the body on the floor near the desk. "Gregory?!"

"Chamberlin?!" Hamilton's fears were fully awakened by now. "What is it? Is Sampson there?"

Chamberlin barely processed the question. He was rushing to the other man's side, collapsing on his knees next to him. Blood was everywhere. And Sampson showed no sign of moving or otherwise reacting to Chamberlin's presence.

Chamberlin had never seen him like this—so still, so quiet. He was always moving, blustering, determined to battle all the evil in the county limits. Now, some of the evil had apparently given battle to him. And won.

"Dear Lord, no. Gregory?!" Chamberlin was in a clear panic. Hamilton had never heard his calm, self-assured deputy sound so dismayed. And Chamberlin doubted he had ever before felt so dismayed.

"Victor, answer me. Please!" Hamilton all but demanded. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Burger, please." Chamberlin's voice was strained as he struggled to check for a pulse. "Send for an ambulance. Yes, Sampson's here. Or maybe just his body. Mr. Burger, I'm not sure if he's even still alive!"

xxxx

By the time Steve and Sergeant Nichols arrived at the home of Gregory Sampson, Steve's nerves were badly stretched. One look at Hamilton told him that the district attorney felt exactly the same.

"What happened here?" Steve asked as he walked over, notepad and pencil in hand. In the distance, an ambulance siren was wailing.

Hamilton shook his head. "Right now, no one's sure. Chamberlin found the front door unlocked, went inside, and discovered Sampson lying on the floor." He clenched a fist. "Among other things, someone gave him a pretty bad knock on the head."

Steve gripped the pencil. "Just like Mr. Fallon?"

"It looks that way," Hamilton nodded. "Only we think it's worse. And what's worse than that is that he was wounded a couple of times, too—once by a gun and once by something else. Probably the letter-opener someone stuck in his desk."

Worry flickered in Steve's eyes. "Is he . . . alive?"

"Yes," Hamilton said, but he was still tense. "Maybe he'll be able to tell us something about who attacked him when he comes to. If he comes to."

Steve looked down. "It's that bad?"

"It might be," Hamilton said. "Between the blows on his head and all the blood he's lost. Chamberlin is still in there with him. I came out looking for the ambulance."

He tried to manage a slight smile. "I don't think all the blood in there is Sampson's, though. He must have wounded his attacker. There were bloodstained handprints on one of the windows and on the front door. And Sampson certainly didn't get that far. I was talking to him right before it probably happened."

Steve smirked a bit, but it seemed forced. "Sampson would fight tooth and nail against a criminal, any criminal. Then again, who wouldn't, if they were being attacked?"

He looked towards the house. "Mr. Fallon was mugged, Lieutenant Anderson was abducted, Stratton's disappeared, and Andy's informant is nearly dead. And now Mr. Sampson was also mugged?"

"Yes. And he's also only barely alive," Hamilton sighed. "But he is alive, for now. That's the only good thing in this new disaster."

Steve nodded. "We have to find out what's happening before someone else gets hurt. Or worse." The fury and bitterness in his gruff voice were easily heard.

"I know," Hamilton said. He was so weary, so overwhelmed. "But I don't know how."

"There's supposed to be a possible lead on Thompson's chess knight statue," Steve said. "Maybe that will come through."

"Or fall through, with our luck," Hamilton remarked.

He looked towards the house. "I just don't understand what the intruder was looking for," he said quietly. "Everything in the house is turned upsidedown."

"And I guess you don't know if anything's missing," Steve said, his tone grim.

"No, I don't. Neither does Victor." Hamilton ran a hand over his face. "The last eighteen hours have been an absolute nightmare. I guess there's no news on Andy's informant?"

"Not on his medical condition," Steve said. "But we think we might have IDed him. Someone in the hospital claims she remembers him being in there before, beaten black-and-blue. She's going through the hospital records now."

"Let me know as soon as you find out," Hamilton said.

Steve nodded. "Even if he can't talk, maybe someone he knows can tell us something."

The ambulance pulled up at the house, lights flashing. Hamilton hurried past Steve to meet the paramedics as they got out. "He's in the house," he directed. "Come on."

Steve watched as the two young men followed Hamilton inside. He trailed after them, Nichols right on his heels.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" Nichols asked.

"About what? Sampson?" Steve stopped at the doorway to the study and waited, not wanting to get in the paramedics' way. Chamberlin had managed to slow the bleeding and was now backing up as well. He looked dazed. On the floor, Sampson was deathly pale.

Steve shook his head. "I don't know what to think, about Sampson or anything else in this case."

"Is this really connected with everything else, though?" Nichols wondered.

"Who can say," Steve said.

"Maybe Sampson could," Nichols remarked.

Steve turned away. "Yeah." His voice had thickened. "Maybe he could. I just hope he gets the chance."

Nichols laid a hand on Steve's shoulder.

xxxx

Andy blinked in surprise when there was a knock on his hotel room door. And when Jimmy got up and opened it, they were both surprised to see Amory Fallon standing there.

Jimmy shook his head, still stunned and amazed by the resemblance. "Hello, Mr. Fallon," he said. "Come in. I see you're out of the hospital."

"Yes," Amory nodded, stepping into the room. "And Edith and I came here to take out a room for a couple of days. When the desk clerk called me 'Lieutenant', I realized we'd blundered into the exact same hotel as my double." He gave Andy a Look.

Andy eased himself off the couch, favoring his uninjured leg. "I'm sorry about that," he said. "You're staying here anyway?"

"Oh, yes, yes. That wouldn't stop us." Amory looked Andy up and down. "You're looking better than you were early this morning."

"I feel a lot better," Andy nodded. "And you?"

Amory's eyes flickered. "Physically, I'm fine."

"But emotionally, you're not?" Andy surmised.

Amory started to pace the room. "Lieutenant, someone broke into my company building and left several outrageous messages. I'm angry. I want to go there, but the police don't think it's safe."

"I'm sure they're right," Andy frowned. "But what kinds of messages did they leave?"

Jimmy sighed. "Andy, you're supposed to be resting," he scolded.

Andy waved a hand in his direction. "No, no. I'm alright."

Amory stopped pacing and looked to him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come up. Just . . . well, knowing that you're interested in the case too, I thought maybe you'd be more understanding of my position. I should have realized you'd be a police officer, first and foremost."

"Nevermind that," Andy returned. "Tell me about what happened at your building."

Amory ran a hand into his hair. "The intruders left obscene messages on both my door and my secretary's, threatening our lives and Edith's too. And they even fixed up a dummy to look like me, slumped at my desk with a sword through my heart!" He threw his hands in the air.

"And I'm sure they mean business, judging from what they've already done," Andy said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fallon."

Amory let out a frustrated sigh. "They're sure I know information about Ned that I'm not telling them. And if we can't find out who they are and get them caught, who knows what they'll try next?!"

Andy leaned back, pondering for a moment. "Lieutenant Drumm has been investigating this J.K. Stratton, hasn't he?" he said at last.

"That's right," Amory nodded. "But he's gone missing! And his daughter has no idea where he is!"

Jimmy came over to them. "Lieutenant Drumm called not too long ago and said Mr. Stratton knew Ned Thompson," he said. "His daughter said they were friends. Do you ever remember Mr. Thompson mentioning a Mr. Stratton or a J.K.?"

"No, I don't," Amory frowned. "But it was common knowledge that Ned was my business partner. Why didn't Stratton mention it?"

"Perhaps because of how Mr. Thompson betrayed you?" Andy suggested. "Maybe he didn't want to stir up painful feelings."

"Maybe," Amory said slowly. "But it still seems strange that he wouldn't so much as say that he and Ned had been friends."

"Suppose he is mixed up in this mess," Andy said. "What would he have to gain from it?"

"I've been asking myself that question ever since the police indicated he was a suspect," Amory said. "I can't imagine, unless he's part of that criminal organization Ned got involved with."

"Lieutenant Drumm said Stratton's daughter told him that Stratton was nervous and upset when he came to get her at the Observatory," Jimmy put in. "Maybe he isn't deeply involved and didn't like the thought of you being hurt, Mr. Fallon."

"Or maybe he's even an innocent party that they're using or blackmailing somehow," Andy mused. "He could have been abducted."

"Or he could have run away, but would he have left his daughter behind?" Amory wondered. "They might take her, thinking she knew where he went!"

Andy started to get up. "We should really do some research on Stratton," he said. "Do you have your laptop?"

"Edith brought it, yes," Amory nodded. "I told her to try to get some rest in our room. She barely closed her eyes all night."

"Andy!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Why not let me do the research? You and Mr. Fallon both need to rest!"

"Oh, I'll go out of my mind if I don't try to figure something out about this mess," Andy said, shaking his head. "And I'm sure Mr. Fallon feels the same, if not moreso. We'll just stay here, Jimmy. The last thing I want to do is put anyone in danger."

"That's the last thing I want, too," Amory said. "Otherwise I would be at my company building right now. I don't like danger, to myself or others.

"I'll bring my laptop down here, so we won't disturb Edith."

"Fine," Andy nodded. "You do that. Oh, and Mr. Fallon. Do you have a file on Stratton, as a prospective client?"

"I don't think so," Amory told him. "We just started negotiations recently."

"Alright." Andy relaxed into the couch. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Amory nodded and departed. Jimmy frowned after him.

"Andy, what do you think you and Mr. Fallon can really do from here?" he asked.

"Maybe nothing," Andy sighed. "I don't know, Jimmy. I just want to try. This case is important to me, considering how deeply I'm involved in it."

"I understand." Jimmy sighed as well. "It's important to me, too. I want to know who'd have the gall to knock out Mr. Fallon and take you prisoner."

"Then we're agreed," Andy smiled. "It'll be alright, Jimmy. Nothing will happen to us from here."

"Yeah," Jimmy agreed slowly. "I guess you're right."

xxxx

The ringing of Edith's cellphone was what drew her out of a shallow sleep. Still blinking in exhaustion, she fumbled and reached for the device in her purse. "Hello?" she mumbled.

"Mrs. Fallon?"

The unfamiliar voice still could not rouse her from her stupor. "Yes. What is it?" She lay back on the bed as she closed her eyes. Vaguely she wondered why someone was going to so much trouble to contact her.

"Are you familiar with the deputy district attorney Gregory Sampson?"

Edith resisted the urge to moan. "No," she managed instead.

"He's dead."

That finally shook her more fully to consciousness. "What?"

"He's dead because he wouldn't cooperate. He even hid information from my man. And don't think the same thing won't happen to your husband if he does the same. My man drove a letter-opener into Mr. Sampson's heart. Your husband will get worse."

Edith barely even heard the sharp click in her ear. She sat up straight, the phone slipping from her hand as the color drained from her face.

"Edith?"

She only heard Amory's voice from far-off. At the moment, she could not process it.

"Edith, what's wrong?! Edith!"

Amory was right in front of her now, gripping her shoulders, regarding her in fear and alarm.

Slowly, shakily, she raised her eyes to look up at him. Good, kind Amory, who only wanted to live in peace and never seemed to be allowed to. . . .

What would she do without him? What would she do if the time came that she could no longer feel his hands on her shoulders? When he would lie silent and cold in a casket instead of slumbering next to her, alive and warm? When she would have only a lonely grave and her years of memories, and not Amory himself?

And when it would not happen naturally, after many years together, but soon, and because of cold-blooded murder?

The dam broke. She fell forward, sobbing as she clutched at her bewildered and worried husband. "Amory," she choked out. "Oh, Amory!"

Amory held her close, stunned by her sudden outburst. "Edith, what happened?" he demanded. "Tell me, please!"

But for the moment she could only shake her head and hug him close to her. She had already come close to losing him on this case. Too close.

And she could never let it happen for real.