Chapter 9

The taxidriver had fallen asleep long before Paul Drake showed up next to Mason's taxi at midnight. It was parked in a small alley, hidden from the rest of the world by a bunch of trees and small bushes. Drake climbed into the car to sit next to Perry. Ken waited outside next to his car and seemed nervous.

" There you are, finally… What the hell took you so long? And what's wrong? " Mason growled and pointed at Ken, who was walking back and forth at his car.

Drake followed the direction of Perry's finger. " What, you mean Ken? He can't seem to find his girlfriend, what's her name, Amy? They had a fight this morning in the office, she went off, and he hasn't seen her since. He thinks she went to her folks, and expects her to call his carphone any minute. "

Perry snorted.

" So, tell me, Sherlock, what's happening here ? What have we got? " Drake asked.

Perry pointed at a big white house on the other side of the alley. " That is the adress Brock found. It is supposed to be Emmett Michael's home. It seems desolated. I already went in and …"

" You already went in … Really ? "

" I know how to break into a house, Paul. Someone you mentioned before, we both knew very well, taught me how to do it. " He pursed his lips and started to speak again, but was cut off by Paul.

" For such an old man, you're quite amazing you know that? And I think I know who you mean also. I bet it's the same man who taught me how to do it. So, what have you found? "

" Well, nothing that really helps. No sign of recent usage. All dark, no lights inside or outside. Empty fridge. I've checked the entire ground floor. It's a mess in there, the kitchen and livingroom look like a … like your office before Della cleaned it. Papers and books stacked everywhere, dead plants. At the backside, there is a practise, with something that looks like it used to be a small library, but nothing of interest there. Empty, nothing in the cabinets, nothing on the shelves. There seems to be no basement either. "

" Upstairs? Attic or somethin' ? "

" I couldn't get up the stairs, because as you said before, I need you as my legs … " Perry watched the small grin appearing on Drake's face. " And I'm not old, by the way, Paul. "

" ' Course not. You just can't walk up the stairs. That doesn't sound old to me. At all. " Paul just watched Perry, with a mixture of boyishness and a smile. He climbed out of the taxi. " Right, we're going in, we'll check it out upstairs. Let's find the lady… "

Then he suddenly moved swiftly back into the taxi. " Speaking about ladies, Perry … I forgot … what is this bullshit about that Laura woman in your bed? "

" What ? "

" She came barging into your kitchen while I was talking to Ken about what happened and why you went all the way up here, and she said she was in bed with my boss … and phoned him a taxi? "

Mason sighed deeply and watched his companion with his steel stare. " What the hell do you think, Paul Drake? "

" Sure, Perry Mason … " Paul stared back at him. " But ehm… you know, the last time I saw you around her, you had a real hard time to get your eyes off of her…" He stared at the floor, while a small smile was tugging at his lips. He liked the fact that he seemed to be the only man that could get Perry Mason unreasonable with a pun. Very deliberately, he took the jokes too far, especially now. In his opinion, under these circumstances, distraction was what the old man needed. It made him perform so much sharper than when he was allowed to throw himself back in selfpity and guilt. And, he needed Perry to be sharp now. And, he had fun making him sharp. " You didn't sleep with her, did you? "

" I'm not even going to dignify that question with an answer. "

" Sure. But she was in your bedroom, Perry. In my world that means you were not exactly discussing what's on the frontpage of the Wall Street Journal."

" In her world, Paul, it meant she thought I could use her company … "

Paul Drake snorted.

" … and yes, she was in my bed for five minutes, and then I threw her out."

" Really, you only need five minutes? "

Mason took his cane and waved it to Drake as much as possible in the taxi. " Paul, for Gods' sake! Get in the house and see what the hell you can find. "

" Yeah, yeah. I'm gone already…" He motioned Ken to come with him, then turned on his heels and crawled back to the taxi in his typical way. Mason snorted, really annoyed now, recognizing the look on Drake's face, which matched his old man's when he was about to make a very bad joke.

Drake knocked on the window. Perry drew it open, and Paul held onto it while he asked. " So, seriously, Perry. All you have to do is lay down in your bed and a beautiful lady comes crawling to you? How come this never happens to me? "

" That's because I am very much more handsome and charming than you are. " Mason pinched Drake's chest.

" Yeah, and you've got the…" Paul pinched Mason's shirt " ...extra volume there…"

" Yes, it makes me look important and powerful. You want to have it? "

" Nah. Thanks. "

" Good. Now get the hell in there in and find the woman that should have been in my bed. "

Mason watched Ken and Paul walking to what was supposed to be Michael's house. The gun in Drake's hands made him wonder how this man was able to joke so fervently, and carry a gun at the same time, ready to threaten or wound, or maybe even kill. Mason shrugged. Maybe Paul was insane too. Maybe the whole world was insane.

####

She heard the whispering voices, the fumbling at the lock of what must be the frontdoor, the footsteps in the kitchen and in the livingroom downstairs. She had no idea who to expect this time.

Of course she had noticed Mason coming in earlier, walking around in the house. He hadn't bothered to be silent, throwing around furniture, swearing and slamming doors. He probably hadn't expected someone to be there. Or maybe he had, and had wanted whoever was there to wake up to come and see him. In stead, she had been trying to sleep through the noise and had pretended not to notice his presence.

She had not been surprised Mason hadn't come upstairs. She knew that he was heavy and big nowadays, his knees were bad, and he sometimes used a cane to be able to walk, so he probably couldn't move enough to climb the stairs.

It could be that Mason had come back with somebody else now, so the chances were that someone would come up the stairs and find her. What would she do? And what should she do? What would her father want her to do? She wished she could phone him now, but he had cut the phonelines this afternoon because he had found out that Miss Street had given Mason clues about them and her whereabouts. For safety reasons the next message to Mason would be delivered to him by mail again.

She admired her father somehow, and always had admired him. As he always said, being a psychiatrist himself, he knew he was insane, but he also knew he wasn't stupid. He just used his brilliant brain for different purposes, getting what he wanted in life in unusual ways, but getting it anyway, manipulating people and processes until he could take what he needed. And she would help him in any way possible, as she always had.

Reckoning her father would want her to defend herself now, she opened the drawer next to her bed, and pulled out the gun, to lay it underneath her pillow. Whoever it was out there, would meet strong resistance. Very strong resistance.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs scared her in a strange way, and she grasped the gun immediately, holding it tightly. When the sound of two voices reached her ears through the door of her bedroom, her heart started to race, it was thrilling her, exciting her. She suppressed a giggle. This could be fun. This would be fun. Killing someone again would feel as good as it felt the first time. Killing two people would be even better.

When the door swung open, she sat right up and fired the first bullet through the dooropening. The loud sound of the sudden shot was deafening, and the silence afterwards even more. Had she hit anything, anyone? No sound, no movement. She inhaled firmly. The scent of sweat and fear reached her nose. Concentrating more deeply, she heard the very soft blowing out of breath, and the sound of shifting shoes on the floor. The rubbing of fabric against a wall. Oh, there was definetely someone out there, alive.

The sudden sounds of descending footsteps on the stairs made her jump out of the bed, to walk to the wall next to the doorframe. Pushing her head and back against the wall, she concentrated again, suppressing a sigh of pure excitement. There was definetely someone on the other side of this wall.

She held the gun clasped in both hands, in front of her face, and closed her eyes.

It would be only a matter of time now.

The person on the other side of the wall would have to move first. She had all night to wait for it.

####

Mason wasn't sure if he really had heard a gunshot. He had been dozing off just a little, images of Della's face moving in front of him as if it were snapshots. The soothing sound of her voice in his ears, her soft hands clasped in his. He opened his eyes, put down his pen and notepad, climbed out of the taxi and swore silently but extensively at his knee, that was screaming at him. Again, he had forgotten to take his pills with him, and the sudden thought of having to think about that himself for the rest of his life, hit him like a sledgehammer. What if she would never be there to take care of him, what if Friday's kiss was the last one?

He shook of these thoughts and swore again, at himself this time.

" Damn it to hell and back … for Gods'sake, Mason, think …"

There were no sounds coming from the house, he didn't see Ken or Paul coming out. He decided to wait, and watched the driver of his taxi, who was making money while he was asleep behind the wheel. The man had told him, he had recognized Perry the moment he had exited his house. Not even worrying the slightest bit about if his bill could be paid, he had turned his attention to the road and the adress the big man had given him.

The ringing of a phone startled Mason. Wondering where the sound came from, he started limping in its direction, towards Ken's car. It was indeed Ken's carphone. Mason reckoned a phonecall at this time of night should be important, and reached through to the open window.

" Mason. "

" Mr. Mason? "

" Yes … Amy ?"

" Yes. Is Ken there? "

" No. "

" Oh… I see… Well, can you just tell Ken I'm fine? "

" Sure. "

" Thank you, Mr. Mason. Bye. "

Not even considering to interfere with Ken's business, he hung up. He didn't want to know what was going on between them, and turned his attention to the house again. No sound, no movement. For a moment he considered going in himself, but he knew he wouldn't be useful. He decided to do some investigating on his own.

He went back to the taxi, took up his notes and pen, and went back to Ken's car. He picked up the phone and pushed a number he unfortunately knew by heart now. After two rings the phone was picked up. Brock's assistant said Brock had left the station around ten p.m. and that he would be with Mason any minute now. The assistant also mentioned that Mr. Reston had left an urgent message for both Brock and Mason. Reston had found something that could be important.

After his phonecall to Reston, Mason limped to his taxi as fast as he could, and yelled at the taxidriver.

" Wake up! Go to this adress …" he as much as threw him the note with the adress, and climbed into the taxi again. " Hurry …"

The driver rubbed his eyes and took the note. " Sure … whatever you say, Mr. Mason … just give me a minute to wake up properly …"

" No. Right now! " Mason growled at him.

" All right, Mr. Mason. Here we go… "

The second gunshot could be heard shortly afterwards. But Mason didn't hear it, driving further away from the house, and closer to finding Della Street.

####

Downstairs, the door to the library opened and closed. She smiled. Someone was obviously trying to use the phone, but she had cut off all the lines in the house too.

Her opponent shifted from one foot to the other, and finally moved along the wall towards her door.

She held her breath, and started counting to herself

One.

Two.

Three.

Moving from the wall, turning around the doorframe to the other side, she held her gun pointed at the exact height of the heart of her opponent when they stood face to face.

They recognized eachother immediately, even in the dim light coming out of her room.

" Jennifer? "

For a moment they both froze, but she gathered herself together quicker than the detective. " I don't know what you're talking about. "

She held her gun pointed at his heart with one hand, while she took his gun from him with her other and tossed it on the floor.

" Put your hands up! " she hissed.

" Jeeeezzz… Jennifer..."

" Shut up … Put your fucking hands up ... "

" Jennifer, you don't have to do this …"

" Shut up … Kneel down …!"

Drake did as he was told, holding his hands behind his head.

She panted. If he had been anyone else, she would have shot him right away. She held the gun against his forehead.

Drake started to sweat, and swallowed hard. " So shoot me if you have to, Jennifer … "

" I'm going to shoot you. " She said it for her own reassurance, to give herself the courage to do it. She hated it that she knew him, and that he used her name and came so close to her by doing just that. The last time she had killed someone, it had only had been her insane mother, and it hadn't taken her any trouble because of the medication. But now … there was no medication. Her father wasn't here to provide her with it. Now it wasn't nice at all.

And she knew him. She knew the guy. And he used her name.

He watched her, looking up at her from under the gun. " But you don't have to, Jennifer… If you'd talk to me, we'll work this out. You don't have to do this, but if you have to, then please do it now." The detectives' soft voice spoke quickly but came to her from far away. The gun was shaking against his forehead. Her hands shook, she couldn't, she wouldn't, there was no way to, but she had to kill him. If someone is in your way, kill him…

But you don't have to… Different messages shot through her, coming from inside her brain, going to her hand that was still shaking badly, and she felt desoriented.

The shot that echoed in her ears now wasn't coming from her gun, was it? She looked at her gun in surprise, then watched the spot the bullet had gone in her body, saw the blood and felt the excruciating sharp pain in her knee after a few seconds, just before she fell to the floor and started to scream.

Drake kicked her gun away from her hand, and his vision became black at the same moment.

Ken Malansky's voice brought him back to consciousness. " Drake, you shot her. You shot the woman. "

" Yeah, well, she was about to shoot me, you idiot. Phone an ambulance … "

Drake stood up, holding his head in his hand, and holding his spare gun tight in his other hand. " And, Ken, get Perry in here. I want to know for sure this is who I think it is. "

Ken turned around to run down the stairs to the front of the house and looked out of the window. Lieutenant Brock was running to the frontdoor, with two of his men. Ken ran outside, passed Brock, and went to the spot Mason's taxi had been standing for the last couple of hours.

It was gone.

####

Della Street was sitting on the bedside and stared out of the window, into the darkness of the unlit lawn. The tears of utter frustration had finally stopped running from her eyes. Lack of sleep and constant fear of what was coming next, mixed with the exhausting, unpredictable and senseless conversations with Emmett Michaels were wearing her out physically and emotionally. She hated to admit he was getting to her with his insanity, his threats and his games. All the time not physically hurting her, but merely psychologically, playing his irrational games, using his genious insanity to get her out of her comfort zone and challenge her limits. His expert knowledge of the human mind gave him the means to push all the buttons to reach her deep running fears, to question her values, overstep her boundaries, and violate her basic principles.

Behind her on the bed Emmett had laid out three different wedding dresses, from which she had to pick one to be married in tomorrow. He wanted her to be Mrs. Emmet Michaels and the mother of his daughter Jennifer, the lady in white. The wedding dresses were original, handmade, and again all her size. He had spent thousands of dollars on them, as he had done on the clothing and shoes in the walk-in closet. It had taken her a while to realise that Emmett hadn't spent his own savings. The bills were probably all paid with Perry Mason's money, money he had worked hard for, they had worked hard for, for so many years. It was the money she had withdrawn from his bankaccounts last Friday, which was so long ago, it seemed an eternity.

Tonight, Emmett had said again, he would kill himself if she'd refuse to do what he asked her. Everytime she stood up against him, he pulled out the small shiny pistol to prove he would take his own life, because of her decision. She just wished she could say she didn't care and walk out, but she did care and she didn't walk out. Her reasonable mind said it wouldn't be her decision, that it was his own decision, but her heart told her otherwise. She'd feel guilty, indeed not wanting to be responsible for this. Starting to think she had control over his actions in this way, while it actually was the other way around, scared the hell out of her. The game was confusing and tormenting.

Now, of course she knew the marriage tomorrow, if legal at all, could be made undone easily considering these circumstances, when she came home.

If she came home.

Perry would laugh about it and shred it to pieces, even before he'd make a phonecall to one of the judges he'd worked with, to undo the vows.

Perry. Where was he now? What was he doing? How was he? Was he working out her clues? When would he receive the envelope, that included her rings, both the pinky ring and the amethyst ring he had given her years ago? What would he make of the letter that she had written, that was in the same envelope? Della had laughed about the content they had forced her to write. The letter said that she knew he was seen with Laura again, and that she thought he could use these rings to give them to her. Perry would never go for that of course, the story was made up very bad, but still. Being forced to take part in this charade, far away from home, involving Glenn Robertson of all people, and the woman in white, Emmett Michaels, it was a very bad dream she needed to wake up from.

In one smooth movement, she swept the wedding dresses from the bed onto the floor, where they fell down together in a big pile of white fabric. Pushing aside the awkward feelings and fearful thoughts, she tried to sleep. She was still fully dressed in the clothes she was wearing since last Friday, because she refused to wear anything else than her own.

Slumbering a little, finally feeling her muscles relax, a small sound that came out of the walk-in closet reached her ears. Refusing to get out of her needed slumber, she pretended not to hear it.

" Della…"

She ignored the whispering voice. She really had to sleep, needed to rest to be able to stay sane in this insane situation.

" Della…" No. No. No. Let me sleep.

" Della…! " It was a little louder this time. She opened one eye, and searched the room, because it seemed to be a familiair voice, not a voice from the last couple of days. Narrowing her eyes, she noticed the shape of a woman who was clumsily crawling to her bedside.

" Hi ... " A small smile appeared on Della Street's face. After checking for the second time, she felt sure enough to reach out a hand, and whisper to the woman.

" My … am I glad to see you… "

The woman squeezed her hand. " I'm glad to see you too … Are you all right? "