Chapter Eleven

The afternoon paper ran the story on the front page.

Assistant District Attorney Murdered By Unknown Intruder

Della was troubled as she brought the newspaper in to set on Perry's desk. He looked up from the phone, instantly noticing her unsettled demeanor. "Della, what is it?"

Della shook her head and handed him the paper. "I think you'd better call Hamilton," she said.

Perry opened his mouth to question why, but then caught sight of the headline. He stiffened. The telephone forgotten, he replaced the receiver and concentrated on reading the front-page story. At last he leaned back, letting the paper fall to his desk.

"Sampson dead," he whispered in disbelief.

"Killed right in his house," Della said. "The paramedics said he was dead when they got there." She turned away, walking towards the balcony doors. "Mr. Burger must be so upset."

Perry grabbed the phone again, but once more set it aside. "I think I'll go right to Hamilton's office," he said. "Hamilton values all of his deputies. To lose one of them, and like this . . ." He shook his head.

"And Sampson was investigating that Thompkins case," Della remarked. "Oh, Perry, do you think that had something to do with it?"

"Worse than that, I'm still wondering if it has something to do with Andy's problems," Perry frowned. "When's my next appointment?"

Della glanced at her watch. "Not for another hour."

"Good. I'll be back by then." Perry headed out the door, leaving Della gazing after him.

At last, heaving a sad sigh, Della walked out too, returning to her own office.

xxxx

Andy sighed and leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. He and Amory had been researching J.K. Stratton for over an hour, but nothing of use had popped out at either of them. By now Andy was growing restless, as he often did when he had to sit and do paperwork.

That was one aspect of police work that he, as well as many others, hated. He liked to be out in the field—investigating, asking questions, putting the pieces together to form a complete picture. But deskwork was important too, like it or not. And he had to put up with it.

The door opened and Jimmy stepped in, a folder in hand. His sobered expression left Andy stunned.

"Jimmy, what happened?" he gasped.

Jimmy drew a shaking breath. "Lieutenant Tragg asked me to tell you," he said. "He hadn't wanted you to know yet because he hoped you could just relax today, but he figured that just in case it meant your safety, you needed to know.

"Mr. Sampson was attacked and killed, maybe over the . . . the Thompkins case."

Both Andy and Amory looked down. "We already know, Jimmy," Andy said quietly. "Someone called Mrs. Fallon after you'd gone out and told her. Whoever it was threatened Amory's life at the same time."

Amory nodded, sadly. "It took me a long time to get Edith calmed down," he said. "I don't know how, but I finally convinced her to take a sleeping pill. And to turn her phone off. She should be resting peacefully now." He glanced at the door. "I should check on her before too much longer."

Jimmy shut the door, walking seriously over to the couch. "Andy, if whoever did it finds out where you're staying, and Mr. Fallon too . . ." He trailed off, looking away. It did not really need to be said.

"We'll be careful, Jimmy," Andy tried to assure him. He stared into the distance. "Poor Sampson. I should really call Mr. Burger. I tried earlier, but he wasn't in."

"Yeah." Jimmy looked down at the folder still in his hand. "Maybe you should look at this first before you try again."

"Is that the information from the police auction?" Andy queried.

"That's right," Jimmy confirmed. "Lieutenant Tragg and Sergeant Brice have been going over it and over it without any luck. But you said you wanted to try it too, Andy, so here it is." He handed his cousin the folder.

"Thanks." Andy flipped it open, still shaken from the news of Sampson's death. "But I thought Lieutenant Drumm said that there was a lead on that blasted statue."

Jimmy sighed. "Well, there was, until the guy listed as buying it was tracked down and found to be dead. And his housekeeper can't remember where the statue went after that. It's not still in the house."

"So it's a dead-end," Andy said in disgust.

Jimmy nodded. "But he didn't buy the chess set." He pointed at the list. "That guy hasn't been located at all."

Andy stared at the unfamiliar name. "Kenyon Samuel Jaspers," he read.

Amory just shook his head from where he was typing into the computer. "Aside from having the same capital letters in his name as J.K. Stratton, nothing about that name stands out to me."

Andy looked up at Jimmy with a start. "Have the police . . ."

"Yeah. Yeah, they've thought that there was a chance it could be him." Jimmy crossed his arms on the back of the couch. "But since he's missing, they can't ask him. And his daughter doesn't know."

Andy frowned at the list. "He certainly could have bought it without her knowledge."

"Lieutenant Drumm and Sergeant Nichols asked her or the maid to call if they found anything else missing," Jimmy said. "Maybe the maid will remember the chess set and either find it or realize it's gone."

"Maybe," Andy agreed noncommittally.

Amory, meanwhile, abruptly went rigid. "Look at this!" he cried.

Andy and Jimmy leaned over, trying to peer at the screen. "What is it?" Andy asked.

Amory turned the laptop so they could better see. "It's some random article about an estate sale in Switzerland. Some big-shot businessman who died of a heart attack. Only it's not so random at all."

"'Among those in attendance was Joseph Karnes Stratton, of the American-based company Stratton, Inc.,'" Andy read in amazement.

"What was he doing there?" Jimmy wondered. He leaned farther over the couch, craning his neck.

"Buying some of the art pieces, apparently," Amory said. "And according to another guest there, he said he was going to put them in a cabin he owns in the Alps. Just suppose for a moment that he really is the man who bought that chess set. Maybe it's stored there too!"

"It's certainly worth looking into," Andy declared. He grabbed for his phone. "I'll call Lieutenant Tragg right away. Maybe he can explain the whole problem to the Swiss police and get their cooperation. Stratton himself might be up there, if he's hiding out. This is the first time I've ever heard of him owning a cabin in the Alps."

Jimmy straightened, enthused and hopeful now. "I'll help too," he said. "I'll call the airport and ask if there were any tickets bought under the name of the guy who purchased the chess set."

"Good idea," Andy said, already dialing Tragg's number.

"And I'll do a Google search on that name," Amory volunteered.

At last there were other leads. Perhaps they would also fail, but at least now there was more to try.

And if they could solve this case, and even tie in the Thompkins case with it, Sampson would not have died in vain.

xxxx

Leon was sobered and saddened as Perry arrived in the outer office. He looked up, somehow seeing Perry amid all the hair slipping into his eyes. "Oh, Mr. Mason." He pointed with a pencil at the inner office. "Mr. Burger thought you might come."

"He did?" Perry took a step towards the door. "Should I just go in then?"

Leon nodded. "Yes, Sir. He'll be glad to see you."

Perry walked over and quietly knocked before pushing open the door. Hamilton, wearily sitting at his desk, looked up. Something flickered through his eyes at the sight of Perry.

"Oh, Perry," he greeted. "Come in. And shut the door, please." He stood, coming around the desk and extending a hand to shake. "I guess you saw the news."

"Yes." Perry gripped Hamilton's hand. "I'm very sorry, Hamilton."

Hamilton nodded. "So am I. The only thing I'm relieved about is . . ." He trailed off. "Nevermind. Perry, would you mind taking a ride with me?"

"Not at all," Perry said in surprise. "But where are we going?"

"You'll see." Hamilton walked past Perry to the door, grabbing his hat and coat on the way. Perplexed, Perry followed.

Leon watched as they re-entered the outer office. "Are you going out, Sir?"

"Just for a little while, Leon," Hamilton said. "You'll mind the office, won't you?"

"Of course, Sir." Leon sat with his hands poised over his keyboard. "Take all the time you need."

Hamilton nodded. "Thank you, Leon."

xxxx

Hamilton led Perry to the elevators and down to the parking garage without so much as a word. Perry did not question him, knowing that he must have a good reason for this unusual procedure. It was the sort of thing Perry himself had done when he wanted to demonstrate something to Hamilton and did not want to speak of it beforehand.

Once they were in Hamilton's white car and Hamilton was pulling out of the parking lot, Perry looked to his friend. "Alright, Hamilton. Can you tell me now what this is all about?"

Hamilton kept his eyes on the road. "What the papers didn't say is that Sampson wounded his assailant."

Perry blinked. "Do you have him in custody?"

"We didn't at first," Hamilton said. "But when Lieutenant Drumm ordered a sweep of the neighborhood, we found the man collapsed several blocks from Sampson's house. He was clutching his right side." Hamilton managed a weak smirk. "Sampson really gave it to him, alright. Probably with that same blasted letter-opener."

"Is the man alive?" Perry asked.

"Yes," Hamilton nodded. "We have him at the hospital right now, under lock and key. He isn't conscious, but we're hoping he'll wake up soon and will be willing to answer some questions."

"If he is Sampson's murderer, isn't he likely to receive the death penalty?" Perry watched the streets go by in the oncoming autumn afternoon. "Under the law, a prosecutor killed because of trying to do his duty warrants first-degree murder for the culprit."

"That's right." Hamilton gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "This man has nothing to lose. We're not even sure he'll pull through, so either way he'll die. And unless he decides to be uncooperative and vengeful, he should be willing to tell us what we want to know."

"Unless he decides to be uncooperative and vengeful," Perry said. "Which he might."

Hamilton sighed. "Yes, he might."

He pulled in at the back of Central Receiving Hospital and parked near the doors. "Are you coming, Perry?" he queried as he eased himself out of the car.

Perry exited as well. "What are we doing here, Hamilton? Trying to illicit a deathbed confession?"

Hamilton did not answer. He headed inside the building, his coat billowing behind him. Confused now, Perry followed him in.

Hamilton paused in the waiting room, speaking with a policeman in lowered tones. The officer pointed, directing him down a corridor to the left. With a "Thank you," Hamilton started in that direction, Perry close behind.

Two more officers were waiting down the hall. Hamilton spoke with them as well and then passed between them into a hospital room. He held the door open for Perry, who stepped in and then stopped short in utter shock.

It wasn't a vicious and merciless killer lying in the hospital bed. It was a weakened and pale man in his thirties. A familiar man.

Visible surprise registered on Perry's face. "Sampson?" he said in disbelief.

Hamilton nodded. "He's alive, Perry, but just barely. He could still die."

"And you want to make sure no one comes to try again," Perry surmised.

"Yes. He needs every possible chance." Hamilton exhaled, deeply. "So we fed that story to the newspapers that he was dead."

"I understand," Perry nodded. "The secret is safe with me, Hamilton."

"I know." Hamilton laid a hand on Perry's shoulder. "Let's leave him alone. He needs complete quiet."

Perry nodded. "Of course."

Only now did he notice that there was yet another officer present, this one right in the room, waiting in the corner. Hamilton was, indeed, not taking any chances with his deputy's life.

Hamilton walked out of the room, Perry right with him. As they headed back up the hallway, Hamilton was clearly troubled.

"I must have talked with him just a few minutes before it happened," he said. "I asked him to bring me the files for the Thompkins case when he came in today. He was probably getting them together when he was confronted."

Perry nodded slowly, sadly, understanding. "I'm sorry, Hamilton. I know how I'd feel if I were in your position."

Hamilton glanced to him. "That's right. You've had some cases like that too, haven't you."

"Yes. It's never easy, knowing that someone's been hurt after you saw or heard them last. But Hamilton, it certainly wasn't your fault."

"I know that, Perry. But still, I . . . I wonder what would've happened if I'd called a few minutes earlier. Or later. What if I'd called after that creep broke in and was standing there? Maybe it would've scared him off." Hamilton rubbed his forehead. "Maybe Sampson wouldn't be lying in there, dying, if I'd . . ."

Perry gripped Hamilton's shoulder. "Hamilton. Don't do this to yourself."

Hamilton stiffened and ground to a halt as he looked over at his friend. Perry was dead serious. And the look in his eyes said loud and clear that he was worried.

Hamilton exhaled, sharply. "I'm trying not to," he said. "But I just feel that somehow, I've let Sampson down. Perry, suddenly people in my office keep being hurt. Leon was attacked several months ago by Helen Watkins. And now this with Sampson. . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know what to do, Perry. I don't know how to keep these people safe."

Perry's grip tightened. "I'd say you're doing a good job with Sampson right now. Hamilton, there's always risks involved in positions like these. You know that."

"Of course I do, Perry," Hamilton retorted. "But knowing it isn't the same thing as being able to keep from feeling horrible about it."

"If you were that unfeeling, people like Leon and Sampson wouldn't even be as loyal to you as they are," Perry said. "They respect you and look up to you because they know you're a kind and compassionate person."

Hamilton considered that and slowly nodded. "I know," he said at last. "And I wouldn't want to be anything else. It's just that sometimes it . . . it doesn't feel like it's enough."

He turned to look at the corridor as he resumed his pace. "Victor Chamberlin was the one who found Sampson, lying there on the floor in all that blood. . . ."

". . . They're friends, aren't they?"

Hamilton gave a sad nod in response to Perry. "Chamberlin took a shine to Sampson when he first joined the office. Sampson's always been, well . . . you know, zealous. People in the office joke that Don Quixote is his favorite book. It probably is, but anyway. . . . Chamberlin sort of took Sampson under his wing and they bonded."

Perry quietly nodded. "How is he taking this?"

"He's completely shaken," Hamilton replied. "And I think what I hate the most about this mess, after the fact that Sampson is hurt at all, of course, is that I had to lie to Victor about it."

"He thinks Sampson is dead too?" Perry deduced.

"Yes." Hamilton stopped once they reached the back exit and looked to Perry. "I had to do it, Perry; if we're being watched at all, Chamberlin certainly would be. And if he shows any indication that he knows Sampson is really alive . . ."

"I'm sure he'll understand, when you explain it to him later." Perry's tone was firm and kind at the same time. "It was to protect Sampson."

"I hope he'll understand," Hamilton said. "But what I worry most is that there won't be a need to explain anything. If Sampson dies, there won't be much point revealing the deception."

He passed through the doorway, trudging back to his car. Frowning in concern, Perry followed.

He had never known Sampson that well, and their encounters in court had usually been at least somewhat tense. Sampson was young and over-confident, which had led to some rocky situations with witnesses. But he was a good prosecutor, and Perry had seen him mature over the years. Someday, Perry hoped, Bill Vincent would do the same.

Right now, however, he said a silent prayer for Gregory Sampson's recovery.

Della would want to pray for him too, if she knew he was still alive. But of course Perry could not tell her. Hamilton had taken him into his confidence. Perry could not and would not do anything to jeopardize that—or Sampson's chances for life.

What he would do was throw all possible effort into finding who had sent the assassin.

And find out how, if at all, this was connected with Andy and Amory's problems.

xxxx

Steve collapsed into the chair in his office. Every muscle in his body, it seemed, was screaming for deliverance. And he wanted to oblige. He was absolutely exhausted. Not having had any sleep the night before, he longed to doze off anywhere, even at the desk. But he had the sinking feeling that he was too tired to sleep.

It had been such a never-ending day, filled with twists and turns and especially blood. Between Andy's informant and Sampson, it felt like blood had been everywhere today. Some days in the Homicide division were like that.

Steve hated it.

A piece of paper on the desk caught Steve's eye. He perked up as much as he could, leaning forward to read it.

Come see me when you get back.

Tragg

"Well, that's ominous," he muttered to the empty room. And the curt message indicated it was very important. He started to push himself out of his chair.

At the same moment, the phone rang. He sat back, grabbing up the receiver. "Lieutenant Drumm," he barked.

"Oh, Lieutenant! Good, I'm glad I caught you."

Steve blinked in surprise as he recognized Lily's voice. "What's going on, Miss Stratton?"

"Well, I went poking around the garage to see if I could find that weird chess board you were talking about. And guess what!" Lily rushed on, much to Steve's relief. "I found something even kookier. It looks like a gigantic chess piece!"

Steve went rigid. "In your garage?" he exclaimed. "Which chess piece does it look like?"

"The horse guy," Lily told him. "Wow, it's big. And cool! I wonder why he kept it out here."

"Miss Stratton, this is very important," Steve said. "Can you tell if there's some sort of secret compartment anywhere in it?"

"Are you psychic, Lieutenant? It's tipped over, like someone knocked it over in a hurry, and there's a door open in the bottom of the stand." There was a shuffling sound. "I don't see anything in it, though."

"Don't touch anything," Steve barked. "Please. I'll be out there immediately with a fingerprint crew."

"Sure," Lily chirped. "But gee, Lieutenant, tell me, what's so important about this horse statue?"

"I can't explain right now," Steve replied. "Just . . . please, don't let anyone know you found it. Alright?"

"Not even the maid?"

"No one."

Lily fell silent. When she spoke again, there was a tremor of fear in her voice. "Lieutenant? Do you . . . do you think this has anything to do with where my dad is?"

"It might," Steve admitted.

". . . Do you think he's still okay?"

Steve could not help the chill that came with her plaintive words. "I don't know," he said sadly. "I can only hope so."

He hung up moments later, his weariness forgotten. He headed for the door, still in his trenchcoat.

He still needed to see Tragg. But first he would tell Sergeant Brice to go on ahead and take the fingerprint crew with him.

Why did Stratton have the knight? Who had gotten to the information? Whoever had ransacked Stratton's office? Another enemy? Could Stratton himself have discovered and taken it before taking flight? Why?

There were so many possibilities. And somehow Steve was afraid that there was very little time to sort through them all.

Everything was rushing to a head, much too fast.

Of course, that meant the criminals were as desperate as the police. Which could be an advantage.

On the other hand, it could be a disaster.

It all depended on who got and kept the upper hand first.