Chapter 11 - Caring is not an advantage

Thursday, 1st November 1973

A new day dawned when an overtired and gray faced Perry Mason sat next to Della's hospital bed… holding her hand. Repeatedly, he told himself how insanely lucky she had been. Aside from a minor head wound, she had not suffered any visible injuries. Nevertheless, he would never forgive himself. Right after she toasted towards him, he had wanted to go upstairs to talk to her, but Laura had distracted him. Only seconds later, he heard the horrified screaming of the people who had witnessed Della's fall down the staircase.

It was a miracle she was not dead. He thanked God on his knees she did not have to pay the ultimate price for his mistake.

Shifting in her bed, she groaned and opened up her eyes.

"Hello, Beautiful," he said lowly, using Paul's nickname for her. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Was I hit by a truck?"

"No. I'm afraid you were drugged and then you hit your head." She touched the bandage on the back of her head and hissed in agony.

"They pumped out your stomach and you have ten stitches on the back of your head. Nothing too serious, but you gave us quite a scare."

She groaned again. "Now I wish a truck had hit me."

"Do you remember anything?"

"I'm not sure... there was this waitress who gave me the champagne. Did you get her?"

He shook his head regretfully, "I'm afraid not. However, we found a knife thrown away in a plant near one of the bathrooms. Whatever she planned, she was disturbed by something or someone. Perhaps, she had hoped you would try to get to one of the bathrooms upstairs…instead of the stairs. Thank God!"

"I'm not sure I'm glad to hear I survived because I fell down a staircase." Della turned her head very slowly so that she could face him. "Where's Richard?"

"He went home an hour ago. He wanted to check on Ruben."

"And he allowed you stay here?" She asked, her voice doubtful.

Perry cleared his throat and released her hand. "Actually, I snuck in after he left. First, he yelled at me, then he yelled at the policewoman who was supposed to look after you, and then he yelled at the Chief of Police."

"I'm sure he was just overreacting."

"No, he's right. We blew it... I blew it. I got distracted. I almost lost you." Pensive, he hung his head in shame.

She reached out to touch his cheek. Her hand was cold and her unexpected touch startled him. "Don't beat yourself up, Counselor. I don't remember much, but I shouldn't have taken that drink from the waitress... I was distracted, too." She shrugged and gave him a small smile. "I was looking at you."

Again, he took her hand and leaned in closer. Tenderly, he ran his thumb over her chin. "Perhaps I should stay out of it just as Richard told me. I'm too involved to be of good advice. I care too much and that's a disadvantage."

"I've never taken you for a quitter," she quipped.

"I'm not, but this... you are too important to me to have you depend on someone who can't look after you."

"Don't you even think of it." She sighed and then she said. "Unless, of course, it's what you really want… or what Laura wants," she added.

"Laura has nothing to do with it," he said. "But Richard..."

"Leave Richard to me and go back to work! Find that woman… before she finds me again."

"Is that an order, Miss Street?"

"You bet."

He felt incredibly tempted to kiss her, but he restrained himself and backed away.

"All right. Listen, there's a policeman right in front of your door. No one except Richard, Ruben, Paul, and me will have access to you."

She sighed and asked, "How long do they plan to keep me here?"

"As long as necessary." He grinned, because he knew how she much she hated doing nothing. "Perhaps the nurses can bring you some magazines."

"I'm sure they can..."


Too restless to go home, Perry went to his office. Since the front of the building was underseige by reporters and bystanders, he chose to sneak in from the back way. Unfortunately, his antechamber was also filled with people he neither wanted to see nor needed to see. It took him almost ten minutes to throw everyone out before he could enter his office, where Paul was waiting for him. The P.I. had made himself comfortable. His feet lay on his desk while he enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cigarette.

"Comfy?" Perry asked.

"Not very. I liked your other office better."

"That wasn't my question," Perry replied grumpily and helped himself to one of Paul's cigarettes.

"How's Della?"

"She'll be fine. Just some minor injuries."

"Thank God! Carlisle wasn't very informative when he came home this morning!" Paul complained and took his feet from the desk. "On the contrary, he kicked me out like an old dog!"

"He was scared to death. I can't blame him."

"I didn't say I blame him… but the guy has an anger issue, if you ask me. Anyway, while you were out, I called my people in L.A. to hear if they had any news on your mysterious secretary. It seems your Miss Powell has some interesting skills, other than typing letters and killing people."

"Which are?"

"Her father owned a pharmacy and she studied pharmacy herself."

"That does explain a lot."

"Do you want to hear more?"

"Shoot."

"Her real name is Rebecca Vincent. She's thirty-one years old and quit her job in a pharmacy in Malibu last summer. Neither her parents or her friends have heard from her since then and have reported her missing."

"So, that's when she came to Washington. But why did she start to work for me?"

"Maybe... and I'm merely suggesting the possibility that she knew about Della's connection to you and waited for her chance to use it to her advantage."

Perry rubbed the back of his hand in his other palm, "She's shown an awful lot of patience and planning. Last night's attempt to kill Della seems almost too clumsy."

"Perhaps, she's losing her nerve," Paul shrugged. "She's planned all this, but she hasn't really considered Della's environment. Laura aside, Della has never had any real enemies. No one means harm to her or wishes her dead. Her plan to discredit Della failed. We found the pictures before they ended up in the press or in the hands of the police. The man she killed to get rid of an accomplice and to bring Della behind bars failed too. And, last night, Della survived a fall down a gigantic staircase. Either Della is extremely lucky or Miss Vincent isn't as clever as she thinks she is."

"And yet, she escaped last night," Perry mused. "I think you're right... she must be furious."

"Sooner or later, she'll make one mistake too many," Paul said. "Let's hope it'll be sooner rather than later. If I hate one thing, it's a nut job on the loose!"


Laura was sitting behind the wheel of her car… smoking one cigarette after the other. After Della crashed down the stairs, Perry had sent her home. She would never forget the look on his face when he saw Della's supposedly lifeless body on the marble floor. It was as if all life had been drained out of him as well. Would he ever feel like this if she died? Deep down, inside, Laura knew, he wouldn't. He would mourn her, of course. Would he miss her? Probably not. His life would be easier without her demands and her plans for his career and their marriage. The truth was always hard to swallow, but she had never been scared of it. This photo of Della in Perry's desk... did this crazy woman place it in there as Perry claimed or did it belong to him? Even if it was not proof a full-blown love affair between them, it was the indicator of something perhaps worse: Hope, dreams, desire, and lust. A love unfulfilled and unconsumed - at least ever since Della had broken up with Perry when Laura had told him she was having his baby.

It was not the best day for a confrontation, but she needed to know what exactly was going on between Della and her husband. She deserved to know the truth.

Laura left her car and crossed the street. Only very few people knew the hospital to which Della had been taken the night before, but,when she had talked to Perry in the morning, he had told her. Della was in a private room with a security guard in front of her door. Laura figured there shouldn't be too many patients under police protection and took the elevator to the first floor.

Glad she could finally change her hospital gown for some of her pajamas, Della sank back into her pillow and closed her eyes. The headache was almost killing her, but better just feeling like being killed and actually being killed. The doctor had assured her she would be released the next day, if she promised to rest. It was an promise easy given, because her whole body was still aching. Her stomach was still burning like a cauldron, but the doctor assured her she would feel better soon.

After a soft knock, a nurse entered her room. Annoyed, Della closed her eyes. A hospital was really the wrong place to get better. One was never left alone.

"What is it?" she asked

"You're next shot."

Irritated, Della opened her eyes. The doctor hadn't told her anything about an injection. The nurse stood already next to her and nimbly prepared Della's arm for the shot. The syringe lay on a small plate on the cabinet.

"The doctor didn't tell me anything about an injection," Della said, an awkward suspicion rising in the back of her head. She knew these eyes... she had seen them the night before, surrounded by the black silk of a mask. She took a closer look at the nurse, whose eyebrow started twitching when Della pulled her arm back. With one swift movement, the nurse grabbed for the syringe and hissed, "You're really a cat, Miss Street. You have at least nine lives, don't you?"

With horror, Della realized that the other woman was about to ram the syringe into her arm. With all the force she could muster, Della pushed the woman back and jumped out of bed. On her way to the door, the fake nurse grabbed Della's ankle and tore her down onto the floor. She crashed onto the floor and hissed in pain when her head hit the ground. The other woman turned her on her back and closed her hands painfully around her throat. Della choked and pressed her arms against the woman's chest, but she was strong and her face spoke volumes about her determination.

"What the hell!"

A cold draft flew into the room. Someone entered the room and the nurse screamed out in anger, and let go off Della. Before Della knew what happened, her adversary dashed against the unwelcome visitor whose scream turned from surprise to pain. Still coughing, Della flipped around and frowned when she saw how Laura sank against the wall, pressing her hands over her stomach. Blood was running through her fingers. The nurse,who had also been leaning against the wall, took one last look at Della on the floor. With a curse on her lips, she stormed to the door.

"Not again!" Della croaked and got to her feet. Her fear and confusion was turning into fury. She was sick and tired of being chased around and almost killed. The nurse reached the door and pulled it open, but Della was on her heels. She clawed her nails into the uniform. The woman jerked around and hit Della's face with the flat back of her hand.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled, but Della was neither intimidated nor did she feel the pain. She grabbed the arm of the nurse and pulled her around. With one drastic push, Della flung her against the door so that her head crashed against the frame. Blood splashed against the door and the wall as she cried out in pain. With one last effort, Della pushed her backwards into the room and stormed out of the door. Her hand swiped the shoulder of the policeman sitting next to her door. Lifeless, he fell from the chair. She yelled for help, causing everyone hastening down the busy hallway, to turn around.

~~tbc~~

Author's note: Just from personal experience. There are no white knights anymore. I doubt they ever existed. When you're lucky, there's someone to look after you, but don't count on someone being there in the right moment. Not even when they love you, because in the end everybody is just human. When it comes down to it you gotta save yourself, Ladies. I guess that is what this story is about.