Two weeks later:

Paul's first thought when he walked through the door was that he was in the wrong office.

He had not expected to find a pretty sight. After all, he had not found one two weeks prior, when he had returned from dropping Della off at her apartment. In the time that he had been gone, the stoic Perry Mason had disappeared, and a frantic, bewildered one was walking around his office. He had pounced on Paul, and in a tone that brooked no opposition, given him his orders. Those orders had taken no little amount of time, effort, or expense to fulfill. But Paul had succeeded at last, and was presenting himself in the office that evening to relay his findings.

Still, he gazed around the room in consternation. It looked like a tornado had torn through it. Law books, opened and unopened, were heaped up on Perry's desk, on chairs, on the side table, and even on the floor. Half-full cups of coffee were likewise scattered around the room. But the worst disaster was sitting in the leather chair behind the desk.

Paul Drake had rarely seen his friend wearing anything but a full suit. Tonight, however, his jacket was lying crumpled behind him on the bookshelf, his tie was draped over an open drawer of his desk, and Perry sat attired in an ink-stained white shirt with its sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. He had been holding his head in his hands, but he lifted it when he heard the footsteps in his office.

"Paul!" he cried out. "Did you -"

"Yes, I did," the private detective replied, striving to keep his equanimity as he looked at Perry Mason's pale, gaunt face. He lowered himself into a chair. "My investigation was so thorough that it makes the usual work I do for your murder cases look shoddy. I traveled all over the country, found many of this fellow's friends and former neighbors, and even interviewed his elementary school teachers."

"Go on."

The private detective pulled out his notebook.

"Gerald Tortine, age thirty-four. Originally of Buffalo, New York. Only child of Martha and John Tortine, now both long deceased. Was a quiet, well-behaved child, who particularly excelled in math. His family moved to rural Texas when he was thirteen, and he continued to be a model student there. Moved out to California for college, studied accounting, and met Agnes Bilburn, who would become his first wife, at the student coffee shop. They fell deeply in love and were married shortly after Gerald finished college, and he went to work for Gleason Insurance, and works at the same company to this day. Everyone there says that he is one of the most honest, hardest-working employees they have. He is actually being transferred to Mayhaven to begin a new branch there - and he has just bought a nice house in Mayhaven, at 14 Main Street, as a result. Anyway, eight years ago, a daughter was born to him and his wife, followed by a son two years later. However, several years ago Agnes was diagnosed with a lung tumor, and died. Everyone I interviewed said that he was a most devoted husband until the end. As a widower, he lived quietly with his children, but it appears that about six months ago, Della started coming over very often to watch them. Neighbors tell me that she has taken them to the park, the zoo, and even helped host birthday parties for both Julia and Dominic this year. As a result, she and Gerald began to spend much more time together. It seems like a classic case of nice boy and nice girl meet, fall in love, and decide to get married. He is not the most dashing fellow, but he is a good man. He does not drink, gamble, and is a meticulous rule-follower – I could not find one parking ticket to his name." Paul looked over and saw that his friend was none too happy with this report. He had suspected, rightly, that the defense attorney had been hoping to uncover some skeleton in Gerald Tortine's closet which could be used to persuade Della not to marry him. Paul closed his notebook, leaned forward, and said in a much gentler tone, "Perry, everything indicates that he will treat her well. She will be happy."

"I suppose that is one consolation," Perry muttered jealously, cradling his head in his hands again.

It was then that Paul noticed the state his friend's fingers were in. Trying to change the subject, he started to ask,

"Why do you have so much ink on -," his eye caught the typewriter on Perry's desk. "Don't tell me that you have been typing out your own documents and notes!"

"I have," Perry returned shortly.

"What happened to that girl from the temp agency you were going to hire?"

"I've hired no one."

"But you told Della you would get someone on Monday-"

"I told Della several things to save face!" the defense attorney exploded. "That evening, I would have told her that I had signed up to be an astronaut and was going to land on the moon, if I had thought that it would help me conceal what I actually felt about her announcement. The truth is, I could not bear – that is Della's office out there, and her typewriter and her chair – and as long as I lease this office, no one else shall ever sit at that desk!"

Paul gave Perry a long, concerned gaze.

"When is the last time that you slept, or ate or drank something besides coffee?"

The dark-haired man shrugged as if these basics of living no longer mattered.

"I don't remember."

"Perry, Perry, you can't fall apart like this over a woman!" Paul soothed. "Why don't you take a long vacation and - "

The lawyer struck his desk with his fist.

"No, Paul! Do not cheapen her memory by suggesting that I can forget it by taking a hike in the woods and by drinking a few bottles of bourbon. It will not work for me. I have lost, by my own inaction, the only woman I ever loved. A widower with two children saw her potential and her beauty and had the time and courage to court her and to speak his feelings, but not me! I have been an incomparable fool, and I deserve to feel my heart wrenching with every beat for the rest of my life." He stood up, wanting to get away from Paul, wanting to be alone with his heartache. "I'm going for a drive."

Paul took one look at Perry's face, and saw that it would be wiser not to stand in his way. He implored him to have care on the road and to stop if he felt himself becoming drowsy or otherwise unable to safely operate a vehicle, and let him go.

…

When he started out, Perry fully believed that he was simply taking his Cadillac for a long, aimless drive. However, around midnight, he suddenly realized that he had just passed a sign which said 'Welcome to Mayhaven' and that he was cruising down the town's Main Street.

Numbly, he began to read the numbers on the houses, and pulled over when he saw one bearing the number '14'.

Turning off his engine, he gazed at the house with its dark windows enviously. It was a Victorian dwelling, with a small yard before it. Perry Mason could afford a mansion that would make the building on his right look like a hut by comparison, but at that moment, he wished with all his heart that he could change places with its owner.

It was to this house that Della would come as a happy bride. She would stand in that doorway, night after night, eagerly awaiting her husband's return from work. In that building, she would pack lunches, play games, and laugh. Very soon, one of those rooms would likely be converted into a nursery, and Della would go about her day with a plump, cooing, precious baby in her arms.

A deluge of pain and exhaustion swept over Perry Mason, and he found that tears were streaming down his cheeks. The streetlights disappeared from his sight as he, in vain, tried to blink them away.

I know Perry was harsh in the last chapter, but after reading this, I hope you forgive him!

Thank you for all your reviews!