Disclaimer – I do not own any rights to the characters or trademarks of Perry Mason. This is intended strictly as a tribute to the series

A/N – Due to a lack of reviews I have gone back and completely revised this chapter. Please let me know what you think.

Singing Wolf – I've been trying to keep the formatting neat, but it's hard when uploading the story to this site messes it all up. I'll try harder to keep everything neat this time.

Paul Drake, the private investigator, took several long, deep breaths of fresh air. He looked at the list in his hand. What had Perry Mason hired him for now? Drake's task seemed simple at first. He was to interrogate the women on the list as suspects in the murder of Bill Anders. He was to prove that these women, like Mason's client, had motivation to murder Anders. But if all of the women had the same kind of information as the women Drake had crossed off the list already, this was going to make for one long and boring case.

Drake took another look at the list. He was a little bit surprised at the next name. He even wondered if it was some kind of mistake. But the note Mason had jotted beside the name made it very clear. Hanna Sharp. Multi-platinum recording artist. Well, thought Drake. This should be interesting.

> > > > > >

Hannah Sharp wasn't at her multi-million dollar home, which was a sharp contrast to the smoke-filled apartment Drake had crossed the last name on his list off at. Even through the tall iron gates, Paul Drake noticed the severe magnitude of the mansion, the three-story garage next to it, and the Olympic size swimming pool nearby.

The electronic voice told Paul Drake that Hannah Sharp was not in. That she was out filming scenes for a new music video. The voice refused to notify Drake of where the video was being filmed. Oh, well. One of those temporary setbacks private eyes are used to.

Drake could hear the upbeat rhythm of modern pop blaring from the studio as he waited outside. From the glare the security guard was aiming at him, Drake had his doubts about ever seeing Hannah Sharp.

His doubts were unfounded, however, because after a few moments, sure enough, Hannah Sharp walked out of the studio carrying Paul Drake's business card. Another security guard was hot on her heels.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Hannah. She was a seductive beauty with short blonde hair, just barely brushing her smooth, well- tanned, bare shoulders. She was wearing a neon orange bikini top and a pair of short-shorts, and her already seductive lips were painted bright red with high-priced movie studio make-up. Drake felt a surge of heat, causing him to nervously loosen his necktie.
"My name's Paul Drake," he said. "I'm a private eye."
"That's what it said on your card," said Hannah. "It also said this was a matter of life and death. Please, tell me this isn't just some sick way to get my autograph."

"It's not," said Drake. "This very well could be a matter of life and death. I'd feel more comfortable talking about this to you alone." He looked at the two over-sized goons, who just continued to glare at him.
"Is that necessary?" asked Hannah.
"I'd just feel more comfortable," responded Drake. Without saying a word, Hannah just gave a look to the security guards. The two thugs immediately sauntered off.
"Now, then," said Hannah. "What is this all about?"
"I'm working for Perry Mason," said Drake.
"The famous lawyer?" said Hannah. "I've seen him on the news."
"He's representing Helen Carmichael," said Drake.
"I know who that is, too," said Hannah. "She's the girl who killed Bill. Bill Anders, I mean."
"She's the girl the police think killed Bill Anders," corrected Drake. "Perry Mason thinks they're wrong."
"I'm not so sure about that," said Hannah. "And if this is about saving the life of that little murderess, I'm not so sure I want to help after all." She started to stand.
"Ms. Sharp, wait!" said Drake. "I just want to talk to you." Hannah sat back down.
"Make it quick," she said. "I'm going back to shooting soon."
"You used to date Bill Anders, didn't you?" Even beneath all the make-up, Drake could see a slight blush enter Hannah Sharp's cheeks.
"That's not exactly privileged information," said Hannah. "Everyone who knows anything knows that Bill and I had a pretty serious relationship. And a very nasty, very public break-up."
"You were really upset after the break-up, weren't you?"
"I turned to alcohol," said Hannah. "I ended up in rehab. Started to see a psychiatrist after that."
"I didn't think it would shake anyone that hard," said Drake.
"Well, it did," said Hannah. "After all, Bill wasn't just a boyfriend. He was my fiancé'."
"Fiancé'?" exclaimed Drake. "You two were going to get married?"
"At least, I thought we were," said Hannah. "I thought he really loved me. It seemed like we were the perfect couple. I was rich. All of my albums have gone platinum, and my concerts always sell out. He was rich. He had earned his fortune the old-fashioned way. Through business. It was the story of the millionaire and the pop princess. Turns out he was just leading me on for publicity for his company."
"When was the last time you saw Bill Anders?" asked Drake.
"A few weeks ago," said Hannah. "I was having dinner at LeFontaines, one of the most exclusive restaurants in L.A. Bill Anders brought a few of his business associates there to entertain them. I paid my check and left right away, but it took everything within me to stop from taking my kitchen knife and shoving it through his..." She bit her tongue to keep any more words from sliding out.
"If you don't mind my asking," said Drake, "where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"
"I don't mind at all," responded Hannah Sharp sharply. "I was giving a concert at the Los Angeles Concert Hall. Millions of screaming fans can vouch for me."
"Thank you, Ms. Sharp," said Drake. "I don't want to waste any more of your time."
"Ms. Sharp," came another voice. "You're wanted on set."
"Wait one minute," said Hannah. She reached down and grabbed a copy of her latest CD. After signing it and kissing it, adding the print of her beautiful lips to the package, she handed it to Drake. "Something to remember me by."

> > > > > >

Jacqueline Servos also took a while to track down. Drake entered the Café' de Rose' and luckily managed to spot a young woman matching the description he had been given of Jacqueline. He quickly offered to pay for the girl's next cup of coffee.

Jacqueline Servos was an extremely beautiful Latino girl, about in her early thirties. Her skin was dark and smooth. And her figure almost put Hannah Sharp to shame.
"What is it you want, senor?" asked the Latino girl.
"I understand that you used to work for Bill Anders?"
"Si, senor."
"I also understand that you used to be romantically involved with Bill Anders?"
"Si, senor."
"Is that all you can say?"

Jacqueline's eyes sprung alive with passion as she turned them towards Drake's.
"I was his housemaid," said Jacqueline. "I was young and attractive. Anders hired me for reasons that were not exactly professional, comprende? He spent the entire time I was there making passes at me. Finally, I gave in. We slept together."
"What happened after that?" asked Drake.
"He found out I was taking an occasional dollar or so from his drawer." She calmly took a sip of coffee from her cup.
"You were stealing from your employer?"

"I know," said Jacqueline. "It sounds nervy. But I figured since he was getting benefits from me, I should get some benefits from him." She took another sip of coffee. "Unfortunately, the boss didn't see it that way. Senor Anders fired me. He hired some ugly old senorita who was honest but didn't have exactly the same -- eh-- qualifications he had looked for while hiring me. And he refused to give a good recommendation to any prospective employers."
"I wouldn't blame him," said Drake. "Under the circumstances."
"He was going to cut me off without a dime," said Jacqueline. "But I threatened to tell everyone about our secret relationship. Bill was engaged to Hannah Sharp, the famous pop singer, at the time. He couldn't afford a scandal."
"So you started black-mailing him?" said Drake.
"I wouldn't call it that," said Jacqueline. "I would call it making sure I got one good severance fee. After all I'd been for him..."
"But it is possible that Anders got tired of being black-mailed," said Drake. "You might have done more than ask for a severance fee. You might have kept threatening to reveal the secret. Even up to before he died Anders couldn't afford a scandal. You could have..."
"But I didn't!" insisted Jacqueline. "I tried. Believe me, I tried. But as soon as Bill broke up with Hannah Sharp and I tried asking for more money, Bill told me I could do what I'd done to him to myself."
"All the same," said Drake. "If I choose not to believe you. If I
choose to believe you were still blackmailing Anders. He could have been tired of it. He could have threatened to tell the police. That would give you motive for murder."
"That's a lot to assume," said Jacqueline.
"Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?" asked Drake.
"I'm not sure I can remember," said Jacqueline. "I think I was grocery shopping."
"Can anyone confirm that?"
"No, senor," said Jacqueline. "Just believe me. I did not kill Bill Anders." With that, Jacqueline Servos got up and left.

"Excuse me," said another woman, coming up to Drake. She was a slightly overweight woman with short brown hair and tiny brown dots for eyes. "Did I hear you mention the name Bill Anders?"
"You did," admitted Drake.
"I heard he's dead," said the woman. "Is that true?"
"It is," replied Drake.
"Tell me more."
"Excuse me, ma'am," said Drake. "Who are you?"
"My name is Rowena Taylor," said the woman. "And it figures. I meet a man, and he dies."
"You knew Bill Anders?"
"Oh, yes, I knew Bill Anders," said Rowena. "Quite intimately. At least for one night."
"When did you first meet him?" asked Drake.
"Just a couple of weeks ago," said Rowena. "I met him on business in Illinois. You see, I'm a co-owner of Taylor & Jackson."
"I don't believe I'm familiar with that firm."
"Not many people are," admitted Rowena. "It's basically the same kind of business as Bill Anders ran. Except we operate out of Chicago. Bill Anders met with my company to negotiate a merger. Negotiations ended up leading to his hotel room."
"I see," said Drake. "So, what brings you to L.A.?"

"I came here to take a tour of Bill's business place," said Rowena.
"Make sure his company's all in order before making a final decision with my partner, Mr. Jackson. I was also looking forward to seeing Bill, for obvious reasons."
"To try to pick up from where you left off in Chicago?"
"No," replied Rowena. "To give him a piece of my mind. The jerk promised to call me and never did. In fact, I'm kind of glad Anders is dead. There was something I never liked about him. Something that seemed dishonest about him."
"Business-wise?" queried Drake.
"No. Relationship-wise," said Rowena. "Bill Anders was a good man of business. I could tell that about him. He did everything by the book. If he ever did anything wrong, it was the way he handled the women he loved. I know of his reputation. You think that would have kept me from falling for his charm, but it didn't. But business-wise, I didn't really worry about Bill. It was his partner that bothered me."
"Jack Anderson?"

"Yes," said Rowena. "I met him once or twice before. A real player.
Not relationship-wise like Bill. Business-wise, like you said. There's something shrewd and dishonest about that one, you mark my words."
"Ms. Taylor," said Drake. "Do you have any problem with telling me where you were between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"
"I have no problem whatsoever," said Rowena. "I was back home in
Chicago. I only arrived in California yesterday. Is that all of the questions you have for me?"
"Yes, it is, Ms. Taylor," said Drake. "Thank you."

> > > > > >

Drake was tired and exhausted by the end of the day. He finally made it to the last name on his list: Christy Kevins. This would be interesting.

> > > > > >

Christy was at home. She cracked the door, just enough for Drake to get a good look at her. Her hair was bedraggled, her teeth were yellowed, and her breath and hair smelled of tobacco.
"Yes?" she groaned.
"Ms. Christy Kevins?"
"Who wants to know?"

"My name is Paul Drake. I'm a private investigator. I'd like to ask
you a few questions about Bill Anders."

Christy immediately began to close the door. Drake stopped it by jamming his hand in the frame.

"Wait!" he cried anxiously. "A young girl's life may depend on you."

"How's that?"
"Helen Carmichael is being tried for the murder of Bill Anders," said
Drake. "If she's found guilty, she could get the death penalty. I work for Perry Mason, the lawyer representing Helen Carmichael."
"And he wants to get her off?"

"He believes she's completely innocent."

"I'm sure he does," said Christy, dryly and sarcastically. "All
right. Talk to me. But make it fast."
"I understand Bill Anders had a restraining order put out against you," said Drake. "I understand this was after you stalked him around L.A. with a shotgun."

"That was never proven," said Christy.
"Did it ever come up in court?" Drake asked. For the first time, he was aware of loud noises coming from inside the house.
"No. Anders dropped it."
"Do you mind telling me more about the relationship you had with Anders?"
"I kind of do,"said Christy. "It's not exactly pleasant memories for me. How is this going to help save the life of that girl you were talking about?"

"I'm just trying to find out as much about Bill Anders as I possibly can," said Drake.
"He was a good for nothing, low-life jerk and a slob that never cared about anyone or anything other than himself, and he wasn't fit to live!" Christy spat out. There was a loud crash from inside the house. Drake saw Christy turn her head and scream obscenities at someone. "You want to know about my relationship with Bill Anders? Fine. He had just started his company. I was an intern there. He started buying me roses. We started a relationship. After a month, he said sleeping around with an employee was going to hurt his image. So he broke it off."
"Simple as that?"
"Not quite," said Christy. She pushed the door open wider. Standing beside her was a young boy who just came up to her waist. The boy had messy hair, the same color as hers, and was dirty and disheveled. He must have been about 6 years old. "Mr. Drake, meet Bill Jr."
"Really?"
"That's not his real name," said Christy. "I just wanted to emphasize to you exactly who the father was. I call him Jordan Montgomery Kevins. I was still pregnant with him when Anders left me. And fired me, with not a penny to take care of my baby boy."
"Did Anders know about him?"
"Of course he knew," said Christy. "That was our deal. I didn't bring up Jordan Montgomery in court, and Anders didn't bring up the times I took potshots at him with my shotgun. However, Anders did put that restraining order out on me, and that makes it pretty difficult to get child support. Perhaps your lawyer friend can help me with that?"

"It's a little late now," said Drake.
"Of course," said Christy. "But now you can see why I'd be inspired to take up my shotgun at Anders. Or even shove a knife through his heart."
"Where were you between 6:00 and 9:00 Saturday night?"
"I was at home," said Christy. "It's hard to get out anywhere when I've got a little one to raise all by myself."
"So the boy's your only alibi?"
"And he can vouch for me in court," said Christy. "Does Mr. Mason really want to see that?"
"No," said Drake. "I don't think he does."

> > > > > >

Paul Drake had agreed to meet Perry Mason at Slam Duncan's, the sports bar and grill, that night. When Drake entered the noisy, crowded, smoke-filled dining room, Mason was already nibbling happily on some French fries.
"PAUL!" called Mason, screaming at the top of his lungs to be heard. "OVER HERE!"

Drake took a seat across from Mason.
"WELL!" Mason screamed.
"We've got nothing," said Drake.
"WHAT?" asked Mason. "Paul, you're going to have to speak up. I can't hear you that well in here."

"WE'VE GOT NOTHING!" Drake screamed. "Nothing at all! Unless you're going to have..."
"What was that?"

"Huh?"
"What was that?"
"Perry, I can't hear you!"
"I said, 'WHAT WAS THAT YOU WERE SAYING'?" screamed Mason.
"I WAS SAYING," answered Drake, "that the only good those women could do for you is if you plan on having them testify that Anders deserved what he got. Maybe then the judge would sympathize and lower the sentence."

"None of the girls seemed like good suspects to you?" asked Mason.
"They might convince the judge that your client wasn't the only one with reason to want Anders dead," said Drake, still screaming to be heard above the maddening crowd. "But other than that, I can't see how they'd be able to help you. They all have perfect alibis."
"So does Jack Anderson," said Mason. "The organizers of the dinner convention he was at confirmed his story."
"What?"
"Huh?"

"What did you just say?"

"Never mind," said Mason. "Come on, Paul. We'll finish talking outside."

> > > > > >

Drake's ears were still ringing when the two left the sports grill and stepped out into the cool, quiet evening. When Drake looked at his companion, he noticed Mason was smiling and chuckling to himself.
"What is it?"
"Oh. Nothing," said Mason. "I knew it was a long shot with any of those girls, anyway. They wouldn't be able to explain that letter the police received. I'm convinced our best suspects our the girls Helen shared her plot with."
"What about what you told me Jack Anderson suggested to you?" asked Drake. "He said someone might have overheard his conversation with Helen back in that madhouse. Isn't it possible one or more of Anders' old flames could have been in there?" He jerked his thumb back in the direction of Slam Duncan's. Mason began to chuckle again.
"What is it?" repeated Drake.
"We've just demonstrated that was impossible," said Mason. "I had a little talk with the manager. A big championship game was being broadcast while Helen and Jack Anderson ate. The conditions would have been very much the same as they were tonight. It's a miracle Anderson heard what Helen was saying to him, let alone the people at surrounding tables. I still think that Kay Silvers, Natalie Culp, and Susan Cook are our best suspects."
"So what's next?" asked Drake.
"There's not much left we can do," said Mason. "Tomorrow, this goes to court. And I just wish I had an answer to the big question."
"What's the big question?"
"Just who was it that wrote that letter to the police?"