Lethal Lullaby-Chapter 14
Day is Done
Della's head was on Perry's chest, her shoulders shaking as she wept. The wide gulf between life and death that separated her from him seemed insurmountable. And then she felt a hand stroking her hair gently.
"I sincerely hope you're not going to swear like that in front of Katnip," a raspy voice said.
Della raised her head to look at the dimples that she knew so well. "Perry!"
He removed his fingers from her hair. His hand, as he cradled her cheek, shook. It wasn't her imagination. Then he pulled her head down, placing a kiss on those crimson lips.
When he released her, she punched his shoulder. "Darn you! How on earth…?"
Perry struggled to sit forward, looking across the room as Paul was just standing. The stinging, throbbing pain in his back forced him to rethink his position. "Boy, that hurts."
Della was still staring worriedly at him. Perry smiled and pulled aside his jacket and shirt to show Della the vest he was wearing. "It was Tuttle's idea. They use them to protect actors from blanks. But he failed to tell me how bad it was going to be with a real bullet."
Paul limped over to join them. "You're not kidding, pal. Even with me deflecting the bullet, it still hurts like a son-of-a . . ." he looked at Della, amended quickly, "gun."
Della stood, placing her hands on her hips. "You two are going to be the death of me yet!"
Perry frowned, and his brown eyes darkened under the thick brows. "Me? What about you? There we were, planning and planning, and you go and . . . And why? Darling, you could have been shot!"
"As opposed to you, who was?"
He ignored that. "Della, I planned for that contingency. And Paul here—well, Tuttle planned for him. But you don't have a vest under that dress. I know . . ." He lowered his voice and for a moment his eyes swept her figure again and a half-smile broke across his face, "I've already undressed you twice since you arrived."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Perry, this is hardly the time or place for your nonsense!"
"The point is," he carried on resolutely, "I'm mad at you, you could have been shot, and it did nothing to help the situation."
Her temper steamed. "Paul and I came because you were without backup, you brute. And it's a very good thing we were here. Paul is the real hero, you know. He's the one who handled the gunman that was threatening the piano man."
"Help me up, will you, Paul?" Perry asked, then frowned again when they all heard the approaching sirens. "Tragg."
Turning toward the door, Della saw Salvatore kneeling on the floor. She hurried across the room to his side.
"Salvatore, I—" Then she saw Luca. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a cry. "Oh, no! Not that!"
Salvatore turned his face to Della, recognition not immediately forthcoming. His ears were ringing from the proximity of the gunshots, and his vision was not steady. But there was something about the stunning blonde hovering near him that seemed familiar. He shook his head to clear it, not bothering to stem the tide of his tears.
"Salvatore," she said his name gently, like a prayer.
That cleared the mental cobwebs. He knew her at once. His gray eyes met her false blue ones. "He was almost another son to me. Luca was always ready to do anything I asked of him. He was protecting me. He . . . Perry!"
Salvatore bent his head, not able to finish. Della knelt next to the older man, putting her arms around him to hold him as he let his sorrow overtake him.
Della whispered quietly in Salvatore's ear, "Riposerà con gli angeli."
She felt him nod his head slowly. "Si."
Perry, now on his feet, came to stand behind her, reaching around to place a hand on Salvatore's shoulder. He opened his mouth, about to reassure the man that his son and grandson were both safe, when the doorway to the restaurant was filled with the imposing visage of Lieutenant Tragg.
"Mason?!"
Perry turned as Tragg and Sgt. Brice entered the room. "Over here, Lieutenant."
Tragg, careful not to compromise the crime scene, skirted overturned tables and stopped next to them. It was apparent the man intended to read Perry the riot act, but seeing the woman holding Salvatore, both apparently weeping, he stopped short.
Turning to Perry, Tragg motioned him away from the two. "Okay, Perry, let's have the short version."
"Dead guy in the doorway is hitman Nikolai Andropov. Unconscious guy at the back is his accomplice. The big man is Salvatore's man, Luca." He cleared his voice of emotion, then stated matter-of-factly, "He didn't make it, either."
Tragg pushed his battered hat back on his head. "Okay." He glared up into the dark, disturbing brown eyes that looked all wrong. "You look . . . odd. Am I to assume the beautiful blonde over there is Della?" He mimicked Perry's nod. "Where's Drake?"
"Right here, Tragg." When Tragg looked at the man who spoke, he was literally at a loss for words.
Paul tried to hide his grin. "Sorry, Tragg. Uh…I think we better let the emergency guys in."
Tragg was still staring at Paul. "That's your voice, but . . . Oh, never mind. Is the other guy dead, too?"
Paul now grimaced. "No, but I'm gonna need to get to the hospital and get the bullet out of my leg."
Perry started as Paul's mouth curved up, making the bushy mustache twitch. Then he pitched forward and face-planted on the floor.
Della gave a startled cry, then watched as her husband and the police lieutenant knelt to inspect the cuff of his pant leg and ripped it open. Blood was running from a bullet hole in the fleshy part of Paul's thigh. Perry stood and hurried to the bar, grabbing a towel and returning to press it to the wound.
The emergency personnel entered with a gurney. They wasted no time putting Paul onto it.
"I'll get to the hospital as soon as I can," Perry promised his unconscious friend.
Tragg snorted. "You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Perry. It could be hours before you're free."
Perry stood his ground. "I need to get Della home, Lieutenant. Let Salvatore and Della give their statements first. You know where to find them if you need to ask anything else."
Tragg looked around the room. "Counselor, why is it you always are around when the bodies turn up?"
He shrugged, then winced. His back was not in a forgiving mood. "I think, Tragg, that's down to sheer luck."
"Good luck, or bad?"
Perry smiled, and the scar made his face seem dangerous. "Depends on the body."
"Go on, get Della and the old man home. I'll find you," Tragg told him, his voice gruff to mask the humor.
Perry squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks, Lieutenant."
Tragg smiled in return, then sobered. "Go on, now, get outta here before I change my mind!"
PDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPD
When Perry, Della, and Salvatore finally returned to the mansion it was nearly two in the morning. Salvatore had been in silent contemplation over the loss of his trusted friend. Perry and Della sat as close as possible, whispering loving words and reassurances to each other.
After checking the office to make sure Vincent and Michael Pinelli were both in sound health, Perry had placed a telephone call to the hospital. The nurses' station reported that Paul Drake had been taken into surgery and was likely to remain in guarded condition for the next twenty-four hours. Perry left word to be contacted if his friend's status changed and had then followed Tragg's orders and gotten both Salvatore and Della into a secure vehicle.
As they pulled through the gates, Perry leaned forward, scanning the grounds in the darkness. Something set his pulses racing. The guards, normally visible in their positions along the roofline, were absent. He looked over at Salvatore, but the man was preoccupied.
"Stop," he ordered the driver, and reached for Della's hand. "Something is wrong."
Della straightened in her seat and looked up.
"What is it?" Then seeing the darkened house, she started to get out of the car. "Where are the lights? My God, Katherine! Aunt Mae!"
Perry held her back. "Salvatore." The older man was silent. Della laid her hand on Salvatore's arm, shaking it.
"Salvatore? Answer me." The sharpness of the command snapped him into awareness.
"Yes, Della?"
Perry leaned across Della. "Salvatore, something's wrong. Look at the house."
Salvatore looked out. "No lights." His gray eyes smoldered in the darkness as his mouth compressed to a fighting line. The man he used to be, before he was on the right side of the law, was easily recognizable. "Linc, drive to the second garage."
The driver swung the big car around immediately and floored it back out the gates. He took the curves so fast Perry had to hold Della so she wouldn't slide off the seat. When they reached the garage at the bottom of the hill, Linc pushed a button on the car's dashboard, slowing to wait for the doors to swing open. Entering the darkened garage, Linc again depressed the button. As soon as the doors swung closed, brilliant lights flashed on. The room was surprisingly big, two other cars sitting to the side as well as built-in shelves and cabinets along one of the walls.
Climbing out of the car, Salvatore hurried to one of the cabinets, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking it. Inside was an arsenal the police department would have loved to call their own.
Salvatore picked out a 9mm handgun and handed Linc a similar gun. Turning to Perry, he asked, "Can you handle yourself with a gun?"
He nodded curtly. "A .38. One question: Where we are?"
Salvatore dipped his head, then looked pointedly at Della. "She knows part of this, but the chance never came for me to explain to you. We are under the grounds of the house. We will shortly take a walk and come out in my office."
At the mention of Della's name, Perry turned to her, taking her hands.
"Della, I think you should stay here, where—"
Della's eyes flashed stormily and her lips thinned. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. My child and my aunt are up there. If anyone is staying here, it will be you! You're the one with a bullet in your back. Now," she drew in an angry breath, fought for control of her temper and won. "I will follow you and I'll be perfectly safe. Won't I, Salvatore?"
Salvatore came to stand beside the two. "Mia figlia, will you stay in my sanctuary? I will show you how to watch cameras."
"Cameras?" Perry parroted. To his knowledge, that was a first for a private residence.
After a moment's hesitation she acquiesced. "Alright, yes. I'll stay there."
Perry's eyes rested on her face and he breathed a sigh of relief. "When this is over, you and I need to have a serious discussion."
Della walked into the circle of his arms and kissed him gently before giving his cheek a gentle pat. "Of course, Chief."
Grabbing her hand, Perry placed a kiss on the palm before lightly nipping it. "Minx."
Salvatore cleared his throat. "That can wait."
He and Linc led the way up the long stone passageway. Because it was dimly lit, Perry hung on tightly to Della's arm. Finally, they came to a solid wall. Salvatore reached up above a light and pressed a button, standing aside as the rock wall swung out. Pushing aside the heavy tapestry of St. George, he cautiously and quietly stepped into his sanctuary.
Perry came to a sudden stop as he entered the room. Spinning in a circle, he took in the books, the artwork, everything. His mind reeled, then righted. It was no secret why the man kept his prized possessions hidden away.
Moving to his desk and sitting in the chair, Salvatore turned to the wall behind him. It appeared to be just another bookcase, but once again he pulled a book from the shelf—he was too quick for Perry to note which one—and flipped a switch. A section of the bookcase slid down, revealing several small screens, each showing a different part of the house.
Perry came to stand beside his chair. His eyes roamed over them, then honed in on one in particular. He pointed. "Tony's room."
The room where Tony lay was very crowded. Mae, holding Katnip in her arms, sat beside his bed. Across from them sat a short, heavy-set, semi-balding man. His bushy mustache under an obviously broken nose gave him a cruel countenance. The black suit he wore seemed almost too large for his frame. Beside him stood an angry-looking Sgt. Sinclair, the same detective who had beaten Tony to within an inch of his life. But what frightened Perry the most was the large gun Sinclair was holding, pointed not at the man in the bed, not at the intensely hostile woman, but directly at his daughter.
While they watched in horror, Mae Kirby turned heated eyes on the balding man, and, although they couldn't hear it, made a statement that no doubt would leave blisters on the ears of anyone in the room.
"Perry!" Della thought she screamed, but it came out a hoarse whisper.
The great Perry Mason stood rooted to his spot, literally shaking with fear.
