A little something for another Sunday in isolation. Stay healthy and strong, my friends!

Chapter 4 - Confession

If Della had one flaw, it was her lack of cooking skills. As long as Perry knew her, the woman hadn't been able to produce one decent meal and her life as a housewife hadn't changed anything about that. The scrambled eggs needed salt and one side of the toast was burned. Some things never changed and strangely enough he found comfort in it.

"Do you feel restored enough to talk now?" She asked with an amused glance on his half empty plate.

"Well, I guess I do."

Now that he had changed, shaved, and eaten - more or less - he felt halfway alive and was mentally prepared for a conversation that didn't just revolve around the weather. Having her sitting right across him also gave him the opportunity to take a closer look at her. She looked healthier than the last time he had seen her. She had gained a few pounds - her silhouette was now perfect in his eyes. She also hadn't touched a cigarette and ignored his package in the middle of the table. He knew she had renounced her vice more than once in the past but had never been able to keep up her good intentions. After Paul's funeral she had snitched a cigarette from his pocket and he had found her smoking it behind a tree. He smiled upon the sad memory.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"Nothing actually. I still have no idea why you are here," he said and fished for a cigarette and his lighter.

"I told you..."

He interrupted her, "I know, you told me Laura asked you to find me. I just can't believe you would jump, just because she told you to do so."

"Why don't we do this the other way round?" She asked. "Why are you here, hiding from the world behind a false name?"

"I'm working a case," he answered vaguely.

"But this isn't just any case. This is about Paul, isn't it?"

He scrutinized her face, trying to figure out who much she knew already, but for once he couldn't read her. She was just sitting there, her arms crossed over her chest and stared at him. When exactly had she accomplished a poker face?

"Why do you ask, when you already know?"

"Because I want to hear it from you. Paul was my friend too, you know. I think I deserve to know why he died."

"What if I told you, I want you to stay out of this?"

She shrugged, "I won't accept it. Why should I?"

"Because, I think, it's best for you."

She narrowed her eyebrows. "Don't patronize me."

"I have no intention to do so."

"But?"

"No but..." He sighed. "There are things I can't tell you, at least not yet."

"And why not?"

"Because I need to figure them out myself. So, if I asked you to go back to Sacramento, would you do so? No question asked?"

"So, it's really that bad," she summed up and rose. To occupy herself she started clearing the plates and carried them to the sink. "You were right about one thing."

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously.

"I didn't just drive here, because Laura asked me to." She returned to the table and sat down. "Last week when Richard was out of town I wanted to clear out some old papers and found an old box. Inside was a file that was labeled with the name 'Rebecca Powell'. As you can imagine, I couldn't resist and read it. Inside was the usual stuff. Old records, reports, and two documented transfers from four years ago. Right before and after Rebecca's death, Richard transferred money to the account of a man named Peter Hardacstle."

Perry frowned and she noticed it. Peter Hardcastle was the man who had stood trial for Paul's murder and had walked out as a free man.

"Do you still want me to go?" She asked, knowing she had his full attention.

"What else was in the file?" Perry wanted to know, aware he was taking her bait like a hungry fish.

"Nothing."

"Do you know Hardcastle? Did you meet him?"

Della shook her head, "No, not really. I've seen him once or twice. He was once working for Congressman James Norton after he was released from the army. For several years he was his factotum until he decided to open his own security company."

"So Richard and Norton are more than acquaintances," Perry concluded and pictured Norton, a small, bald man in his fifties. He had only met him once in person, when he and Della had met at the police station where Rebecca Powell had been held for murder. Norton had arranged a meeting for Della and Rebecca as a favor for Richard.

"Yes, they play poker once a month." She sighed and got back onto her feet, apparently too agitated to sit still.

"Did you talk to Richard about any of this?"

Again she denied his question. "To be perfectly honest, I didn't know how or what to ask him. When Laura came to see me, she mentioned that you were still investigating Paul's death and so I thought..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. She leaned against the kitchen counter and stared down to the tip of her feet.

"What did you think?"

"Perhaps you know more... Perhaps you can tell me, I'm just overreacting and imagining things. Well, I guess your behavior means you obviously can't."

He didn't know what to say. He had nothing to offer that could debunk the obvious conclusions. If anything he wanted to comfort her, but it didn't seem appropriate in this situation. It would feel like taking advantage of her and that would be unforgivable. He laced his hands together, stared at a spot of spilled coffee on the tabletop.

"Della, I'm..."

"You see, there's no reason to protect me from anything, Counselor. I can handle the truth."

"I know you can handle anything. That's not it."

"So, what is it?"

"If Paul had to die, because your husband is involved in the cover up of another murder, I'm just as much to blame as Richard is."

He heard her steps as she came back to the table and stopped at his side. She placed her hand on his broad shoulder, just like back then, when they had worked their cases together. "And why's that?" She asked bewildered.

"Because Paul did what should have been my job. Paul was digging into Rebecca's murder, because he felt there was something too convenient about her death. I felt the same, but I did nothing."

He bowed his head, ashamed of himself. He didn't know what had come over him. Della was the very last person he should tell all of this. She wasn't his confessor. She wasn't there to comfort him. There was no need to burden her with his failures when she already had enough on her plate to deal with. If her husband was guilty, she was bound to suffer one way or the other. He didn't have to add that he ignored every indication of a conspiracy behind Rebecca's death himself, because he wanted the case closed for her sake. Physically and emotionally Rebecca had Della pushed to the limits. Her death meant Della's pain was over and she could move on. All he ever wanted was for Della to be safe and happy and in the end Paul had paid the ultimate price for it.

"It isn't your fault." Her hands slowly moved over his neck and gently squeezed the tense muscles. The tender gesture was supposed to relax him, but it only made him feel worse. He shook his head, and wanted for her to leave him behind with his bad conscience, but she wasn't someone he got rid of just like that. With one smooth movement she sank down next to his chair and asked him to look at her. He wanted to refuse her, but her gentle insistence was stronger. He turned his head and saw tears swimming in her eyes.

"None of this is your fault," she said, almost choking on her tears. "Whatever Paul did was his choice. I'm sure he would have talked to you, if he had found anything concrete to go on with." Again her hand squeezed his neck. "If someone is to blame, it's Richard and me. We messed it up, Perry. Not you. You can't prevent what you can't predict."

"I should have followed my instincts," he objected. "And all I did was..."

"Protecting me," she concluded for him. "If you want to blame someone for Paul's death, blame me." Tears were streaming down her face now she struggled to get back onto her feet, but he caught her wrists and pulled her back against him. His eyes pierced into hers when he spoke to her again. This time his voice was steady, almost harsh in his attempt to get through to her.

"It wasn't your fault. You never bribed a killer, nor did you pull a trigger. I can't speak for your husband or for myself, but I know that you're not the one who caused people to die!"

She struggled to free her wrists, but he didn't release her. "Please," she whispered rawly and he loosened his grip, without allowing her to back off. In a bold move he pulled her closer. He tasted the salt of her tears, felt her trembling against his chest, as their mouths found each other and melted into a raw, passionate kiss.

####tbc###