Happy new year to all of you!
Chapter 17 - A simple Crime
Della sank into the armchair with her eyes fixated on the gun on the table. The jigsaw puzzle in her head completed itself while she waited for Martha to break the silence. Did she kill Paul? She lived in Los Angeles and if Richard had told her about Paul's investigation, there was the possibility that she had taken matters into her own hands…
Her heartbeat increased and naked fear took possession of her. She had been living with a killer under her own roof. She had Martha allowed to be near her son and she had never been suspicious of her behaviour. She had been blind and a fool and she didn't know what was worse.
"A penny for your thoughts," Martha snarled.
"Did you kill Paul?" Della asked. Her voice was shaking and she hated that she sounded scared and vulnerable.
"I did," Martha answered. She picked up the gun and ran her fingertips along the barrel. It was a tender, almost gesture and it made Della sick.
"Why?"
"Oh, come on! You aren't that naive."
"All right, you did it for Richard."
Martha leaned forward. "I had to do it for Richard, because he wouldn't do anything about it. He had this absurd idea that Drake would give up his investigation because of you. Can you imagine that?"
"Actually, I can," Della said. "Because Richard was not a killer."
"No, he wasn't… You were his weak spot… his Achilles' heel. It almost cost him everything he had achieved."
"And so you went into Paul's office and shot him. Just like that." A simple crime. No conspiracy, perhaps even without a big deal of planning.
"It was a bit more complicated than that," Martha explained. "It wasn't easy to get to him. I observed him for weeks, before I realized my only chance to get to him was when he was alone in his office at night. To make sure he was there I made an appointment. I almost didn't go inside, because he had another client that night. She was sticking around the building, as if she was waiting for someone. When she finally went inside I followed her. The front door was open and I overheard them talking. Later I saw a picture of her and knew who she was. A wild guess?"
"Laura Mason?"
Martha grinned. "Exactly. The slut was there and she had her own agenda. She begged Drake to give her the files that connected Norton and Richard with the killing of Rebecca. But Drake wasn't fooled by her and told her to get lost. At first I was shocked that I couldn't find the files in Drake's office, but when no one else found them and Hardcastle got away scot free, I thought everything was over. I felt extremely lucky, but I had to stick around to make sure you and your… friend Mister Mason wouldn't get too close."
Laura always has her own agenda just as you Della thought, but kept the assessment to herself. With her arms crossed over her chest Della stared at Martha. Was she delusional? Mad? Dangerous?
"I never knew you had a gun."
"It's not mine. It belonged to a… friend." Again she ran her finger along the barrel.
"The soldier in the photo in your room?" Della asked. "He wasn't Richard's father, wasn't he?"
"No, he wasn't. I once told you about him."
Della remembered the night in her kitchen, when Martha had opened up to her about her love for another man. A man she had to let go, because she didn't want to hurt her son.
"The gun's all I have left of him. He died about ten years ago. You know, I thought you would listen to me and do the right thing, but, of course, you didn't. You're not just stubborn and headstrong, Della. You are selfish and that's inexcusable."
"And I always thought murder is the most selfish act people can commit."
"Everything I did was for the greater good," Martha spat and she grabbed for the gun in her lap."Everything. I gave my life for my son. I supported him, encouraged him and what did you do? You spread your legs for some insignificant lawyer who betrayed you."
"You know it's not that simple. You know I loved your son. I just didn't love what became of him!"
"Richard was a good man who did the best for his country. He may have got his hands dirty once, but that was because he wanted to protect you!"
Della shook her head. This was leading nowhere. But who could she convince Martha to hand her the revolver, before she used it.
"And what are you going to do now?" Della asked. "Will you kill me? Or Ruben when he gets home? How many people of your own family have to die for the greater good?"
"I have no choice but to kill you," Martha stated. "I can't let you raise Richard's only son."
Forcing herself not to run, Della moved uncomfortable in her seat. The only way she could get out of this, was to keep Martha talking until some sort of brainwave hit her and allowed her to escape.
"You haven't thought this through, Martha. They will find out it was you who killed Paul and me. Sooner or later they will identify the gun and connect it to you."
"They?" Pure sneer glittered in her eyes while she spat out the word. "You mean your Mister Mason and his friend from the FBI? I doubt it. Mister Mason is too busy with his wife and Anderson is just another officer. Unlike Richard I don't think Perry Mason is someone to be scared of."
"You underestimate him - just as you underestimated your son."
"I knew my son and I know you. And now it's time we ended this." Martha rose and ordered Della to do the same. Her knees felt weak, but she straightened her back and asked,"So, will you shoot me and get rid of me?"
"You will drive us out of town," Martha answered vaguely.
All of the sudden Della dawned that Martha really hadn't thought any of this through. She was desperate and if she remembered from the years she had spent in the courtroom at Perry's side, it was that desperate people did desperate things and that these actions were their downfall.
"I won't. If you want to kill me you can do it here. In your son's home."
"Don't tempt me." Martha's finger clenched around the trigger, but Della noticed her hand was shaking.
"I won't go anywhere," Della repeated calmly. "I'm going to stay right here and I will call Agent Anderson. He will treat you with fairness and respect, which is more than you deserve."
She didn't know if it was insane or brave, but she turned her back on Martha. The telephone stood on the board near the window front and she moved towards it. She heard Martha's steps and ignored them.
"Don't do that, Della. You will regret it."
Della didn't answer. She prayed silently, picked up the receiver, and dialled Andy's number.
"Put down the phone!" Martha's jarring voice was closer now and Della closed her eyes. She prepared for the moment Martha fired the gun or hit her with something.
"Put it down!" The words echoed in her ear, but there was also the beeping sound at the other end of the line. It was the signal of hope. It died when the noise of the gunshot almost crashed her eardrum. The receiver fell out of her hand and she wondered why she didn't feel any pain while her blouse was clotted with warm blood.
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After his visit at Laura's bedside Perry met Andy at his office. It was Sunday and the FBI headquarter was almost deserted. Andy who seemed to enjoy his solitude existence offered Perry coffee and a cigarette. In exchange Perry gave Andy a quick report of Laura's condition and what she had told him about the night of Paul's murder. Andy listened carefully and didn't interrupt Perry but the wrinkles on his forehead spoke volumes about his thoughts.
After a moment of silence Andy asked, "Do you believe her?"
"Let's say, it sounds likely," Mason answered. "It's possible that there was another person, a woman, at the scene who killed Paul."
"But what could be her motive?" Andy asked. "Paul didn't have any other difficult cases at the time he died. He only cared about the Rebecca Powell case. It was his mission to find out what happened to her and why and that leads to Norton and his friend Hardcastle."
"So let's assume someone other than Norton had an interest in silencing Paul," Mason said. "Who could it be?"
"Della's husband," Andy answered. "But I doubt he dressed up like a woman and walked into Paul's office to shoot him." He smirked.
"No, and since we can rule out Della as well, there's only one woman who fits the profile."
"Who?" Andy gave Mason a puzzled look.
"Martha Carlisle," Perry answered. He snatched another cigarette from Andy and lit it.
"Martha Carlisle," Andy repeated, baffled by the idea. "Excuse me, but I have a hard time believing that. Mrs Carlisle is an old lady not a trained killer."
"All she had to do was fiering one good shot," Perry said. "It was a conceivably simple crime. She made an appointment with Paul to make sure he was at the office. Then she went inside, shot him, and in less than five minutes she was gone."
"So Laura saw her leaving, but since she doesn't know Martha she can't identify her," Andy summed up. "And where's the murder weapon?"
"I don't know," Mason answered. "It's been months since Paul's death. It could be anywhere."
Andy scoffed and drank his coffee. "That's not even a theory, Perry. That's madness. I'm disappointed in you. Back then you did more effort to convince me of one of your cock and bull stories!"
"In other words you think I've lost my touch."
"I think you need more than wishful thinking. The murder weapon for example. Or a detailed description of the murderer, preferable from someone who isn't your wife and the way it looks a criminal."
"Spoken like a true FBI agent." Perry did nothing to hide his sarcasm. He rubbed his tired face and stared at the ceiling. There was no other explanation left that made sense. Martha lived in L.A., she had a motive, and the opportunity. What if the reason for Martha's presence in Della's house was that she wanted to keep an eye on the investigation?
"Why don't we talk to Martha. Let's say tomorrow morning," Andy suggested. "In the meantime I'll make some calls and we dig into her past. With any luck we find something to build on."
Mason grunted, it wasn't enough, but he agreed. After a gaze at his watch, he decided it was time to leave.
"Give Della my best," Andy said when Perry was on his way out. "And don't do anything about Martha. If you scare her off, she might do something stupid."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Mason said and wondered how he could convince Della to throw out her unwelcome lodger.
Andy's telephone rang after the glass door had fallen shut behind him. Ten seconds later he was back in Andy's office. The agent stared at the receiver in his hand. His face was white as a sheet.
"What happened?"
Andy didn't answer. He just grabbed for his gun and keys and stormed out of the room. Mason barked after him and when Andy refused to answer, he simply followed him - and prepared for the worst.
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