Here we go with chapter 4. Sorry for the lack of posting, but there's this thing called 'real life' that sometimes grabs my full attention. Look at it this way: as long as Della was sitting with Perry on the couch, nothing bad could happen to her ;-) She's safe with him! Always.

Chapter 4 – Unsolicited advice

Los Angeles, Monday, 22th October 1973

Perry met Paul in a bar outside of Los Angeles. The place was crowded with all kinds of shady figures who didn't care about the conversation at the tables next to them. It was exactly the kind of place Perry preferred for the kind of conversation he was about to have with Paul. Over a beer and a steak, that reminded him of a briquette, Perry told his former sidekick… his former P.I. and lifetime best friend the reason for their unusual meeting. Paul's reaction was as expected: disbelief, anger, and perplexity.

"You've got to be kidding me," he exclaimed and ran a hand through his gray hair.

"I wish I was."

"How's Della?"

"What do you think? It scared the hell out of her."

"Understandable, but…" Paul leaned forward. "Forgive my stupid question, but, why am I talking to you and not to Richard Carlisle himself?"

Perry pursed his lips. "Because Richard Carlisle has no idea what happened to his wife."

Paul let out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus!"

"I know, but Della insisted we keep him in the dark – at least for the time being."

Paul shook his head. "I'm afraid Della doesn't realize what will happen, if this thing becomes public, and he isn't prepared for it."

"I tried to reason with her, but she's too shocked to see sense," Perry said, hoping Paul would still do what needed to be done. "That's the reason we have to be quick. We need to know who did this to her and we need the negatives."

Paul pushed his full plate aside and lit a cigarette. "I hate to state the obvious but the photos are the only place we have to start, unless she has a hunch about who could have done it."

"She hasn't. At least, that's what she claims," Perry said and reached inside his jacket. "I don't have to tell you that no one can ever see them."

Paul laughed, but it sounded like a raw bark. "Believe me, I wish I didn't have to see them." He looked at the package. "How many?"

"About two dozen."

"Damn it! Listen, Perry… I'll go to Sacramento as soon as possible. I'll have to talk to her myself."

Perry produced another envelope from the pocket of his jacket. "Her telephone number and the times you can reach her. Make sure Carlisle won't get wind of this."

"I'll do my very best," Paul said. "Do you want my unsolicited advice?"

"Shoot." Perry stated, looking him square in the eyes.

"The sooner he knows what's going on, the better. This is not the first time my client has been a wife who tries to hide things from her husband. Things like this never end well!"

Perry agreed with him because Paul was right… but there was another truth Perry did not dare to admit to Paul. Knowing that Della entrusted him with something that Carlisle didn't know anything about gave him meaning. It gave Perry the certainty that he still meant something to her…that their love, the depth of their past relationship…the trust they had shared transcended time. They still had something that could not be touched by another man, at least, not in Della's eyes. It was selfish, arrogant even, for him to harbor these feelings, but he had never claimed to be a saint.


Washington D.C.

It was after eleven o'clock when Laura Mason snuck into her husband's office. She locked the door behind her and switched on the desk lamp. Usually, it wasn't her style to spy on Perry, but something was wrong with him and she needed to know what it was for her own sanity. She was used to his cranky moods and his workaholic behavior, but, a few days ago, he had disappeared completely and was flying all over the country without telling her why. She had the lingering feeling that he was having an affair, but sneaking around with other women wasn't his style. She was convinced most men went astray every once in a while, but Perry was not most men. He didn't take his marriage vows lightly. In fact, there was only woman who had the power to seduce and lure him and her name was Della Carlisle. However, wasn't she living the dull life of a housewife and mother on the west coast?

Laura sat down and started searching his desk. As always, it was annoyingly tidy. His diary was filled with appointments for the following week, but, as far as she could see, none of the notations in front of her appeared to be of a private nature. There was no telephone number or letter that awoke her suspicion. 'I wonder where the key is to the top drawer?' She pondered to herself. 'After all, where else did people hide something incriminating if not in locked drawers?'

She looked around…searching for a place where he could have hidden the key. Her eyes fell onto a flower pot on the window board. It was worth a try, but of course, too easy. Frustrated, she rose and arranged everything the way it had been before. On her way out, she passed the desk of Perry's secretary, Rebecca. An idea struck her and she stopped in her tracks: Perry trusted Rebecca completely. Would he trust her with the keys for his desk?

The appearance of Rebecca's desk was as plain as the woman herself. Laura found her utterly boring. Her style was too simple. Her clothes were practical, but not stylish, and her hair could do with a modern cut rather than the old fashioned topknot she usually fashioned each day. With glasses covering most of her face, it was impossible to tell her real age. Any number between twenty-five and fifty was realistic. In a way, she was like Della Street, but far less attractive and not charming whatsoever. In a way, Rebecca was the perfect secretary for Perry. With her in his antechamber, Laura didn't have to worry about long hours or working lunches.

To her delight she found a single key underneath Rebecca's type writer - a key that actually opened the mysterious locked drawer. She searched the contents with growing anticipation and hit pay dirt. Underneath a pile of files, she found a photograph that confirmed her worst suspicions. She felt her face flush red hot. Her pulse was racing and an unknown fury took possession of her. How dare he cheat on her with his former secretary? How dare he keep the proof for his indiscretion in his office where his new secretary could find it at any time? Had he lost his mind? After all, he was the one who wanted a seat in Congress and he needed his wife's help to get there. A little more loyalty would suffice in her opinion. Oh…he would pay for this… and so would the ever, so proper Mrs. Richard Carlisle.


Sacramento, Tuesday, 23th October 1973

Della and Paul met at Sand Cove Beach. It was a cloudy and windy day. Only a few hardboiled souls were running along the shore; the perfect place to have a conversation that no one else was supposed to overhear.

"I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances," Della said, as she linked arms with Paul. "I'm a lousy friend."

"You're the most beautiful friend I have," he corrected her with a smile. "And don't worry about the circumstances. I've seen a lot in my time."

"Without a doubt. Still… I always thought I understood the women who came to us with their stories. I think compassion and really knowing what these women were going through is a different pair of shoes."

"That's why we need to get you out of this mess," he said. "Is there anything you can tell me that you haven't already told Perry?"

Della sighed. "I've gone over it a hundred times, already. I can't think of anything unusual that evening, but I have to admit my memory of the whole evening is quite blurry. Maybe there was someone and I can't remember them."

"Is it possible that one of your lady friends is involved?"

She shook her head. "I told you I left the club on my own. The others left together hours after I had gone."

"Did you feel watched that evening or any other time before or after? Has someone bothered you? A plumber? The postman or perhaps a friend of your husband?"

She thought about this for a moment and remembered something and dismissed the idea instantly. "About two months ago, Richard fired someone from his office."

"Who?"

"Actually he was an old friend of Richard's: David Crombie. He's made several passes at me during parties. At first, I didn't tell Richard, but once I had enough, I told him about it and he took his consequences, but I doubt he is involved in this."

"And why?" Paul asked curiously.

"From what I heard, David has moved to New York and…" she broke off.

"And?"

"Did you look at the photos?"

Paul sighed, "I had to, Beautiful."

"The man in them looks far too young to be David, who celebrated his sixtieth birthday two weeks ago."

Paul nodded. It was impossible to say who the people on the photos were, but both had young, well trained bodies. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to check out Crombie. "All right… anyone else?"

"No, I really can't think of anyone." She affectionately squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry, Paul. I'm lousy material to work with."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to her. "Don't ever be sorry for anything," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "I promise you we will find out who did this to you and why, but…."

"Yes?"

"Perry said, you haven't told your husband yet…."

Annoyed by the subject, she turned away, but Paul got hold of her shoulders and turned her gently to him. "Della, please. I can't judge your husband or your marriage, but keeping something like this from him is wrong. If something like this happened to my wife, I would want to know about it."

"And so would Richard," she agreed, avoiding Paul's inquiring gaze.

"So?"

"All right… I'll tell you, but you have promise me not to tell anyone. Not Perry, especially not Perry."

Sensing she had indeed held something important back, he drew a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to make a vow he had to break sooner or later. "I swear."

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to tell him something she had buried deep within her heart and mind. "Last summer, I almost had an affair."

Paul swallowed and said nothing. Patiently, he waited for her to continue. "His name was Nicholas Renzi. He was a young lawyer who worked for Richard's office. In the beginning, it was all rather harmless, but when Ruben had problems at school, he started to give him lessons. Ruben simply adored Nick because he was paying him the attention Richard couldn't because he was busy at work or… unable to give. So, he became a frequent guest in our house. As the weeks went by, he developed a crush on me and I felt… appreciated… wanted. I was swept off my feet to be honest."

"Did you…?" He broke off, unable to phrase the obvious question.

She shook her head. "We didn't… or to be precise we never had the chance. One afternoon, he left our house in Malibu and never arrived home. A few days later, Richard told me Nicholas had been involved in a car accident. He died from his injuries. I was devastated and so was Ruben."

Paul rubbed her arms. "Della..."

"I know, I know... call it a midlife crisis, if you want to. Anyway, I told Richard about it and, as you can imagine, he wasn't happy. We had some rough months, but we are fine now. I can't risk losing his trust again."

"Don't you think that feeling attracted to someone else and being kidnapped are two very different kinds of beasts?"

"Perhaps, but I don't want to find out if he appreciates the difference. You know one reason why I felt so drawn to Nick was his resemblance to Perry. I saw him and he reminded me of the very first time I met Perry. And now these photos end up in Perry's mail..." Della's voice trailed off and she wiped a lonely tear from her cheek. "Perry's a red rag to Richard."

Paul hated seeing her desperate like this, but there wasn't much he could do to make her feel better. He let his eyes roam the beach, allowed himself to absorb the details of his beautiful environment, before he carefully phrased what was on his mind. "Listen, Beautiful, I can't tell you what to do, but would you listen to my unsolicited advice?"

A small smile broadened over her face. "Of course."

"Honesty is always the best, no matter how brutal or ugly the truth is. How can your husband trust you, if you don't trust him?" He cleared his throat. "And about Perry... He's scared for you…. And I promise I won't tell him about your almost boy toy."

She shot him a knowing glance, but at the same time a coy smile crossed her face. "The photos shocked the daylights out of him. I think he finally realized I'm not a saint, but I don't want him to think I'm sleeping with people who remind me of him."

"Even if you want to?" It been had out of his mouth before he could stop himself. She responded with a playful hit against his shoulder. "You're impossible!"

"I just think he likes the idea of being your knight in shining armor. He misses his old life, you know."

"So do I at times, Paul. So do I."

He opened his arms and gave her a long hug. "I really missed you, Paul," she said when she broke free from him again.

"I miss you, too and I even miss that old Ex of yours. We used to have some great times, didn't we?"

"The best of times," she agreed.

"And now... I hate to break it to you, but I think our next meeting won't be one we have to keep a secret."

She narrowed her eyebrows. "And why?"

"Don't turn, but there's a car up there on the street and the guy on the passenger's seat is watching us with something that's not just a pair of opera glasses."

"Someone's following us?" It took all her will power not to look over her shoulder.

"Black limousine, two people inside. It practically smells of high profile P.I."

"If you're lucky your husband sent him after you," Paul said and took her arm. "I think it's time to get you home."


Richard Carlisle opened the car window and took the binoculars his driver handed him. It took him a while to recognize the man who was walking along the beach with Della. He hadn't seen him in over a decade, but it was, without a doubt, Paul Drake. Drake's presence confused him. What was he doing in Sacramento and why did they take a walk along the beach in this weather? With growing discomfort, he watched Della's and Drake's easy mannered interaction and the embrace that took a little too long for his taste.

"Are you sure that isn't the man who was at my house a few days ago?" He asked the investigator.

"Quite sure. This one looks different. The other one was bigger."

He sighed and rubbed his tired face. He had seen enough for today. "Drive on," he ordered. "Let's get away from here."

~~tbc~~

*Cookies for everyone who recognizes the name "Nicholas Renzi" from the originaL TV show. And btw: comments are highly appreciated ;-)