Chapter 9 - Memento Mori

Washington D.C., Monday, 29th October 1973

When Perry's secretary came to work on Monday morning, she was welcomed by a boss who was in the worst of moods. As always, she went inside his office at half hast seven, armed with a pile of mail.

"Good morning, Perry," she greeted him and gave him a smile…a smile which he didn't return for the first time since she started working for him. He just stared at her, his facial expression, made of stone.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "I know you had a bad weekend. I read it in the papers... should I have come to the office?"

"No, Rebecca. Why don't you sit down?"

Unsure what to expect, she dropped the mail onto the table and sank into a chair.

"You're making me nervous."

He ignored her statement. "How long have you worked for me?"

"One year and one month," she replied.

"And, during those thirteen months, you certainly understood how I'd like my office to be run."

"Of course."

"So, why is it that you're hiding a key for a drawer …a key I never gave you in your desk?"

Rebecca felt how she blushed. She had often heard people talking about 'the gaze'. Aside from his sharp mind and eloquence, it was his ultimate weapon to force the truth out of a reluctant witness. His eyes were merciless. He didn't blink… he didn't move. He just stared at her. An alpha male if there ever was one.

She swallowed. "What key?"

"My wife found it under the typewriter on your desk. It must be a duplicate, because there's only one and that's always in my pocket."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you saying someone else must have put it there?" He asked coldly.

"For the lack of a better explanation, yes," she answered, finally able to hold his gaze.

"And who could have done that? And more importantl, why?"

"I don't know."

"Is there anyone you can think of who would frame you like this?"

She thought for a moment and then she shook her head, "There's no one. Absolutely no one."

She couldn't tell if he was satisfied with her answer or if he believed her and it was unnerving to say the least. His face was still a mask when he released her.

"What about the mail?" She asked with a knot in her throat.

"I'll look at it later. First, get Richard Carlisle on the phone. I need to talk to him - and close the door." She nodded, but he wasn't paying her any attention so she left.


It was only with great reluctance that Richard picked up the receiver to answer Perry's call. The only good thing about it was that, as long he was calling Richard, he wasn't calling Della.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Good news. Last night, I got a call from Paul Drake. He found the location where the photos were shot as well as the negatives. The rooms have been occupied by a photographer named Peter Smith. He vanished from the face of the earth about a week ago. I bet he's the murder victim."

"Thank God!" Relief flooded him.

"Unfortunately, the place was completely deserted, but Paul found out that a woman was paying the rent for the last couple of months. It seems to be the same person connected to the bar in Sacramento and the lingerie. Anything new about our victim?"

"Not yet, but I'll talk to the detective and the D.A. later on. I hope the results of the autopsy can tell us more about the guy. Tell Drake to call me to fill me in on the details."

"Good. Wait for his call and keep me posted!"

"I will."

He hung up. For the first time since the corpse had been found, he felt less on the edge. That Drake had finally found the negatives was a small and first victory. Perhaps not everything was lost yet.


Della looked at the engraved invitation in her hand and rolled her eyes with annoyance. Richard had already told her about it, but she had pushed the upcoming event to the back of her mind and, now, his office had sent her the invitation as a reminder. A masquerade ball on Halloween was really what she didn't need right now. Richard would, of course, want her to accompany him and she knew her reluctance was childish. It was just that the idea of being surrounded by people dressed up in costumes wasn't at all inviting or alluring right now. Now that her nightmares had finally faded, she didn't want them to return. Surrounding herself with hundreds of people with covered faces would do just that.

With a sigh, she put the invitation aside and opened the other mail. Aside from the usual letters, bills, and ads, there was a small package. It had been stamped in Washington, but there was no sender. She eyed it with rising uneasiness. She had the definite feeling that this wasn't a gift she wanted to open.

Of course, she could wait until Richard was home, but, if the package was harmless, she would look like a nervous fool. So, she got a knife from her kitchen drawer and opened the tape glued around the box.

If a limb or some similar gruesome had been inside the package, her shock couldn't have been any bigger. With trembling hands, she took out the small note and the black piece of silk and put them on the table.

The note read "Memento Mori." The other one was a black silk mask.

One hour later, Paul Drake was sitting in Della's kitchen. In front of him, a cup of coffee as he inspected the package.

"It seems we're getting to the heart of our problem," he said and looked up to Della who was leaning against the kitchen counter…a cigarette in her hand and her eyes fixed on the objects on the table.

"So, you mean it's really a death threat? This was all about me all along? 'Memento Mori - Remember you have to die'," she quoted.

He nodded gravely. "Looks like it! Look... if you ask me, it's time to call in the Feds. You and your family need protection."

She sighed and stubbed her cigarette into the ash tray.

"There's something else I need to talk to you about," he said, unsure this was the best moment to bring up the subject.

"What is it?"

"As promised, I haven't told Perry anything about the one thing you told me…." He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and handed her a photograph. "Among the negatives and the equipment from your photo shoot, I found this. It's not the guy who was killed in your apartment. Do you know him?"

For over a minute, Della just stared at the picture. Her thumb ran tenderly over the portrait of a young man in his early thirties. "That's Nick Renzi," she finally confirmed Paul's suspicion.

"I guess that makes it official. This is about someone's revenge."

"But why? Nothing ever happened between us!" She placed the photo behind her on the kitchen table.

"Well, maybe someone else feels differently about it. Did he have a girl friend? A sister? A mother? Someone who would want to you held accountable for his death?"

"Paul, he had a car accident!"

"I know, Beautiful..." He sighed and patted the chair next to him. "So, did he have a girl friend?"

"He was engaged, but he broke it off the day before he died." Embarrassed, Della sank onto the chair. "He told me when he was at our house in Malibu a few hours before he died."

"You were the reason for his decision?"

She hesitated. "That's what he said... I told him to think about it twice, but he said he had made up his mind. He also wanted to hand in his notice. He didn't like his job and he thought if he cut all strings attaching him to Richard and his private life, it would be easier for me to make a commitment to him."

"Wow. That one had it bad," Paul commented dryly.

"I told him there was no way we could be together. I didn't have the heart to tell him that about seventy percent of my feelings for him were a result of my feelings for a man he didn't even know. I just sent him away... and he said he would be back… well, he never did. He died."

Paul allowed her a few minutes of peace before he continued his questioning. "Did he ever mention the name of his girlfriend?"

Della shook her head, "No, I don't think so... but wait... There was a picture of her in his office."

"Was it a red head by any chance?"

"No, she was a brunette, I think. As far as I remember, he didn't have any other family left. No one ever collected his things from the office, so Richard's secretary just stored them somewhere - just in case someone would turn up one day."

Paul checked his watch. "Good, I'm on my way. Call your husband's office and tell them I'm coming over." He finished his coffee and rose, glad to have something promising to do.

"All right."

"And you... talk to your husband. He has the connections to the right people. And..."

"Talk to Perry," she finished his sentence.

Paul nodded. "I think that's exactly what you have to do, Beautiful."


Washington D.C, Tuesday, 30th October 1973

Against her better judgement, Della travelled to Washington D.C for the second time within one week. After fighting a long, inner battle, she had decided to tell Perry about Nick Renzi in person instead of telling him over the phone or in a letter. The other reason was, of course, the party. Richard insisted she come with him and, in the end, she had agreed, although she was still reluctant about attending it.

Now, she was standing outside the Smithsonian Museum… waiting for Perry. He had insisted on meeting in a public place where they couldn't be overheard.

"Good morning, Counselor," she said when he stepped next to her.

"Good morning, Miss Street." A wide smile appeared on her face. No one else did ever talk to her like he did.

She turned on her heels to face him. "You look tired," she said when she saw his gray face.

"The same could be said about you. Paul said he is worried about you."

"Paul is exaggerating," she said in an attempt to smooth his concern.

"I see Richard convinced you to come here."

"He didn't leave me much of a choice since he decided to take Ruben out of school for the weekend. Do have any idea what do you have to promise a nine year old when he is about to miss this year's Halloween party at his best friend's house?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," he admitted amused. He bit back a remark about her husband's perseverance. Instead, he took her elbow and, together, they walked away from the crowded entrance of the museum.

"Paul told me there was something you wanted to tell me - something that could support my theory about the murder of the so called Mr. Smith in your apartment."

"He really knows how to make things interesting," Della quipped.

"I had the impression part of what was worrying him was the way you were dealing with whatever is bothering you."

"Because to me it makes no sense."

They reached a park bench and sat down.

"Did he tell you about the photo he found in that studio in Sacramento?" Della asked after a short moment of silence.

"Yes. He also told me the man's dead and that you would tell me anything else that I needed to know about him."

Paul had really kept his word and suddenly she wished he hadn't. "He died last summer in a car accident. He was a lawyer who worked for Richard and he was giving my son extra lessons after school."

"So, he was more than just an employee?" Perry asked.

"Yes. The day he died, he told me he had left the girl he was engaged to, because he was in love with me."

Without looking at Perry, she felt how he tensed next to her. He swallowed. "I see. What happened between you?"

"Less than between you and me over the last couple of weeks," she answered softly. "But truth be told, I'm not sure it would have stayed that way."

"What does Richard know about this?" Perry asked.

"I told him about Nick and me – or at least I told him the least painful part of it."

Perry had been staring into nowhere…his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He turned to her. "What could be the least painful part about this for a husband who loves his wife?" he asked, profoundly astonished.

"I told him I had feelings for Nick I didn't act on, but I never told him why I had been so attracted to him in the first place."

"Which was?"

Della bit her lower lip and shrugged. "He reminded me of you. Oh, he was younger, more naive, and less persistent when he wanted something, but there was a lot of you in him."

He began to understand and a tremendous amount of guilt nearly choked him. The abrupt question, when all of this had become so annoyingly complicated and hopeless, popped up in his mind and he received the answer he deserved. 'When you screwed it up, Mason.'

"I had hoped to keep it all a secret because my life is complicated enough as it is, but I guess that's not possible."

He reached out to touch her hand and noticed she was wearing gloves.

"Don't... Someone could see us."

"Well, I hope a certain someone is watching us right now." He tried to focus on the evidence and what needed to be done. Maybe later, he would deal with everything Della had just told him. Or maybe he would just try to bury it.

"Which brings us back to your theory," Della said, obviously glad for the change of subject.

"Yes. It makes a lot more sense to me now. The fiancé of your Mr. Renzi sounds like someone who could be out for revenge."

"I refuse to believe someone can be so delusional!"

"It's because you have not a delusional or hateful bone in your body, which makes you a rare and unusual exception. Believe me. I work in Washington. I know a thing or two about delusion and revenge."

"And you think that woman is your present secretary?"

"Yes, I do. Paul did some digging about her. Rebecca Powell didn't even exist until August 1972. One month later, she applied for a job in my office and has been the perfect secretary since then. She runs my office, has access to most of my files and my diary. I haven't trusted an employee that much since you handed in your notice."

"I guess she also matches the woman in the photo he found among Nick's possessions?"

Perry nodded. "Yes."

"Why couldn't she just place a snake in my mailbox? That would have been a lot cheaper and less elaborate."

"Because she wants to see you squirm... preferably in a way that drives a rift between you and the people you love. And since that didn't work out, she will soon do something much more elaborate to get under your skin."

Della still wasn't completely convinced of his theory, but she decided to trust his instinct. "She's done a pretty good job so far."

"Yes, but we're all still here, aren't we?" Perry asked. "Even my wife is lying to keep you out of jail. That must trigger something within her."

Della acknowledged his statement about Laura with a smirk. "Is that the reason you all insist I go to that stupid party?"

"Yes, Della."

"Who's to say she's after me? If I were her, and wanted to hurt me, I'd go after my son or my husband."

"Actually, I have a plan to make sure nothing will happen to them or to you. Will you listen to me?"

"When have I ever not listened to you?"

"When I begged you to forgive me about Laura," he answered without hesitation.

"That was different. If I remember correctly, you were drunk that night." Of course, she remembered correctly.

"First, you tell me that you wanted to sleep with a younger man and now you're rubbing salt into my wounds. I guess, not so deep down you think, there's still a lot I have to be hold accountable for..."

She shook her head. "No. But if what happened with Nick showed me anything, it's that there's a lot I never really worked out for myself. Death threats and abductions, of course, don't really help to make any improvements. And then, there's also the undeniable fact that I'm not getting any younger."

"You'll never age for me, nor fade, nor die," Perry quoted softly, forcing a smile out of her.

"Aren't you a bit biased?"

"No, I'm not. During my time, people in court applauded me for my sense of truth and eloquence."

"Don't flatter yourself and don't flirt with me," she teased him. "After all, we're being watched. There's someone sitting on a bench across the lawn, hiding behind a newspaper."

"I know that." They exchanged a look and, simultaneously, got back to their feet and continued their walk. "It's all going according to plan."

"So, what exactly is the plan, Counselor? I'm all ears."

~~~tbc~~~