CHAPTER 6

Dave Tynen, one of the security guards, upon seeing Kaitlynn Parrish standing over an obviously dead Lon Hawkes, quickly ordered the study doors closed and called the police. Thirty-five minutes later Lt. Ed Brock of homicide blustered into the room and demanded statements from all present. Fifteen minutes after Lt. Brock's arrival the coroner declared Lon Hawkes officially deceased, most likely by a knife wound inflicted by a left-handed person, and the lieutenant turned with purpose toward Kaitlynn Parrish, a piece of paper in his hand.

"Do you recognize this document, Miss Parrish?"

Kaitlynn took the paper from him with her left hand, a confused look on her face. "W-what is this?"

"I'd like the coroner to note that Kaitlynn Parrish is left-handed." Brock announced loudly, motioning toward an officer standing at the perimeter of the room. "Kaitlynn Parrish, I am arresting you for the murder of Alonzo Hawkes."

Kaitlynn burst into tears and held her arms out once again to Max Parrish but was restrained by a uniformed officer. "Daddy..."

Max Parrish, white with fright, turned to Perry Mason. "What's going to happen to Kay, Perry?"

"That depends on Lt. Brock," Perry replied grimly. He didn't like Lt. Ed Brock. Not the way he didn't like but respected one of his predecessors, Lt. Arthur Tragg in the performance of his job, but dislike based on the fact Brock was a goon, an officer impressed with his rank and authority who wielded his power detestably, and who had once arrested Della, handcuffed her, and put her in a holding cell. Subsequent dealings with Lt. Brock had done nothing to change his opinion of him as a police officer or a human being.

Perry stepped between the distraught bride and her father. "Kaitlynn, tell the police that under advice of counsel you've been instructed not to answer any questions." He turned toward the coroner, who was still kneeling next to the body of Lon Hawkes, writing notes. "Doctor," he barked, "you're sure the autopsy will confirm the wound was inflicted by a left-handed person?" He knew Kaitlynn to be left-handed, as was Max Parrish, and that he could easily deflect the stunt pulled by Lt. Brock under cross-examination.

The doctor rose to his feet and dusted the knees of his pants, plainly perturbed by what he perceived as disrespect from Lt. Brock and to a lesser degree from the famed criminal attorney. "No question."

"Thank you, doctor," Lt. Brock interjected. "Mr. Mason, you saw for yourself your client is left-handed."

"I saw her take a piece of paper proffered to her left hand," Perry admitted freely. "If that's all you've got, Lieutenant, I will have Miss Parrish out on bail before you've typed up the arrest report."

"Let's see what I got," Lt. Brock shot back at Perry Mason, his mutual dislike for the famed attorney palpable to anyone within ten feet of the two men. "I got a room here, sir, with bars on the window. I got a victim left in here unconscious but alive. I got two doors – one locked; the other under constant surveillance by the security men outside. And I have a suspect, sir, Kaitlynn Parrish, who made threatening remarks against the victim and was then found standing over the body of the victim – one Alonzo Hawkes And that's what I got, Mr. Mason, that – "

Perry Mason dispatched Lt. Brock's sarcastic tirade with an impatient wave of his hand, strode to one of the study doors, reached around and held up a key. "The key was in the lock on the dining room side. Anyone could have entered the study from that room. My associate and I personally saw several people come in and out of the dining room before Hawkes was found dead."

"Yes, Mr. Mason," Lt. Brock agreed with gleeful condescension, "but your client was the only one found standing over the dead person with the murder weapon at her feet and blood on her hands."

"Why would she kill him? What possible motive would she have had?" It had always irked him how homicide detectives could make arrests without knowing salient facts surrounding the crime. Brock was merely bombastic, possessing none of the inherent smarts of Arthur Tragg, and Perry sorely missed matching wits with his old friend at this moment.

"Mr. Mason, sir, I'm working on that. I'm working on that. Now, would you like to talk to your client before I take her downtown, sir?"

"Thank you, I will." And slammed the door behind him, which was better than punching the supercilious Lt. Brock right in the kisser if he called him 'sir' one more damn time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm pregnant."

The call he'd answered with much anticipation was supposed to be Della, a sexy goodnight from out of town, not a surprise announcement from Laura Parrish, whom he had ignored since...that night. He replied with the first words that came to him. "Congratulations! Max must be very happy."

"Max doesn't know. The first person to be told should always be the father." She paused for effect before dropping her bomb. "That's why I called you."

He groaned inwardly and raked his hand through his hair. What a colossally stupid man he was to have put himself in a situation like this. "You dialed the wrong number."

She made a noise; half sigh, half irritated mutter. "The doctor says I'm seven weeks pregnant. Seven weeks ago..."

"I know what happened seven weeks ago." That particular nightmare replayed on an endless loop in his mind with no escape in work or sleep. "Either the doctor is wrong about the timing, or you and Max..."

"We didn't! Not for weeks before and after..." she suddenly broke down in piteous weeping. "What am I going to do? Max will know it's not his."

"I don't know what to tell you, Laura, aside from it's not mine." Time and distance had lent a perspective to his months in Georgetown he hadn't noticed while there and Laura's proclamation was not what he needed in his life, not when he and Della were so close to intimacy again. He could not have fathered Laura's baby, of that he was certain. "How reliable is this doctor?"

"He's the best in Arlington. There is no mistake."

"I'm sorry, Laura, there is definitely a mistake. You need to get a second opinion."

The quiet weeping became full-out crying. He was so mean, so calmly cold. "How can you do this to me? I'm not a...I don't sleep around. The only other man I've slept with is you..."

He remained silent.

Her sobbing increased in intensity. "Max will know... he'll know...I can't lie to him."

He rubbed his eyes wearily. He should be talking to Della, out of town at her aunt's in Bolero Beach, whispering sweet goodnights, not protesting paternity with another woman. The calls were a favorite part of his day, second only to seeing her smile when he entered his office each morning, and had done more to mend their fragile relationship than either could have anticipated. "I told you it's up to you whether or not to tell Max what happened. I won't tell him, Laura. If there was another..."

"No! Only you! Only you and Max. I swear."

"Then there isn't a problem," he said gently. How could he have involved himself so intimately with Laura Parrish, his friend's wife; beautiful, intelligent, fascinating, yet neurotic, narcissistic, and adolescently self-centered? How had he allowed confusion to culminate in a betrayal of his most important relationship with a woman who didn't recognize grown-up reality? How could he reason with someone like that?

"I hate you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Laura. I regret what we did, but I don't hate you." Della would be proud of him, but he would never, ever, ever tell her.

"Oh my God, you're back with her, aren't you?" He'd told her the woman's name, the woman he was involved with, but she refused to say it.

"We were never apart." Laura didn't need to know he and Della were struggling to rediscover their relationship. She did, however, need to know sleeping with her was stupidest thing he had ever done, and he had done plenty of stupid things in his lifetime.

"Bastard."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Laura," he repeated calmly. "I made the biggest mistake of my life that night, and I apologize for everything, from inviting you in to unceremoniously kicking you out...and especially for what happened in between."

"I told you I was divorcing Max and you said it was over with that other woman." This was not going as well as she had planned.

Sadly, she didn't recognize that she was the other woman in this story. He couldn't deny her marriage to Max was consistently rocky, or that he had been attracted to her, or that he had told her it was over with Della after the rockiest time in their relationship. Neither her suspect reasoning nor his witless guilt and grief excused infidelity for either of them. If Laura told Max she was pregnant with the child of their friend, a marriage and a serious ten-year relationship could go kablooey in an instant, and he would do just about anything to see that one of those things didn't happen. "If you tell Max your baby is mine, I personally guarantee you will regret it for the rest of your life."

"You are a bastard." Laura said without a trace of her earlier tears and hysteria, hackles up in defense of his veiled threat. "How can you say something like that after what we did..."

"I can say something like that because it's true," he interrupted. "Laura, despite everything, I care about you." Inexplicably, he did care. He was not a love 'em and leave 'em kind of man, which was the flaw in his personality that hurt Della one too many times and had led directly to this surreal moment. "We can be friends...you, Max, and me...but if that isn't in the cards, then so be it. You need to make a good decision, Laura. I am not your baby's father."

"Bastard," Laura repeated bitterly. "Max will divorce me and I'll be alone, and it will be your fault."

"Yes, it's my fault," he agreed, wishing she would just hang up on him. "I love someone else. I've loved her for a long time, and we've been through things I hope other couples never have to go through." He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. "I lost sight of what was most important to me and I'm sorry. That's all I can say." Sorry really was the hardest word to say, and it pained him that she didn't understand a damn thing.

"And you're okay with another man raising your child," she said, bitterness dripping from every word.

"If you've only been with me and Max, then your baby is Max's." How many different ways did he have to say it until Laura believed him? He would not tell her why it was impossible. The reason was too personal, too filled with sadness, and he hadn't even told Della.

"I thought more of you, Perry Mason. I thought you were an honest man who took his responsibilities seriously."

He had always prided himself on being honest, but life had revealed to him that complete honesty had a great capacity to hurt. "I do take my responsibilities seriously. I've loved Della from the moment I met her and she is my uppermost responsibility."

"Bastard."

He was weary of her game, weary of being called a bastard by a woman who presented herself as being above a woman who would call a man a bastard - three times. "We made a mistake that night, Laura. You're a married woman and I have Della." He had never told anyone so much about his relationship with Della, and the fact that he cared about Laura Parrish made it all the more confusing and difficult for him. "Tell Max the baby is his, because it is."

"I can't tell Max about us."

"One fact doesn't necessary make the other fact true. I won't tell him. I can't do that to him."

Laura was silent for several seconds. "He would be devastated." She sighed. "But if the baby looks like you..."

"It won't," he said firmly. His baby would have looked like her mother, with chestnut hair and perfect cheekbones. His baby's mother dreamed of blue eyes, but he would have been thrilled with mercurial hazel.

"I don't want to lose you."

"The three of us can be friends, Laura, nothing more." As he said the words he knew shouldn't. Then he doubled down on them, because of his deeply ingrained need to clean up messes – especially ones he created. "I'll always be there for you and Max."

"Me and Max. That's how you see this, don't you? Me and Max, you and Della..."

"That's the way it is."

Laura sighed again. "I never wanted children. The only positive thing in this situation is that I'll have your child to remind me of that night."

"Don't say that ever again." Calm escalated to impatience; impatience gave way to frustration; and frustration morphed to outright anger in a few seconds. "I need to hang up. Della will be calling any minute."

"I hope she's worth giving up your child for." He was treating her like a child, the way Max did when they argued. She'd underestimated his devotion to...his secretary...and she would give him plenty to think about.

He could have cried at the petulant words meant to make him feel guilty. He hadn't given up his child. He had loved his child, prayed for his child, and mourned for his child but he had in no way given up his child. "Good-bye, Laura. Be happy." He dropped the receiver into the cradle.

Five seconds later, the phone rang.

"It's about time you called," he said gruffly, the receiver only half-way to his ear, confident Laura would not have called back.

She laughed. "I had to wait for Aunt Mae to fall asleep. She wouldn't approve of what I intend to say to you."

He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows on his bed, her laughter a salve on open wounds. "Sounds interesting, Miss Street."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A hand-cuffed Kaitlynn Parrish paced back and forth in front of Perry Mason. He found it annoying. How had Della watched him pace endlessly with her eyes wide and worried during myriad murder trials?

"Kaitlynn, Hawkes was a violent man. If you caused his death..."

"I didn't do it, Uncle Perry. I didn't do it."

"The blood on your gloves..."

Kaitlynn held out her hands, palms up, the bloodstained wedding gloves having been photographed, removed, secured in evidence bags, and locked in the trunk of a squad car. "He was lying on the sofa. I thought he was asleep, so I tried to wake him but he was dead. Then I saw the knife on the floor and picked it up."

"Why did you want to wake him? Why did you go into the study in the first place?" And why, oh why did people pick up murder weapons when they saw one? Fully a third of his cases wouldn't have amounted to anything if clients hadn't picked up a bloody knife, a discharged gun, or a broken statue.

"I was mad. He attacked Dad's reputation. He ruined my wedding. I don't know what I wanted to do. Just tell him off, I guess." She moved toward Perry. "I didn't kill him. You have to believe me."

"Oh Kaitlynn," he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her to his side in a quick hug. "I believe you. But we have a lot of other people to convince."

There was a knock on the door and Lt. Brock poked his head into the room. "Time to go, Miss Parrish. Not many murder suspects would be allowed to talk to their attorneys this way."

"Prick," Perry Mason said under his breath.

"What's that, Mr. Mason?" Lt. Brock looked at the famed attorney sharply.

"Nothing. Just reminding myself about something."

Lt. Brock's eyes glittered with animosity for a moment before he motioned for two officers to take custody of Kaitlynn Parrish. "I hope you'll remember my cooperation once Miss Parrish is booked at headquarters."

"I'll remember a lot of things, Lieutenant."

Lt. Brock popped an arrogant salute and followed his officers from the study, a fuming Perry Mason right behind the procession.

Della stood outside the door of the Parrish mansion watching with concerned sympathy as Kaitlynn Parrish, in her wedding dress and tuxedoed bridegroom at her side, was escorted from the house. Her somber parents trailed behind, their own elegant wedding attire a cruel juxtaposition to a reality she had experienced too many times to count.