Notes: I'm sorry it took so long to get this last segment up! It's been crazy this past week and I kept forgetting I wanted to look this part over again before posting it. I really enjoyed writing it; I think I might write another along the same lines sometime.

The afternoon was long and grueling. It wasn't easy tracking down all of the other girls who worked at the Play It Again, Sam Club, nor was it always easy getting them to talk.

It didn't help that Steve was furious over what had happened to his partner and friend. It wasn't serious, but it could have been, and he was boiling mad at whoever had fired that gun.

By the time he pulled up in front of Carla Darling's apartment building, he had at least learned some valuable information, and he was pleased that it went along with his forming theory. Now to see if Carla would further confirm it.

He paused to talk with the officer on duty. "Anything?" he asked.

"Nothing suspicious has happened while I've been here," the young man replied. "She went out on her balcony to have breakfast, but other than that she hasn't come outside. I talked to her neighbors and they said she usually stays indoors and sleeps late."

"She was up early today," Steve said as he headed inside.

Carla answered right away when he knocked. "Oh, Lieutenant!" she greeted, seeming nervous. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Really? Why's that?" Steve asked, staying on guard.

She shrugged helplessly. "I . . . I just thought you'd finished your business. Unless you found Carson, of course. . . ."

"Nevermind, Carla." A young man suddenly appeared in the doorway next to her. "We have to trust someone, and I've only heard good things about Lieutenant Drumm." He looked to Steve. "Lieutenant, I'm the man you're looking for."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're Carson Brill?"

"That's right. I've been hiding out because I've been afraid that Butch Walker's men would come after me." Carson sighed. "I had a good reason to kill him, after all."

"Did you kill him?" Steve demanded.

"No, I didn't. I wasn't even home when it happened. I can prove it." Carson looked to Steve. "What did you come here to talk about?"

"There's a new angle of the case I'm looking into," Steve said. "I just want to ask a few questions."

Carla noticeably relaxed. "Oh. Well, then, by all means come in!" she chirped, opening the door wider.

"Thank you," Steve said, stepping into the apartment.

xxxx

The Play It Again, Sam Club wasn't open in the daytime, albeit it was nearing evening by the time Steve arrived. As he stepped inside, the light from the doorway shone into the darkened nightclub, capturing him as a silhouette.

A lone figure sat at the bar, sipping from a martini glass. "We're closed," the woman's voice said flatly.

"I know." Steve came and leaned on the bar. "I'm not here as a customer, Milly."

"Oh? And what are you here for?" Milly turned to look at him more fully. "I don't suppose you decided to share a drink with me."

"No, I'm here to arrest you." Steve laced his fingers, looking at her calmly, darkly, his eyes burning with an inner fire.

Milly was completely unfazed. "What do you think I've done?"

"You murdered Butch Walker in front of Carson Brill's house," Steve retorted. "And you tried to kill a lot of police officers a half hour ago." He straightened. "You wounded my partner."

"I'm sorry." Milly stood, setting her martini glass down. "But I don't hear any proof that it was me, Lieutenant."

"Technically, it could have been any one of your girls," Steve said. "They all get the standard beige gloves. Whoever shot at us was wearing beige gloves. And high-heeled shoes—I heard them very distinctly as the shooter ran away."

"Then you must have another reason to specifically accuse me," Milly said.

"I have," Steve agreed. "The shooter stepped into some dirt as she was running away. We got an excellent moulage of her left shoe. I see dirt on your left shoe. And I wonder if you would pass a paraffin test?" He looked to her gloves.

Milly breathed harder, either nervous or angry. But when she spoke, her voice was still level. "It's all circumstantial. And how does any of it tie me in with Butch Walker?"

"He was dating you. I found that out by talking to the other girls at the club. Not to mention from a picture I found caught in the blackjack table in Walker's store. Only he turned his attention to Carla Darling as soon as he saw her, didn't he? You were jealous. I should tell you that Carla confirmed all of this."

"She's lying," Milly retorted.

"Is Carson Brill lying too?" Steve watched Milly stiffen. "Yes, we found him. Carla was hiding him. He said you were on his street right around the time he found Butch dead in his front yard. Were you hoping he'd be blamed and the police would shoot him on sight?"

"Of course not! And what about the woman who approached you in your office?" Milly retorted. "The killer could have been her! It's ridiculous to accuse me!"

"Oh, but Milly." Steve stepped closer to her. "That woman in my office was you. All you had to do was change your appearance a little with some makeup. You're well-versed in show business; that would be all too easy for you. You pretended to be a concerned sister and tried to use me and Brice as birddogs to sniff him out, hoping that if we didn't shoot him, you could do it before he could tell us what he knew."

Milly took a step back. "You can't prove any of this!" she snapped. "Not for certain! Just because I might have been on the street doesn't mean I'm the murderer!"

Steve towered over her. "No, it doesn't, but I can offer a lot more evidence," he retorted. "We have the security tapes from Walker's gambling joint. There's some real juicy stuff on there. Not to mention, your fingerprints are all over his private office. And the picture I mentioned."

Milly stiffened. "That still doesn't prove . . ."

"Give it up," Steve growled. "You know, it's really a shame you decided crime was the way to go, Milly. Criminals are always caught eventually."

Something in his tone of voice must have reached Milly, because her head bowed in resignation. She didn't say more, but she also didn't resist arrest.

xxxx

It was dark by the time Steve delivered Milly personally to the police station and filled out a report. "Oh, Sergeant," he called, flagging down Sergeant MacDonald as he passed, "have you heard anything about Sergeant Brice?"

"Yes, I have, Lieutenant," MacDonald answered. "He's alright; they've already discharged him. He's supposed to go home, but . . . well, you know Sergeant Brice." He gave a rueful smile. "He might just come back here instead."

"Yeah, he just might," Steve said with a fond smile of his own. "I'll see that he goes home to rest if he shows up here."

"Has that woman you brought in confessed to anything?" MacDonald wondered.

"She finally did," Steve nodded. "It was all pretty much like I'd laid it out."

MacDonald shook his head. "What a twisted case."

"No kidding." Steve headed for the hall. "I'm going to step outside for a minute."

"Alright. See you, Lieutenant."

The night was cool and somewhat mysterious as Steve opened the door and then leaned against the outside wall, thinking. But when the air changed and even the light from the moon seemed to dim, he jumped a mile. "What the . . ."

A woman in black was standing silhouetted under the nearest street lamp. "I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant."

"For what?" Steve asked, immediately wary. He pushed away from the wall, walking closer to her. "Who are you?"

"I wanted to thank you for solving the case, except for one small factor. I, and not the murderer, was the woman who originally came to you." She came closer as well.

"How do you know I solved the case?" Steve frowned. "There's nothing about it in the papers yet."

"I've been watching you." She spoke calmly, unconcerned, looking up at him.

"Oh really?" Steve regarded her in annoyance. "You eluded the officers we had following you."

"Maybe I should say, I've observed you off and on throughout the day, from a safe distance. And I was in the Play It Again, Sam Club when you arrested Milly."

Steve folded his arms. "Did you already know Milly had killed Walker?"

"No. But you put it together so nicely."

"You've got some explaining to do," Steve said, unmoved. "Such as why you fed me that line about being Brill's sister."

"I admit I lied about being Carson's sister, but my intentions were good and not ill. I'm glad you proved him innocent."

"What about the threatening note made out to Brill's sister?" Steve frowned. "Did you write it up yourself?"

"No; it was really a note that came to me," she said. "It just wasn't actually about Carson. My real brother disappeared under mysterious circumstances after he started investigating Butch Walker and I've always suspected him of being responsible. When Butch started threatening Carson the same way, I didn't want another innocent party to suffer the same fate as my brother."

"You could have told all of this in the first place," Steve objected.

"I could have, but I don't think you would have believed me."

"Oh? And why not?"

"That doesn't matter now. What's important is that Butch Walker can never hurt anyone again, including Carson."

"There's still that little matter of the money," Steve said, still eyeing her warily.

"I'm sure you'll clear that up as well." Now she was standing directly in front of him.

"All the girls I talked to knew about it, but not where Brill got it," Steve said. "One of their boyfriends even tried to bribe me for a share of it."

"Of course you didn't agree." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Of course I didn't," Steve growled.

She nodded knowingly. "You're far too upright to ever be bribed."

"You sure seem to know a lot about me," Steve observed.

"I know your type," she smiled. "My real brother was a lot like you. Perhaps that was why I sought you out."

"Most of the police officers are upright," Steve pointed out.

"I know. But I'm happy I chose you."

Awkward now, Steve searched for a new subject. ". . . So which one of Milly's girls are you?" he asked.

"I don't work there," she replied. "I wasn't truthful about that, either. Milly saw me and liked my sense of style so much that she based her girls' outfits on mine. I suppose you could say I am the unofficial fashion consultant.

"But tell me, Lieutenant, have you really found Carson Brill?"

"What makes you think I haven't?" Steve returned.

"You could have simply asked him about the money," she answered calmly.

"I did," Steve said in annoyance. "He said it was money he'd saved for himself and Carla and that the proof he had against Walker was a series of photographs he hid in a false bottom of the box."

"And has that proved true?" she asked.

"The pictures are there," he said. "But we're still checking into the origin of the money. I'm still not sure I don't believe he couldn't have stolen it from Walker."

"I'm sure you'll find the truth, whatever it is.

"And now I have to be going." She stood on tiptoe, kissing Steve on the cheek. "Goodbye, Steven."

"Lieutenant," Steve said, staring at her dumbly. "And I still don't even know who you are. You can't leave yet; you'll have to testify at the hearing and trial!"

She just stepped back and smiled. "Don't worry about that. Just remember this one more thing, Steven—Lieutenant. I'll be back." And with that she turned, sashaying back into the shadows as the moon regained its normal splendor.

Steve gaped after her in disbelief.

"Lieutenant?"

He jumped a mile. "Brice, what are you doing here?" he retorted, even though he had known the steadfast Sergeant would likely show up.

"I took a taxi here because I wanted to see how things were going." Brice followed Steve's gaze. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing now." Steve turned away, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. "That woman came back."

"The one from your office?!" Brice blinked.

"Yeah. I don't know any more about her than I did before, except that she isn't Brill's sister and she isn't the murderer."

"And she likes you," Brice pointed out.

"She sure seems to." Steve sighed. "Well, come on, Brice. I'll take you home. I'll tell you about the case on the way." Giving up on locating a handkerchief, he headed for his car.

Smiling in a bit of amusement, Brice followed.

xxxx

Steve told Brice of the afternoon's adventures while they drove. But the more he talked, the more serious and distant he grew. Finally he lapsed into silence altogether, staring ahead at the darkened Los Angeles streets.

"Lieutenant?"

He started. "What?"

"What's wrong?" Brice turned to study him. "It sounds like everything is all wrapped up. It's an open-and-shut case, just like we like."

"That's just it, Brice," Steve growled. "Considering the twisted mess this case is, it's too open-and-shut. Does it really make sense that the explanation is so simple? Or that there's so much evidence stacked up against Milly?"

Brice frowned, leaning back in the seat. "It can happen that way," he said slowly. "We know that."

"And we also know how many cases look open-and-shut that really aren't!" Steve retorted. "I keep feeling like I'm missing something. What about the goons that were in the nightclub last night? Milly didn't seem to want them there. And if they were after Brill and not her, would she have minded as much?"

"She didn't want them breaking up her place," Brice said.

"That's logical and understandable and even believable," Steve nodded. "But here's the thing: she didn't want them there, but she wasn't trying to get them out. What if she was hoping they were there for her, or that they'd find some evidence against her?"

"You've lost me, Lieutenant," Brice declared. "Are you saying that she wanted to be found guilty? That wouldn't make much sense unless maybe she was covering up for someone and her confession is a fake."

"That's possible," Steve said.

"But who would she be covering up for?" Brice protested. "The person she loved is the one who's dead!"

"Maybe we have this case upsidedown and backwards," Steve mused. "You know how those old detective films sometimes make it seem like everything's solved and then there's one final twist in the last few minutes that really throws the detective for a loop. And the whole time we've been on this case, it's felt like one of those old detective films. I think I should talk to Carla Darling again."

"Is that what you're going to do after you drop me off?" Brice asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, don't worry about that. I'm alright, Lieutenant. Really, I am. And if there's still something that needs to be solved on this case, I want to be part of that."

Steve frowned. "You're supposed to rest."

"I won't anyway," Brice replied. "I'll just be thinking about the case and wondering what's happening to you. And anyway, you might need backup."

Steve sighed, but half-smiled in the dark. "Some people think of you as quiet and unassuming, but when you get talking, you really have some stubborn ideas. Alright, let's go. But when we get there, you stay out of sight. I might not need any help and I don't want someone taking another shot at you."

"They won't know I'm there," Brice promised. "Unless you need me."

Steve nodded. "I'll hold you to that."

"Oh, and you probably ought to clean off that lipstick," Brice said slowly.

"What? Oh." Steve sighed. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

Brice handed him a handkerchief. "You can take this."

"Thanks." Steve looked in the mirror, quickly wiping the lipstick from his cheek.

xxxx

Carla was readying herself for a performance that night when the doorbell rang. "Just a minute," she called, fixing an earring on her right ear as she walked to the door. She drew back in surprise to see Steve there. "Oh . . . Lieutenant," she greeted. "What is it?"

"Just a few more questions that need clearing up," Steve answered. "I see you're undaunted by the news of your boss's arrest."

She shrugged. "Business goes on. Come in, but this won't take long, will it?"

"I don't think so." Steve stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar for Brice to hear in the hall.

"Okay. Shoot." Carla crossed to the end table and reached for the elbow-length white gloves she had left there.

Steve stood and watched her. "Milly's story is that she was in love with Butch Walker and she became jealous when he started noticing you," he said. "You confirmed that."

"Uh huh. So did Carson, if you remember right." Carla nodded.

"I remember. But what I'm wondering is whether the man I talked with really was Carson," Steve said flatly.

Carla stiffened. "What? Who else would he have been?"

"Oh, I don't know. Butch Walker, perhaps?" Steve continued watching Carla steadily. Her hands were starting to shake. "It occurred to me that maybe we've had this whole case figured wrong. What if the murdered man is Carson Brill? And what if Butch Walker did it and then tried to make it look like the body was his, instead? Obviously he would have to drop out of sight in case the police ever got wise to the truth. Maybe he knew about Carson's savings for you—and more importantly, the evidence against him—and wanted to take that with him, so he came and bothered you about the key."

"Why wouldn't I have told you?" Carla spat.

"He could have threatened you and forced you to play along when I came by this afternoon. He could still be here now, listening to every word we say. After all, the money is still evidence, and if he wants it, he'll have to wait until we release it. That's going to be a long wait, Carla. Do you think he'll last that long? Do you think you will?"

"No!" Carla shot back. "You're wrong, completely wrong about everything!" She whipped around to face him, her eyes flashing with anger and fear. "And it doesn't make sense that he would tell you about the hidden pictures if he's really Butch Walker!"

"You're right; that doesn't make sense," Steve agreed. "But a lot of things haven't been making sense lately. The evidence could be faked and actually help get Walker off the hook instead. And you could have been in on the scheme the whole time. And meanwhile, Milly knows nothing of that but just wants to protect Butch, so she lies and confesses that she killed whoever was laying dead outside Brill's house." He folded his arms. "Are you going to just let her take the rap? Are you really so cold and hard that your conscience won't bother you when you think about what she did to try to cover up?"

"It was her choice, even if she is lying," Carla retorted, still edgy and nervous.

"But it's a pretty high price to pay. You don't seem like a heartless woman, Carla." Steve stepped closer. "If my story is wrong, then how about you tell me the right one?"

"You already have the right one!" Carla cried. "It's Butch Walker that's dead. And Milly killed him!"

"No."

They both looked up as a door opened and the young man from the afternoon came in, solemn and shamefaced.

"No what?" Steve demanded.

"Milly didn't kill him. I did." He looked down. "I really am Carson Brill. And the dead man really is Butch Walker."

"No!" Carla ran to him, grabbing his arm. "What are you saying, Carson?! You can't!"

"I have to, Carla," he retorted. "I didn't know an innocent person was actually going to confess! I thought it was just going to be an unsolved crime!"

"You told me about seeing Milly on the street," Steve frowned. "Surely you knew that would implicate her."

"But I thought she'd have a reasonable explanation for it," Carson protested. "I never dreamed she'd decide to confess!" He ran a hand through his hair. "What's the matter with her?!"

Steve folded his arms. "Why don't you tell me about what really happened, Mr. Brill?" he asked. "First I should inform you of your rights."

"I know my rights," Carson retorted impatiently. "Look, Lieutenant, I killed Butch alright, but he came there to kill me. There was a fight and I finally grabbed the metal pipe away from him and hit him with it. I was panicked and furious. He was going to kill me and then call his men to kill Carla and take the key from her. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let any of it happen!"

"So why didn't you call the police and say it was self-defense?" Steve frowned.

Carson looked down. "I was scared. I was afraid I wouldn't be believed. And I was also afraid that Butch's men would be coming after me. He might have some in the police department. I didn't know who I could trust.

"After it was done, I went to Carla's place to hide out. She didn't know until she got off work and came home. I told her everything and she agreed to let me stay here, out of sight, until we could figure out what to do. But I didn't know anything about the Milly angle or that she would shoot at you or say she did it! That changes everything!" He stepped forward. "You can arrest me now, Lieutenant. I won't resist."

At his side, Carla was crying. "No, Carson! Don't do this. They'll never let you go!"

"If it really was self-defense, there shouldn't be any trouble, Miss Darling," Steve retorted. "I even know a good lawyer to recommend for Mr. Brill." He reached and took Carson's other arm. "Let's go."

Carla finally let go of him and grabbed Steve. "But it was me!" she cried, her voice strangled. "I killed Butch Walker!"

Steve paused, frowning as he really turned her attention to her. "You? Why?"

"Carla, don't," Carson snapped.

Carla shook her head. "You were willing to take the rap for me, but I can't let you," she insisted. Looking to Steve she said, "I was going over to see Carson when Butch came out. He said he was there to kill Carson, but now that I was there, he wanted to have a little fun with me too." The tears were falling now. "He . . . he grabbed me and I . . . I picked up some small sculpture laying around in the yard and hit him with it and he was dead! And then Carson came out and I told him what happened and he said we'd have to pretend we didn't know anything about it! Then Butch's men were on the warpath, but they thought Carson had done it, so he was hiding here and we were going to run away. But we couldn't figure out how to get out of here with that cop watching outside!"

"She's lying, Lieutenant," Carson interrupted. "She's covering for me!"

Sergeant Brice was coming into the room now, staring at the scene in concern. Steve was frowning, not sure who to believe. "Is there any proof of your story?" he said to Carla. "The statue, perhaps?"

She nodded. "Carson wanted to throw it in the ocean, but I wrapped something else up and gave it to him to throw in instead. I still have the statue."

Carson started, turning to stare at her in sickened horror. "Carla!"

"Well, I couldn't let you have the statue!" she retorted, openly sobbing now. "I knew that something might go wrong and everything would blow up in our faces. And I'd need that statue to help clear you! I knew you'd never say that it was me!"

Steve and Brice exchanged a look. "Alright," Steve said at last. "We'll have to take you both in right now. Bring the statue and we'll try to get this thing cleared up."

Carla nodded. "It's in my bedroom, under the bed in a pillowcase."

Brice went into the bedroom and quickly returned with it. Steve unwrapped it, nodding to himself as he looked it over and spotted the blood. "The lab boys will check it for fingerprints," he said. "Let's go."

Other apartment doors opened, the occupants surprised and confused as Steve and Brice led Carla and Carson into the hall. None of them spoke, but it was a somewhat eerie and unsettling scene as all the pairs of eyes stared at the procession.

"Lieutenant?" the officer asked as they arrived outside.

"You can leave your post now," Steve told him. "It's over."

xxxx

There was mass confusion at the police station for the next several hours.

The only fingerprints on the statue were soon shown to be Carla's and the blood and hair samples matched Butch Walker's. Carla was booked and Perry Mason was called as her lawyer.

Carson was extensively questioned and still wanted to stick with his story, but after counseling with Perry Mason, he finally agreed to tell the truth if that would best help Carla.

Milly recanted her confession, albeit she acknowledged being the one who had shot at the police officers. She was rebooked on that charge, as well as assault with a deadly weapon, tampering with evidence, and obstructing justice.

Steve sighed and leaned back in his office chair when it was all over. "You know, she even made sure we'd find that picture and the security tape?" He shook his head. "She was determined to make herself look guilty. Then she feigned innocence when I showed up, just to make it look more realistic. After all, she'd never admit to framing herself or that she was trying to get arrested. Or she hadn't planned to, anyway."

"But why did she do it?" Brice exclaimed, sitting on the edge of Steve's desk. "It still doesn't make sense, not if she really knew it was Walker who was dead."

"She claimed she thought it was Brill who did it," Steve sighed. "She was really in love with him, not Walker."

Brice shook his head. "This really has been a twisted case."

Steve smirked. "You can say that again." He got up again. "Well, all the reports are filled out and everything seems to be settling back in order. How about I take you home for real now, Brice? Then I'm going to get some sleep myself."

Brice smiled, sliding off the desk. "That sounds great to me, Lieutenant."

"After a day like today, I feel like sleeping for twelve hours straight," Steve grunted.

"I wonder if that woman's going to show up again," Brice remarked.

"By now, I honestly hope not. Although I don't know what she'll think when she reads about the case in tomorrow's paper. And I'd still like to know what the deal is with her," Steve growled. "On the other hand, I wonder if we're better off not knowing."

Brice gave him a sympathetic look. "Actually, Lieutenant, I learned something that might be about her. But you might not like it."

Steve paused, looking to him. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I went back through the housing records. In the 1940s, there was a woman who owned that house. I looked up her name and eventually tracked down a picture." Brice took it out of his pocket and held it out.

Steve took it, his stomach sinking in realization.

"It's her, isn't it?" Brice prompted.

"It sure looks like her." Steve set the photograph down on his desk. "Obviously it couldn't really be her. She looks just as young as she does in this picture, and she isn't a ghost. I've got your lipstick-smeared handkerchief to prove that. Not to mention that stuff she was telling about her brother disappearing after investigating Butch Walker."

"About that, Lieutenant. . . ." Brice's tone and expression made Steve's stomach drop even more. "Apparently he's Butch Walker, Jr. The senior Butch Walker started the grocery store and gambling joint, and he was operating in the 1940s."

"Oh no!" Steve slammed his hand on the desk. "Then it might have been the senior Walker who made her brother disappear. Only it couldn't have been, because she couldn't have turned up here looking like this!" He waved the picture for a moment and then rubbed his forehead. "I think I need to go to bed. Maybe in the morning I'll wake up and find out that all of this was just a bad dream."

Brice regarded him sympathetically, although he had to admit he was a bit amused.

"I know, I know, I sound like Hamilton Burger, but this is ridiculous," Steve growled.

Brice laid a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let's go, Lieutenant," he encouraged. "Maybe you really will feel better in the morning, even though this isn't a dream."

"Yeah." Steve started to move, then paused. "She said she'd be back for the hearing and trial. If she really comes, I'm not letting her out of my sight until I get the answers to these questions." He headed for the door. "But that's a problem for another night . . . and another detective film experience. Something I'd be perfectly glad to postpone indefinitely."

Brice smiled, stepping past him into the outer room. Steve switched off the light before he followed, slipping into his suit coat as he went.