Notes: Ooops. While looking over the previous chapter, I'm not sure I made it clear that it was Hamilton Burger and not his assailant who was hit by a mysterious party. I altered the last line a bit. And this chapter is my obligatory hurt/comfort installment.

I find it interesting that Andy has found his way into this story. I had nothing against him, but I had previously wanted to keep him out of my works. Yet somehow, watching Wesley Lau's first, non-Andy appearance on the show has made me fonder of him and of Andy, enough so that I have fully welcomed him and here he is.

Chapter Seven

The house was still in darkness by the time Paul pulled into the driveway. He frowned, studying it as well as the surrounding property. There were two cars also in the driveway, one of which was Lieutenant Tragg's. The other, he assumed, was Hamilton Burger's. And even as he parked, another squad car was pulling in behind him. Bewildered and curious, he got out and walked over to it.

"What's going on around here?" he demanded of Sergeant Brice upon seeing him in the driver's seat.

"We're not sure," Brice answered. "Lieutenant Tragg called for backup, so we came."

Lieutenant Anderson exited from the other side of the car. "Why are all the lights out?" he frowned.

"I have no idea!" Paul exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I just got here now."

Almost as soon as he spoke, the lights suddenly came back on. He and the policemen stared in stunned amazement.

Andy abruptly broke the silence. "We're not learning anything standing out here," he said, brushing past Paul and Sergeant Brice. "Let's go inside."

xxxx

Della looked around in amazement as the room was again illuminated. But instantaneously her feelings turned to shock and disbelief.

"What happened to Mr. Burger?" she demanded. "He's disappeared!"

Tragg's eyes narrowed. "He didn't say he was going out of the room." He walked back to the hall and peered up and down the corridor. "And we would have heard him crossing the floor."

Della followed him to the doorway. "I can't believe he would've left without letting us know," she fretted.

Tragg shook his head. "Either way, he seems to have vanished into thin air. Mr. Burger!" he called, sharply.

The only response he received was the running of concerned footsteps. In a moment Andy appeared, with Paul and Sergeant Brice in tow.

"What's going on?" Andy asked.

"We were continuing our search while waiting for you to arrive," Tragg told him. "The lights went out without warning. When they came back on, we found that Mr. Burger was no longer with us."

"Please, have you seen any sign of him?" Della demanded.

"No," Paul said. "We haven't seen anything at all." He looked into the room. "Couldn't he have got out some other way?"

"This is the only door," Della said. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. So much had happened tonight—far too much.

What she had feared for years had come true. Perry was hurt. She refused to believe it was more than that, but that was plenty. And even though she tried to be resolute, other fears continued to creep into her mind and heart. Would she see him again . . . alive? What if he would instead be found lying somewhere, not moving? What if Tragg would kneel next to him and check for a pulse that was not there? She could so easily see herself standing nearby, praying against the unthinkable pronouncement yet knowing it was coming. And when it did. . . . Then she would run to Perry, crash to her knees next to him, beg for him to wake up, to answer her. . . .

And it would not happen.

Hamilton Burger had been worried about Perry's safety too, just as all of them were. He had brought in a large number of his staff to work on the problem in the middle of the night. He had intended to go out looking for Perry on his own. He would have if Della had not appeared on his doorstep.

And so, at her insistence they had gone together—checking the broken-down house, being pursued by two assassins, and coming here with Lieutenant Tragg. He had not wanted her along, worried for her own well-being. Now he had disappeared without a trace.

"Della? Are you alright?"

She looked up at Paul's concerned voice. The worry extended to his face. Apparently she herself must be showing signs of the strain.

She just shook her head, the helplessness washing over her. "I'm not alright," she confessed. "I've tried to keep myself together, but there's just too much happening. Every time I turn around, this mystery gets worse and worse."

Paul drew his arm around her shoulders. "We'll find Perry," he assured her. "And Burger too—he can't be far."

"But are either of them alright?" Della berated.

Paul fell silent. He could find no answer for that.

He looked to the police for help. Tragg was back in the room, checking for some secret doorway they might have missed. Andy and Sergeant Brice were out in the hall, vainly peering into every room.

"It's because Mr. Burger can't be far that I'm worried about him," Della said. "Why did he leave? Why doesn't he answer? Something must be wrong. Maybe they've got him now too!"

"Or maybe he just wanted to go off by himself to look around for a while," Paul said. "You said that's what he wanted in the first place. He'll probably show up any minute, just fine."

Before Della could answer, Andy came back their way. "He's not down there," he reported. "Especially not in the room next-door."

"And there isn't a room on the other side," Brice frowned. "Just this closet." He opened a door, displaying a small storage area filled with brooms, mops, and pails.

Della stared at it with blank eyes, as though it was somehow the final confirmation that something was drastically amiss. "What happened?" she whispered at last. "He's gone, just like with Perry. And there's no clues to either of them."

Tragg came out of the room then. His grim visage darkened all the more as he saw what they were looking at.

"There definitely aren't any other doors in that room," he said. "At least, none that we can see."

Brice registered surprise. "You think there's a hidden door, Lieutenant?"

"I know it sounds like something out of an old cloak-and-dagger film, but right now it's just about the only other possibility," Tragg said. "Things simply aren't adding up."

Paul glanced back to the room. "Well, let's get in there and start checking," he said.

xxxx

Perry was still standing near Bartlett in the security room, watching the disturbed man's every move. Every few minutes Bartlett glanced down at his transmitter. For what seemed an eternity it had been silent and dark.

Now a green light was starting to flash. Perry tensed. What did that mean? Was it what he feared? Was someone . . .

Bartlett's lips curled in a sickening smirk. "The job's done," he said. "Someone's down."

Perry lunged, seizing a handful of Bartlett's shirt. "Who is it?" he demanded.

Bartlett just looked back, calm and collected. "That's the thing, Mr. Mason—I just don't know. It could've been the Lieutenant, your detective friend, the district attorney, or even your precious secretary." His wretched smile widened. "I hope it was her."

Perry hauled Bartlett out of the chair, his hold on the shirt a deathgrip. "If Della—or anyone else—is dead, I'll see you follow Gladys Thorn to Death Row," he snarled.

"But I was here," Bartlett sneered. "I didn't kill whoever it was."

"You killed them just as surely as if you fired a gun!" Perry shot back. He flung Bartlett away from him, letting the younger man crash back into the chair. He landed with such force that the chair flew backwards on its wheels. Undaunted, Perry stepped closer, pointing the gun at him. "You thought up this entire scheme. You hired the assassins who have been going after the people I care about. You directed them to attack!"

Now Bartlett's expression was dark and frozen. "And you stopped defending Gladys after the truth came out," he said. "You lethally injected her. You killed her."

"I wasn't going to have any part of helping someone such as her go free," Perry snapped.

"Then you took justice into your own hands, just like you're saying I've done," Bartlett said.

"Justice?" Perry all but roared now. "Gladys Thorn was guilty. She admitted it in court. If you blame me for her death, then focus your feelings on me. Don't take them out on innocent people!"

"Your secretary and your detective friend didn't try to change your mind when you dropped the case," Bartlett said. "And the D.A. and Lieutenant Tragg were always against her. So maybe in my mind, each and every one of you is responsible for Gladys' death."

Fire flamed in Perry's eyes. For a long moment he stood there, his hand shaking as he gripped the gun. Then, slowly, he began to lower his arm.

"You don't know how close I came to pulling this trigger just now," he said.

"I wish you had," Bartlett retorted. "Then I could go meet Gladys and you could get arrested for murder in the first degree." His face and voice were still filled with ice. "I'd like to look up from Hell and see you on Death Row, Mr. Mason."

Perry dropped the weapon farther. "Then, in spite of all your talk about justice as though you are in the right, you believe Hell is where you would go after your death."

This time Bartlett did not answer. Perry did not push it.

Instead he looked down at the flashing green light, then up at the monitors. Was there any chance Bartlett was mistaken or lying? What if it was all a trick to try to make him lose control? Or perhaps, even if someone had been harmed, they were still alive. Maybe there had not been any death.

Or maybe he was grasping at straws, clutching desperately at what he wanted to blindly believe.

Della . . . Paul . . . Hamilton . . . Lieutenant . . . I pray every one of you is alive and safe.

He sank into a chair near the console, the will and the strength to stand leaving him.

xxxx

Sometime later, Tragg, Della, and Paul were still going over the room in search of hidden doors. Andy and Sergeant Brice had gone back downstairs, deciding to check for trapdoors in the ceiling of the room directly beneath. The search was not taking as long as it seemed, but for all concerned it was agonizing and frustrating.

It was Tragg who finally found the spring that triggered the secret panel. The wall swung open, revealing the vintage room beyond. He stood in the doorway, studying the strange surprise. "I've found it," he announced. "It's all decked out as if it were eighty years ago."

Della and Paul hurried over. "Is anyone in there?" Paul asked.

Even as the question left his lips he saw the truth. A body was sprawled on the floor, under the window.

Della cried out in horror. "It's Mr. Burger!" She gripped the edge of the doorframe, suddenly dizzy. Her waking nightmare was being played out with Mr. Burger as the one lying lifeless on the floor. And . . . if he had been killed this quickly, what did that mean for Perry?

Tragg hastened into the room and to the district attorney's side. As he lowered himself to his knees to search for signs of life Paul gripped Della's shoulders, holding her back from following the Lieutenant in. She shook her head, wanting to look away yet finding she was unable to do so.

"We didn't hear anything," she said sorrowfully. "We didn't know where he was or that he was being hurt. . . ."

"There has to be another way into this place!" Paul exclaimed. "Someone couldn't have done this to him and then gone past you and Tragg without you hearing anything."

"He just wanted to find Perry too," Della said, only half-hearing. "He didn't have to come looking himself, but he did. And now if he's . . ."

Paul looked over at Tragg, who was leaning back with an unreadable expression. "Well?" Paul demanded, growing anxious with Della's vocal fears and his own, silent though they were. He didn't want Burger to be dead. And he also worried what that could mean where Perry's life was concerned. "What's the verdict?"

Tragg sighed, pushing back his hat. "He's going to have a terrible headache," he deadpanned. A smile of genuine relief came over his features. "But he's alive."

Della visibly relaxed in Paul's grasp. "What could have happened?" she wondered.

"Perhaps he accidentally interrupted someone," Tragg said. "Or else someone was laying in wait for one of us to fall through that panel all along."

"But if that's true, why didn't they kill him?" Paul watched as Burger's left arm slipped down from where it was across his chest. He groaned weakly as the sound of the voices began to restore him to consciousness.

"Maybe they thought they had," Tragg said. "He did look convincing." He bent over his friend. "Mr. Burger, can you hear me?"

Hamilton's eyes flickered open. For a moment he regarded Tragg in confusion. Then the look was gone, replaced with recognition. "Tragg . . ." He winced. "What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," Tragg said. He rocked back, giving the other man space. "We found you lying in this secret room. At first we weren't sure if you were still with us."

"With you?" Burger repeated. He started to push himself up. At the same moment a sharp pain swept over him. He grimaced, a hand flying up to grip the offending spot.

Della came in now, followed by Paul. "Mr. Burger, we thought you were dead!" she exclaimed flat-out.

Hamilton looked to her in surprise. His eyes widened as the memories rushed back. "I remember," he realized. "I fell through the wall into this place. There was a picture on the table here." He indicated the table above him.

"What kind of picture?" Tragg asked.

"It was the same picture that was in the locket from Perry's apartment," Hamilton said. "Only this one was clear. I took it for evidence, but the guy who knocked me out probably took it."

"Did he sock you as soon as you took it?" Paul queried.

"No," Burger remembered. "Someone else came out and charged me. I struggled with him and pushed him back. Then a second person came up behind me and hit me with something."

Noticing a fallen briefcase nearby, Tragg picked it up. "It looks like someone went through your belongings," he said. "Was the picture in here?"

"Yes," was the reply. "There was an inscription on it. It said . . . something strange." He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the leg of the table.

"Don't talk any more for now," Tragg said. "Just rest."

"Maybe you should see a doctor," Della said in concern.

Burger opened his eyes again. "No," he said quickly. "No, I'll be alright." He looked to Tragg. "And that inscription. It said 'A true light never goes out.' It was signed 'Marlene.' She must've written it to a lover; it was addressed 'Darling'."

Tragg frowned. "That is strange," he said. "And you're sure it was the same picture from the locket?"

"I'm positive," Hamilton told him.

Paul shook his head. "This case just keeps getting weirder and weirder," he said. "It was this Marlene who was found dead at the Travis house."

Tragg looked up sharply. "What?"

Della stared. "Are you sure, Paul?"

Paul sighed. "Well, no," he admitted, "since all we had to go on was that grainy locket picture. But it sure looked like it could have been her."

"Did she have any identification?" Tragg asked.

"I don't know that, either," Paul said. "Sergeant Nichols dismissed us before he started in. I guess if she did, you'll be finding out soon."

Tragg nodded. "And if she didn't, the medical examiner's preliminary report should tell us who she was."

"But it won't tell us what her picture was doing in a house that's probably owned by a business corporation," Paul said in irritation.

"Who knows," Mr. Burger grunted. "Maybe it will."

He started to pull himself to his feet. "We need to finish going over this house," he said.

"We'll take care of that," Tragg said firmly, moving to help him gain his balance. "You and Della are getting out of here. Right now," he added, giving Della a stern look.

Della hesitated. She did not want to leave. More than ever, it was obvious that Perry was in danger. But maybe she would only hinder being able to find him. Mr. Burger was right; the two of them largely handled cases from the safety of their offices. They were not used to being out in the field in active danger. And now Mr. Burger was hurt.

She watched as he stumbled, then was steadied by Lieutenant Tragg. At last she nodded. "Alright," she consented, her voice quiet. "We'll leave."

Both Mr. Burger and Tragg regarded her with suspicion, wondering if she meant it. She looked back, meeting Hamilton's gaze.

"Mr. Burger, you're in no condition to drive," she said. "I'll drive you to your house. Or to a doctor, which is probably where you should really go," she added.

"I'm alright, Miss Street," he answered, looking and feeling awkward. "But . . . thank you." He glanced to Tragg. "Be careful," he warned. "Bartlett's probably after you too."

"I imagine he might be," Tragg mused. "But don't you worry about me. Get some rest!"

"I'm going to," Mr. Burger muttered, embarrassed.

"Meanwhile, I'll have the boys back at the station get to work on whether there's any connection between this Marlene and the Travis family, or Marlene and the Altec Corporation," Tragg said. "I have a feeling the results will be very interesting indeed."

"The Travis family has had a lot of bad luck," Mr. Burger said as they headed out of the secret room. "When the boy Ben was murdered five years ago, wasn't there some mention of an unsolved murder in their long-ago past?"

Della's eyes widened. "That's right!" she remembered. "I think it happened nearly eighty years ago, sometime in the 1930s."

"It was the sister of Ben Travis's grandmother," Tragg said. "I'd have to dig into the records to tell you more."

Paul glanced back at the room they were departing. "This place is fixed up like the thirties, as far as I can tell," he said. "And that picture was on the desk. The version I saw in the locket looked pretty old."

Hamilton looked over at him. "Paul, what are you saying?" he queried.

"Oh, I don't know," retorted Paul, annoyed with himself. "Maybe I'm just talking without thinking."

"Or maybe Perry's penchant for wild theories is rubbing off on you," Della said with a smile.

"Are you actually suggesting that maybe Marlene isn't from the present day?" Hamilton exclaimed, incredulous. "That she was instead contemporary with Ben Travis's grandmother?"

"Maybe she is," Paul said. "But if she is, I'd sure like to know who the girl is back at the Travis house."

"As would we all," Tragg frowned.