Chapter Nine

Della could not sleep.

She had tried, she had to admit. When she had entered her hotel room and seen the bed, it had looked so inviting that she had to lie down. She was aching all over from lack of sleep, and had hoped that maybe she could rest and clear her mind enough to come up with something that would help find Perry, but it was not to be. Instead she had lain there wide awake, her mind churning until she gave up.

Now she was pacing the room, occasionally glancing out the window or pausing to stare outside more closely.

Hopefully Mr. Burger was asleep. He needed the rest more than she did.

And where were Paul and the police? It was so tempting to get out her phone and call Paul. But surely if they had found anything important he would have called her. She had been checking her phone. There were no messages.

She wrung her hands, resuming her pace. With little else she could concentrate on doing, she had also been thinking on the long time she and Perry had known each other. She had worked for Perry so many years now. It was strange to even recollect the time before they had ever met.

She smiled a bit. That fateful day when she had responded to the ad in the paper calling for a confidential legal secretary, she had not known what to expect. Then she had walked into the office on the ninth floor of the Brent building and first became acquainted with the lawyer named Perry Mason.

They had gotten along very well right from the beginning, their personalities and their efficiency in work perfectly blending. It had not taken long for them to become close friends.

She could not imagine them ever willingly parting ways. She would be more than happy to serve as Perry's secretary for as long as he continued to work. Anyway, she had thought with a smile more than once in the past, she doubted she could find another job as rewarding for her.

Perry would likely never change his profession, either. She would not want him to, not when she knew how much he enjoyed what he did. But this frightened her to no end. She had tried to get away from thinking of the worst-case scenarios, especially since Mr. Burger was going to be alright, but the fears lingered. Lieutenant Tragg was probably right that whoever had struck Mr. Burger had meant to kill him. And to Della, that meant that Perry really could be lying somewhere dead right now.

She frowned, pushing the thought out of her mind. Perry was resourceful. She had to focus on that. And Trevor Bartlett probably wanted to torment him for a while. Surely he was alive. He had to be alive. And they would find him. For all they knew, maybe Perry had even escaped and was on his way back now.

She sighed, sinking into a chair. She had to pull herself together. If she could just clear her mind and not worry, maybe something would come to her that she had not thought of before.

Or maybe she was just too tired for that.

Leaning back in the chair, she gazed up at the ceiling. It was starting to blur somewhat in her vision. Maybe if she laid down again, this time she would be able to sleep. It was certainly worth trying, at least.

Slowly she got up and walked back to the bed. This time as she lowered herself onto the soft mattress and closed her eyes, her mind had mercifully quieted. Sleep embraced her now.

xxxx

Paul sighed in irritation. Things at Altec were moving far too slowly for his liking. The other members of the board of directors were not in yet. And while Mr. Clemens had promised to locate someone who knew all the intricacies of the satellite transmitters, so far there had not been any success on that level, either.

Paul had been talking with Pete and some of his other operatives over the phone, trying to find anything that would explain the connection between Iola Van Pelt and Barlow Travis, or Iola Van Pelt and the Travis family in general, but everything appeared to be a closed book. Now, while waiting for the engineer or whoever to be located, Paul was doing some research on a computer Mr. Clemens was letting him use. Lieutenant Tragg had returned to the police station and was researching there.

There was nothing to explain why Marlene Travis and Iola Van Pelt looked so eerily alike. The police had questioned the Travis family about that, too, but had only been told that Iola must be a modern-day double.

Paul really wasn't sure he bought that. Yet there was no reason why it could not be true. It could be one of those wild coincidences Tragg was talking about.

He tried to stifle a yawn as he scrolled through the PDF files of an old Los Angeles newspaper. Detective work could be more than tedious sometimes. And there were a ton of other things he would rather be doing than looking up eighty-year-old gossip columns.

A black-and-white shot of a familiar brunette brought him suddenly to attention. Marlene Travis was looking casually to the side while mostly facing the camera. At her side was an unknown man. The caption at the bottom brought a cheer of triumph to Paul's lips. Finally, proof of a connection between the families!

Friends? Lovers? What sordid secrets do Marlene Travis and Daniel Van Pelt

have in common? Judging from Marlene's knowing smile, she's not about to tell.

Paul quickly read the accompanying blurb to the side of the grainy picture. Apparently the two had been spotted dining together at a fancy restaurant. Marlene looked blasé about the reporter snapping their picture, but Daniel Van Pelt looked either annoyed or worried. The blurb went on to make much of the fact that the Travis family was not in the same league with the Van Pelts. They were on different social standings.

"Interesting," Paul mused, clicking the Print button. "Very interesting."

He just hoped that in some way, this information would serve to help them find Perry.

xxxx

At the police station, Lieutenant Tragg's research was also starting to pay off. Tracing Iola Van Pelt's lineage was revealing some facts he had not expected. Her own story was not particularly helpful. Her grandmother's, on the other hand, was slightly curious.

She had always been thought of as the daughter of Daniel Van Pelt's wife Linda. Yet, as one reporter observed, the time did not appear to add up. When she first started to appear in the public eye she seemed older than she should have been at the time, considering when Daniel and Linda were married.

Tragg leaned back, pondering the discrepancy. Of course, there was no proof that anything was wrong. Everyone could simply be mistaken, trying to invent a scandal out of nothing.

He reached for a pencil. This was a long shot, but it was worth a bit of careful analysis. He had also located the articles concerning Marlene Travis and Daniel Van Pelt. And if it was not a coincidence about Iola's striking resemblance, then perhaps there was a way she could be a relation.

After a few moments he smiled to himself, satisfied. If by any stretch of the imagination Marlene could have had a child by Daniel before her death, that child could have been around the same age the reporter in the article was insisting Daniel and Linda's child should have been.

This was an angle that should be looked into. He reached for the phone to arrange a search on marriage licenses. Not finding one, of course, would not be proof that this could not be the case. But it was a logical place to start.

xxxx

Hamilton had no idea how long he had been effectively dead to the world. He had fallen asleep as soon as he had lain down on the bed. Now, waking up staring at the ceiling, he could not quite remember where he was.

It was not his bedroom. And it was not his office, either. Shouldn't he be there? Something was wrong, he remembered that much.

Perry was missing. That was it. And he had been attacked while searching for the other attorney. Currently he was in a hotel room somewhere in Los Angeles.

He rolled over with a groan. According to the digital clock next to the bed, he must have been here for several hours. And when he fumbled and took out his phone, he had a voice message from Sampson.

Still half-asleep, he somehow managed to tap out the right buttons to unlock the voicemail. He brought the phone up to his ear, closing his eyes as he listened.

The contents soon had him wide awake.

"Mr. Burger, Lieutenant Tragg called and told me what happened. I'm very sorry to hear it. Are you alright?

"He also informed me of several new developments in the case. The medical examiner's report is in on the body. Her name was Iola Van Pelt, the niece of Davidson Van Pelt from the Altec Corporation's board of directors. And according to both him and the Travis family, Ms. Van Pelt was often seen with Barlow Travis, who is presently missing. The nature of their relationship is unknown.

"The Marlene woman whose photograph is in the locket was a member of the Travis family. Her murderer never was caught, as I'm sure you remember.

"Do contact me as soon as you receive this. By then there may be further information."

Mr. Burger was sitting up and dialing Sampson's number before the message had finished. After two rings the deputy D.A. picked up. "Hello?"

"Sampson, it's me," Burger greeted, gruffly. "What's going on there?"

Sampson perked up. "Mr. Burger! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Mr. Burger answered. "I got your message."

"We haven't learned anything more," Sampson answered instantaneously, "but we're in the process of questioning anyone and everyone who may have seen Ms. Van Pelt and Barlow Travis together."

"And you have no idea why this Ms. Van Pelt apparently looked just like a relation of the Travis family?" Hamilton exclaimed in exasperation.

"No, I have not," said Sampson. "I'm personally overseeing the search into the records to find a connection."

"Good," Hamilton shot back. "If we can find that, we might figure out how it ties in with Mr. Mason's disappearance."

"Hopefully so, sir." Sampson hesitated. "Now that it's reached regular hours, we won't be able to devote all of our time to this case."

"I know that!" Hamilton said, impatient. "We'd be neglecting the rest of Los Angeles if we tried. But keep everyone on it that you can."

"Of course."

"And I'll be in later." Hamilton started to ease himself off the bed, passing a hand over his aching eyes as he did.

"Mr. Burger, are you sure?" Sampson exclaimed.

"I'm sure," Hamilton said, leaving no room for argument.

They said their goodbyes and hung up. After pondering a moment, Hamilton dialed Lieutenant Tragg. The phone rang long enough to make him impatient before it was at last picked up.

"Why, Mr. Burger," Tragg greeted. "I was wondering when you might call. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, I am." Hamilton leaned forward. There was no point in mentioning the lingering, but not as prominent, headache. "I just talked to Sampson. Have there been any further developments that he doesn't know about?"

"As a matter of fact, there have been," Tragg said. "We've been talking with the board of directors at Altec. They've been more than willing to help. In fact, they've located the man behind the invention of the satellite communicators. He's coming back to headquarters with us to help us unlock their signals and locate the parent transmitter."

Hamilton perked up. "Good," he said in approval. "This could be the best break we've had."

"With any luck, we'll soon know where Perry is," Tragg said. "Of course, he may not even be with the parent transmitter."

"I know," Hamilton frowned. He started to climb off the bed. "I'm going to let Della know what's going on. We'll probably end up coming to the station."

"At least you'll be out of trouble here. I hope," Tragg grunted. "Alright, Mr. Burger. I'll see you soon. There are some other matters I want to discuss with you, but I'd prefer not to talk about them over the telephone."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "Now you've got me curious," he said. "Does this concern the case too?"

"It concerns Iola Van Pelt, the murdered girl, as well as her mysterious twin Marlene," Tragg said.

Now Hamilton was more intrigued than ever. As they hung up, he slipped into his shoes and headed for the door. This was the closest they had come to learning Perry's whereabouts. And although he wanted to know how the murder of Iola Van Pelt fit into the case, he was content to let his investigators and the police handle that angle. He had set out to discover where Perry was, and first and foremost that was his concern.

He pulled the door open, nearly walking right into Della as she emerged from her room across the hall. "Excuse me," he apologized.

Della seemed not to hear. "Have you heard?" she demanded. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, her eyes sparkled with hope.

"They might be able to find where Perry is now," Hamilton guessed.

Della nodded. "Paul called to let me know," she said.

Suddenly she stopped and paused, realizing her error. "Mr. Burger, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. "I didn't even think to ask how you're feeling."

Hamilton smiled in a bit of touched amusement. "I'm fine now," he said. "I'll get my briefcase and hat and we'll go to the police station."

xxxx

Perry had been waiting, considering all angles and plotting his strategy. If his theory was correct, then he knew not only where he was, but also suspected that the story about the force field was either false or only half true. Perhaps Bartlett did have something, only not as unsurpassable as he made it sound.

"You're quiet."

He looked over when Bartlett spoke. Bartlett was sitting with his back to the console, toying with the chambers of his gun.

"I was just wondering about our location," Perry said smoothly.

"You already know I'm not going to tell you," Bartlett said. "We're far enough away that your cellphone won't work. That should be enough for you."

"On the contrary," Perry said. "It isn't enough at all. I believe we're in downtown Los Angeles. It isn't only being in the wilderness that can render a cellphone useless. Being deeply underground can prevent it working as well."

Bartlett did not look surprised in the least. "So you think we're underground?" he said. "Where? You know me, Mr. Mason. I'm not rich. And I don't know anyone rich. Where would I find to take you in downtown L.A.?"

"Not far. You thought it would be a colossal joke to hide me right under everyone's noses." Perry nodded towards the console. "I noticed that this security system was manufactured by the Altec Corporation."

Bartlett snapped the gun back into place. "So what?" he returned. "Are you saying you think we're in their building?"

"That would be too obvious a hiding place," Perry said. "You would never choose Altec. Although I believe you must have some connection with them. The satellite transmitter was also manufactured by them."

"Where, then?" Bartlett countered.

Perry told him. Bartlett's eyes widened. But then, instead of whatever reaction Perry might have thought he would have, he began to laugh.

"Maybe I underestimated you, Mr. Mason," he gasped at last. "After everything I thought I knew and understood about you."

He leaned forward. "You're right," he said. "I went to great lengths to make it look like somewhere else. Even that barred window in the room you woke up in. It's fake. There really was a portable force field, though—just not as strong as what we told you it was. I turned it off.

"But you still don't know everything. If you try to leave this building, you'll make it but I'll bring it crashing down after you're out. That's so much more interesting than a measly force field. Think of all the lives directly in your hands, just as Gladys's was. You'll have to go through the rest of your life remembering how you brought about all of their deaths, including mine. I'll be killing you slowly for years, even though I'll be gone."

Perry stopped cold and stared at him, his blue eyes burning. "It seems I underestimated you as well," he said darkly. "But I should have known better. If you would gamble with the lives of my friends, you would most certainly be capable of gambling with the lives of many other people, even strangers. And I believe that you would put your own life in danger to see me devastated." He stepped closer. "Still, I only have your word that this is true. How do I know it is?"

Bartlett held up the transmitter. "If I dial the right combination, I can activate and arm every bomb that's been placed around the building," he said. "Like this." He started to press the 1 on the number pad.

Perry lunged in an instant, tackling him in the chair. They tipped sideways to the floor, struggling over control of the device. Perry snatched Bartlett's hand, closed in desperation around the deadly black box. He fought to get his own fingers under Bartlett's, while at the same time trying to punch him and ward off punches with his other hand. At last he caught hold of Bartlett's left wrist. Despite the younger man's efforts, Perry pried the device out of his right hand.

"Are those bombs dormant right now?" he demanded. There was no point bringing out his gun. Bartlett would not be intimidated.

"Right now," Bartlett agreed, his voice dark. "But even with you holding the transmitter, no one is safe. When my friend took his leave of us sometime back, he went to get one I had set up for him. If you leave, he'll know it. And he'll set off the bombs just like I would."

"Really?" Perry retorted. "Is he as foolish as you? Does he not care if he dies? Does he not care if he's charged with the mass murders of innocent people?"

Bartlett's eyes narrowed. "Well," he said, "why don't you leave and find out."

Perry struck him, hard enough to render him unconscious. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. His side was hurting again from the strain. Red was seeping through the bandage. But right now that was the last thing on his mind.

"I will," he said quietly, turning to examine the locked door. "But I won't let anyone here die in your demented explosion. Even you, as much as you deserve it."

xxxx

It only took moments for the inventor of the transmitters to unlock the devices the police had in their possession. Immediately they began to beep and flash in unison, sending their signals to the satellite.

"Now the satellite will transfer them to the parent transmitter," he explained to the gathered crowd of police and others. "And then we should know where to go to find it."

Within moments the coordinates had been tracked and were being printed out. Tragg grabbed up the first copy. As he studied it, his eyes widened in shock. "I don't believe this," he breathed.

"What is it?" Mr. Burger asked, trying to see over his shoulder.

Tragg shook his head. "It's one of the most devious tricks Bartlett could have pulled," he said. "Now I'm sure that if we find his parent transmitter, we'll find Perry."

Della, finally getting a clear view of the printout, gasped in shock. "I'm sure of it too," she said. "The parent signal is coming from the Brent building!"

Paul hurried over. "You mean all this time Perry's been somewhere in our office building?" he cried in disbelief.

"Exactly," Tragg nodded. "And with that as the case, I'm sure Bartlett won't make it easy for us to simply waltz in and find him." He waved the paper. "There must be some other conditions to this set-up. And we'd better figure out what they are right away."