The night passed very tense for everyone. Neither Mr. Vann nor the box was recovered. By morning it was starting to seem unlikely that either one would reappear any time soon. The police would keep trying, of course, but they felt that both were likely far away. Mr. Vann had probably taken his treasure and skipped town. There was nothing for everyone else to do but to go about their normal business.
Hamilton sighed as he straightened a stack of papers on his desk. They had been forced to tell the police from Robbery Division that the missing container was dangerous. While none of them described what had come out of it as magic, they had said it was a deadly type of energy, perhaps some kind of electricity. With all of them in agreement—and bearing the bruises and scrapes from being violently pitched—the robbery detail had no choice but to believe it, at least to some extent. They had been clearly uncomfortable and baffled when they had left.
Hamilton could not blame them in the least. He felt much the same. He did not want to even have to accept that what had happened had been real. But of course it had been. He would never forget the absolutely terrifying sensation of flying through the air or the pain of slamming into the wall. More than that, the image of Mignon being blasted back was seared in his mind.
He was furious. Once the police got hold of Mr. Vann, Hamilton intended to have a good, long confrontation with him. Without the box.
He was not the only one who was enraged. So was Douglas. "We never should have let that guy in our house," he had berated. But there had certainly not been enough evidence to disbelieve Mr. Vann's story at first, not until Mr. Welles had been found injured in his car. Both Martha and Mignon had stressed that point. There had really not been much they could have done different, aside from being unfriendly and kicking Mr. Vann out without anything other than a vague suspicion. Douglas seemed to feel that that was exactly what they should have done.
Mr. Welles, as it was, was in a coma. They could not ask him what had happened to him or who had been responsible. The doctors did not hold out a great deal of hope that he would awaken, either. His family, however, refused to give up. Tragg and Andy were busying themselves with that angle of the case, questioning museum workers and other possible witnesses. So far, no one had seen a thing, or so they claimed.
The intercom buzzed. Coming to attention, Hamilton pressed the button. "Yes? What is it?"
"You're due in court in fifteen minutes, Mr. Burger," Leon informed him.
"Thank you. I'll be right down," Hamilton assured him.
He reached for his briefcase. It was time to put all thoughts of unfriendly, vicious boxes and angering men out of his mind. Now he had to concentrate on Vivalene's trial. The defense didn't have much of a case, and they knew it. It shouldn't be long and Hamilton would have convictions—very well-deserved convictions. There were a lot of people hoping to see Vivalene and Flo appropriately punished for the sickening crimes they had committed.
The bright light came at him before he even had the chance to process its appearance. Expanding rapidly, it stretched the width of the entire room and soon reached him, all while an ominous humming sound in its midst grew louder and louder. Suddenly the light exploded in an even brighter burst. Without warning Hamilton was knocked onto his back, tumbling with the chair.
For a moment he lay dazed, blankly staring at the ceiling as his ears rang. Gradually the noise died and he blinked, coming back to himself. What was he doing on the floor? Where had that light come from? And how had it possessed the strength to knock him flat?
He reached for the edge of his desk, shakily pulling himself up. Could there have been an earthquake? It wouldn't explain the light, but it could account for his spill.
He pressed the intercom button. "Leon?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Was there an earthquake just now?"
Silence. "No, Mr. Burger." A pause. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes," Hamilton said. He sounded distracted, even to himself. "I'm fine." He glanced around the office. Nothing looked out of place, other than his chair. "I'll be out in a minute for court."
"What? Excuse me, Sir, but you just got out of court. You don't have any more cases for the day."
Hamilton stiffened in shock. That was not possible! He could not have just spent the day in court and forgotten it.
"It's not like you to pull a joke, Leon," he frowned. "This one isn't funny. You just told me I was to be in court for the Vivalene trial in fifteen minutes. Probably ten minutes now."
Another stretch of silence. "Mr. Burger, I don't know what you're talking about," Leon said. Now he sounded downright worried. "Who's Vivalene? I've never heard of her."
Hamilton's eyes widened. "Either you're pulling a joke or I'm going crazy," he exclaimed. "Who's Vivalene? The woman who tried to murder Lieutenant Anderson! Just a minute; I'll show you who Vivalene is."
He reached for the file on his desk. But as he opened it his jaw dropped. The top page was marked Turner. It only took a moment to see that everything in the folder pertained to a man named Turner who was being prosecuted for armed robbery and murder.
"Leon, have you been in my office?" he demanded.
"No, Sir," Leon gasped.
"Well, somebody has been!" Hamilton said. "And they've been messing with my files. The Vivalene file is gone!"
"I've been sitting right here, Mr. Burger. No one has come in or gone out. And I'm telling you, there is no Vivalene file. There couldn't be! There's no such woman. At least, your office isn't prosecuting her."
"Leon, stop talking nonsense!" Hamilton snapped. He cut off the connection.
A swift and frantic search of his desk was fruitless. The folder was utterly gone. Hamilton slumped back, staring at the scene before him in disbelief.
Maybe Leon had been hit by that light too. Maybe they had both lost a good deal of time and someone had taken the opportunity to come in and take the folder. It could have been one of Vivalene's cronies.
Well, Hamilton was still due in court. He would have to solve this mystery later. Grabbing his briefcase, he stepped into the outer office.
Leon looked up from his desk, visibly concerned. "Are you going home, Mr. Burger?" he asked.
"No, Leon," Hamilton retorted. "I'm going to court. Whatever's going on here, Vivalene's trial commences in less than ten minutes."
Leon got to his feet. "I know the Turner case has been taking a lot out of you, but now I'm worried!" He looked to Hamilton with wide eyes. "Five minutes after you get back, you start talking about a case and a woman I've never heard of!"
"Leon, I don't have time for this," Hamilton said. By now his patience was unraveling and his tone was clipped. "I'm not going to stand here arguing over something that shouldn't even be an issue. We'll talk more about this later."
Crossing the room, he flung open the door and nearly walked into a surprised Larry Germaine. The young assistant D.A. had been on his way down the hall. He turned to look at Hamilton in surprise at the near-collision. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Burger," he apologized.
"Nevermind, Larry," Hamilton answered. "Where's your briefcase? We have to be in court!"
Larry stared at him. "Mr. Burger, we just got back from court. The defense asked for a continuance and the judge granted it. Don't tell me you don't remember!"
"Don't tell me you don't!" Hamilton retorted. "And don't tell me we were prosecuting some guy named Turner. We're on the Vivalene case!"
He was met with the same blank look. "The what?"
"Oh, Larry, don't you start in on me too!" Hamilton cried. He hurried past. "I'll just go to court myself."
His heart gathered speed as he reached the elevator. Could he have been rendered unconscious after all? Maybe this was all some ghastly nightmare. Maybe in a few minutes he would wake up with Leon bending over him worriedly and demanding to know what had happened.
It had to be a nightmare. It could not be reality. It could not be. It felt so real, but there was no explanation for how it was possible. Not unless he wanted to consider the missing box, which he really did not.
Or maybe it was that blast he had taken last night. Maybe now he was starting to hallucinate. He could have imagined the bright light a few minutes ago. Everything that had followed could have been a delusion. He could be in the middle of a delusion right now. Maybe he would wake up in the hospital.
That almost seemed preferable to the alternative.
Within a few moments he had reached the courtroom and was pushing open the heavy door. The room was empty save for one person. Calmly walking down from the bench, adorned in his judicial robes, was the crooked Judge Heyes. Hamilton's eyes went wide in shock.
Heyes turned, studying Hamilton with an unconcerned, matter-of-fact look. "Can I help you, Mr. Prosecutor?"
Hamilton snapped to attention. "You can tell me just what you're doing in here!" he said, storming across the room and through the gate. "You know you've been suspended pending an investigation into your office. Who let you in here?"
Heyes stared at him, clearly unsettled by the outburst. But then he struggled to gather his wits about him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Burger," he said. "And I don't know why you're here at all. There's nothing you can do here."
"Oh, I was doing plenty," Hamilton snarled, "both to Vivalene and to everyone in her employ. My office was gathering evidence against you at long last."
"You've been working the Turner case," Heyes answered without acknowledging any of Hamilton's declarations. He still looked shaken. When he spoke, it was almost as though he were trying to convince himself and not Hamilton of his words. "I heard it was given a continuance."
"I've never even heard of Turner," Hamilton shot back.
Heyes stood his ground. "Mr. Burger, I would advise you to leave before you get yourself into any trouble," he said. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"
Hamilton glared into his eyes. "You know, don't you," he breathed. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You know about Vivalene. You know there's no Turner."
There was only the slightest flicker in Heyes' eyes. "I'm serious, Mr. Prosecutor," he said. "I could send for my bodyguard and tell him that you've been feeling the strain lately. I could see to it that you're taken and examined by a qualified physician. You're acting like you need it."
A shadow appeared at the back of the courtroom. Hamilton recognized the tough man with folded arms. That was Heyes' bodyguard, alright. Heyes was not missing a trick. There was no way he could be doing this, and yet Hamilton was positive.
"Don't ask me how it's been done, Hamilton," Heyes said, spitting the name out in disgust as he stepped closer. "Just know that no one will believe you. At best they'll be concerned. At worst, well . . . let's just say you could be relieved of your office for insanity. Several counts of it."
Hamilton gripped his briefcase. "If this isn't a dream, it has to be some kind of hypnosis," he said. "Either you have me under a spell or everyone around me. Right now I'm supposed to be in court, trying Vivalene for murder and attempted murder. Instead there's no one here except you, and everyone's telling me I'm out of court for the day and that Vivalene doesn't exist."
"Listen to them, Mr. Prosecutor," Heyes said. He patted Hamilton on the shoulder before breezing past and going to his bodyguard at the door. They left the courtroom together.
Hamilton ran over, watching their departure down the hall. His thoughts were going a mile a minute. He had to find out what was going on. Heyes knew, but would not acknowledge it. Someone had to listen. Someone had to believe him.
He turned and hurried back into the hall. Perry would listen. Of all people, Perry would be highly concerned, probably more than almost anyone else, and want to help Hamilton reach the truth. Mignon would feel the same.
Hamilton pulled out his phone, walking towards an isolated corner as he dialed and it rang. "Come on," he muttered to himself. "Answer!"
At last there was a click. "Hello?"
Hamilton paused at the slight terseness to Perry's voice. Was he imagining it? "Hello, Perry," he greeted. "We've got a big problem. I know this is going to sound crazy, but Heyes has got back into his judgeship. And I can't get anyone other than him to remember that Vivalene exists!"
There was a long, uncomfortable hesitation. "Mr. Burger, I can't imagine what you're talking about." Now there was no mistaking the cool tone in Perry's voice. "You know as well as I do that Judge Heyes has been in his position for twelve years. He has no intention of getting out of it, so there could be no earthly reason for him to get back into it. And as for Vivalene, I'm surprised you even remember she exists."
A cold chill stabbed Hamilton's body, even as he felt relief that Perry recalled Vivalene. "Perry, what are you saying?" he demanded. "And why so formal? You're acting as if we never . . ."
"Why are you acting so informal?" Perry returned. "You would never dream of it. And I'm sorry, but I'm very busy. I have to go now; Vivalene has just informed me that my next client is here."
Hamilton had been about to retort when Perry's last statement stunned him out of it. "Vivalene's there?" he exclaimed. "Why?"
"I wouldn't expect you to remember something so trivial, but in light of your questions I thought you might. Vivalene happens to be my secretary. Goodbye, Mr. Burger."
The sound of the dial tone was suddenly in Hamilton's ear. He drew the phone away, the action almost mechanical. If anyone had passed him, they would have seen he was sheet-white.
"What's happened?" Hamilton uttered, not caring as his voice echoed off the marble walls. "What's happened?"
Nothing was as it should be. Perry was all but hostile. He didn't find it strange about Heyes in the least. And Della had vanished. The one thing Hamilton had thought would never happen had happened. Perry had a new secretary. Not only that, it was that witch.
Hamilton shoved the phone in his pocket. He was going right to Perry's office. Maybe if he were there in person, things would possibly start to make sense.
But after that telephone conversation, he had to admit he doubted it.
xxxx
Perry frowned as he hung up the phone. He had not really indicated it to the district attorney, but he was troubled by their exchange. He had never before heard Mr. Burger address him so familiarly. And the things he had been going on about were so bizarre. Where would he get such ideas?
"What was that?"
He glanced up. Vivalene had entered his office and was perching on the edge of the desk. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders as she clutched her notepad in her hands. She blinked big green eyes at him.
"That was the district attorney," Perry said. "I couldn't really make sense of what he was saying. He acted as though Judge Heyes wasn't supposed to still be on the bench. And he said that no one remembered you. He's the one who never gives you the time of day."
Vivalene's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. "The poor man," she said. "He must need medical help in a bad way."
"I've always thought he was sound," Perry said, "but after this I'm not sure of anything."
"You don't think there was anything to his rambling?" Vivalene hurried to interject.
Perry looked to her in surprise. "There couldn't be, of course," he said.
Vivalene smiled. "Of course."
Perry paused. "There was one other strange thing," he said. "Mr. Burger addressed me as though we're on friendly terms with each other."
Vivalene shrugged. "He must have some scheme in mind."
"That what bothers me," Perry said. "Heaven knows we are not and never have been friends. But he's an honest man. He could never be accused of anything crooked; it wouldn't hold any weight."
"Oh, you never know about people," Vivalene said. "I certainly wouldn't trust him."
Perry sighed. "You trust hardly anyone."
A smirk tugged at Vivalene's lips. "Too true," she mused. "But it's served me well."
Perry looked weary now. "Nevermind. You said there was a client?"
"He's waiting in my office," Vivalene said.
"Show him in," Perry requested.
Vivalene climbed off the desk. "Of course, darling," she said, crossing the room.
xxxx
Hamilton stared up at the Brent building as he parked in front and exited his car. "At least the building doesn't look any different," he said, only half-sarcastic.
The drive there had been both tense and confused. The more Hamilton thought about everything he was seeing, the more Mignon's despairing warning from last night echoed through his mind. She had been convinced that Mr. Vann was going to do something ill with that box. And Mr. Vann himself had said some very concerning things about the box, if it were taken seriously and not scoffed at. Particularly about how the box could be used to control people's lives.
Hamilton wanted to scoff. But if he were honest with himself, it felt like he and the others could be in some drastic game, pawns of Heyes and who knew whom else. What if Mr. Vann worked for Heyes? That was something Hamilton intended to look into. It was too strange that Heyes clearly remembered what was going on when no one else did. He had even told Hamilton that no one would believe him.
Hamilton hastened into the building and up to the ninth floor. Before long he was entering Perry's office.
He froze to see Vivalene sitting at the receptionist's desk. Gertie was nowhere in sight.
Vivalene looked up, meeting his gaze. "Hello," she purred. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I don't," Hamilton retorted. He came closer, searching Vivalene's eyes. Did she remember too? If she did, what would that mean? Were all of their current enemies in on this together?
"Mr. Mason is busy with a client right now," Vivalene said. "If you'd care to wait, I'm sure he'll be ready before too long."
Hamilton leaned over, placing his hands on the desk. "Why are you here?" he demanded.
"Here?" Vivalene repeated vaguely.
"Here in this office. Here at this desk. Where's Della? And Gertie?" Hamilton straightened, walking briskly around the room for any sign of the missing women.
Vivalene leaned back, watching him. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said. "Mr. Mason mentioned you've been acting strangely."
"Oh, he did?" Hamilton turned to face her again. "And what did you say?"
"You could be cracking," Vivalene said. "On the other hand, who knows what sort of devious plot you've got in your sharp little mind." As she spoke, she stood and moved closer, ever closer, to him. By the end of her sentence, she was right in his face. She leaned in further, bringing her lips to his.
Hamilton immediately stepped back in disgust. "I don't know how you arranged such a cushy situation for yourself, or how you got out of jail, but I'm going to find out," he vowed. "And then you'll go right back to your cell."
Vivalene smirked at him. "Why, darling, I don't know whatever you're talking about," she said in a voice that indicated quite the opposite.
Hamilton would have demanded to know more if Perry's client had not stepped into the reception room right then. Vivalene turned her attention to him.
"Mr. Mason is going to represent me," the man said in obvious relief. "Thank you."
"Not at all," Vivalene purred.
Hamilton hurried past them, traveling through the empty middle office before reaching Perry's open door and stepping inside. "Perry, I have to talk to you," he announced. "Hear me out, please!"
Perry, still at his desk, clasped his hands and raised an eyebrow. "Since you've seen fit to barge in here like this, I should like to," he said. "But answer me one question first. Why have you suddenly started addressing me so familiarly?"
Hamilton swallowed hard, suddenly feeling awkward. "Well, that's the thing," he said at last. "The way I remember it, it's been that way for a long time. And it hasn't been one-sided."
Now Perry frowned. "Sit down," he said, gesturing to the nearest chair.
Hamilton complied, but shifted in discomfort. The last thing he thought he would ever be doing was to try to explain his friendship with Perry, to Perry. Or to explain other things that Perry should know without question.
"Perry, the woman out front isn't your secretary," he said. "She's a hardened criminal. I'm prosecuting her for shooting Andy and deliberately killing her own henchman in the process. Your real secretary is Della Street. Right now, I don't know what's happened to her. Vivalene could have hurt her before taking her place, for all I'd know."
He spoke carefully on the last sentence. Even though Perry did not seem to find anything odd about Vivalene being his secretary, and very well might not remember Della, Hamilton could not bring himself to speak callously about Della's fate. He was honestly worried by this point. And if Perry did remember, he would be beyond devastated if Della had been hurt—or worse.
Perry paused, something passing through his eyes at the mention of the other woman. "Della Street," he mused aloud, as though trying to grasp knowledge that was just out of his reach. But then the moment was gone and he shook his head. "I don't know her." Hamilton's heart sank. "Vivalene has been my confidential secretary for years. You can't have been prosecuting her."
Hamilton leaned forward. "Perry, everything you remember right now is a lie!" he cried. "I don't understand what's happened. Everything was normal until this afternoon. Now, all of a sudden no one remembers the truth except me. And Heyes. I know he's behind this, somehow. He as much as admitted to me that he's involved. I think Vivalene knows, too."
"What if you're the one who's remembering lies?" Perry countered. "If you say everyone's forgotten this life you knew, that seems the more logical conclusion."
"Perry, it's the truth!" Hamilton protested. "If I just had some way of proving it to you . . . !"
Perry was silent for a moment as he digested Hamilton's words and his desperation. "I believe you believe it," he said. "You're very sincere in what you say and do. There isn't any knowing lie in your eyes.
"But I can't believe that what you believe is true. I'm sorry."
Hamilton rocked back, stunned and admittedly feeling a bit betrayed. "You think I'm crazy," he gasped.
"I think you're overworked," Perry said. "You should have Chamberlain or Sampson take over for you and get away for a while. You're in dire need of a long rest."
"What I need is to get to the bottom of what's happening here," Hamilton countered. "I'm not going to stand for it. You wouldn't either, even if you only had a shadow of a doubt that your memories might be false." He stared at the other lawyer. "What's happened to you, Perry? Have they really got their hooks in you so strong that you don't question this at all? Does it really feel right to you?"
"It's right. However . . ." Perry paused. "Show me some evidence to back up your story. Show me and I'll see how I feel then."
Hamilton sprang to his feet. "There isn't any evidence!" he said. "I don't know how to prove this to you."
Perry could not help a slight smile of amusement. "Then it seems that now the shoe is on the other foot, doesn't it."
"Huh?" Hamilton peered at him. "What do you mean?"
"You're the one without evidence as you try desperately to prove your point," Perry said. "Usually you have a great deal of evidence and I am the one trying to build a case out of very scant scraps."
Hamilton considered that. "Then maybe you should remember how many times you've pulled through and proven yourself right, even without a mountain of evidence," he said.
He turned to leave. There was little more he could do here. He was going to seek out the others. Would they remember? It was starting to look highly unlikely. Mignon would probably think there was some black magic loose, if she believed him at all. Paul . . . well, he hated to think how nuts Paul would think he was. Tragg too. Andy probably wouldn't know what to make of it. And Della . . . who knew where Della was at all, let alone what she would think.
He wished that Perry would call him back. He could feel the piercing blue eyes boring into his back as he walked to the door. But Perry was silent.
Only Perry himself knew of the slight prick he had felt when he had said he did not know Della. And only Perry knew that as Hamilton left, he had the strangest, faintest sensation that he was making a terrible mistake by letting Hamilton walk away.
"It's just a delusion," he muttered to himself. "It has to be."
But as he looked over Vivalene's notes from their latest client's interview, he could not feel at peace. Hamilton's words, and the accompanying pricks of feeling, had gotten under his skin. One question in particular would not leave him alone.
Who was Della Street?