As the District Attorney had expected, Paul Drake figuratively hit the roof when he was told, early the next morning, that Della Street had been murdered sometime during Friday night. He punched the wall of his apartment, demanded to know all the details of the investigation, and then, after about five minutes, calmed down.
"Have you told Perry yet?" he asked, anxiously.
"No, and we were hoping that we might prevail on you to go with us when we do," Lieutenant Tragg answered. Secretly, both he and the District Attorney heaved a sigh of relief. Paul's quick return to equanimity clearly proved that he had not been in love with Della. At least his heart would be somewhat spared.
Paul nodded sorrowfully. Grabbing his coat, he put it on, and headed out the door with Mr. Burger and Lieutenant Tragg.
…..
Twenty minutes later, the three men were standing outside of Perry Mason's door, ringing the doorbell to no avail.
Finally, a realization dawned on Paul.
"It's Sunday morning, fellas. He won't be back from church for another half-hour at least."
"So we wait," Lieutenant Tragg said resolutely.
Their nerves ripping to shreds, the three men paced the hallway, barely breathing, all three mentally formulating and reformulating speeches to tell the attorney the horrible news.
At long last, they heard footsteps in the hall. Instantly, their abdomens wrenched from anxiety and their hearts began beating out of their chests. And, indeed, Perry Mason came around the corner of the hallway and stopped short.
"Well, well, well, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" he asked with a sly smile on his face. "The District Attorney and the Head of the Homicide Division at my front door bright and early on a Sunday morning, with my private investigator in tow? I hate to disappoint you, gentlemen, but if you are expecting me to be harboring a client – or as you would say – a fugitive, in my apartment, you are badly mistaken."
His easygoing, cheerful manner made their hearts sink even lower. It was Hamilton Burger who slowly answered:
"We did not come here to accuse you of anything, Perry, but as friends." He gestured to the door. "May we come in?"
"Of course," Perry said, pulling out his keys. "And I suppose you will then tell me to what I owe the honor of this visit?"
"Naturally," Hamilton murmured.
Glancing at each other nervously behind Perry's back as he unlocked the door, the three men waited until he swung it wide open and waved them in. They unwillingly filed in and sheepishly stood in the living room.
"Sit down, gentlemen," the lawyer said. "Would you like some coffee? I could have some ready in a few minutes. It is a little early to offer you anything stronger."
"No, thank you," Lieutenant Tragg said kindly, sitting down in an armchair and turning his hat over and over again in his hand. Hamilton Burger took the other armchair, and Paul Drake leaned uneasily against the fireplace mantle.
Perry seated himself on the couch across from the District Attorney and Lieutenant. By the cautious look on his face, it was apparent that he was expecting them to start one of their usual sparring matches, over some client's interests. How dearly they wished that they could fulfill his expectations!
But, instead, Lieutenant Tragg had to seriously say,
"Tell me, Perry, when is the last time you saw or spoke to your secretary?"
At the mere mention of Della, the defense attorney instinctively leaned forward the slightest bit, clearly paying more attention than he had a few seconds previously.
"About five o'clock on Friday, when we closed the office and went home for the weekend," he said, very slowly and carefully. After a pause, he added, "Why do you ask?"
Hamilton Burger and Paul Drake shared a quick glance, and then, the District Attorney forced himself to meet Perry's eyes as he said:
"I'm afraid that…there has been an unfortunate…incident, involving Miss Street. You see, yesterday Homicide was called to the Rosewood Apartments in Hollywood, and in one of the units they found a murder victim, and a presumptive suspect. It appears to have been a case of poisoning. As the suspect was uncooperative, we have yet to uncover the motive. But…Perry…the deceased girl…was Della Street."
For several seconds, Perry Mason stared blankly at the District Attorney. Then, his poker face suddenly vanished, and he did the last thing that anyone expected him to do.
He laughed.
Stunned, the three men stared at the lawyer as he got up from the sofa and walked towards his fireplace.
"Oh, come now, Hamilton, how in the world could you make a mistake like that?" Perry asked, a teasing note in his voice.
"I assure you that there is no mistake," Arthur Tragg interjected. "I investigated the crime scene personally."
"Forgetting, I daresay, the case we had just last month, where my client's driver's license was stolen and later found on a dead man, which caused you to misidentify the body for over twenty-four hours? I would think you would have learned by now, that just because you find a piece of identification on a corpse, it does not definitely establish the deceased's actual identity!"
Hamilton Burger stood and walked closer to his rival.
"Tragg and I did not make the identification based on any mere piece of paper, Perry. We recognized her ourselves."
"I am sure that Della is not the only young brunette who lived in or visited the Rosewood Apartments, Hamilton. You know how much death can change a person's appearance."
Finally, the three of them realized what they were witnessing: Perry Mason, the man who never deluded himself when one of his cases was going badly and when the cards were stacked squarely against his client, was in the grips of pure, old-fashioned denial.
"It did not change hers much," Hamilton answered gently. "And certainly not to the point where we could have been in error. Besides, Sergeant Brice, the landlady, and even the suspect himself all agreed that the woman in question was Della Street."
"Well, I won't!" Perry snapped, turning upon the District Attorney in a fury. "Let me see her, and I will show you just how wrong you are!"
Hamilton Burger hesitated before replying,
"Of course I will give you access to see her, if you insist. But, Perry, don't you think you had better really think over that decision before pursuing that course of action?"
"Yes, pal," Paul Drake agreed, coming forward. "Why mar your memories of her with such an experience? Would it not be better to only remember her as alive, vibrant, and beautiful, with a sparkle in her eyes?"
"I absolutely won't believe that she is anything but alive, unless I see it with my own eyes," his friend rebutted stubbornly. "Which I won't. I'll see some poor girl who bears a faint resemblance to Della."
It was obvious that further reasoning with the lawyer would be pointless.
"Alright, Perry, alright," the District Attorney capitulated quietly. "Let us go now."
Poor Perry can't even bring himself to admit that she might be gone.
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