They drove Perry back to his place of residence. When they pulled up to his apartment building, however, the attorney made no move to get out of the car. He merely stared blankly into space.
Paul had to open the car door, put a hand on his arm, and gently tug him out of the passenger's seat. Then he proceeded to guide him into the building. It was necessary to lead him, as Perry walked like one who was drugged. He would have collided with tree branches and doors if Paul had not prevented it.
His friends walked the defense attorney into his home and seated him in the most comfortable armchair. Hamilton Burger went straight to the decanter and poured a glass of fine brandy and brought it to Perry.
"Here, drink this, it will do you good," he said, pressing the glass into the attorney's hand. Perry did not acknowledge the order in the least. He merely kept staring at the opposite wall, the brandy glass precariously dangling from his fingers, not seeing, not hearing. After several more unsuccessful entreaties that he drink, Hamilton Burger gave up and repossessing the beverage, placed it on the coffee table to prevent it being accidentally spilled on the carpet.
Paul Drake pulled up a chair to Perry's.
"Listen, pal," he said compassionately. "Della would not want you to carry on like this. She would have walked to Antarctica and back to make you happy! She would want you to go on living, and laughing, and working, just like before."
Exteriorly, Perry did not appear to react, but mentally, he crumpled even further. Yes, Della had sacrificed three years of her life to cater to his every whim, and he had not even had the decency to make sure that she had time to eat lunch and dinner on countless days. And now, every opportunity of making it up to her had passed.
….
For hours, Perry sat in the armchair, barely moving a muscle and not uttering a word. His friends took turns sitting with him, thus giving each other the chance to get some fresh air and take care of things which could not be put off. They also took turns talking to him. They pointed out that it was unlikely that Della had suffered much. They promised him that they would see to it that justice was done for Della. They reminded him that he was in the prime of his life, and that there were still many things to look forward to. It was all in vain. Nothing seemed to pierce Perry's consciousness.
Towards evening, Paul Drake came back to the apartment to relieve a weary Lieutenant Tragg of his post.
"Are you certain that you can manage him by yourself all night?" the seasoned police officer asked in a low voice as he put on his coat.
"What is there to manage?" Paul Drake said a tad bitterly, looking over to where his best friend sat, still in a daze. "Besides, I'm planning on calling Perry's physician as soon as you leave. I doubt that he can do much, but at this point I need someone to reassure me that he hasn't had a stroke that has bereft him of movement and speech."
"That sounds like a wise idea," the Lieutenant conceded. "By the way, if he should regain some animation overnight and think of his law practice, you can tell him that Mr. Burger called Judge Treadwell and got a continuance on all his cases for the next two weeks."
"Will do."
"And unless you call us in the morning and say that you need us, we will be downtown interviewing the suspect. I know that it is Memorial Day and all, but it can't be delayed any longer, and there is no way that we are going to give a less experienced detective and an assistant district attorney a chance to blunder their way through that interview. Hopefully by the morning Mr. Nathan White will be willing to talk sensibly instead of spewing rigmarole."
"He better be! I very much want to know what pathetic reason he had for hurting Della!"
"If we extract a somewhat reasonable explanation from him, I will let you know, of course. Goodnight, Drake, and good luck."
"Goodnight, Tragg. And thank you!"
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