Paul watched Perry unlock the front door of his office more by touch than by sight. The attorney's vision was, again, blurred by tears.
While the private investigator was thankful that his friend was mobile and somewhat verbal again, it was still extraordinarily difficult to watch his obvious heartbreak. Once Perry had finished dressing that morning, he had come out into the living room, where Paul finally prevailed upon him to take some nourishment. Perry had choked down half a scone and a cup of black coffee without complaint, but Paul could clearly see that both were as tasteless as cardboard and ashes to him. Then they had had a silent drive downtown, Paul at the wheel. He studiously avoided streets with newspaper stands, because Della's picture was emblazoned on the front page of every local newspaper, with the headline: Perry Mason's Confidential Secretary Found Dead in Neighbor's Apartment.
Now, as they entered the office and walked through the deserted reception area, Perry seemed to barely be holding himself together. Avoiding Della's office, he tottered to the door which led to the law library. Going inside, he approached the filing cabinets which were stationed against the walls, and with a trembling hand, pulled one of them out, searching for the Last Will and Testament which Della Street had signed some two years ago. His forehead was creased with determination to complete the task even as he tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle his sobs.
Paul stood by helplessly. He thought that he was getting a preview of what the rest of Perry's life would look like. It was very, very unlikely that the man could ever be described as 'happy' again in this world. Eventually, the sobs would quiet and the constant tears would stop, but the ache would remain. With a stalwart persistence Perry would do his duty towards his clients and the legal system, but the minute the day's work was done and the time to go home came, he would be enveloped in loneliness and longing. There would never be any wife or children in his world. There would only be bittersweet memories of Della.
"Can I help you in any way?" the private detective softly asked.
Perry shook his head as he pulled out a manila folder.
Paul put his hand on one of the chairs stationed by the table, preparing to pull it out and sit down in it, when a strange, faint sound from Perry's private office reached his ears. He paused. After a few seconds, he heard it again.
Glancing at the lawyer, he found him to be completely preoccupied with reading the documents inside the folder and valiantly blinking away tears. As a result, he silently left the law library and went to investigate alone.
As Paul walked through Perry's office, he again heard an odd scratching noise at the private back door, and saw the doorknob move slightly.
Someone was trying to pick the lock.
Hoping to startle the would-be intruder, Paul crept up to the door, and then, without warning, unlocked it and threw it wide open.
He stopped his six-foot frame from pouncing on Lieutenant Tragg just in time.
For a moment, the two men stared at each other, and then the police officer burst out:
"Drake! What on earth are you doing here?!"
"What am I doing here? Why are you trying to break into Perry's-" the rest of the question died on the private detective's lips when he espied the District Attorney standing in the hallway behind the Lieutenant, and recognized the lavender-clad maiden he carried. Paul gasped as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over his head, and instinctively glanced in panic at the door of the law library, which was thankfully still closed. Turning back to them, he took a threatening step forward and whispered furiously, "Don't you remember what happened the last time he saw her body? What are you trying to do to him?!"
Hamilton Burger and Arthur Tragg instantaneously grew two shades paler.
"Do you mean that Mason is-" the former began to say, aghast. He got no further, for the door to the law library suddenly swung open, and the defense attorney appeared. Perry had initially been heading to his desk to pick up a few papers from it, but the instant he caught sight of the open back door and the people standing in the threshold, he froze mid-step, like a stone statue.
His three friends watched with horror as his face became stricken as his eyes fell upon Della. After doing a quick calculation in his mind as to what the best course of action was, in order to prevent Perry from relapsing into his catatonic state, Hamilton Burger decided to tell him the truth.
"Perry – we brought her here because there is a chance that the medical examiner was a bit premature in declaring her dead," the District Attorney said softly. "The suspect is a chemist, and he confessed to giving her an unusual cocktail of medications to drop her blood pressure and respiratory rate and heart rate, but there is a slight chance that their effects may reverse with time."
Paul stared at Burger as if he was not sure whether the prosecutor was fully in possession of his senses. Perry, on the other hand, took him much more seriously. He had, after all, thought that he had felt her warm breath upon his cheek in the morgue the previous day, until the others had convinced him that it was impossible. He briskly came forward and, reaching out his hand, touched Della's neck.
"It may be too soon to feel a pulse," Hamilton cautioned him. "We have to wait for a while to see what happens."
But Perry did feel something. Barely palpable, very irregular, but nonetheless present under his fingertips, was the pulsation of her carotid artery. The drugs had worn off just enough to increase her blood pressure to a systolic of sixty.
The defense attorney drew in a sharp breath. For the first time all day, he straightened his shoulders, stood up tall, and altogether looked like a man who had just been given a second chance at life. Glancing at the District Attorney, he half-pleaded, half-commanded:
"Give her to me."
And with infinite gentleness, he took his secretary from the District Attorney's arms, and gathered her tenderly in his own.
Please review!