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From Part 7:She lay passive as his hands settled at her waist. She could feel his heavy breathing against the back of her head. His bare chest pushed against her back. His arms were circling around her, maintaining her in a grip that felt suffocating. Any second now, he would roll her over and settle onto her. There would be no claiming she was asleep then. No escape. He tugged her closer to him, nuzzling her hair...
... then his hold on her loosened again.
His arms remained around her, and for long minutes, she didn’t move, afraid he was only waiting for a sign to resume his previous course of action. He didn’t. His breathing became slow and regular. He had fallen back to sleep.
Eyes wide open and body stiff, Lois stared at the far wall of the room, aware that peace would elude her all night.
*********Part 8:"Do I really need all this?" Perry examined the contents of his travel bag with a frown. "Sunscreen, sweet? Aspirin? Cold and flu powder? And..." He retrieved an oblong packet and read the writing on the side with a raised eyebrow. "Merck's snake venom antidote? Alice, it's just a fishing trip, not a walk down the Grand Canyon!"
"Oakland Hill is full of slithering things," his wife countered while stuffing another pair of socks into the already full bag. "You want to be prepared."
"I covered the First Battle of Saigon in March 1968; we didn't have any kind of appropriate emergency kit, we used torn, dirty shirts as band-aid and a few drops of booze to disinfect wounds, and you want me to take snake venom antidote to a fishing trip?"
"You were twenty-four in 1968."
"Are you on the verge of making a disparaging comment about my age?"
Alice sighed. He knew that sound. It meant that any further comment would launch a lecture about his unreasonable tendency to think he was invulnerable. They'd had that argument time and again over the past few months, and now both tended to try and deflate it before it went out of hand.
While he was happy to spend more time with his wife, his retirement had also implanted the foolish idea in her mind that he was a crumbly old man needing support in his everyday life. Granted, what little hair remained on his skull was grey, and he couldn't conceal the wrinkles on his forehead any more, but he still felt perfectly strong. Certainly strong enough to handle two days outside the house.
He was just as bored as he had feared he would be. There was not a day when he didn't think of the Daily Planet and how much he missed it. He missed his office, his morning coffee while listening to Elvis' Essential Collection, his tricks to eat at least one cinnamon doughnut before Carl from travel snatched them all, his barked orders during the daily staff meeting, and the frustrated look on Jimmy's face when he sent the boy on his most important mission of the day: getting a chicken and mayo sandwich from the deli down the street... He missed the excitement of the end of the day, when Amanda ran about in a vain attempt to get the photocopier to work and Steve typed away at his computer muttering dark curses about deadlines. He missed Lois's smug expression as she LANed her latest masterpiece to his computer and Clark's longing look as he helped her with her coat.
That life was behind him now. Carl had been hired at the Metropolis Star and was now in charge of the whole travel section. Amanda had moved to Texas to work as a press consultant in a big petrol company the name of which he had forgotten. Steve had become editor of the political desk of the New York Times. Jimmy had snatched a scholarship for the MIT in Boston. Lois was alternately reporting news for LNN and hanging onto her husband's arm at public dinners. As for Clark, the boy had dropped from the face of earth. He had probably gone someplace with no connection to his former partner to lick his wounds and drown his sorrow in alcohol and cheap pleasure, like Elvis had done when Priscilla had lost herself in a foolish and thankfully momentary affair with the King's producer.
It wasn't just bricks and cement that had crumbled when the Daily Planet had been bombed. Hundreds of lives had been changed, few for the better; jobs had disappeared, friendships had broken, hopes had died.
And he, the once editor-in-chief of the biggest newspaper in America, was contemplating a fishing trip with as much excitement as the first story he had written as a professional reporter.
Alice wasn't helping, he thought with a resigned sigh as she folded another pair of corduroy pants and pushed them into the bag.
"Sweetheart, I'm not really going to need four of those," he commented dryly.
"And then you'll call me from the nearest payphone wailing because you dropped ketchup onto the ones you're wearing."
"Nonsense! All I need is a batch of cookies, a change of underwear, my sleeping bag and, more importantly, my fishing pole."
Alice wrapped her arms around him and dropped a soft kiss on his lips. "Some time ago you would have added your beeper and laptop computer to that pile, honey."
Perry shrugged. "Yes. Well, things change. Some time ago I would never have gone on a fishing trip with my retired neighbour."
She rested her head against his shoulder. "We're better off this way, Perry. I know you loved your job, but there would have been a time when you'd have had to give it up eventually."
"I know." He sounded and looked gloomy as he spoke the words.
Alice pulled away and smoothed a thin strand of hair from his temple. "I'll be in the kitchen making sandwiches. Yes, I'll make one with peanut butter," she said before he could chime in with his usual request. "You finish up with the packing. Do you need a water bottle?"
"Alice..."
She laughed and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him to stare at the mess on their bed. Piles of woollen sweaters and warm undershirts lay discarded on the comforter. A box of various painkillers, drugs and medicines had been half-emptied onto his pillow, next to Alice's sewing kit. An army of walking shoes was lined up near the wall. His travel bag was so full of extra clothing and paraphernalia that he had no clue how he would zip it shut.
He was contemplating, perplexed, the brand new pair of slippers sticking out of the neatly folded clothes Alice had decided to select for the weekend when the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" he announced to the closed kitchen door behind which he knew Alice was preparing enough food to hold a siege.
He crossed the corridor and opened the door. "Ted, I know I'm late but if you give me just a minute to fin - Clark...?"
*********
Sitting across from his former editor and his wife, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie in the other, Clark wondered for the tenth time in half an hour if dropping by unannounced had been such a good idea. It had seemed inappropriate to rely on the phone when he hadn't been in touch with Perry since the older man's retirement, but it was equally strange to sit here making small-talk when so many things had happened in the months they hadn't seen each other.
Alice and Perry's welcome had been heart-warming, though. He had been afraid to meet the same kind of reaction as Lois's when they had first seen each other again the previous week, but Perry had been the opposite of cold and unforgiving. Once he had got over the shock of finding him on his doorstep, he had enfolded him in a hug and ushered him inside, taking his coat, urging him to make himself comfortable, barking at Alice that they needed some coffee, even cancelling a fishing trip regardless of Clark's protests about ruining his plans.
Clark couldn't remember seeing him fuss over someone so much. And now he was settled amidst fluffy cushions and in front of plates where cookies battled with a variety of peanut butter, chicken and jam sandwiches.
And he'd had the toughest time in the world convincing Perry that he had checked into a hotel and didn't need a place to stay. It had been even harder to make his editor understand that he couldn't stick around for lunch as he had to sort out a few things with old contacts.
"So, are you back for good, son?" Perry asked around a mouthful of peanut butter.
Clark held back a smile as Alice tucked a paper napkin into her husband’s collar. "I’m afraid not, chief. Though it would probably be a relief to my editor if I quit."
"Where were you all this time anyway?"
"Perry!" Alice scolded.
"No, it's all right, Ms White," Clark hurried to reassure her. "I know I disappeared without a word. I'm sorry about that, Perry."
"Don't apologise. We all realised you had more on your mind than the loss of your job. So you found a job... wherever it is you are, now?"
"I’m working for a French paper in Paris."
Perry's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hairline if it hadn't been receding so much. "France? What are you doing in France? Why France?"
"Why not?" Clark shrugged. "I got a decent job there, and a boss who sometimes reminds me of you."
“He’s a fan of the King, too?”
Clark laughed. “No, but he does a perfect impersonation of you a few minutes before deadline, barking at anyone in sight and making sure every single staff member is hard at work.”
There was something akin to sadness in Perry’s eyes as he replied. “The Planet was the greatest paper in the world, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it, son?”
“It was, sir.”
“When you think that the Star is now top of the sales! They took over the Planet after we sunk. I ain’t buying that trash, though. I’d rather not know the news than read them in a rag. And Alice doesn’t want me to resurrect the Planet.”
Alice White patted his knee. “That didn’t keep you from trying, dear.”
“It’s useless. With you and Lois gone, the Planet had lost its core anyway. I went to see several media moguls, and all of them had the same answer for me. It’d cost much more to rebuild the Planet than to let the Star take over the city.”
Clark squirmed. When he’d left the country, his only obsession had been to get away from Lois. He hadn’t dwelled on the consequences of his running away on Perry and the rest of his Planet colleagues. “I doubt Lois and I would have made much of a difference, chief,” he said, as much to reassure himself as his former editor. “Whoever blew up the place knew that Luthor’s insurance wouldn’t be enough to cover the price of rebuilding.”
“I checked that out, son. Lexel Investments had an extra insurance policy on the Daily Planet. Lex touched big bucks when we went down.”
“Enough to rebuild?”
“According to Lexel Investments, nowhere near enough, but I take anything claims assessors say with a pinch of salt.”
“Think Luthor would have bought the Planet and destroyed it just to get the insurance money? That sounds...”
“Not grand enough for him.” Perry’s lips twisting with contempt.
Clark gaped and blinked at his former editor. Did he mean... did he mean that he didn’t trust Luthor either? He’d seemed perfectly happy when the multi-billionaire had bought the Planet and pretended he was saving it from bankrupt.
“Yeah, I know. But I changed my mind about Luthor.”
“When? Perry, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, that happened about two minutes after he introduced me to Chip.” He waved his fingers in quotation marks around the name. “My new boss. And I didn’t tell you because I knew you had other things on your mind, son. Not to mention...” He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Not to mention Lois announced her engagement to him, and I was too chicken to get involved and try to talk her out of it.”
“Don’t worry about it, chief. You know Lois.”
“Yeah. And I know you. I guess you tried to talk to her and she sent you to hell?”
Clark nodded. “That sums it up.”
Perry extended his hand across the coffee table to pat Clark’s arm. “I’m sorry, son.”
So that was why the chief hadn’t asked why he’d left the country. Well, he supposed he hadn’t been very discreet about his feelings towards Lois’s fiance. He hadn’t bothered hiding his frustration when Lois had announced her engagement to Luthor, and it must have been obvious, to his friends anyway, that there was more to it than the loss of a colleague.
“It’s okay, chief.” He wanted to add that he’d put it all behind him, but he didn’t have the heart to lie. “But I do need your help to bring him down.”
Perry’s eyebrows shot up. “Bring him down?”
“Luthor. Ever heard of ACL Corporation?”
“No. Clark, you want to bring down Luthor?”
“Last week, Lo - I mean, I was working on a story that led to a company called ACL Corporation. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but a source of mine managed to track it down, and ACL belongs to Lex Luthor. And yes, I want to bring him down.”
“Lots of companies belong to Luthor. Bring him down... That’s... wow. That’s quite a project you have here, Clark.”
“I’m aware of that. And yes, lots of companies belong to Luthor, but if there’s the tiniest chance that Luthor might have something to do with the illegal research I uncovered last week, I don’t want to miss it.”
“Makes sense. But... what about Lois?”
Clark winced and shifted in his seat. “That’s the thing, chief. She could be in danger.”
“Lois would have danger for breakfast if she could. Or that’s the way she used to be,” he added a note of wistfulness creeping in his voice. “But she’s been married to Luthor for six months. If Lex wanted to hurt her, he’d have done so long ago.”
Perry made sense. Of course he did. To anyone who wasn’t aware of Lois’s expedition in Paris, she couldn’t be in any more danger than she was last week. He should tell Perry. Not about their relationship - that part of Lois’s visit had to remain a complete secret, and even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could define where that put them now. But he could trust Perry with what Lois and he had uncovered in France, and why there were reasons to worry about Lois in case Luthor was indeed involved.
“Don’t you think?” Perry prompted, interrupting the silence that had stretched between them.
Clark took a deep breath. “Chief, there’s something I need to tell you.”
*********
“Please, Sanders!”
“Begging’s useless, Lois. Inspector Dwight was very firm. This file is completely confidential.” Doctor Wayne pointed to the anonymous body lying on the gurney in front of him. “See this one? None of your colleagues came to ask about her, yet she was the victim of a violent death as well. Prostitutes just don’t sell newspapers, do they?”
Lois readjusted the mask covering her mouth and nose. “Sanders, Dave was not just my boss. He was my *friend*.”
The doctor didn’t even raise his head at her pleading.
She rolled her eyes and pointed to the corpse he was working on. Might as well make him talk about what little he wanted to reveal. “What about this one, then?”
“Her murderer stabbed her with a kitchen knife.” He looked up at Lois, his face emotionless. “Twelve times. Look.”
“I’ll pass.”
She’d always hated the morgue. The pestilential smell, the suffocating atmosphere and the whole idea of dead corpses made her dizzy. She normally did her best to avoid visiting Wayne. She hadn’t had a choice today, though. It wasn’t like she could rely on the official report.
And Henderson still hadn’t got back to her! What was he doing? How long could it take to snoop around Dwight’s files?
“You’ve got to give me something, Wayne. David was a friend. I want, I *need* to know what happened to him!”
“He could have been your grandmother that my answer would still be no.”
Lois sighed. The old forensic had always been tough to convince when it came to leaking information to the press, but he usually caved in after a while. She’d known him for years, and she couldn’t remember one time when he’d refused flat out to help her. This time, though, something about his words and the tightness of his face made her doubt.
“You and I both know that this murder won’t be solved.” She was playing her last trump card, but she had nothing more to lose. Sanders didn’t have any higher an opinion of Dwight than she did.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Lois. I’m not fighting this battle.”
“Come on, Wayne, you have to give me something to start with! Without your help, I won’t be able to bring down the guy who killed Dave!”
“Begging, now?” Wayne Sanders leaned against a cabinet and grinned. “First time I see you do that.”
Lois fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Then you should know it’s important.”
“All right.” He put down his scalpel and motioned her to the cold room. He opened a drawer and beckoned her closer. “The night team brought him back here about five hours after the death. Body was already stiff and - ”
“Spare me the gory details, will you?”
“I thought you wanted to know!”
Sanders grabbed the body bag and pulled the zipper down. Lois felt her world sway. David looked pretty much the same as he had when she’d last talked to him, except for his skin that was so pale it looked translucent. The red hole in his chest was the only reminder that his death had been violent.
It was him. Yet it wasn’t him.
“The bullet came from a six point thirty five millimetres calibre.”
“Make of the gun?” There was nothing left in his body. No heartbeat. No blood filling his veins.
“That I can’t say.”
“Wayne...” No thought. No dreams.
“Lois, that one is really confidential.”
“And the rest wasn’t?”
The doctor sighed. “Schmeisser.”
“Never heard of it.” Nothing at all.
“Neither had I until a couple of months ago. Do you remember Peter Ferns?”
“Vaguely. Montoya got the story.” And she’d made a point of rubbing it in Lois’s face the following days.
“He was shot by a similar gun. Took weeks to figure out where the bullet came from.”
“Why is that?”
“Schmeissers are very small semi-automatics from the early nineteen twenties. They’re not the kind of gun you encounter every day.”
“Could it be the same gun that killed Ferns and David?”
“Very likely. Henderson investigated Ferns’ death so you should ask him for details. All I know is that the owner of that Schmeisser got it either from a family collection, or else smuggled it illegally from Germany. It’s not sold in US stores.”
“A collection gun? Muggers use collection guns now?”
“Muggers? Let me ask you this: if somebody tries to mug you, what do you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would you stand there and let the guy take your purse?”
“Are you kidding me? I’d fight and claw and punch and... Wait a minute.” She lowered her eyes to David’s body. The skin was unmarred but for the hole in his chest. “No bruises.”
“No bruises, and no epithelial cells under his nails.”
“There was no mugging.”
“Unless this particular mugger prefers to kill his victims first, then steal their money.” Even Sanders sounded doubtful.
“Any similar case?”
“Not that I know of. There’s more.”
More? *More*? More than the fact that David had probably not been killed by a mugger? He’d been shot, pure and simple. Murdered. She gaped.
Sanders pointed to the bullet hole. “That bullet was shot at point blank range. We found traces of gunpowder around the point of impact.”
“He didn’t fight, didn’t try to escape, and the killer didn’t shoot him in the back. He knew his murderer?”
“That was my initial theory. Then the results of the blood samples came in.” Sanders shoved a sheet into Lois’s hand.
“Translate.”
He pointed to a line in the tab. “He’d obviously gone to a party.”
“Huh?”
“He was drunk, Lois. And not just halfway there.”
“Drunk? But how...?”
“Do you really need me to explain to you how people get drunk? I thought you were old enough to know that by now.”
“Sanders!”
“By the looks of it, your boss just didn’t realise what was happening to him.”
“David never drank any alcohol!”
“That might be what he told you, but obviously that night he made an exception.”
She took a step backwards and steadied herself on the set of cabinets behind her.
She’d seen David just a couple of hours before he was killed. He’d been perfectly sober, and with no obvious intention to get smashed. He was supposed to see Lex and then...
Lex.
No. That was irrelevant. David’s encounter with Lex had nothing to do with the fate he’d met on the alley behind the LNN building.
Lex wouldn’t have killed David for the sake of a scoop.
Lex wouldn’t have killed David.
Lex... Lex wouldn’t have killed.
“Lois?”
She looked up at Wayne, aware that she looked as pale as one of his “customers”, as he so often referred to the bodies lying in those drawers. She knew Lex collected guns, but she’d never been interested in finding out what kind of pieces he owned. In fact, she’d done her best to ignore that one hobby of his.
Maybe it was about time she took interest in what her husband did in his spare time. After all, he might know about Schmeissers and be able to help with the investigation.
And if he did, she would stop harbouring utterly crazy thoughts such as the completely unlikely possibility that he might own a Schmeisser.
*********
tbc...
