THE PORTRAIT
AUTHOR: Jude Williams
DESCRIPTION: Lois Lane has been murdered, and Perry White has hired a new reporter, Clark Kent, to write the story of her life and death. Who killed her, and has Clark found the woman of his dreams too late?
If you need a Spoiler, you will find one in the Introduction.
FEEDBACK: Courteous constructive criticism is welcome on these boards and at judithwilliams@hotmail.com
RATING: PG-13
My thanks to my faithful beta reader, Gerry Anklewicz who encouraged me and kept me writing to the finish.
You will recognize some lines of dialogue that may seem familiar from Lois and Clark episodes. I make no claim to have created them, but use them as points for FOLCs to recognize and enjoy from a different perspective. Likewise I intend no infringement on the characters from the Lois and Clark series. They belong to D.C, Comics and to Warner Brothers. I have borrowed them for the purpose of my story.
I will acknowledge the film, screenwriters and novelist who provided the inspiration for this story in the Author’s notes at the end of the story.
WARNING: This story contains a brief description of violence.
THE PORTRAIT
Perry White exhaled heavily and assessed the young man seated across the desk from him. He saw dark hair, brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses, and a straight gaze that met his own without any sign of hesitation or discomfort. The editor of the Daily Planet was about to hire a new reporter, a task that, ordinarily, would have been a pleasure. But the man upstairs hadn’t suddenly done an about face, unlocked his pockets, increased the budget, and insisted that he add staff. No, he would never have done that on his own. He had agreed because Perry had persuaded him that it was necessary. The famous editor wished like hell it wasn't, but he knew that sometimes, we have to do what we'd rather not, no matter how painful. And painful it was.
Lois Lane was dead.
She was gone, and somebody had to replace her. No, strike that! No one could ever replace Lois Lane. How could he replace the best investigative reporter he had ever seen?
Her would-be replacement, young and fresh-faced, was a little naïve, maybe, and without much real experience. On paper, the man across the desk wasn’t at all impressive - special correspondent for the Nairobi Guardian, reporter for the Borneo Times, associate editor of the Smallville, Kansas Gazette. But Perry White had a gut feeling about him, the kind he got, on occasion, that turned out to be fortuitous and infallible ,the kind that made him a great editor. The fellow had brought in a terrific story about the demise of an old theatre that was being torn down to make way for one of Lex Luthor’s new projects. It showed a flare for just the kind of thing that Perry wanted to put ‘30’ to the career of Lois Lane. Right now he was pretty sure that this young man was the one who could do the job the way he wanted it done. He just needed to probe a little further to nail it down.
“Well, now, Kent, you don’t exactly have the kind of resume that plays like an Elvis top ten hit.”
Clark Kent’s natural optimism dropped twenty degrees. It was always the same with these editors of great newspapers. They wanted you to have had experience at other great newspapers, but how could you get that experience when they wouldn’t hire you if you didn’t already have it?
“I understand, Mr. White, and I appreciate you’re giving me an interview. I haven’t had any experience writing for a large newspaper, but I’ve certainly had a lot of experience interviewing with them. I'd hoped that the theatre piece might make a difference this time, but I guess not. So, thank you anyway. It’s meant a lot to me personally to meet an editor I’ve admired for so long. And if you can use the story, it would make a great addition to my file, even if you aren’t going to hire me.” He rose to leave.
“Now just a darn minute,” Perry snapped, stalling the young man's departure. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to hire you. Don’t you go jumpin’ the gun on me, here. This is a good story, and I intend to use it. You showed initiative bringing this in, and you have good reporter’s instincts. You know how to create something interesting out of what seems ordinary, but I haven’t completely made up my mind yet. You knew to investigate carefully, check your facts, research the background; and then you had the sensitivity to center the piece on that aging actress who refused to give up the stage to the demolition crews until she finished her farewell scene. That’s all first-rate. Now I need to tell you why I’m hiring someone, and what I expect from that person. Then I want to hear from you if you can do the job.”
Clark lit up inside. He almost grinned, but he had seen the headlines about Lois Lane’s death, and he had felt the sense of gloom in the newsroom when he first walked in. Jocularity didn't seem appropriate under the circumstances. Did the job he was interviewing for have anything to do with what had happened to her?
Perry looked out the window for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “I guess you know that Lois Lane is dead.” He looked at Clark who nodded affirmatively.
“She would have called that theatre piece of yours, ‘touchy-feely’ and refused to write anything like it. If she had written it, she would have given it a much harder edge. But I don’t want to say goodbye to her in a way she would have written it. She was a world-renowned reporter, but almost no one knew the person she really was. Do you understand?”
Clark wasn’t sure, but he nodded again.
Perry continued. “Did you ever meet her?”
“No, I never did. I saw her at a press convention, once, but we didn’t run in the same circles. I don’t...didn’t know her at all, personally, but I know her work inside and out. She was a great reporter, apparently fearless in her investigations.”
“To say the least. I was always afraid she’d end up....” He stopped abruptly, looked down for a moment and then went on. “The Daily Planet can never replace Lois Lane. And no one here can really investigate her death and write her story. We’re all too close to it. That’s why I persuaded the publisher to let me hire someone completely different, unfamiliar with us, with her, and with the circumstances leading to her death. Someone who could begin investigating without any preconceived notions, carry through without sentimental attachment, and get the story of how and why she died and who killed her.
“Management agreed with me that to write the story of her death we needed someone objective, someone without the emotional baggage of having known her. We needed someone who could write about her without any prejudice from working with her day after day. Because, lord knows, the woman never met anyone without leaving a deep impression, too often negative. I need an unbiased reporter with an open mind to investigate and write the story of her murder.”
He paused, caught in a memory, then spoke again. “The way she went after someone she'd targeted was unforgettable...and dangerous. Do you know the circumstances of her death?”
“Only what I read in the news releases: that she was shot when she opened the door of her apartment and died instantly.”
“Inspector Henderson of the Metropolis Police Department is in charge of the case. He and Lois carried on kind of a feud. He always claimed she drove him crazy, and she probably did, but he’s made it his personal business to get whoever did this, and he’s holding back some details hoping he can trip up the killer.”
Clark said nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond. He sat waiting to find out just how he fit into all this.
The editor sized up the reporter one last time. He wanted someone who, untainted by previous contact with Lois Lane, could investigate her life and write about her death fairly and truthfully. Perry White, who never trusted anyone at first glance, unaccountably trusted Clark Kent without reservation. He made his decision.
“I think you’re the man who can write the story and show us the real Lois Lane while you’re doing it. What about it, Kent?”
Clark’s sprits leaped. He was going to get a chance at what might be the biggest story of the year. He looked Perry straight on and said, “I think I can do the job.”
“Think?” Perry roared. “Think isn’t good enough. Can you do the job?”
Taken aback by Perry White’s ferocity, but unflinching , Clark nodded, stood, and said firmly, “Yes sir, I can.”
“Good. If you do it the way I think you can, you won’t have any problem with the contract I’ll offer you. Mess it up, and you’ll be on your way back to the Borneo Gazette.”
"Times," Clark muttered.
"What?"
"Uh, just claearing my throat, sir."
Perry turned and gestured toward a large painting leaning against one wall. “There, looking as real as life, stands the best reporter the Planet has ever seen. Won three Kerth awards and not close to thirty yet. No one that young’s ever done anything like it. Our publisher was so pleased when she won the last one that he commissioned this portrait of her. When you get to know what she was like, you’ll know she didn’t spend much time sitting for it. But the artist, Tristan Ganeymede - you’ve probably heard of him - did a terrific job of catching her likeness on canvas, I think.
Clark saw a woman in a trench coat facing into the wind, dark hair blown about, one strand across her face, lithe body almost revealed by the half open coat. One foot was slightly in front of the other, and she carried a small tape recorder in one hand; the other hand was clenched into a fist. But it was the face that drew the onlooker. Beautiful, with eyes defiant against whatever she saw in the distance. Like so many portraits of strangers, it was two-dimensional. The beauty was flat, the figure static. But the flash in the eyes intrigued. He was looking forward to knowing this woman, discovering what she had really been like.
“Perry continued, “We tried to give it to Lois’s family, but they’re not ready to cope with it yet. I’ve got to get it out of here because it keeps reminding everybody...well, anyway we’re gonna send it over to Lois’s apartment for storage until her family decides what to do with it. We’ll get you a key to her place so you can visit the scene of the crime after you check in with Bill Henderson.
“Now, to start you off, here’s a list of people you’ll want to interview. You’ll probably add some names to the list as you go along.” He handed him a computer printout.
Clark took a quick look at the page. Lex Luthor, Perry White, Tristan Ganeymede, Inspector William Henderson were names he recognized. He assumed that Lucy Lane, Ellen Lane and Samuel Lane were Lois Lane’s family. Jimmy Olsen, Catherine Grant, Diane Goodman, Daniel Scardino, Ralph Potter, Carl Benson, and the single appellative, Star were unknown to him. Were they friends, colleagues, rivals?
Perry broke into Clark’s silent speculation. “Now you come along with me. We’ll get you a desk and some press credentials, and you can get started. You can fill out the payroll paperwork later.” Perry opened his office door and strode onto the newsroom floor with The Daily Planet’s newest reporter in tow.
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Clark checked the top of his new desk again. *His* new desk...at The Daily Planet! He still wasn’t completely certain that it was real. But that was his computer. Those were his in-out boxes, lined pads, pens, pencils, and most important, for the moment, his working telephone. Alongside the phone was a Rolodex. Not just any Rolodex but the one that had belonged to Lois Lane. It was Clark’s Rosetta stone for the woman he was about to decipher, the key to the secrets of her life and death.
He looked again at the list of names Perry had given him. He would start with those he recognized and identify the others later. First, Inspector William Henderson, who would be his window into the crime. Checking the Rolodex, he found the number and punched it into the phone. He should make that an auto-dial listing, but the instrument he had been given was too generic to have such an add-on. The Daily Planet appeared to be running on a pretty tight budget.
Someone at the other end of the line answered. Clark asked, “Inspector Henderson there?”
There was a pause at the other end, then Clark heard
“Henderson.”
“Inspector Henderson, my name is Clark Kent. I’ve just been hired by the Daily Planet to write about the Lois Lane murder. I was wondering if I could come over, introduce myself, and talk with you about the case.”
“New in town, aren’t you?” Henderson’s tone was more sardonic than inquisitive.
“Well, yes. How did you know?”
“You’re too polite to be a local reporter. Nothing like Lane, that’s for sure. Okay, I’m willing to give a new guy a break. Besides, I promised Perry I’d keep the Planet informed. Come on over; I’ll find out just how far I can trust you.”
Clark hung up the phone, as he reflected on the different standards of courtesy in Metropolis and Kansas where he grew up. Grabbing a pad, pen and his newly acquired voice recorder, he strode toward the elevators, returning after a few steps to retrieve the list Perry had given him.
Fifteen minutes later, he pushed open the door to the 27th Precinct where Henderson was assigned. Approaching the Sergeant at the front desk, he asked for the Inspector and was sent up some nearby stairs to the homicide squad room. As he looked around, a saturnine, dark-haired man waved at him from the back of the room. “Kent?”
Clark nodded and made his way to the out-of-the-way desk. As he approached, the man stood up, and Clark thrust out his hand saying, “Thanks for seeing me, Inspector. I hope we’ll be working together frequently.”
Henderson ignored the hand, his response hinting at veiled hostility lurking beneath the stoic surface he presented.
“What makes you think we’ll be working together?”
Clark answered quickly, smiling. “Because I’m such a trustworthy guy, as you’ll soon find out.”
Henderson relaxed, smiled, nodded and pointed to a chair. “All right. Everything I tell you is off the record until I say it isn’t. Agreed?”
Clark nodded. “I can live with that.”
Making note of Clark’s easy manner, Henderson said, “Perry wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to hire someone very different from Lois.”
“Why do you say that? I may not be in her class, but I’m a good reporter.”
“I’m sure you are. Perry White wouldn’t have hired you otherwise. I’m talking about attitude. Lois didn’t like to be told that someone else would control what she could write.”
“I see,” said Clark. “Tell me about her.”
“Nosy, pushy, hard-edged. No crime scene was safe when she was around. Always picking up things, ignoring yellow tape. When I’d call her on it she’d be all innocence.”
“She must have hindered a lot of your investigations.”
“She wasn’t always like that. When she first started, she was a sweet kid. Eager to learn Ambitious but not overly cynical. About average for a rich girl who grew up in Metropolis, I’d say. But something happened to her in her first year at the Planet. She was hell on wheels after that. Wouldn’t take anyone’s word for anything.
“You don’t know what happened?”
“No. Whatever it was, it turned her into a pain in the butt, though. She was always challenging us about our methods and had her own ideas about police procedures. Expected us to photograph and dust for fingerprints at every crime she got onto, even a routine break-in or burglary. If it was important to her, then it had to be our top priority.”
“Sounds like she was a real nuisance.”
Henderson looked at him sadly. “She was the best crime reporter I’ve ever seen and was responsible for putting more crooks behind bars than a lot of cops in this city. Most of the guys on the force will miss her. I’m gonna get whoever killed her; you can bet on that.”
It dawned on Clark that all of Henderson’s complaining was subterfuge, hiding fondness for a woman he had respected and felt a kinship with.
“Tell me about her murder.”
“Still off the record. We think she wasn’t alone. We think there was someone else in the apartment with her besides the killer. A witness. There was an empty bottle of wine at the bottom of the trashcan under some rubbish, and glasses washed clean and innocently left to drain like they’d been there a while. Whoever that somebody was knew about DNA and fingerprints because they did a good job of eliminating both. I figure it was somebody she was in a relationship with; she was wearing a negligee. We haven’t released any of that to the press. ”
“You don’t have any idea who it might have been?”
“No one’s come forward, but from what we found out from her sister, she was seeing a couple of guys - Daniel Scardino, a federal agent, and Lex Luthor, everybody’s favorite billionaire who just happens to be the Daily Planet’s owner and publisher.”
Clark mentally put those names higher on his interview list. “According to the news report, she answered the door and was shot.”
“Yeah. She had a peephole, so she must have known who it was, and she must have known them well because she was willing to open the door wearing a flimsy nightdress. There’s something else I didn’t release to the news people. This was a particularly vicious crime. Somebody unloaded both barrels of a shotgun full of double ought buckshot directly into her face. There was nothing recognizable left, and the whole back of her head was gone.”
Clark thought of the lovely woman in the portrait. “She must have made somebody really mad. Any idea who?”
“There’s a long line. The guys she put behind bars probably hated her. And a lot of reporters resented her. When she was on a story, she didn’t let anybody get in her way. She’d have run over them and left them for road kill. But was that enough for one of them to do this? It strikes me more like something personal. The perp wanted to do more than kill her. He wanted to blot out her existence.”
“You think it was a man, then?”
“No, just using a general ‘he’. But if a woman did it, she’d have to have a strong stomach and a knowledge of guns. It’s pretty likely the shotgun was sawed off.”
“You didn’t find the weapon?”
“Not yet.”
Clark stood up. “Thanks, Inspector Henderson. You’ve given me a good start for my investigation. I’ll be checking back with you. I’d like access to the crime scene, if that’s okay. I have a key to the apartment, and the Planet wants to store a portrait of the victim there until her family is ready for it. As I said, I’ll check with you before I print anything.”
“I’m good with that. Since I’ve been up front with you, I expect you to keep me informed about what you find out while you’re snooping around.”
“You’ve got it Inspector,” Clark replied. Then making his farewell, he headed back to the newspaper office to write up the details he had just learned.
A short time later, Clark exited from the elevator at the Daily Planet and made his way across the bullpen to his desk. Halfway there he saw Perry motion to him from the door of this office. Joining the editor, he followed him into his sanctuary.
“How’s it going, Clark? I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to print yet?” he asked with a wink and a smile.
Grinning, Clark replied, “ Well, not quite yet, sir. But I’ve got some good leads. I spent an hour with Inspector Henderson. He seems like a good man. I know some of the details of the crime, and I’m beginning to get a sense of what the subject was like.”
“Subject? You mean Lois? If you can call her 'the subject', you don’t have a clue yet as to what she was like. Keep digging, son. Bill Henderson is a good man, but she was a complex woman, and it’s gonna take a lot more than his viewpoint for you to figure her out. What’s your next move?”
“I thought I’d write up my notes. Then I’d like to interview someone here at the Planet who was close to her. After that I need to talk with Lex Luthor and a Daniel Scardino. I’ll visit the crime scene later this afternoon. I could take the portrait over there for you, if you like.” He nodded his head in the direction of the painting. When he saw it, he thought it had changed. The ‘subject’s’ eyes and mouth seemed harder, and the body seemed to have more aggressive tension in it. The raised fist had become an angry gesture.
“Sure thing, Clark. That would be a big help. Seems like you’re out of the gate fast and on the inside track. You won’t be able to talk with Lex Luthor today, though. He’s tied up in a meeting with one of his companies. He only comes in here a couple of times a week. You ought to call his secretary and make an appointment. Now, if you want to talk with someone from the newsroom who was close to her, Jimmy Olsen’s your guy. You can probably find him in the darkroom. You talked with any of Lois’s family yet?
Clark shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe I’ll try to see one of them after I talk to Olsen and Scardino.”
Perry glanced at a message on his desk. “The reason I asked, her sister, Lucy, called a little while ago and said she was stopping by to drop off some files Lois had left at her place. You might as well take them and look them over. She should be here around 2:30.”
“Good,” said Clark. “That’ll save me from having to track her down.”
“Sounds like you’ll have a busy day. Why don’t you put the picture in the conference room until you’re ready to take it.” Perry turned back to the copy he was checking on his computer.”
Clark returned to his desk. He had notes to write up and phone calls to make.
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