Suspicions: 3/?
by Nan Smith
Previously:
"Candy! Clark!" Their editor's voice rose above the buzz of conversation that filled the room. "Come into my office a minute."
"Wonder if they've found out anything," he remarked to her as they threaded their way through the maze of desks toward their boss's office.
"I hope so," Candy said.
Perry had reached his office before they did and held the door for Candy. When the door closed behind them, Wolff took a seat on the battered couch that stood against one wall of the office and indicated that they should sit.
"What's going on?" Clark asked.
"I know you gave Ms. Valenzuela a ride home last night, Clark," Wolff said. "Olsen said you were going to give her a lift this morning, too?"
"Yes," Clark said. "What's going on?"
"Zymack put me in charge of this stalker thing of Ms. Valenzuela's," Wolff told them. "We're not sure this is connected, but it may very well be. I understand you went to the thing at the Governor's last night, Ms. Valenzuela. You had a date?"
"Yes," Candy said. "I went with Daryl Johnson; he's one of the Assistant Governor's staff."
"Was," Wolff said. "He was found this morning in his car, out on Route 7. He'd been shot. Exactly when did you see him last, Ms. Valenzuela?"
And now, Part 3:
The words fell into complete silence and Clark saw Candy's face go paler under her makeup. Her eyes widened.
"Oh, my god," she whispered. "He's *dead*?"
"I'm afraid so," Wolff said. "What time did you last see him?"
"He took me home a little before one-thirty last night," Candy said.
"And you didn't see him again?" Wolff asked. Clark could see that he was watching her closely.
"No." Candy shook her head. "He walked me to my door. I'd told him about the stalker, and he said he'd see me safely to my place."
"Did you meet anyone who can confirm that?" Wolff asked.
"We met Mr. Bryant on the fourth floor. He's the apartment manager," Candy explained. "He'd been checking my floor and keeping a general eye out for anyone who didn't belong there. Anyway, I said good night at the door and went in. I didn't see Daryl again."
"How about you, Kent?" Wolff asked. "What did you do after you left here, yesterday?"
"I dropped off Ms. Valenzuela and went home," Clark said. "I probably got there around seven."
"Anybody see you?"
"I suppose a lot of people did," he said. "Whether they'd remember is another question, but my wife was at home -- Lois Lane. I imagine you remember her. So were my four children and my mother."
"Yes," Wolff said, dryly. "Most of the Metro Police Department would recognize her name."
"Anyway," Clark said, "why would I have anything to do with it? All I did was give Ms. Valenzuela a ride home."
"Just following procedure," Wolff said. "I take it you were at home all night?"
"I can safely say," Clark said, "that I didn't set foot outside the house again until this morning, when I took the kids to school. Detective, this is beginning to sound pretty serious. Do you have any idea why Johnson was killed?"
Wolff hitched his shoulders. "Possibly because he was Ms. Valenzuela's date last night. This guy, whoever he is, seems to be possessive to say the least -- and obviously isn't above violence, if he's the one who cut her brake line. We'll investigate all the other possibilities, of course, but that seems to be the most likely one."
"You think Daryl died because he was my date last night?" Candy put her face in her hands. "Oh, my god..."
"Easy, honey," Perry said. He put a hand on her shoulder.
For an instant, Clark saw a flash of sympathy cross the detective's face, and then it was a professionally blank mask again. "Ms. Valenzuela, until we find some kind of clue about this guy, there isn't much we can do. We haven't got the manpower to assign you a personal bodyguard. The only thing I can do is advise you to be extremely careful in the near future. If your stalker is behind Johnson's death, then he's willing to kill. The next person he could go after is you."
**********
The phone rang several times. Just as Ellen was about to hang up, someone answered, and a male voice replied. "Daily Planet. Ms. Valenzuela's desk."
So, the woman wasn't at her desk. Ellen chalked that one up in the "Suspicious" column. "I'm sorry, is Candy available?"
"She's in a conference at the moment," the voice answered. "Can I take a message?"
"Um -- no, I'll call back later." Ellen hung up. Well, that hadn't told her much. "In a conference" could mean anything.
Well, the only way to be sure was to go see for herself. There was never any problem with her going into the Daily Planet building. The security people knew her, and if anyone else she knew spotted her, she could always claim she'd come to pick up something for her daughter.
When she arrived in the Daily Planet newsroom, the first thing she observed was that the place seemed to be in chaos. She'd never been in Lois's place of work this early in the morning before so she wasn't sure if this was normal or if something unusual had happened. Jim Olsen was talking to a younger man and waving a videocamera in a way that she considered almost dangerous. A young woman with bright red hair was crossing the Pit with a stack of printouts higher than her head. Clark Kent's desk was empty, a point that caught her attention at once. She added that to the information that "Candy" was in a conference. This could be the evidence that she was seeking.
No, there was Clark, emerging from Perry White's office, accompanied by the editor, himself, Candy and a tall, slender man who somehow looked as if he didn't quite belong in the newsroom. Ellen moved back against the wall next to the elevator and watched the scene with close attention.
Clark said something to Candy and then turned to cross the room to the red haired girl, who had deposited her printouts on somebody's desk. She must be the office gofer, Ellen surmised, having become familiar with the position from her acquaintance with Jim Olsen. He engaged her in conversation for several minutes, and then crossed the Pit to his desk.
The dark man who had accompanied Clark and the others from Perry's office was making his way to the elevator. He rang for the car and while he stood waiting, he glanced at her. He frowned.
"You aren't an employee here, are you?"
"No." Ellen's reply was short. Strange men accosting her out of the blue weren't high on her list of priorities.
The man's expression of interest sharpened. "Is there something you need? You seem to be lost."
"I'm here to pick up something for my daughter," Ellen said, bringing out her prepared excuse.
"And who is your daughter?" the man asked.
"What business is that of yours?" she asked.
He reached into an inner pocket. "Detective Wolff, Metropolis Police Department," he said.
Ellen's heart jumped and began to thump. "What are you doing here?" she blurted.
The man's eyebrows rose. "Murder investigation," he said. "Who is your daughter? And may I see some identification, please?"
"Murder!" Ellen said.
"Yes, ma'am. May I see your identification?"
Trapped, Ellen opened her purse and located her wallet. "I'm Ellen Lane," she said, fishing for her driver's license. "My daughter is Lois Lane."
The detective examined the little card. "All right, Ms. Lane. Sorry for the inconvenience."
"That's ... all right. Who was murdered? What does it have to do with the Daily Planet?
"I expect you can read about it in the paper, ma'am," Wolff said. "Excuse me." He rang for the elevator again and the doors opened almost immediately.
Ellen looked after him for several seconds, feeling stunned. It seemed as if the "meeting" Clark and this Candy woman had been involved in was genuine, after all. Maybe whatever was going on wasn't what she had thought it was. On the other hand, what was a society columnist doing involved in a murder investigation -- or Clark, for that matter? Of course, her son-in-law was an investigative journalist, so maybe that wasn't so far-fetched, but the police were hardly going to be voluntarily involving a reporter unless there was a more direct connection.
She had been right to suspend judgement, she thought, moving slowly toward the ramp. Still, even if Clark was investigating a murder, it didn't mean he was blameless otherwise. It simply meant that she had to find out more.
She glanced back at Clark, who, it appeared, hadn't noticed the meeting by the elevator. He was reading something on his computer screen, and as she watched, he reached for his desk phone.
And suddenly, she found her attention riveted.
Clark's head came up in a way she found very familiar. He got to his feet with an impression of restrained haste and made a direct line toward the short flight of stairs that led to the elevator.
Ellen stood perfectly still, hoping he wouldn't notice her. With single-minded attention, Clark went up the steps, one hand groping for his tie in a familiar gesture. Never glancing at her, he disappeared through the door to the stairs. The door swung shut behind him.
So, he did it at work, too? Ellen stood looking at the door for several seconds, frowning slightly. She'd focussed on his unexplained absences, but it had never occurred to her before that the particular behavior she had just witnessed was pretty strange, whatever the reason. After a moment, she started down the ramp again, not certain what she intended to do, but if she was to cover her tracks, in case that Detective Wolff mentioned her presence, she needed to establish the fact that she had been there for a legitimate reason. It was just as well that Clark had left, she thought. There was a mystery here that needed an explanation and she didn't want to face him just yet. Something just didn't add up with her working hypothesis.
A sonic boom made the windows quiver slightly. Superman, she thought. The Man of Steel must be in a hurry to get somewhere.
She was halfway down the ramp when the monitors came on. Again, she stopped to watch.
It was a hostage situation, she saw, with members of the Metro SWAT Team on the scene. A reporter for LNN was speaking excitedly into a camera, and in the background, a loudspeaker could be heard.
The camera shifted suddenly, and she saw Superman coming in for a landing. Several reporters converged on him, but he strode forward, forcing the eager news hawks to give way as he made his way to the man who was apparently directing operations.
"Ellen!" Jim Olsen's voice almost made her jump out of her skin. "Is there something we can do for you? Lois is all right, isn't she?" The Planet's senior photojournalist must have approached while she was watching the drama being played out on the monitors, she realized, because he was standing barely three feet away. Gathering her scattered wits, she pasted a smile on her lips.
"Hello, Jim. Yes, Lois is fine. I just came by to pick up some things for her."
Jim's eyebrows went up. "Great timing. I'd just finished assembling that stuff she asked me for, day before yesterday. If you'll wait, I'll get it for you."
"Of course. In the meantime, I'll just get the ... thing out of her desk."
"Sure." Jim followed her down the ramp and headed for his desk.
Ellen crossed the Pit to Lois's desk, acutely aware of the society columnist at work a short distance away. Reaching her daughter's workstation, she opened the bottom, side drawer.
A stack of folders met her eyes, and Ellen riffled through them, looking for one that wouldn't be missed if Clark were to check the drawer. She had every intention of returning it later, when her point was either proven or disproven. Admittedly, what she was doing wasn't exactly honest, but after all, Lois, herself, had bent the law more than once in her pursuit of the truth. It wasn't as if she intended to destroy the information, or anything. Besides, it was for her daughter's own good.
The second-from-the-bottom folder looked like a good bet. She appropriated it and stood up, closing the drawer, and turned to see Jim Olsen approaching, a large envelope in his hand.
"Here you go," he said. "How's Lois doing, anyway? Any more contractions?"
Ellen shook her head, hoping she didn't look too nervous. "She was fine, when I saw her last. I'd better get this back to her, though. You know Lois. She gets bored if she isn't working on something."
He laughed. "They don't call her Mad Dog Lane for nothing. Tell her I'll have that list of employees from the Valentine's Ball ready by this evening."
Ellen managed to smile at him, although the expression seemed stiff and unnatural. "I will."
A glance at the monitors showed that the hostage crisis had been resolved. The attention of the Planet employees had returned to their jobs. Ellen walked briskly toward the stairs leading to the upper level. She'd pushed her luck here about as far as she dared. As it was, she was going to have some explaining to do to Lois later. She only hoped her daughter wasn't too angry with her. Still, it would be better to know the truth now, rather than have it sprung on her later.
As she approached the elevator, the door to the stairs opened and Clark stepped out.
"Ellen!" he said. "What brings you here?"
For a second, her vocal cords simply refused to work. As she groped for a reply, Clark's face took on an expression of concern. "Are you all right, Ellen?"
Now what was she going to do? If she didn't speak up, he'd know something wasn't right. "Uh, I'm fine," she managed. "I just came by to pick up some papers for Lois."
"Oh." He punched the elevator button for her. "Well, tell her I'll be home in plenty of time."
"Of course," she said, not even trying to decipher his meaning. "I'll see you later, Clark."
"Until this evening, then," he said. The elevator door opened as he spoke, and Ellen boarded.
She hastily punched the indicator button and let out her breath as the door closed. How Lois managed this kind of thing in the performance of her job, she had no idea. It left her a nervous wreck. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and she felt shaky all over -- not to mention the faint sense of guilt that tugged at her; the knowledge that what she was doing was dishonest, to say the least. It was becoming obvious to her that she wasn't cut out for a life of crime.
The elevator passed the first floor. Startled, she saw that, in her flustered state at the unexpected encounter, she had pushed, not the indicator for the lobby, but the one for the basement garage of the Planet. Well, it wasn't that big a deal. When the car stopped, she would simply punch the button for the correct floor.
The elevator braked to a stop and the doors opened with a sigh of air. She looked out at the dimly lighted garage, seeing the Kent Jeep parked perhaps a dozen feet away, almost directly opposite the elevator. At the sound of the bell, a man, kneeling beside the front wheel, looked up in surprise, and Ellen saw a knife protruding from his fist. With almost photographic clarity, she took in the scene, sharp and distinct. Three of the tires of the Cherokee had been slashed to ribbons.
The man came to his feet and seemed to rush toward her. Ellen jabbed the button for the lobby.
There was a few seconds' delay, and, with a sigh of compressed air the door began to close. At the same instant, the oncoming man thrust out a hand to catch the closing door, and Ellen moved on instinct, striking at the hand with her handbag.
The man jerked backwards and the door shut. There was a split second's pause, and the elevator began to move upward. It took only a few seconds until the car braked to a stop a second time and the door opened again, revealing the lobby of the Daily Planet and half a dozen people waiting to enter. She pushed blindly past them, ignoring the irritated murmurs of the crowd. Whatever had almost happened downstairs, she didn't want to think about it.
She made her way back to her car almost in a trance. When she reached the Taurus, she leaned against the door and took several deep breaths to try to calm her nerves. The blood was still pounding in her ears, and she hated to think what her blood pressure must be right now.
She had surprised a vandal, but the man hadn't been satisfied with simply running away. His intentions toward Ellen had been clear.
With a shaking hand, she reached into her handbag for her keys. After several moments of searching, she set the bag on the hood of her car and began to hunt in growing alarm.
The keys were gone. She must have dropped them somewhere.
For a moment, she couldn't believe her bad luck. That key ring had been a gift from Sam, and on it she had her penthouse key, the key to the Lane condominium and the keys to Lois's and Lucy's houses as well as the key to the Taurus.
For an irrational moment, she had the urge to kick the tire of her car. Then she took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. There was a spare key in the car. All she had to do was to call the auto club to unlock the door for her. And, it wasn't the end of the world. The ring had a tag with her name and phone number engraved in it. Hopefully, someone at the Planet would find it and turn it in to Lost and Found. She had a good chance of getting it back. The first thing to do was to go back to the Daily Planet and report the loss of her keys to Security. At the same time, she would report the man in the parking lot. If she'd been less shaken, she'd have done it already.
Turning, she started back toward the Daily Planet for the second time that day.
**********
Clark was writing up his account of the hostage situation when his desk phone rang. He picked it up. "Clark Kent."
"Mr. Kent? This is Phil Thomet, from Security," a male voice said. "Do you own a Jeep Cherokee, with vanity plates reading LL?"
"Yes," Clark said. "Is something wrong?"
"The vehicle has apparently been vandalized," the man said. "A witness reported seeing a man slashing the tires."
"Vandalized!" Clark said. Several persons turned to look at him. He lowered his voice. "What happened?"
"Why don't you check out the damage and then come to the Security Office," Thomet said. "We'll need you to fill out a report. One of our people will be waiting for you in the garage."
"I'll be there in five minutes," Clark said. He hung up.
"What happened?" Jim Olsen was standing beside his desk when he stood up.
"Security says the Jeep's tires were slashed," Clark said. "They said a witness reported it. If Lois finds out, she'll have a fit. I'm going to go look at the damage."
"I'll go with you," Jim said. "Let me grab my camera."
Clark cast him a skeptical look. "This wouldn't be for a story, or something, would it?"
"Clark!" Jimmy looked hurt. "Of course not! I figure you might need it for the insurance claim."
"Oh. Sorry. I was remembering Lois, the time my apartment got robbed."
Jimmy snorted. "I'm not up for a Merriweather. Maybe I should do a series on the increasing vandalism in Metropolis ..."
Clark couldn't help grinning. "Come on, let's go see what happened."
**********
(tbc)
