Part 9
Lois had finally chosen a silk blouse and a black skirt for her meeting with Winninger. The skirt was shorter than what she normally wore – Lois knew, even if Cat Grant didn’t, that it was hard for a woman to be taken seriously in a man’s world if she looked like a slut. And as much as Lois didn’t really want to admit it, investigative journalism was still a man’s world. As a woman she had to be twice as good as a male reporter.
Ralph and Gil noticed her attire when she walked into the newsroom. Even Perry raised his eye brows at her. But Clark didn’t seem to notice. And somehow, she was disappointed in his lack of reaction.
“So, who are you interviewing?” Clark asked, not looking up from whatever he was working on.
“Vincent Winninger,” Lois admitted. “He wants to talk to me.”
“What a coup.” Clark said. There was admiration in his voice. She knew that he’d also been trying to get hold of Winninger, but she was the one who succeeded and in this case, it was the early bird that got the worm – or interview as the case may be.
Cat Grant had sauntered over to Clark’s desk, probably to borrow a stapler or something equally transparent to get Clark’s attention. She was leaning against the corner of his desk but straightened up when she heard Winninger’s name.
“You're going to interview Vincent Winninger?” Cat asked. Disbelief was written all over her.
“Yes.”
“That explains the vain attempt to look sexy,” Cat announced to everyone and no one. Ralph chuckled only to get a glare from Clark.
“You do know he’s a notorious womanizer,” Cat added coyly. “Maybe I should go with you.”
“Or maybe you shouldn't,” Lois suggested.
Clark finally looked over at her and frowned as if just noticing what she was wearing. Not that she actually cared that he hadn’t noticed before.
“Wait a minute. Are you planning to exploit your femininity…?” He seemed surprised at the thought.
“...to get the story of one of the strangest and most reclusive scientists of our time? Hell, yes,” she came back.
-o-o-o-
The city was getting back to normal, so traffic was its usual mess as she headed over to Winninger’s office near Metropolis University. The address he’d given her belonged to an older brick building that had obviously been an apartment building at some time in its recent past.
The suite number indicated the office was on the third floor. The door was open when she got there and she walked in. The former apartment living room was set up as a sitting room/library – sofa, coffee table, chairs, shelves stuffed to overflowing with books, papers, monographs. There was a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses set out on the coffee table.
The room’s walls were covered with framed photographs and citations – various presidents, from Eisenhower to Reagan, standing with Winninger who was mugging for the camera. Several photos of Winninger with the Mercury astronauts. One of Winninger looking down Marilyn Monroe’s front.
“Scientists, philosophers, historians, hippies,” a man said. Lois turned to see a tall, slender, once handsome, older man looking at her, gesturing toward the photos. Vincent Winninger. “You must be Lois Lane.”
“Doctor Winninger,” Lois responded. “Impressive collection.” She indicated the photographs.
“People love to be seen with the famous and influential,” he said. Lois had the feeling he wasn’t referring to the presidents and actors as the ‘famous and influential’.
He laughed and pointed out a group photo surrounded by shots of members of the same group working, playing, attending conferences.
“Elimont Center,” he explained. “The ‘intellectual’ commune. Named after... I don't remember who we named it after, do you? Whoever he was, you can bet he was obscure.” Winninger seemed amused by his own comments.
There were several shots of theater productions. A Streetcar Named Desire, Look Back in Anger, Marat/Sade, others Lois couldn’t identify.
“And these theatrical photos?” she asked. It seemed like a good way to get him talking.
“The commune had a theater group.”
Lois gave the photos a closer look. There was something odd about them – actors she was certain had never worked in or near Metropolis seemed to be prominent in the photos.
“Isn't that ...?” she asked, pointing out an actor who looked remarkably like a very young Marlon Brando.
“Uh, no. That's Sebastian Finn. Mr. Make-up, we called him. He could make himself look like just about anyone,” Winninger said. “His Bette Davis was remarkable.”
The likeness to Brando was positively uncanny. “What happened to him?” she asked.
“I don't know, he sort of disappeared,” Winninger said. He didn’t seem to care. “His make-up was a whole lot better than his acting.”
Lois spotted another familiar face, one that had been in the Daily Planet only a few days before. “Isn't this ...?”
“Yes, Barbara Trevino. She's come a long way. From radical hippie to...”
“To chairperson of the Rain Forest Consortium,” Lois completed for him. The Rain Forest Consortium was an international organization famous for its efforts to preserve the tropical rain forests and the endangered species of both plants and animals that lived there. They had just recently announced the purchase of major tracts of land in Amazonia with the intention of disallowing any exploitation on the region.
“Well, not until Tuesday,” Winninger reminded her. “But we're going to change all that.”
“We?” Alarms started going off in Lois’s head. She had come here to interview Winninger on his theories, not to get involved in some corporate game.
“Yes. You and me. That's why you're here, Ms. Lane,” Winninger explained. “Did you know that I spent several years living with an Amazonian tribe?” He didn’t wait for an answer, beckoning Lois to sit on the worn sofa. There was a file box on the coffee table. Winninger lifted the lid and pulled out some bound journals and notebooks.
“The Life and Times of Vincent Winninger. In this play, Barbara Trevino has a leading role. She’s the femme fatale,” he said musingly.
Lois slid forward in her seat to look at the notebooks on the table. Her skirt rode up just a little, exposing more leg. Winninger eyed the expanse of thigh.
“You're a very good looking woman,” Winninger told her, leaning a little too close.
Lois backed away. “Thank you.”
“How do you feel about increased male potency?” he asked
“What?” Lois responded. The question had taken her completely by surprise. She pulled her skirt down to a more decorous height. “Look, Dr. Winninger. I know your reputation with women is only exceeded by your scientific one, but I think it's best if we keep this meeting professional.”
“Precisely,” he cheerfully agreed.
Lois was confused. The interview wasn’t going in the direction she had planned. And Winninger seemed totally disinterested in plugging his book. “What am I missing here?” she murmured to herself.
He heard her. “Barbara Trevino is going to sell all of us and the Ozone Layer straight down the river, and destroy our chances for increased male potency.”
Lois stared at him a long moment. “I guess the sixties were pretty good to you.”
“Hear me out,” he asked, his expression earnest, almost pleading. “It will all become clear.” He handed her one of the notebooks, which she opened up.
“Some iced tea?” he asked, reaching for the pitcher in front of him. She shook her head but he poured a glass anyway and held it out to her. Absently, she tried to wave it away. Instead, the glass tipped from his hand and cold liquid spilled down her good silk blouse.
“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Winninger said, but Lois wasn’t sure exactly how sorry he was as he made a half hearted attempt to dab at the wet stain with a napkin.
“That's okay. I'll get it,” she told him, pushing his hand away. She headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up, still holding the notebook in her hand. As she opened the door to the bathroom, there was a knock on the front door and she heard Winninger go to answer it.
“You're back early,” she heard him say. He sounded surprised. She couldn’t make out what the other person was saying. She grabbed a hand towel and began blotting the tea off her blouse. Then she heard Winninger yell out “No!” She froze, trying to hear what was happening in the main room. Winninger yelled again and then there was a ‘pop’ like a gun, only fainter.
Lois unfroze and went to the bathroom door, opening it just enough for her to see through the crack. It was hard to make anything out, but it looked like Winninger was face-down on the floor, one hand thrown over his head. Then she saw the enlarging blood stain on the carpet.
She held her breath as she watched. A small, plain man came into view, crouching down to take Winninger’s pulse. Then the small man stood and turned toward her, heading for the bathroom.
She closed the door as quietly as she could, hoping the killer didn’t notice the movement of the door. She backed against the wall, holding Winninger’s notebook against her chest.
The bathroom door didn’t open. Instead, after what felt like an eternity, Lois heard the front door open and close. She waited, but there was no other sound. Heart in her mouth, she opened the bathroom door and peered out. Winninger was face down on the carpeted floor in a pool of blood. The journals and notebooks were gone. She quickly checked for a pulse at Winninger’s throat – nothing. His body was already cooling.
She crossed the room to the phone on the desk and dialed 9-1-1 “This is Lois Lane. I want to report a murder...”
-o-o-o-
Lois had her phone to her ear while Clark, Jimmy and Perry stood behind her, reading her story on her monitor.
"'Only minutes before his death,’" Perry read aloud. "'Dr Winninger produced diaries which, he claimed, contained evidence that would abort the impending induction of Barbara Trevino into the Rain Forest Consortium.'"
“I see. Okay,” Lois said into the phone, trying to ignore Perry’s commentary. “I'll try to reach her when she arrives. Where did you say she was staying? Oh, I thought you did...”
“She doesn't want to write this,” Perry was saying to Clark and Jimmy.
“Well... thank you for your help,” Lois told the person on the other end of the line. She hung up her phone and returned to her keyboard and monitor.
“Barbara Trevino is en route to Metropolis now,” Lois announced. “Has a meeting at the Trade Center tomorrow.”
“Why doesn't she want to write it, Chief?” Jimmy asked quietly.
“Because I can't print it,” Perry said.
“You can't?” Jimmy asked.
Perry shook his head. “No. She doesn't have the diaries.”
“Well, she may not have the diaries but he told her what's in the diaries. And I do have the one notebook...” She pulled the notebook out of her desk drawer. “But it looks like Greek to me.”
Perry took the notebook and peered at the pages. “That's because it is Greek,” he announced, handing the notebook to Jimmy.
Clark took it from him and looked through it. “I can read most of this…”
“You can?” Lois asked. One more thing to add to her list of ‘Clark quirks.’
Clark nodded. “He’s writing about this rare plant the tribe he was living with used to… well, he documents how the plant was harvested and processed for maximum potency. He also describes some personal experiments with the drug the tribe produced. It’s pretty graphic.”
“Don’t tell me, increased male potency?”
Clark nodded, a sheepish look on his face. “There’s also a map of a section of the Brazilian rain forest. I think it’s the area he was describing in the diary”
“Jimmy, check it out,” Perry ordered. He turned back to Lois. “Now, look Lois, a verbal statement ain't worth the paper it's printed on… See what I'm saying? Without the diaries, you've got nothing to check out.”
“But I have the notebook,” Lois protested.
“Which still needs to be properly translated and checked out,” Perry reminded her. Lois frowned and began cutting out some of the material on the screen. She knew Perry was right, but she didn’t have to like it.
“I hope one of the parts you trim back is this,” Clark said, touching the screen to point out what he was referring to. “Where it says the killer took the diaries.”
“He did take them,” Lois protested.
“How would you know that unless you were there?” Clark asked.
“I was there.”
“But the killer doesn't know that,” Clark told her. “…unless you tell him.”
“I'm not telling him. Not exactly,” Lois stated.
It was Perry’s turn to leave fingerprints on her monitor screen “And here... Change 'minutes before his death' to 'earlier that day.' Just to be safe.”
She deleted another line. “How about the part that says the man is dead? Can I leave that? Is that okay?” She looked up at Perry who simply shrugged.
With a sigh, she typed up the last lines and sent the story to the printer for Perry to look over one more time. Then she stood up.
“Where are you going?” Perry demanded.
Lois ignored him for the moment, taking a small spray bottle from her desk drawer and meticulously cleaning the fingerprints off her monitor screen.
“Back to Dr Winninger's office,” she said when she was satisfied. “If I stay here any longer, I'll have no story left.”
“I'll go with you,” Clark offered.
“This is my story, Clark,” she reminded him. “Besides, you have an appointment with Doctor Friskin in an hour.”
“Forget the story and forget Doctor Friskin,” Clark said. “I want to make sure you're going to be all right.”
“Clark, I just spent five hours with the police. They never mentioned my needing a bodyguard. And if I did need one, and I mean this in the nicest way, you wouldn't be my first choice,” Lois told him. “Go see Doctor Friskin. I can take care of myself… really.”
She turned on her heel and left.
She already had her key out to open the door of her jeep when she realized there was someone behind her. She turned to find Clark standing there, waiting.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Going with you,” he replied, his expression all innocence.
She wanted to slap him silly, but settled for rolling her eyes. “Dear Lord, save me from my friends, my enemies I can handle myself,” she muttered, unlocking to door for him.
“First, I’m dropping you off at Doctor Friskin’s,” she stated as she pulled the jeep out of the parking garage. “Then I am going back to Winninger’s office.”
“Lo-is,” Clark protested.
“Clark, I’ve told you this already, but you obviously weren’t listening. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“And you wouldn’t choose me even if you did need one,” Clark added. There was a little boy petulancy about him that might be endearing if he wasn’t being so pig-headed.
“Clark you’re a journalist, not a bodyguard. The killer doesn’t even know there was a witness, so it shouldn’t matter.”
“It’s just that I have a bad feeling about it,” Clark said. “And I would feel a lot better if somebody was with you.”
Lois pulled the jeep up to the front of Friskin’s building. “If I think I need protection, I’ll let the police know, okay?”
He frowned, obviously not happy with her decision.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow, okay?” she said.
‘Okay,” he agreed and climbed out of the car. But as she drove away, she could see him in the rearview mirror, watching.
-o-o-o-
Crime Scene Investigation team was just finishing up their work as Lois arrived at Winninger’s office. Inspector Henderson spotted her standing in the door and he beckoned her inside the front room. She was surprised to find him still there. Henderson was a high ranking police supervisor and he was rarely involved directly in anything but the most high-profile cases any more. Winninger was being given the V.I.P treatment – no limit to manpower or expense.
“I did mention not to touch anything, Lois?” Henderson said, giving her a sardonic grin.
She gave him a cheeky grin back. “Moi?” Henderson was one of the good guys – he didn’t consider the press an outright enemy and Lois had worked hard to keep on his good side. It paid off at times like this. No other journalist had even been let into the building. Of course the fact that she was an eye witness didn’t hurt either.
She crouched down to study the stains on the carpet, looking up as a uniformed officer murmured something to Henderson. That was when she saw him – the killer.
“That's him!”
“Who? What?” Henderson asked, giving her a confused look.
Lois hurried over to the door. “This is the killer, Inspector! Don't let him go!”
The man in the doorway looked over at her in wide-eyed astonishment. “What?”
“The man who killed Dr Winninger!” Lois nearly shouted. “I saw you! I was in the powder room.”
“This is Dr Hubert, Dr Winninger's, associate,” Henderson introduced him.
“I don't care who he is. I saw him kill Dr Winninger this morning.” Lois told Henderson.
“I was in Washington, D.C. this morning,” the man said.
“Anybody see you there?” Henderson asked.
“The thirty or forty men and women who attended the National Science Council meeting and heard my presentation...” Hubert stated. “Including the Vice President of the United States.”
“I'd call that an alibi, wouldn't you, Lois?” Henderson asked. His expression was sympathetic. But that didn’t make Lois feel any better.
-o-o-o-
Lois was still fuming when she pulled her jeep into a parking space in front of her apartment building. Her space in back of the building was being used by the visitors of one of her neighbors and so far the building supervisor, Mr.Tracewski, hadn’t managed to get them to move.
Clark was sitting on the front stoop, waiting for her.
“I thought you were going home after your appointment?” Lois asked.
“You assumed I would,” Clark corrected. “I never told you I would… So, what did you find out at Winninger’s?”
“The killer was there, Winninger’s assistant, Victor Hubert. Only he had an alibi,” Lois said, climbing the steps to the front door of the building. “Made me look like a first class fool.”
“So, you made a mistake. It happens,” Clark said.
“I didn't make a mistake. He looked just like him,” Lois protested. “I asked Jimmy to track Dr. Hubert down, but he's disappeared without a trace. I don’t get it.” She fumbled for her keys and finally found the one she wanted. She had her hand on the door handle when Clark grabbed her and pushed her down to the concrete landing. She heard two pops, like a car backfiring.
“Clark?” She wasn’t sure what just happened, but she was going to have bruises. Clark’s over protectiveness was getting annoying.
“Stay down!” Clark ordered as he climbed to his feet.
“That hurt!” Lois complained, getting to her own feet. Clark appeared to be scanning the street. She touched his arm and he jumped.
“Lois! You don't sneak up on somebody at a time like this,” he said. His voice was shaking.
“A time like what?” Lois demanded.
“Somebody tried to kill you!”
“Yes, you,” she said. That was when she noticed the blood on his jacket sleeve. “Oh my God… you’re bleeding.”
He looked down at his sleeve, surprise written across his face. “I guess I didn’t move fast enough.”
Lois pulled him inside the building, noting a new chip in the brick and a bullet hole in the wooden front door. Once inside, she pushed his jacket aside to see if he’d been hit anywhere else. She didn’t see any blood on his shirt, aside from what was on his sleeve. It appeared as though the slug had simply grazed his upper arm before chipping the brick.
“Come upstairs, and I’ll see how bad it is…” Lois said. “I assume I can’t talk you into going to the emergency room?”
“No doctors…”
Lois sighed as they made their way up to her apartment. Clark could be so stubborn when he set his mind on something. She still had no idea why he hated doctors.
She unlocked the locks on her door.
“Why would anyone want to kill me?” she asked.
“Obviously the killer thinks you can identify him,” Clark said. He took off his shirt and inspected the graze on his arm.
“But, I barely got a glimpse of him. And the man I thought did it, didn't,” Lois protested.
“The killer doesn't know that.” He winced as Lois applied antiseptic to the wound. “Lois, you’re in danger. The killer wants you dead. And Superman’s not around anymore to swoop down to the rescue.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Lois asked him. It was finally sinking in – Clark had saved her life by knocking her out of the way of the gunman’s bullets. And someone wanted her dead.
“Look, you need to let Henderson know what’s happened,” Clark said. “Maybe he can assign a police guard.”
“Clark, how am I supposed to do my work while under police guard?” Lois protested.
“How are you going to do your work if you’re dead?” Clark shot back.
Lois sighed. She hated it when Clark was right, especially at times like this. She picked up the phone and dialed Henderson’s private number. To her surprise, he picked up after only two rings.
“Henderson, Lois Lane… somebody just took two shots at me. They wounded Clark.”
“How is he?” Henderson asked.
“He was grazed by one of the shots. But he’s okay,” she told him.
“I’ll have a patrol car come by your place and I’ll arrange for protection,” he promised. “In the meantime, get out of there. Go to Clark’s place or check into a hotel. Call me back when you get there… Oh, and Lois, the man you identified as the killer?”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“The real Doctor Hubert flew in from D.C. about an hour ago.”
“So the man at Winninger’s office?”
“May well have been the killer,” Henderson admitted.
-o-o-o-
At Clark’s urging, Lois agreed to spend the night at his place, again. At the rate things were going, she may as well leave a toothbrush and a change of clothes at his apartment. Of course, that would give the bullpen gossipmongers something to really talk about.
Although Clark had offered her his bed, she chose to sleep on the sofa. At least he had a comfortable sofa, considering how often she’d slept on it in the past week.
The sun was shining when she woke up. Lois wrapped her robe around herself and padded to the kitchen to look for coffee. Clark always had coffee ready, but not this morning. Instead there was a note next to the coffee machine: The water’s out in the building. I’ll be right back with coffee and breakfast. CK. PS. Don’t let anyone in.
“Blast,” she muttered to herself. There was no indication from the note as to how long ago he had left, or when he was planning to be back. And she desperately wanted a shower. Her hair felt positively gummy. She tried the kitchen sink – nothing.
There was a knock on the door and she went to check it, peering through the sheer curtains that covered the double front doors. She recognized the heavy-set man standing on the outside landing – Floyd Henson, Clark’s building manager. He was wearing stained coveralls and had a toolbox in his hand.
She opened the door. “Mister Henson, Clark’s just stepped out, but I guess you’re here to fix the water…?”
He shut the door behind him, dropping the toolbox. It clattered onto the floor as he stepped closer to her. She ran down the several steps to Clark’s living room.
“Mr. Henson, are you all right?” she asked. He didn’t say anything, but kept coming closer. She tried running to the bedroom, but the open plan of Clark’s apartment meant there was nowhere to run to except the bathroom and Henson managed to beat her there. Lois was surprised at how spry the heavy man was.
He grabbed her and she fought back, slamming her elbow into his ample belly. It didn’t seem to faze him. He managed to get his hands around her throat and began choking her. She struggled to free herself but he was simply too strong. Soon, too soon, the world turned black.
When she opened her eyes again, Clark was kneeling on the floor beside her. “Lois?”
She could hear the panic in his voice. She coughed and sputtered and finally was able to fill her lungs. Her throat felt like it was on fire. “Oh, Clark... Clark...” she managed to say before dissolving into tears.
“It's all right, you're okay...” Clark was murmuring.
“I couldn't breathe. It was... Floyd… Mister Hanson.”
“No, it wasn't, Lois,” Clark told her. “It must have been someone else. I saw the real Floyd leave the same time I did.”
“He tried to kill me...” she managed to say.
“I'll find him...” Clark promised. He started to stand, but she grabbed his arm, ignoring the wince of pain in his face as she clung to his injured arm.
“No!” she managed to get out. “Please. Don't leave me.”
“I won't. I'm here. I'm right here,” he said, holding her close. If felt good to be in his arms. Safe. Almost like being in Superman’s arms.
