Lois knew she should be there.
It was going to be a big story. Now that all the survivors had been rescued, there would be questions asked about public safety, about negligence by the rail authorities. Current maintenance practices would be scrutinised. There would be follow-up stories as the survivors battled their injuries. The death toll would be carefully monitored. Loved ones would be reunited. There would be tributes to those who had died. There would be stories of lucky escapes and stories of the tragedy of being caught in the wrong place.
This event would be current for at least a week.
And the Daily Planet was relying on Ralph.
She should go.
Perhaps she would be able to get a few words with Superman. Perhaps she would be able to glean some small insight that would allow her to write a story to make a contribution to the Planet's coverage.
She was a reporter. She had a job to do.
Perhaps, when Clark heard about the disaster, he would come to Northwood. Or perhaps he would call her cell phone.
Perhaps, she would have the chance to break the news about Mayson and warn him that the police wanted to speak with him. Perhaps they could go to the station together.
Lois hauled herself from her sofa, turned off the television, picked up her bag, and left her apartment.
Part 6
Detective Wolfe replaced the phone and stared at the timeline he had collated.
At ten-thirty the previous evening, Superman had rescued a small child who had been trapped down a drain. He'd left about ten minutes later.
The evidence said Mayson Drake had been shot at ten-fifty.
At ten past eleven, Superman had broken up a fight between two young men who had had too much to drink.
At twenty past eleven, Superman had arrived at Clark Kent's apartment, where Wolfe and Henderson had been with the body.
What had Superman been doing in the twenty minutes after Mayson Drake's death?
Twenty minutes was not a long time.
But for Superman, it was long enough.
Had Kent contacted the superhero? Had the superhero flown his friend away from Metropolis?
Had Superman's surprise at Mayson's death been an act? Surely, if the man could see through walls, he would have known before entering the apartment.
Immediately after his preliminary assessment of the scene - the victim was dead and the perpetrator was gone - Wolfe had spoken to the woman who had called 911.
It had taken less than two minutes for his questions to draw from Mrs McCreadie the gist of her testimony. He'd called in and ordered that every patrol car, every officer, be looking for Clark Kent.
Much of Metropolis had been awake all night.
Yet no one had seen Kent.
No one.
Not the cab drivers. Not the airport workers. Not the cops.
No one.
How could a man disappear?
He couldn't.
Unless ...
Unless he had some help.
Super-help.
Wolfe picked up the phone again and dialled Perry White's direct number.
"Perry White."
"Detective Wolfe, Mr White."
The short silence was telling, indicating the editor knew about Mayson's death and probably also knew his reporter was the primary suspect. "What can I do for you, Detective?" White asked with cool formality.
"Where is Clark Kent's home town?"
The silence came again. "Why do you want to know?"
"I'm investigating a murder," Wolfe snapped - not because he was particularly annoyed, but because he wanted to remind White that he had the power to lay charges for obstructing an investigation.
"Smallville, Kansas," White said, although his reluctance seared unambiguously down the phone line.
"Thank you." Wolfe went to replace the phone.
"Detective?"
"Yes?"
"Have you found Clark?" White asked, his voice burdened with anxiety. "Why do you need to contact his family?"
"We haven't found him yet." Wolfe figured the answer to the second question was too obvious to waste his breath.
"When you find Clark ... if he needs anything ... a lawyer ... *anything* ... get him to call me."
Wolfe made a grunt that could have signified agreement. "Thanks for the information, Mr White." Then he jabbed at the hooks and disconnected the line before the editor could ask any more questions.
Wolfe tapped the couple of buttons to reach the front desk and asked the receptionist to put him through to the Sheriff's Office in Smallville, Kansas.
__|~|__
Superman rounded a gentle curve, and the back of the train came into view. He landed in a quiet and darkened area, unnoticed by the small team of experts discussing the preliminary steps in clearing the tunnel. He'd systematically flown through the entire subway network, checking for any structural defects. They hadn't been affected by the collapse in this section, but removing the debris - including the train - was going to be a long and precarious undertaking.
He could stay and help. He could reduce the time from days to hours. He could minimise the chance of a further collapse and reduce the risk of further injury.
But ...
The past several hours had felt as if he'd suspended his real life and become enmeshed in the evanescent isolation of the underground world.
He'd played the part of the calm, confident rescuer, but inside, the knowledge of what awaited him followed him like an unrelenting stalker.
He was worried about Lois. He had taken the gun from Lana and gambled that the lateness of the hour and her unfamiliarity with Metropolis would be enough to secure Lois's safety.
What if he'd miscalculated? Lois had been in her apartment last night, but if she'd heard about the tunnel collapse, she would have come out, chasing the story.
Mayson was dead. Thoughts of her had constantly drifted through his anxiety for Lois, accentuated by the atmosphere of death, the stench of fear, and the sight of bloodied bodies.
Although he never could have loved her, the grief at her passing clouded his heart in sorrow.
The rescues had been physically demanding. More than once, he had carefully lifted a portion of crumpled steel and held it aloft so that others could go in, treating the injured and cutting free the trapped.
Superman leant against the wall of the tunnel and let his head drop low. He felt utterly drained, but he knew it wasn't the physical demands that had left him feeling so empty and fatigued.
It was the emotional demands. The need to reassure frightened people. The need to hold the hand of a trapped mother whose baby he had lifted unconscious from her arms. The need to grieve with an elderly woman pressed against the body of her deceased son. The need to push back anxiety. To alleviate shock. To ease pain. To stand in the gap between the victims and their fear.
Now, he was filthy. His suit was covered in a cocktail of grease, dirt, and blood.
He still had reserves of physical strength. If anyone had needed him, he could have continued.
But inside, he felt hollow. A big, vacuous nothing had sucked the life from him.
The people around him - the other rescuers and the rescued - thought he was a hero. They had showered him with their gratitude and respect.
How would they feel if they knew he was a murder suspect?
It was time to face his accusers.
He should look for Lois first. He couldn't do anything until he knew she was safe.
Would she be at the train station? Had news of the collapse reached her? Had she tried to contact him so they could cover the story together?
If she had, she would know he was missing.
Did she believe he had killed Mayson?
That would hurt. Maybe even more than her rejection of his love had hurt.
They were friends.
Weren't they?
She was also a reporter. She had reported on many murders. She had written the stories of many people considered to be decent and upright - people who had snapped or broken free from the charade and done something terrible.
Would she believe he had done that?
Taken a gun?
Fired?
And then run away?
Clark felt sick inside.
He could face anything - anything but her disappointment.
He loved her.
He needed her.
He wished he could go to her. He'd done it before after a difficult or demanding rescue. Gone to her apartment as Superman and pretended he was there to give her details for her story.
But, in truth, he'd been there because he'd needed to be with her.
Just a few moments with Lois restored him.
And he needed her now.
But this time, he couldn't go to her as Superman. The Suit would give him no protection against the agony of hearing her condemn Clark as being a cold-blooded murderer.
He straightened from the tunnel wall and trudged towards the entrance. Five minutes later, he emerged, and an enthusiastic cheer rose from the gathered crowd. He lifted his head and scanned the mass of people being kept at bay by a rope barrier that was reinforced by a ring of police officers.
The applause made him uncomfortable. He had never particularly liked being the centre of attention, but now it felt like a prickly blanket being pressed against his skin.
He stopped for a moment, pretending to acknowledge the crowd, but in reality, he was searching for Lois. Her heartbeat.
He found it - a steady rhythm of comfort amid the dissonance of so many other noises.
She was all right.
He skimmed across the gathered mass of people and found her.
Their eyes met.
He saw her apprehension. Her confusion. Her shock.
She'd been crying. He could see the tiny beads of dried tears scattered on her eyelashes.
She was here. Lana hadn't hurt her.
But she was here. Openly here. Where Lana could find her.
She was here. She wasn't looking for Clark. She wasn't trying to solve Mayson's murder.
She had been crying.
Did she believe the police case against him?
Had she accepted he was a killer and had already moved on to the next story?
Inside, Superman - hero of a shaken city - died a little.
The head engineer came up to him. "How is it?" he asked anxiously.
"The rest of the tunnels are structurally sound," Superman reported woodenly. "But that could be compromised during the removal of the train. Take every precaution."
"Will you stay and help? Your strength would be invaluable."
A hand grasped his arm, and Clark looked around to see Detective Wolfe.
A series of questions bombarded his brain. Did Wolfe know Superman was the murder suspect? Had he connected Clark's disappearance with Superman's involvement in the rescue? Had Lana revealed his secret?
"Superman?" Wolfe said. "Would you mind coming to the police station, please?"
"The station?" Clark said. "Why?"
"We need to talk to you about what you saw down there. Specifically, whether there was any evidence of sabotage."
They thought someone had done it deliberately? Clark had been concentrating on the people who had needed his help, not looking for reasons why the tunnel had fallen in. "I didn't see anything," he said as the pressure of passed time squeezed against him. He needed to get away and become Clark. Clark Kent, murder suspect.
Wolfe's grip tightened. "I would really appreciate it if you would come with me," he said in a low, determined voice. "We want to avoid speculation in the media."
Speculation about what? And why was Wolfe - the homicide detective working the Mayson Drake case - here now, wanting to question Superman about the collapsed tunnel?
Wolfe *had* to know. Superman's identity was no longer a secret.
But Wolfe seemed willing to play along with the charade - publicly, at least.
"OK," Superman said with an apologetic glance to the head engineer. Clark let them lead him towards the police car. As he slid into the back seat, the cheers and applause of the people jarred against his inner isolation and turmoil.
They drove the hero away. And although he'd looked, Clark hadn't been able to see Lois again.
What if it had become public?
That Clark Kent was wanted for murder?
And that Superman was Clark Kent?
No. Clark calmed himself. If both of those details were known, the response to his appearance wouldn't have been so effusively positive.
Where was Lana?
Had she come forward?
What had happened while he was in the tunnel?
How much time had passed? The covering of darkness above the lit streets hadn't yet begun to disperse.
What was he going to say? When he finally faced their questions? How was he going to explain that, during the time of Mayson's murder, Clark Kent hadn't actually been anywhere?
Without an alibi, he was defenceless against their accusations.
How was he going to protect Lois if he were detained at the police station?
Should he tell the police that Lana had been in his apartment?
After all this time, it was going to appear as if he'd spent hours fabricating a lame excuse. And even if he said Lana had been in his apartment, how could he substantiate that fact?
He *had* to tell the police about Lana's threats. He doubted it would help prove his innocence - his credibility was going to be razed by his unwillingness to answer some questions truthfully. And mentioning her name would leave him vulnerable to her blurting out his secret.
But, if Lana was at the police station glibly informing them that Clark Kent was Superman, she couldn't be tracking Lois.
If Lois's safety could be bought at the cost of his secret, there was no question he would be willing to pay.
But that was for the future. Right now, he was here as Superman. He needed to answer their questions - whether they were about the subway collapse or Mayson's death - and get out of the station quickly.
Perhaps, while being questioned, he would find out more about the case against Clark. Perhaps he could use his hearing and vision to determine if Lana were at the station.
Perhaps that would help him decide whether his first priority was to be Clark and face the police, or to be Superman and protect Lois.
They stopped outside the police station, and Clark got out of the vehicle. As Wolfe accompanied him into the building, Clark said, "I'm filthy. Can I go and clean up, first?"
"This won't take long," Wolfe said. "I have a few questions I want to ask you."
Resigned to the fact that he couldn't walk - or fly - away without raising suspicion, Clark followed Wolfe into an interview room. A few moments later, Inspector Henderson walked in, shut the door, and sat behind Wolfe.
Clark waited.
"Great job on the rescue," Wolfe said. "Several hundred people owe you their lives."
Clark nodded as he tried to focus his hearing. He couldn't distinguish Lana's voice.
Wolfe took a piece of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket and unfolded it. "At ten-thirty last night, you rescued a little boy who had fallen down a drain."
"Yes."
"Approximately forty minutes later, you broke up a fight between two young men."
Clark nodded, trying to appear nonchalant despite the increasing tension pulling through his shoulders and into his neck.
"During those forty minutes, Mayson Drake was killed."
So this wasn't about the subway tragedy. Clark bit down on his exclamation of innocence as he stole a glance to Henderson. The inspector's face was blank.
"About ten minutes after the fight incident, you arrived at Clark Kent's apartment," Wolfe continued.
So far, it didn't seem as if Wolfe knew he was interviewing Clark Kent. Deciding silence was his ally, Clark said nothing.
"It's what happened between Ms Drake's murder and your appearance at the apartment that interests me," Wolfe said, placing the sheet of paper of the table and sitting back in his seat.
"I didn't see anything," Clark stated earnestly. "I didn't hear the gunshot. I didn't see who was with Mayson."
"Did Kent contact you at any time during the evening?"
"No," Superman said. It was the truth.
"I think he did," Wolfe said.
The blunt conviction of the statement felt a spurt of icy water to his face. Clark smothered his gasp and said nothing.
"I think Kent panicked after he shot Mayson Drake," Wolfe said. "Perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps it was self-defence. Perhaps it was provocation. But I think he ran away and then he contacted you. I think you took him to someplace where we wouldn't be able to find him."
The web of suspicion closed in. Clark had known he would be questioned as Clark. He hadn't prepared to face questions as Superman.
"When was the last time you saw Clark Kent?" Wolfe asked.
"I didn't fly him anywhere," Superman replied.
"Do you know his family?"
Clark's heart sank. "I've met them."
"Have you ever been to their home? In Smallville, Kansas?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you were there?"
Clark made a quick decision that, in this instance, he needed to tell the truth. "I went there after I'd seen you at Clark's apartment," he admitted.
"Did you take Kent with you?"
"No. I flew there alone."
"Why did you go to his home?"
"Because I didn't want his parents to find out about this when they read the papers or heard the news in the morning."
"What did you tell them?"
"That Mayson Drake had been killed in Clark's apartment and the police wanted to talk with him."
"What did they say?"
"They were shocked, of course. They were concerned about their son. And they were sorry that a life had been lost."
"Did they say when they had last had contact with Kent?"
"No."
"Did you ask them if he had contacted them recently?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I had awoken them from sleep. They were upset. I talked to them for a while. Then I left."
"Did you take them anywhere? Bring them back to Metropolis?"
"No. I didn't."
"Why not?"
"They're Clark's parents," Superman said.
"Your point being?"
"I try to avoid appearing to be close to anyone. For their safety."
"You could have brought them here secretly."
"You told me Clark was going to be investigated. I thought that could include questioning his parents about any contact they'd had with him. If they had left Smallville and arrived in Metropolis a short time later, I thought -"
"You wanted to keep your part in this hidden?" Wolfe snapped.
"I had nowhere to take them," Clark said, clinging to his composure. "I couldn't take them to Clark's apartment."
"Are you aware they have left their home?"
"No. I wasn't aware of that."
"Do you know where they are?"
"Driving to the airport, I assume."
"You didn't offer to go back this morning and fly them to Metropolis?"
"No."
Wolfe nodded, although Clark wasn't at all sure that it represented acceptance of his answers. "Do you think Kent killed Mayson?"
"I wasn't there."
"Where were you? After the drain rescue and before breaking up the fight?"
"Patrolling."
"Patrolling where?"
"Metropolis is a big city."
"Do you have an alibi for that time?"
He had been with Lois for a few minutes. But remembering Wolfe's reaction to Superman visiting Clark, he shrank back from mentioning that. "No."
"So despite Metropolis being a big city, there were forty minutes when absolutely nothing happened requiring Superman's help?"
"I didn't see anything needing my help."
"When you patrol, what are you looking for?"
"Anywhere I can help."
"You listen?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't hear a gunshot?"
"No. I didn't."
"Why did you come to Kent's apartment?"
"I drop in there sometimes."
"The timing of this particular visit suggests this was more than a casual visit."
"Until the subway collapse, it was a quiet night."
"Kent had been seeing a lot of Mayson Drake," Wolfe said. "Wouldn't that be awkward? If you were to 'drop in' when he's entertaining a woman?"
"That has never happened."
"Did you know Kent was seeing Mayson?"
"I didn't know he was *seeing* her."
"Did Kent ever discuss Mayson Drake with you?"
"No."
"Never?"
"Never."
"If there was a chance you'd interrupt a private moment, wouldn't you look into his apartment before landing on the balcony?"
"I don't look into apartments."
"So when you landed on the balcony, you didn't know we were there? You didn't know Mayson's body was there?"
"No."
"I think you didn't need to look because you already knew what you'd see. I think you'd already talked to Kent."
Clark looked straight at Wolfe. "When I landed on Clark's balcony, I had no knowledge of what had happened to Ms Drake."
"How important are friends to you, Superman?"
"I'm not in a position to have close friends."
"Would you lie to protect a friend?"
Clark paused. In some ways, his entire life - both of them - was a lie. "Superman stands for truth," he said quietly.
Wolfe's expression indicated he'd taken the answer as an admission that Superman would lie. "Do you know where Kent is now?"
"I have been in a tunnel for most of the night."
"Answer the question, Superman. Do you know where Kent is now?"
"How could I possibly know the whereabouts of anyone who wasn't in the subway?"
"If you'd taken Kent somewhere before going into the subway, it is reasonable to assume he would still be there."
"I didn't take Clark Kent anywhere."
Wolfe's eyes hardened with disbelief. "Can you shed any light on why Kent has disappeared?"
Clark forced his weary mind to cooperate. "Many people will wake up soon, having slept through the night unaware of either the tunnel collapse or Ms Drake's murder," he said.
"Are you saying Kent could be asleep somewhere?"
"I'm saying it's hardly unusual to sleep through the night hours," Clark said.
"He's a reporter. His partner, Lois Lane, was at Northwood. Would it be usual for him to sleep in those circumstances?"
Clark sighed, wishing now that he hadn't tried to suggest a possible explanation for Clark's disappearance. As he was trying to frame a way to say he didn't know about the routine of newspaper reporters without actually lying, Wolfe fired his next question.
"Is there any point in continuing to search for Kent in Metropolis?"
"Am I going to be charged with anything?"
"If I can prove you knew Kent had killed Mayson Drake and took him somewhere to avoid arrest, you will be charged with obstruction of justice."
"Can I leave now?"
"Will you go and get Kent? And bring him to the station?"
"If I find Clark, I will strongly advise him to come to the station."
"You can leave now."
Superman stood and passed both cops as he strode to the door.
"Oh, Superman?"
Clark turned at Wolfe's question.
"Did you see any evidence of sabotage in the subway?"
"No, I didn't."
"Thank you."
Superman walked out of the interview room, his mind a chaotic mess of uncertainty. If he came back now as Clark, Wolfe was going to believe Superman had taken Clark, had hidden him, had lied about it, and had bowed to Wolfe's pressure.
Clark Kent's reputation had taken a battering. The longer he stayed away, the worse it would get.
But if he went back now - as Clark - Superman's reputation would be irreparably damaged.
If Clark were charged with murder, Superman would be charged with being an accessory after the fact.
Except if Clark were detained, Superman would disappear.
Clark walked past the counter and looked into the early morning murkiness beyond the wide glass doors. A crowd had gathered. Reporters. Photographers. Members of the general public.
Waiting for him.
Clark groaned silently. Was this about the subway collapse? Or did they know the real reason Wolfe had insisted on speaking with Superman?
The sliding doors opened, and he stepped past the barrier of police officers guarding their station.
"Superman!" the crowd called. "Superman."
A cacophony of questions rose. Questions about the subway.
Nothing about Mayson Drake. Or Clark Kent.
Perhaps he should just fly off.
But then the crowd - including reporters and photographers - might still be here when he returned as Clark.
Perhaps if he answered a few questions, they would leave to write up their stories.
He gestured to a female reporter from LNN, hoping the Superman guise would mask his impatience.
He answered her question, his mind tumbling ahead.
He had to find Lois and ensure she was safe.
He had to look for Lana.
He had to get back to being Clark Kent.
The man accused of murder.
__|~|__
The moment the elevator doors slid open, Lois hurried through them, making a beeline for her desk. While her computer was logging on, she sorted through her notes. After Superman had left with Wolfe, she'd found Jimmy and yanked him away from Ralph, informing the young photographer that he was working with her now. She'd talked to a few bystanders who had spent most of the night at the site. She'd slipped under the barrier to ask one of the paramedics in a waiting ambulance about the injuries sustained and had been lucky enough to be there - with Jimmy - when a small boy had been reunited with his mother.
She didn't have enough for overall coverage of the story, but she had enough to write a contributing piece.
At any other time, the thought of being a support act to Ralph's butchering of events would have turned her stomach, but right now, she didn't care. All she wanted was her partner back.
Lois glanced up to the elevator, hoping the doors would open and Clark would swing in with that long hands-in-pockets stride, oblivious to everything that had happened in his absence.
But the doors remained stubbornly shut.
Perry came from his office as Lois opened a new file. "Did you find Clark?" he said.
"No."
"He wasn't at Northwood?"
"No."
"Did you see the victims? Do you know for sure he wasn't on that train?"
"I checked with the Medical Examiner. Only one victim was a young male, and he was an African American."
"What about the injured?"
"It's too early to get any information from the hospitals regarding individual patients," Lois said. "But I saw Superman at the site. I'm sure he would have told me if he'd rescued Clark."
Perry rubbed his fingers across his unshaven cheek. "What do you know about the murder?"
"Nothing I can use in a story."
"You've got something from the subway disaster?" he asked with a nod to her computer.
"Just a side-story. And Jimmy has a couple of good photos. Mother and young son reunion." Lois glanced up from her screen. Perry looked tired. Despondent. Worried. "Sorry I wasn't there to get you the whole story."
"You had to try to help Clark," Perry said. He turned and dejectedly walked back to his office.
Lois's fingers pounded the keyboard as she quickly wrote her story.
She saved it.
She rushed to the coffee machine. She took three sips and two breaths to try to give herself some distance and then re-read her story.
It was surprisingly good. And even more unexpectedly, it had that human touch that had been so notoriously absent from her work BC.
Before Clark.
He wasn't here, but he'd been a constant in her thoughts as she'd written, so perhaps something of his essence had permeated her work.
Satisfied, she hit 'send', picked up her tepid cup of bitter coffee, and went to Perry's office.
He looked up as she entered.
"I just submitted my story," she said. "It's not much, but ..."
"Thanks. I appreciate you going to the site. I know you have a lot on your mind."
"You haven't heard from Clark?" Lois asked, realising as the words came out that it was an inane question.
"No."
"Chief?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know anything about Clark's personal life?"
Her question had surprised Perry. "Not really," he said.
"Do you know if he is in a relationship?"
Perry hesitated.
"You do know something?" Lois asked in quick-fire response to the hesitation. "Has he said something to you?"
"I would have thought that if Clark were in a relationship, you would have been one of the first people to know."
"You think he’d confide in me?"
Perry looked as if he wished he hadn't spoken. "I figured you would have been the other person in the relationship."
"Clark and I are friends," she said firmly. "And partners."
It wasn't possible to determine from Perry's nod whether he accepted her assertion.
"Do you know of anyone else?" Lois persisted.
"Mayson Drake came here a few times. And as she was at Clark's -"
"Is there anyone other than Mayson?"
"No. No one. Why?"
"Just a theory I'm working on."
Perry tapped his pencil on his desk. "Lois?" he said in a tone that darted chills up her spine.
"What?"
"There have been leaks."
"Leaks? About what?"
"About what happened to Mayson."
"Well, it wasn't going to be possible to keep it quiet for long," Lois said. "As the deputy DA, she had a profile in this city.
"Not just that she has died, but where she died. And the identity of the main suspect."
"Clark's name has been mentioned?"
"Lois ..." Perry's long breath rattled through the silence. "As I hear it, this is about as open and shut as a murder case gets. Opportunity, witnesses ... and Clark hasn't done himself any favours by disappearing."
Lois's mouth shot open in protest, but she closed it without saying anything. She had proclaimed over and over again that Clark could not have killed Mayson, but nothing had changed.
Her protests had been about as effective as bashing a brick wall with a feather.
She needed proof. When she had proof, they would have to listen.
"The word is there were only two people in the apartment - Mayson and Clark," Perry said
"Henderson told me that."
"Mayson couldn't have shot herself in the back of the head."
Lois said nothing.
"She was facing the door," Perry continued. "The shot came from inside the apartment."
Lois tapped her foot a couple of times, hoping her exasperation would crackle through the atmosphere.
"Only two people were there," Perry mumbled.
Lois rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. A mountain of 'facts' was not going to make her believe Clark was capable of murder.
"I called the hospital," Perry said glumly. "Clark isn't there."
Lois nailed Perry with a long, hard look. "Do you really believe he could kill?" she asked.
"I ... I believe everyone can snap," her editor replied sadly. "I've been in this business too long to think anything is impossible."
Lois slowly shook her head. "Clark didn't kill Mayson," she said. "I know he didn't."
"Do you know something the police don't know?" Perry asked with sudden hope. "Was Clark with you?"
"No. I haven't seen him for a week."
"How can you know he didn't do it?"
Lois murmured her frustration. Why was she having to explain what should have been obvious to everyone who knew Clark? "Because he's Clark."
Perry grimaced. "That isn't going to stand up in court, Lois."
"This isn't going to get to court."
"Why not?"
"Because if I can't prove Clark *didn't* do it, I'm going to prove someone else did." She jerked the door open.
"Lois?"
She stopped but didn't turn back to Perry.
"If he needs anything … I'd like to help."
"Thanks," she said, responding to the words, not the hopelessness so evident in his tone.
She firmly shut the door, went back to her desk, shut down her computer, picked up her bag, and hurried to the elevator.
It was a few minutes after six o'clock. She needed to get to Clark's apartment and meet Henderson.
