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.
Part 7
Clark - now clean, but still wearing the Suit - settled on top of one of the tall Metropolis buildings. He folded his cape around his shoulders, crossed his forearms over his arched knees, and stared ahead, his eyes fixed on the door of the Daily Planet building.
Ten minutes earlier, he'd faced a barrage of questions about the subway collapse as he'd emerged from the police station. He'd given them a few answers, dredging details from a mind mired in the tragedy and circumstances of Mayson's death.
He'd lost patience and flown away after a few minutes. He'd washed in the middle of Hobb's Bay, hoping the cold water would shake him loose from the cloud of numbness that had engulfed him. After drying himself and the Suit, he'd floated above Metropolis, searching for Lois.
Finding her had been as simple as looking through the Daily Planet building. She'd been at her desk, feverishly typing up her story. He'd scanned her monitor and read a few lines of her copy - enough to realise she was writing about the subway disaster.
Not the murder of Mayson Drake.
He hadn't been able to decide whether that brought relief or disappointment.
Perhaps he just wasn't capable of feeling anything with any clarity.
The subway story was huge. But the death of a deputy DA? Surely, that was going to be a big story, too?
Particularly for Lois. She had to know the murder had happened in her partner's apartment.
Had she accepted his guilt so easily? And moved on?
His answer had come a few minutes later.
Lois had risen from her desk and marched into Perry's office. Clark had willed himself to fly away.
He'd failed so comprehensively that not only had he continued his surveillance, he'd increased it by listening to their conversation. He'd justified his actions by telling himself that *not* acquiring information before facing the police was just plain gullible.
He'd heard Lois ask Perry about Clark's personal life.
Perry had replied that if Clark had been in a relationship, he would have thought it would have been with Lois.
She'd repeated the line that had become their mantra. We're friends. And partners.
The anguish of that truth had risen up all over again, scorching new welts on wounds that were still laid bare and festering.
Perry had commented that Mayson couldn't have shot herself in the back of the head. He added that the shot had come from inside the apartment.
Lois - his friend and partner - hadn't protested.
Perry had said more, but it had blurred into a haze of words as Clark had waited for just one thing - the woman he loved to question whether Clark Kent had really killed Mayson Drake.
She hadn't. She hadn't questioned the details. She hadn't challenged the assumption that Clark had been holding the gun that had ended Mayson Drake's life.
With a heart that felt like a chunk of cold hard kryptonite, Clark had turned away, snapping off his hearing and taking refuge in the nearest tall building.
He'd sat down. Below him, the city had begun to stir in response to the gathering daylight, but Clark had been too busy grappling with the speed with which his life had disintegrated to take much notice.
The jury - the only jury he cared about - had found him guilty as charged.
He hadn't even had the chance to defend himself.
His mind tumbled back to his encounter with Lana. Where was she now? Would she really try to hurt Lois if he went to the police? Was she still watching the police station? Would she know if he went there? Had she seen Superman there? He should have looked for her while he'd been answering the questions.
Once he stepped into the police station, he would surrender all control of his life.
He would be powerless to protect Lois.
Would the police believe him if he were to tell them about Lana's threats? Or had all his credibility been eroded by the long hours of absence?
As he watched, the door of the Daily Planet building opened and Lois walked out. Clark stood to his feet, his eyes darting around her.
No one stepped out from the shadows. She hailed a cab and got in. No one appeared. No one got into a cab and followed her.
Where was Lana?
Could he warn Lois? He couldn't as Clark. Clark was a wanted fugitive.
Could he go to her as Superman? Could he warn her and beg her to be careful?
Would she believe him? Would it moderate her behaviour? Would she take care to avoid potentially dangerous situations?
Probably not, he realised.
She would ask a whole lot of questions - questions he couldn't answer without admitting he had seen Clark. And that … well, even with all of his superpowers, it wasn't easy to escape Lois Lane in full pursuit-of-a-story mode.
If Lana knew Clark Kent was Superman, how would she respond to Superman talking with Lois?
He couldn't just walk away. He had left Lana ... and now Mayson was dead.
With a whoosh, Superman flew into the Daily Planet building and landed in Perry White's office.
"Superman," the editor said, looking up at his sudden visitor with admirable composure. "I hear we have you to thank for saving many of our citizens' lives."
Clark wasn't here to be thanked. "Mr White," he said. "I believe Ms Lane could be in danger."
Perry's remained unmoved. "Lois is often in danger," he said wearily. "You know that better than anyone. How many times have you saved her life?"
"But, this time ... I'm worried."
Perry straightened a little in his seat. "What have you heard?"
Clark began to wish he'd had the equanimity to plan what he needed to say before barging into Perry's office. "I've ... I've heard ... things. That someone ... someone has made threats … about hurting Lois."
"Lois didn't mention anything."
"She doesn't know."
"You think those threats are serious?"
"I don't know," Superman said. "But I wanted you to know."
"Have you told Henderson?"
"No."
Perry sighed. "What do you want me to do?"
"Don't let her go off by herself. Insist she tells you what she's doing and where she is."
Perry shot him an incredulous look. "This is Lois we're talking about, right?" he said. "Lois L…" His speech stalled, his amazement faded, and he shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Is this about Clark?"
"She's working alone," Superman said tonelessly. "That makes her more vulnerable."
"So this *is* about Clark?"
"I just want Lois to be careful."
"Have you heard from Clark?" Perry asked. "I suppose you know the police want to question him?"
"Detective Wolfe told me."
"Has Clark contacted you?"
"The police have already asked me these questions."
If Perry had detected the barb of impatience in Superman's reply, he didn't respond. "Who threatened Lois?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Because … because I'm worried that anything I say could increase the risk to Lois."
"That's why you haven't spoken to the police?"
"Yes."
"Why haven't you told Lois?"
"I think … I don't want to be seen with her. For her own safety."
"You think she's being watched?" Perry gasped.
"It's possible."
"You think this person ... the one who made threats against Lois ... could be out of control? Could do something out of character?"
"Yes," Superman said, glad Perry had understood.
"Why are you telling me?"
"You're her editor."
"You're Superman."
"I ... I've been busy in the tunnel. I … they … The debris needs clearing."
Perry stared at Superman for a stretched moment with eyes that were rimmed red with exhaustion. "Are you sure about this, Superman?" he said. "Are you sure you have your facts right?"
Clark wasn't sure about much at all anymore. Except that he would never forgive himself if Lana hurt Lois. "Please, Mr White," he said. "If I didn't think Lois could be in danger, I wouldn't have come."
Perry opened his mouth, and Clark braced himself for another question. But then, the editor sighed deeply and said, "OK, Superman. I'll look out for her. Anything else?"
"No. Thank you." He turned around with a swish of his cape.
"Oh, Superman?"
"Yes?"
"If you know where Clark is, or if you find him, please tell him to go to the police station."
The question rose up Clark's throat and leapt from his mouth. "Do you think Clark did what they're saying? Do you think he could take a gun and shoot someone?"
"I think difficult circumstances affect all of us differently," Perry said.
"You didn't answer my question."
Perry's head hung low. When he looked up, despair had etched new lines on his face. "The evidence says there were two people in Clark's apartment when Mayson died," he said. "Clark and Mayson. Mayson was shot." His hands lifted from his desk, then slumped back. "Clark is like a son to me, but I don't know what else to believe. I wish I could see -"
But Clark had heard enough. Superman flew from the building, shooting up into the sky as chards of isolation perforated his heart.
Perry believed Clark had killed Mayson.
Lois had accepted his guilt without a whimper.
He was a murder suspect. Accused - that was bad enough. Alone - that was worse.
__|~|__
Lois arrived outside Clark's apartment at eighteen minutes past six. She'd bought two cups of hot, fresh coffee from a street vendor, and now, she walked over to the cop guarding Clark's door and offered him one.
He looked at it longingly, but then his expression turned wary. "You can't go in," he said.
"Henderson will be here in a minute," Lois replied. "We're going in together."
With relief, the cop took the coffee and gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said.
"Quiet night?" Lois asked nonchalantly as she sipped from her steaming cup.
"After everyone realised there was nothing to see and returned to their warm homes," he said. "What's happening at the subway?"
"Superman got everyone out."
"Casualties?"
"Fourteen, last I heard. That might rise. A paramedic said some of the injuries were serious."
"Any sign that it was deliberate?"
"I think they're investigating that now. Wolfe took Superman to the police station as soon as he emerged from the tunnel."
"Wolfe?"
"Yeah. It surprised me, too," Lois said. "I thought he was supposed to be working this case."
The cop wrinkled his brow. "I doubt there could be any connection between the two events, could there?"
Lois thought for a moment. "I don't see how. Unless it was sabotage and it was linked to something Mayson was working on."
The cop shrugged. "Perhaps resources are so stretched that Wolfe had to be pulled off this case and put onto the subway disaster."
"Yeah," Lois said. She breathed in the warm coffee aroma as a troupe of new ideas somersaulted across her mind.
What if Wolfe's reason for wanting to see Superman had nothing to do with the subway tragedy? What if he'd wanted to ask questions about Mayson's death? Or Clark's whereabouts?
Until now, her thoughts had been so focussed on Clark, she hadn't considered Superman. He was Clark's friend. He would know Clark couldn't have killed Mayson. He'd been busy all night with the rescue, but if Lois could find him, they could work together to clear Clark's name.
__|~|__
Superman hovered above the police station.
He had to go to the police. As Clark.
Regardless of the ramifications.
Regardless of the questions they would ask him.
Regardless of the tests they would want to do.
Regardless of what Lana would do.
Regardless of what Lois thought of him.
Regardless of whether his bumbling attempt to warn Perry would provide Lois with any protection at all.
Time had run out. He needed to go to the police station. He needed see if anything of Clark Kent's life was salvageable.
Even if the consequence was being charged with murder, he had to go.
He flew into the nearby alley and spun into Clark's clothes.
Then, with unwavering steps, he walked towards the entrance of the police station.
No hand gripped his arm. No voice shouted his name.
He took a deep breath. He couldn't detect a trace of the scent Lana had been wearing last night.
The automatic doors slid open, and Clark walked inside.
__|~|__
A movement cut through Lois's clutter of theories, and she looked up to see Henderson appear around the corner. "Good morning," he said in the tone of a man who held the opinion that morning had come far too quickly to be considered 'good'. He took a set of keys from his pocket and pushed one of them into the lock in Clark's door.
"Oh," Lois said.
Henderson glanced at her. "You thought we'd be breaking in?" he asked with a wry smile. He stepped into Clark's apartment and switched on the light.
Lois stood at the top of the little flight of stairs and looked around, searching for anything that could be significant.
It looked ... dishevelled. Which, she supposed, was to be expected after a forensic team had foraged through it.
With every sense alert for clues, Lois moved slowly down the steps, veering to the left in careful avoidance of the place where Mayson had lain.
There was nothing noteworthy in the living area. Nothing in the kitchen.
Lois turned towards Clark's bedroom and stopped as the image of Clark with another woman rose into her mind.
Henderson came up behind her. "You all right?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"It can be tough, sometimes," he said. "Particularly when it was someone you knew."
"Yeah." Lois stepped into Clark's bedroom. "Someone has been on the bed."
"Well, ah, yeah," Henderson said.
"No, I mean Clark makes his bed every morning. I've never seen the covers ruffled."
"You come into Clark's bedroom?"
"The bathroom's that way," Lois said, pointing forward. She moved to the closet, opened the door, and gasped.
"What?" Henderson said from behind her.
There was a dress hanging up alongside Clark's row of business shirts. Lois leaned closer, examining it without touching it. It was a sleeveless dress with alternating dark and light salmon stripes. The round neck dropped low, and the skirt cascaded to knee-length from under a large cream bow tied at the waist.
She stepped back to allow Henderson to see. "The forensic team didn't think this was important?" she asked.
"They figured it belonged to Mayson," he said.
Surprise billowed through Lois. "And did they also have a theory as to why it's in Clark's closet?"
Henderson looked uncomfortable. "It looks as if she stayed here a bit," he said. "Her baking pan was here."
"That means she has cooked here. It doesn't mean she slept here."
Henderson nodded towards the bathroom. "There's more of her stuff in there."
Lois went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet. On both shelves, there were rows of tubes - skincare products made by the French company, La Roche-Posay. All of the tubes were part of the Toleriane range. She turned to Henderson. "You think Mayson moved in with Clark?"
"We think she was in the process of moving in. Mrs McCreadie said she had visited him two evenings this week and she was here very early one morning."
Lois moved back into the bedroom. She gestured to the dress. "Is it OK if I take it out?"
Henderson nodded.
Lois slipped the dress from the hanger, gathered the material to her nose, and inhaled deeply. She couldn't detect any trace of the cologne Clark used. "Why didn't the forensics guys take this dress?" she asked.
"They probably checked it for ... for substances, and then decided it wasn't relevant."
"You mean blood?"
"Yeah." Henderson looked uncomfortable. "And semen."
Lois's head shot up from the dress. "Mayson wasn't raped?"
"No. There is no evidence of sexual abuse. No bruising anywhere on her body."
Lois held up the dress for the cop's inspection. "You really think this belonged to Mayson Drake?" she said, not able to smother her derision.
Henderson looked the dress up and down. "It's not what she would wear to work," he conceded. "But she could dress differently during her free time."
"I've never seen her in anything that reaches beyond her mid thighs," Lois said.
Henderson cleared his throat.
Lois stretched out the skirt sideways. "And three of her could have fitted into this."
"Perhaps Clark bought it for her," Henderson suggested. "Men aren't always great at estimating size."
"This isn't hers," Lois said.
"You can't be sure about that."
"The cosmetics aren't hers, either."
"How do you know?"
"The brand, La Roche-Posay, isn't widely available in Metropolis. I've never seen the range, Toleriane, before. It's French."
"Perhaps Mayson ordered it in from France."
"The make-up is wrong." Lois laid the dress on Clark's bed. "Mayson sticks rigidly to pastels. The colours are earthier. More suited to a woman with darker hair."
"Lois," Henderson said. "Even if the dress and the cosmetics don't belong to Mayson, it makes no difference to the case. It doesn't change that two people were in this apartment and one of them was shot dead."
"It changes everything," Lois insisted. "It confirms there is a third person involved. The witness said she heard Mayson accuse Clark of cheating on her." She gestured to the dress and beyond, to the bathroom. "These belong to the other woman."
Henderson's blank look encouraged her to continue.
"That other woman has been here," Lois stated. "She sat on Clark's bed. That's how it got rumpled."
"It doesn't look rumpled to me," Henderson said, his gaze darting over the bed.
"It is," Lois asserted. "Clark's bed is usually so neat, you'd think an army sergeant had checked it. He makes it in the morning, and it stays that way until evening. It he'd sat here, he would've straightened it."
"It could have been Mayson."
Lois shook her head. "You told me that the first time she was here, she stayed five or six minutes. The witness heard arguing - that suggests they were near the door. The second time Mayson came, the shot was fired a couple of minutes later. It wasn't Mayson on the bed. And it wasn't Clark. It was the owner of the dress. She was here. Yesterday."
"OK," Henderson said.
"She was here when Mayson came," Lois said eager. "*That's* how Mayson concluded that Clark had someone else."
"Mrs McCreadie didn't see anyone else arrive."
"Mrs McCreadie was at the vet," Lois said. "Of course she didn't see this woman arrive."
"After the shot was fired, Clark was seen running away," Henderson said. "When Wolfe and I arrived a few minutes later, there was no one here except Mayson."
Lois said nothing.
"And it doesn't explain where he's been all night," Henderson added.
It felt like blades rising up her throat, but Lois pushed the words out. "He could have been with the owner of the dress. In her apartment."
"Why would Clark go *there*, if she were *here*?" Henderson demanded.
"When you and Wolfe arrived, neither of them was here. Perhaps they -"
"If she lives here, she wouldn't have an apart-"
Lois flounced to the closet and swung the doors wide open. "If she *lives* here, she doesn't own many outfits."
Henderson lifted his hands. "A dress and a few tubes of cosmetics aren't going to change anything," he said.
"They bring doubt."
"We have a witness statement saying Clark ran away after the shot was fired. He was here when Mayson was killed. He ran away. He hasn't been seen since. They are the actions of a guilty man. This changes nothing."
"It's stopped you saying 'two people, one shot dead,'" Lois said grumpily.
"Lois, I don't want Clark to be guilty, either. But none of your possible scenarios are supported by the evidence."
"I'm not trying to tell you what happened. I'm trying to make you see that there are alternatives."
"Not if you look at the evidence." From Henderson's jacket pocket came the sound of his cell phone. "Excuse me," he said as he put it to his ear. He listened and nodded a couple of times as Lois tried to eavesdrop. His eyebrows leapt with surprise. "OK," he said finally. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"What's happened?" Lois asked.
Henderson returned the cell phone to his pocket. "Clark Kent walked into the Metropolis Central Police Station ten minutes ago."
"Clark? Is he all right?"
"He's all right."
Relief - mixed with anxiety - flooded through Lois. "Did he say where he's been? Did he say who killed Mayson? Was someone with him? What happens now?"
"He hasn't said anything yet. Wolfe wants me to be there when he questions Clark. He didn't mention anyone else having come with Clark."
"What happens after Clark has been questioned?" Lois asked.
"If he confesses, he will be charged."
"And if he doesn't confess?" Lois asked sourly.
"That will depend on whether Wolfe thinks he has enough evidence to get a conviction."
"Clark didn't do it."
"You have no evidence to prove that."
"I have over a year of working with him."
Henderson stared at her for a long moment. "Lois? Is there more between you and Clark than just your working relationship?"
"We're friends."
"More than friends?"
"No." It was true. And it was her fault it was true. Clark had offered her his love, and she had rejected him. "This is not my dress, and those are not my cosmetics."
"Because the way it stands at the moment, if you go to the station and proclaim Clark's innocence, it's ..." Henderson paused, looking as if he regretted having begun. "... it's going to look like a woman mindlessly defending her man."
The 'mindlessly' hurt. "I don't have to be in love with Clark to know he would never kill someone and run away."
"The prisons are full of people who 'would never' do exactly what they were found guilty of doing."
Lois tempered the glare she could feel forming and asked, "What do you think will happen, Bill? Do you think Clark will be charged?"
He took a moment to consider his reply. "Yes," he said disconsolately. "I think Wolfe has enough."
"A weapon?"
"No. But the witness is sure of what she saw. Her testimony proves opportunity. It happened in Clark's apartment, Lois. The overheard argument and the possibility of another woman suggest motive. Running away and disappearing all night -"
"Clark didn't do it," Lois said. "And you won't be able to prove he did."
"Then I figure you have a couple of hours to prove that he didn't," Henderson said. He took a plastic bag from his pocket and moved towards the dress.
"Wait!" Lois said. She took her camera from her bag, and Henderson waited while she took a photo of the dress as it lay on the bed. "Thanks," she said. "What are you going to do with the dress?"
"Ask Mayson's sister if it belonged to her."
Lois went into the bathroom and, using the tips of her fingers on the rim of the lid, she picked up one of the tubes of face cream. She took it back to Henderson. "Take this," she said. "If you can get a fingerprint from it, you might be able to identify the other woman. Then, perhaps, you'll be on the way to actually solving this case instead of just jumping on the most obvious answer."
He didn't respond to her gibe. But he did carefully put the face cream into another plastic bag. "I need to lock the door and take the keys," he said. "And I can't leave you in here."
"OK," Lois said. She sprinted up the stairs and exited the apartment. Once outside, she turned to Henderson. "Thanks for letting me go in, Bill."
Henderson locked Clark's door. "We both want the same thing," he said.
Lois nodded tersely and walked away.
__|~|__
Clark figured it was significant that after walking up to the front desk of the police station and saying, "I'm Clark Kent," he hadn't needed to explain the reason for his presence.
A uniformed cop had sprung out from his desk behind the counter and escorted Clark to an interview room. He'd asked Clark to sit at the table, and then he'd stood guard at the door for ten long minutes while, outside the room, the atmosphere had buzzed with snippets of urgent conversation and pulsated with harried footsteps.
Clark couldn't be bothered tuning in his hearing. He was sure that whatever case they had against him would be outlined soon enough.
Meanwhile, he should use this time to plan.
Plan what?
Plan to deny that he had killed Mayson.
Then what?
How was he going to explain his tardiness in arriving at the station? How was he going to give details of where he had been during the night?
Lana had said there was a witness who had identified him as the murderer. How was he going to disprove that allegation when he had no explanation for what Clark had been doing at the time of her death?
What was he going to say about Lana?
He had to tell them she had made threats against Lois.
Would Wolfe believe him? Would they look for Lana? And if they found her, what would she tell them?
That he had fathered her baby?
That he had cheated on her with Mayson?
Or that he was Superman?
Had Lana been watching the entrance of the police station? Had she managed to obtain another gun? Was she, right now, heading to the Daily Planet in search of Lois?
The minutes dragged by slowly.
Was this a part of the police strategy? To keeping him waiting? To apply mental pressure? Was the cop at the door surreptitiously watching him for signs of guilt?
Clark closed his eyes. Immediately, the vision of Mayson's crumpled body invaded his mind, melding with the memories of the bodies he had recovered from the train wreck. His eyes shot open, dispelling the spectre of death.
Thoughts of Lois flooded in.
She would be all right. Perry would check on her.
Clark tried to search for her heartbeat, but the screech of noise from outside assaulted his eardrums.
He dropped his head into his hands and allowed his mind to succumb to exhaustion.
__|~|__
Lois swung through the bullpen at the Daily Planet and made straight for the dark room. She hammered impatiently on the door.
"Don't come in," came back the urgent call.
"Jimmy?" Lois called. "I need you to develop a photo for me."
"Lois, I'm busy."
"This is important, Jimmy."
"The Chief wants these shots for a second morning edition."
Lois put her hand on the doorknob. "I'm coming in, Jimmy."
His shriek was exactly the response she had expected. "No!"
"Then open the door."
He groaned, but less than half a minute later, the door opened an inch and Jimmy peeked out. "What?"
Lois shoved her camera at his nose. "There's a shot of a dress. I need -"
"A dress!"
"Yes. It's one shot, Jimmy. It's important. And I need it now."
"If the Chief -"
"I'll deal with Perry. Just do it, Jimmy."
He took the camera. "Twenty minutes."
"Fifteen."
He nodded in resignation and recoiled into the darkroom.
