Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Accused (8/15)

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.


Part 8

The long minutes of waiting ended when Detective Wolfe strode into the interview room, followed by Inspector Henderson and another officer Clark didn't know by name. Wolfe slid into the seat opposite Clark, Henderson shut the door, and he and the third officer sat in chairs behind Wolfe.

"Mr Kent," Wolfe said.

His solemn tone and businesslike demeanour tightened the knots tangling Clark's stomach. The police held all the advantages. They would ask questions he wouldn't want to answer honestly. They had the training and experience to assess the truth of a suspect's story.

Clark didn't know what they knew. He didn't know if he was going to be charged with murder. He didn't know if, when he left this room, his life would have changed forever.

Wolfe put a tape recorder on the table and started it recording. He tonelessly spoke the details of time and those present and then looked directly at Clark. "Why did you come to the station?" he asked.

"I heard you wanted to talk with me."

"Who told you that?"

Actually, Wolfe had told him. Last night. In Clark's apartment. As he had stood over Mayson's body. "I heard you wanted to talk to me. I came as soon as I could."

The spark of interest in Wolfe's face made Clark wish he hadn't offered the final sentence. He resolved to pare his answers to the barest detail.

"Do you know why we want to talk to you?" the detective asked.

"I know Mayson Drake was found dead in my apartment."

"Did you kill her?"

__|~|__

Lois stood a few yards from the door to Clark's apartment.

The cop had gone. With Clark at the police station, they probably deemed it unnecessary to continue surveillance on his apartment.

Remembering Henderson's demonstration with the cups and sugar sachets, Lois looked up and to her right. There was a row of second-floor windows. The first one offered the perfect vantage point to monitor the entrance to Clark's apartment.

Lois moved to the outer door of the apartment building and reached into her bag for her tools. Half a minute later, the lock succumbed, and she walked into the foyer. After climbing the stairs, she knocked on the first door.

__|~|__

Clark hadn't expected the most pertinent question to be fired with such stark hostility. "No," he said. "I didn't kill Ms Drake."

"Do you know how she died?"

"She was shot."

"Who shot her?"

Lana? All Clark had was circumstantial evidence and speculation. "I don't know."

"Were you in your apartment when she was shot?"

"No, I wasn't."

Wolfe's expression remained carefully deadpan, but a slight flutter of his eyelids hinted at his surprise at Clark's answer. "Where were you between ten-fifty and eleven o'clock last night?"

"I wasn't in my apartment. I left about ten-thirty."

"We have eyewitnesses who place you in your apartment at the time of the murder."

"I wasn't there."

"Where were you?"

"I was out."

"Were you with someone?"

"No."

"You were out? By yourself?"

"Yes."

"You don't have anyone who can verify your whereabouts?"

"No."

Disbelief permeated Wolfe's mask of detachment.

Clark's heart sank a little lower. He could see no way out. Even if he told them Lana had been in his apartment, it wasn't going to prove he hadn't been there.

The only way to do that was going to involve divulging a much bigger secret.

__|~|__

An amply proportioned lady who was probably in her late fifties opened the door. Her initial misgivings dissolved as she stared at Lois. "You're ... you're the reporter?" she said. "The one who works with Mr Kent?"

"Yes," Lois said. "I'm Lois Lane."

"I'm so sorry about what happened to the young lady," the woman said. "It was such a terrible shock."

"Did you talk to the police?" Lois asked.

"Yes," she said. "I thought -" She stopped abruptly and shook her head warily. "I've already made my statement. I don't want to say anything else. Not to the newspapers."

"Do you think Mr Kent killed the young woman?"

To Lois's relief, the woman didn't slam the door. "I wouldn't have thought Mr Kent would do something like that," she said slowly. "But I know what I saw."

"And I believe you," Lois said earnestly. "But I know Mr Kent really well, and I don't think he could shoot anyone."

"You're a friend of Mr Kent's? As well as working with him?"

"Yes, I am."

"I've seen you visit him sometimes."

"We're friends."

"Are you going to write a story about this? For the newspaper?"

"No. I'm trying to help Mr Kent."

"The detective didn't seem to think there was anything that could help him."

"Would you mind telling me exactly what you saw?" Lois asked. "Would you mind going through it point by point?"

The woman took a moment to assess Lois. "You're really trying to help Mr Kent?"

"Yes," Lois said. "If he didn't do this -"

"I only said what I saw," the woman said, sounding defensive. "At first, I thought I was *helping* Mr Kent."

"I'm not questioning your honesty," Lois said. "And I want to make it clear that I'm not trying to persuade you to change your witness statement."

"I wouldn't do that, whatever you said," the witness said staunchly.

Lois gave a hesitant smile. "I'd like to ask you a few questions - to find out exactly what you saw. Then perhaps we can work out what happened here. Would that be OK?"

__|~|__

Clark jolted his attention from Wolfe's transparent condemnation.

Henderson's eyes were cast low, and his face was set to a vacant veneer. The other cop stared back, his exasperation at enduring another improbable story clearly portrayed in the set of his face.

"When was the last time you saw Mayson Drake?" Wolfe asked. "Alive?"

"She came to my apartment last night."

"What time?"

Clark thought back, mentally traversing the accumulation of interminable hours since he'd left the Planet office the previous evening. That had been at about half past nine. He'd walked home because he'd wanted to think about Lois. "About a quarter past ten," he replied. "Maybe slightly earlier."

"Did she enter your apartment?"

"Yes."

"Was that a usual occurrence? Mayson coming to your apartment late at night?"

"She had been coming to my apartment recently."

"So her visit was expected?"

"No. We hadn't planned anything."

"Her visit was unexpected?"

"In the sense that we hadn't planned anything, yes, it was unexpected."

"What did you argue about?"

"We didn't argue."

"What was she upset about?"

"She ... she had seemed interested in pursuing a closer friendship. I had been trying to tell her all week that I didn't feel that way about her."

"So you told her last night? And that upset her?"

"She realised the truth, and she was upset." Clark held his breath, waiting for the question that would plunge Lana into this fiasco.

Henderson cleared his throat as if about to speak, but Wolfe ignored him. "Mayson Drake was a smart, beautiful woman. Why weren't you interested in her?"

"I ... I ..." Clark faltered.

"Go on, Mr Kent," Wolfe said.

__|~|__

The woman's pause ended with a quick smile. "I'm Janey McCreadie," she said.

"And you'll help me, Mrs McCreadie?" Lois asked. "You'll help Mr Kent?"

She nodded. "I heard the shot, and then I saw Mr Kent run away," she said, her words coming in a gush as if from a ruptured dam. "I figured the blonde woman had to be the perpetrator and Mr Kent was trying to escape from her. I called 911. I watched the doorway the whole time because I was worried for Mr Kent's safety." Her hand floated across her mouth. "It never occurred to me that Mr Kent could have been the one who fired. He has always seemed like such a nice young man. I read his stories every day. I remember his first story. The one about the old lady and the theatre. It brought tears to my eyes. I thought he must be -"

"Can we go back to earlier in the evening?" Lois cut in. "Did you speak to Mr Kent last night?"

"Yes. I was coming home from the vet. It was about ten o'clock. We met outside his apartment. I told him about my cat, Pannikin, being so sick." Mrs McCreadie glanced behind her, moving aside so Lois could see the pet basket near the window. "I asked him about his plans for the evening."

"What did he say?"

"He said he wasn't expecting company. I came up to my apartment and put Pannikin in her basket. The poor creature was so sick that I sat right next to her."

"Do you remember what Mr Kent was wearing at the time you spoke to him?"

Mrs McCreadie rubbed her temple. "Dark trousers. Blue, not black. A dark grey jacket. Dark pink shirt and a nice tie with flowers on it."

For a member of the public, Mrs McCreadies's memory for detail was phenomenal. "When you had settled Pannikin into her basket, you sat in the chair next to her?" Lois asked.

"Yes."

"And watched out of the window?"

"It was past my normal bedtime. I could never forgive myself if I had been asleep when Pannikin needed me. Watching the street below helped me stay alert."

"What did you see?"

"I saw the blonde lady come. The lady who had been visiting Mr Kent a lot lately. The one who is now deceased."

"Did she go into his apartment?"

"Yes. But the door was left open. I heard a lot of shouting."

"Anything specific?"

Mrs McCreadie fidgeted with her door handle. "I heard the young woman accuse Mr Kent of cheating on her."

"Have you ever seen any other women come to Mr Kent's apartment?"

The woman gave a nervous smile. "You. But you haven't been for a while."

"I've been away," Lois said. "You've never seen any other women visiting Mr Kent?"

"Only an older woman who mostly comes with a man. I figure they're his parents."

"But there was no one else?"

"No."

"How long were you at the vet?"

"I left here ..." Mrs McCreadie frowned as she thought. "... about five o'clock, I think. Yes, that's right. I caught the five-eighteen bus."

"And you didn't return until ten o'clock?"

"No. The vet wanted Pannikin to stay, but I couldn't leave her."

"What happened after the arguing stopped?"

"The blonde woman came out of the apartment. Mr Kent followed her and caught up to her. They had a quick conversation. She seemed agitated. After a few moments, she ran away. Mr Kent walked back to his apartment, entered, and shut the door."

"Is it possible someone could have sneaked into the apartment while you were watching Mr Kent and the woman?"

Mrs McCreadie bit on her lower lip as she thought. "I suppose it is possible," she said. "But they were only a few yards from the door. I can't see how I could have missed someone entering the apartment."

Lois was beginning to understand why Wolfe had felt confident to build his case on Mrs McCreadie's testimony. She had exceptional clarity and could express herself clearly. "What happened then?"

__|~|__

"Mr Kent?" Wolfe prompted.

Clark hadn't been able to find the words for Mayson. He had no choice but to find them now for the detective. "I didn't love her."

"Is there someone else?" Henderson asked from his position behind Wolfe.

"Yes," Clark said.

"What happened after you told Mayson?" Wolfe said.

"She left. I followed her and tried to apologise."

"Did she accept your apology?"

"She was still very upset."

"She ran away from you?"

"Yes."

"Did you follow her?"

"No. I went back to my apartment."

"Did you threaten her?"

"No. I had no reason to threaten her."

"Did she make any accusations?"

Clark quickly reviewed his conversation with Mayson. "She was upset that I hadn't told her the truth earlier."

"What truth?"

"That I didn't love her. That I didn't want a closer relationship with her."

"She didn't accuse you of cheating on her?"

"No."

"What happened after you arrived back in your apartment?"

Should he mention Lana now? Or should he try to establish that he hadn't been in his apartment at the time of the shooting? "I left about five minutes later."

"Why?"

Because he'd heard a cry for help. "Because I wanted to think."

"About Mayson?"

"About a lot of things."

"Where did you go? What did you do?"

They'd reached the point where Clark had no answers. "I wandered around the city for a while."

"See anyone?"

"I didn't see anyone who could give me an alibi."

"In a city of millions of people, not one person saw you?" Wolfe said, his scepticism sharpening the question. "Not one person could attest that you weren't in your apartment?"

"No." Because those who had seen him hadn't realised they were looking at Clark Kent.

"Where did you go? Which streets?"

"I don't remember which streets exactly," Clark said, painfully aware that, although it was the truth, it sounded like a lie. "I wasn't taking much notice."

"You can't remember one single street?"

"No."

"Where were you at ten-fifty?"

"I wasn't taking note of the time."

The feeling of being helplessly trapped was growing more intense with each question. It was clear that Wolfe wasn't buying the 'I left my apartment' story for a moment. A quick glance behind him told Clark that not even Henderson found it plausible.

"You were seen running away from your apartment after the shot."

Comprehension thudded through Clark's mind. When he'd seen Lana outside the police station, she had been wearing his clothes. His black leather jacket. And probably his jeans and tee shirt, too.

In the limited light, someone had assumed it had been him.

They thought Clark Kent was a killer.

And a coward.

__|~|__

"About half an hour later, the blonde woman returned," Mrs McCreadie said. "She waited a few seconds at Mr Kent's door and then went inside."

"Did you see who opened the door for her?" Lois asked.

"No."

"What happened then?"

"A few minutes later, I heard the shot."

"Only one shot?"

"Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"I waited. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to leave Pannikin."

"Were you sure the shot had come from Mr Kent's apartment?"

"Not at first. I didn't know exactly where it had come from. But then I saw Mr Kent rush out from his door and run away."

"How long after the shot was fired did the person leave Mr Kent's apartment?"

"Two minutes. Maybe three."

"Was it dark?"

"The street lights were on. The sidewalk is well lit at night."

"Did you see his face?"

"No. I was above him. And he was wearing the baseball cap. The red one I've seen him wear before."

"So the bill was forward? Over his face?"

"Yes."

"What else was he wearing?"

"The black leather jacket. And jeans."

"Sneakers?"

"I'm not sure of the type of shoes, but they were predominantly light in colour."

If this case went to court, Mrs McCreadie would make an excellent witness. "Did he look up?"

"No. He didn't stop. He sprinted along the sidewalk and then into the alley."

"So you didn't get a look at his face?" Lois persisted.

"No. It was shielded by the bill of the cap. And the collar of his jacket was pulled up."

"What did you do then?"

"I called 911."

"And the police came?"

"Yes. They came very quickly. Less than five minutes after I'd made the call."

"And you watched the area while you waited for the police to come?"

"Yes. The whole time. Even while I was on the phone, I was standing at the window and watching. I thought she might come out of the door, and I wanted to see which way she headed so I could tell the police."

__|~|__

"I didn't run away," Clark said. "I wasn't there."

"We have a witness who testifies that she saw you running away a couple of minutes after hearing the gunshot."

"It wasn't me."

There was no inkling of belief in Wolfe's expression. "Would you care to offer a suggestion as to who might have come from your apartment?"

Clark took a deep breath. "There was someone else in my apartment."

"Really?" Wolfe asked with a discouraging lack of interest.

"Someone I knew in my home town. Her name is Lana Lang." Her name caught in Clark's throat, accentuating the feeling he had just unlocked a door and he had no control over what might crash through it.

"She was in your apartment when you left?" Wolfe asked.

"Yes."

"When did she arrive at your apartment?"

"I don't know. She was there when I arrived home."

"Outside? Waiting for you?"

"No. She was inside my apartment."

"Had you given her a key?"

"No."

Wolfe's eyebrows jumped a little. "She broke in?" he surmised.

"She knew where to find a key."

"So you're close to this woman?

"No. I hadn't seen her in over a year."

"But she knew the whereabouts of your key?"

Clark nodded. "It's a Smallville thing," he said in an explanation that sounded insipid in his own ears. "To leave a key under the mat."

"And you do that here?" Wolfe gasped. "In *Metropolis*?"

"Yes," Clark admitted, feeling his face flush.

Wolfe shook his head and then continued. "So this woman? This Lana Lang from Smallville, Kansas, entered your apartment, even though you weren't there?"

"Yes."

"What happened after you arrived home?"

"We talked."

"About what?"

Should he mention the baby? "About old times."

"Old times?"

"Lana and I dated in high school."

"Did she say why she was chasing up an old boyfriend?"

"She ... she was interested in re-establishing our relationship."

"Were you interested?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"There's someone else."

"You had *three* women wanting to be with you?" Wolfe's question came loaded with derision.

"No," Clark said sadly. "The third one is just a friend."

__|~|__

"You didn't think it was possible there could have been a third person in the apartment?" Lois asked.

"It occurred to me when the detective told me the blonde woman was dead," Mrs McCreadie said. "But I had watched the door the entire time from the shot being fired until the police arrived, and other than Mr Kent, no one entered or left that apartment."

Lois took the photograph of the Prada dress from her bag. "Have you ever seen this dress?" she asked.

Mrs McCreadie took the photograph and stared at it for a long time. Lois watched her face carefully, willing it to recognition. "Yesterday," she said slowly.

"You've seen this dress?" Lois asked eagerly.

"Yesterday afternoon. I was calling the vet about Pannikin, and I happened to glance out of the window. I saw a woman wearing a dress just like this."

"Was she near Mr Kent's apartment?"

"She was walking the other way."

"So *away* from his apartment?"

"Yes."

"Did you see if she had come from Mr Kent's apartment?"

"No."

"Did you see if she had knocked on his door?"

"No. I had been tending to Pannikin and only looked out of the window as I was calling the vet."

"Do you remember what time this was?"

"About four-thirty."

"Was the woman in the dress the same woman who had been visiting Mr Kent? The woman who was murdered?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure."

"How were they different?"

"This woman had darker hair. It was straight, not curly like the woman who died."

"Did this woman have long hair?"

"No. Collar length."

"Last night, during the half an hour between when the victim left and when she returned, did anyone leave Mr Kent's apartment?"

"No."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"I was sitting next to the window the entire time. Four people walked by. None of them went into or out of Mr Kent's apartment."

"You're sure? You didn't leave to go to the bathroom? You didn't answer the phone? You didn't stand up to get something for Pannikin?"

"No. I was next to the window the entire time."

Lois gave Mrs McCreadie a smile. "Thank you so much," she said. "You've been really helpful."

"I'd do anything to help Mr Kent. He's a wonderful neighbour. I feel so bad that I got him into trouble."

"You only told the truth," Lois said. "That's what Mr Kent would expect you to do."

Mrs McCreadie looked doubtful.

"Can I come back and talk to you again if I need to check something?" Lois asked.

"Yes. Of course."

"Thank you." Lois turned away.

"Ah ... Ms Lane?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really think there's a chance Mr Kent didn't do this?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you think you'll be able to prove it?"

"I won't rest until I have."

The woman smiled. "You're a good friend. I figure poor Mr Kent needs good friends right now."

Lois walked down the stairs, elation sparking through her veins.

Clark hadn't been the person running away. The woman - the owner of the Prada dress and the La Roche-Posay cosmetics - had run away. She had been wearing Clark's clothes. She'd taken off the dress, put on some of Clark's clothes, and run away.

After shooting Mayson.

Clark *hadn't* done it.

And Lois was halfway to proving it.

__|~|__

"Was this Lana Lang in your apartment when Mayson Drake arrived?" Wolfe said.

"Yes."

"Did they speak?"

"Yes."

"Did Lana Lang tell Mayson that she, Lana, wanted to resume her relationship with you?"

"Yes."

"Was that when Mayson accused you of cheating on her?"

"Mayson and I weren't in a relationship."

"She thought you were."

"She didn't accuse me of cheating on her." Seeing the scepticism inscribed on Wolfe's face, Clark added, "Lana did."

Clark sensed a rustle of surprise in the three cops, but he wasn't sure if it were a positive development or not. "How did Mayson take that?" Wolfe asked.

"She was upset. She ran out. I followed her and tried to tell her I hadn't known Lana was in Metropolis."

"We've already been through this, Mr Kent." Wolfe's tone was becoming impatient now. "Except last time, you neglected to mention the important detail that a third person was in your apartment."

"You didn't ask me," Clark said, trying to squeeze all indignation from his tone.

"What was she wearing?" Henderson asked from his position behind Wolfe.

Clark scanned his mind, finding no memory of Lana's outfit. "Ah … a dress, I think." A couple of fragments floated back. "Yes. It was white. She said she'd bought it in Europe."

Henderson glanced to Wolfe. The latter kept his gaze firmly on Clark as he continued. "Why didn't you tell us about this woman earlier? You must have realised that the presence of a third person in your apartment could be very convenient in your current predicament."

Wolfe's sarcasm stung. As Clark had feared, his credibility had been eroded away. "When I left my apartment, Lana was there. According to what you've told me, Mayson was shot a short time later."

"Are you saying you believe Lana Lang killed Mayson?"

"I wasn't there," Clark said. "But the circumstances seem to indicate she could know what happened to Mayson."

"When you left - because you needed to *think* - you left your guest alone in your apartment?"

"Yes."

"A guest comes from you home town, and you leave her alone?"

"She ... I needed some time alone."

"You said before you needed to think about 'a lot of things'. Did this include Ms Lang?"

"Yes."

"Were you interested in resuming your relationship with her?"

"No."

"Then why not just tell her that?"

"She ... she told me she is pregnant."

Wolfe's eyebrows jumped. "Your child?"

"No. Before last night, I hadn't seen her for over a year."

"She wanted a relationship with you despite being pregnant with another man's child?"

"Yes. That is what she said."

"Mr Kent," Wolfe said in a tone laden with cynicism, "that seems illogical."

Clark agreed. But he said nothing.

"Did it take you all night to come up with a story that is basically a copy of the situation with Mayson?" Wolfe asked. "Oh, plus a baby for good measure."

The knots in Clark's stomach tightened as he waited for Wolfe to expand.

He did. "You say Mayson was interested in a relationship with you. Her sister confirms that. You say you had been trying to tell her all week that you weren't interested. Now, suddenly, there is a second woman who is also interested in a relationship with you, and you were also trying to tell her you're not interested. For someone whose profession is writing, that's not terribly imaginative, Mr Kent."

"That's what happened."

"To be clear, when you left your apartment last night, Mayson wasn't there and Lana Lang was?"

"That is correct."

"You were seen entering your apartment after chasing Mayson. No one left your apartment until after the gun was fired, ending Ms Drake's life."

"I wasn't there when Mayson was shot."

"I figure you'd like us to believe it was Lana Lang dressed up as you?" Wolfe said. "And you'd further like us to believe you can slip out of a door without being seen?"

"The last time I saw Lana, she was wearing my leather jacket."

"*She* was wearing your leather jacket? Or you were?"

"She was."

Wolfe shuffled in his chair. "Why did it take you seven hours to report to the station? Where were you? And what were you doing all night?"

"I was trying to sort out my life."

"But not with anyone?"

"No. In my own mind."

"Were you trying to decide the best way to dodge a murder charge?"

__|~|__

Back on the sidewalk, Lois didn't have to wait long for someone to emerge from Mrs McCreadie's apartment building. With the photograph of the Prada dress in her hand, Lois eagerly approached the young stylishly dressed woman. "Would you mind looking at this photo and telling me if you recognise it?" she asked with a smile.

The woman stopped. "Ah ..."

"It's just a photo of a dress," Lois said. "You're the perfect person to ask. I can see that you've got a great eye for fashion."

The woman didn't respond to the compliment, but she took the photo. "Yes," she said after a quick glance. "There was a woman here yesterday, wearing a dress just like that. Is it Prada?"

"Yes," Lois said, infusing admiration into her tone. "You're sure you saw a dress just like this?"

"Yes. I noticed it because the woman wasn't wearing a jacket or a sweater, and I thought she should be feeling cold."

"When did you see her?"

The woman considered for a moment. "Early evening," she said. "About seven o'clock."

"What was she doing?"

"Walking."

"Which direction?"

"That way," she said, pointing towards Clark's apartment.

"Did you see where she went?"

"No. I was late for my bus."

"Could you describe the woman wearing this dress?"

"Ah ... about my age. Short dark hair."

"Was she overweight?"

"Not noticeably. Why?"

"The dress is quite loose-fitting."

"I didn't notice it being overly big on her - flowing, but not hanging like a sack."

"Anything else you noticed about her? What about her shoes? High heels?"

"No. She was wearing saddle shoes. Black and white. With red soles. I remember thinking they were totally unsuited to the dress."

Saddle shoes. Predominantly white. Flat heels. Running would have been possible. "Anything else you noticed?" Lois asked.

The woman shook her head.

"Was she carrying anything?"

"Just a handbag. I didn't recognise the brand."

"Was it a large bag?"

"No. Quite small." She held her hand about eight inches apart to demonstrate.

"Do you live around here?"

The woman paused, looking unsure.

"I'm Lois Lane," Lois said. "I'm a reporter from the Daily Planet."

"Oh," the woman said. "I thought you looked familiar. I've seen the posters."

"Would you mind giving me your name?"

"Are you going to print this in the newspaper?"

"I won't print anything without checking with you first," Lois said. "But for that, I need to know how to contact you."

"OK," the woman said. "My name is Caitlyn Osborne. I live in apartment 307 in that building."

"Would you be willing to make a statement to the police?"

Her mouth dropped. "This involves the police? Was the dress stolen?"

"No. Nothing like that," Lois said. "But the police are involved, and they're probably going to want to talk to you."

"Is this about that murder that was supposed to have happened last night? In the end apartment?"

"Yes."

"Is she dead? The woman who was wearing the Prada dress?"

"No."

"You think she did it?" Caitlyn gasped.

"I'm still investigating."

"Will I have to go to court?"

"I don't know," Lois said. "But all you have to say is that you saw a woman wearing this dress yesterday." She smiled. "That wouldn't be too hard, would it?"

"I suppose not," the woman said.

"Thank you, Caitlyn," Lois said. "You've been incredibly helpful."

As Caitlyn Osborne walked away, Lois saw two men walking along the sidewalk. She chose the younger, went up to him, and showed him the photograph. He said he'd never seen a dress like that before. He also said he didn't usually come this way, but was taking a shortcut to his office because of the closure of some of the subway trains.

Lois asked two other woman as they walked by, but neither recognised the dress. Deciding she had enough to take to the police, Lois hailed a cab.

As the cab crawled through the early-morning traffic, Lois pressed her exhausted body into the seat.

Clark hadn't killed Mayson.

The other woman had done it. The woman in the Prada dress.

What was Clark's relationship with that woman?

Did he love her?

Why had the woman shot Mayson?

Jealousy?

Because it was hard to imagine a woman loved by Clark Kent would feel the need to resort to murder to keep his affections.

Was that where Clark had been all night? With her? Trying to talk her into giving herself up?

And, when she'd refused, he'd gone to the police himself?

Why?

To proclaim her innocence?

To proclaim his own innocence?

Or did the Clark Kent Martyr Syndrome stretch far enough that he would take the rap for a murder he hadn't committed?

Did he love her *that* much?

Clark couldn't kill - Lois had never wavered in believing that. But, as her thoughts crystallised now, she realised that Clark was naturally inclined to protect those who were important to him.

Even when that person had done something wrong.

How many times had he been there for her after she'd done something stupid?

Like walking down the aisle to marry Luthor.

Clark wouldn't kill. But he would try to help the woman he loved - even if she'd made a horrible mistake.

Maybe his love for her was so great that he was more concerned about her welfare than his reputation.

But Lois didn't share that concern.

She wasn't going to allow him to be charged with something he hadn't done.

Whatever the nature of his relationship with the Prada woman.