Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Accused (9/15)

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?"


Part 9

The words 'murder charge' seemed to resonate around the small room, contaminating the silence. Clark stared at the tape recorder, watching mindlessly as the little spindles rotated, feeling more helpless than he ever had when facing kryptonite. "No," he said. "That wasn't what I was thinking."

His dispirited denial thudded against the cordon of disbelief that was closing around him.

It was Henderson who broke the silence. "Where can we find Lana Lang?" he asked.

Clark wondered idly if he had imagined a wisp of hope in the detective's question. "I don't know," he replied, not lifting his eyes from the tape recorder.

"You said she's from Smallville," Henderson said. "Where is she staying in Metropolis?"

"She said her intention was to stay in my apartment."

Wolfe snatched back the baton. "So you have no idea where she is or where we could find her?"

"She could be watching the Daily Planet building."

"Because you work there?"

"No. Because Lois Lane works there."

Henderson leaned forward. "What does Lois have to do with this?"

Clark had to tell them about Lana's threat to hurt Lois. He doubted they would believe him. He'd left it too late. It was going to sound like just another feeble attempt at diversion from a desperate, guilty man. "Lana said she would hurt Lois."

"Because of your association with Lois?" Henderson said.

"Yes."

Wolfe pushed back a few inches, the legs of his chair scraping discordantly on the wooden floor. "Are you trying to suggest motive?" he said. "Or trying to subtly plant the idea that Lana Lang is capable of violence?"

"I'm telling the truth -"

"You have no way to corroborate your 'there was a woman in my apartment' story?"

"No."

"No way to prove this woman exists beyond your imagination?"

"Everyone in Smallville knows her."

"Does everyone in Smallville know she was in your apartment yesterday?"

"No."

"Did *anyone* see her in your apartment?"

Mayson had, but mentioning that was only going to aggravate Wolfe further.

The homicide detective leant forward. "Mr Kent ... Clark ... you do realise the seriousness of this matter? You do realise you could be charged with murder?"

Clark lifted his head, crashing into eyes that were filled with a stinging mix of condemnation and earnest appeal. "Yes," he said. "I realise that."

"And you know that your vague answers and half replies aren't helping your cause?"

Clark's eyes dropped back to the table as he nodded.

"I want detail," Wolfe said forcefully. "I want to know exactly where you were last night. Starting at ten-thirty, the time you claim you left your apartment and finishing at six-nineteen this morning when you walked into the station."

"I've answered your questions," Clark said.

"No," Wolfe snapped. "You've told us where you weren't and what you didn't do."

Wolfe was right. Skirting around questions was only going to take him so far ... probably to the nearest cell. "I'm not legally required to answer your questions," Clark said.

From behind Wolfe, Henderson's head dropped. Wolfe's taut expression didn't falter. "Who told you about Ms Drake's death?"

"I can't say," Clark said, his lungs constricting as if he'd been pushed into an ocean of kryptonite and he was slowly drowning.

"Did Superman tell you about the death? Or did you tell him?"

Clark had no answer to push back the oppressive silence.

"Did Superman take you somewhere to prevent us from arresting you?"

Clark's denial rose in instinctive defence of Superman's reputation. Except if Clark Kent was found guilty of murder, there would be no Superman. "He didn't take me anywhere."

"Would you lie to protect a friend?"

Would he lie to protect someone he loved? Like Lois? Would he, as Superman? Would he, as Clark? Clark lied a little every time he reported on Superman's activities using the third person. "That would depend on why they needed me to lie for them," he said.

"Would you lie to protect a friend who had tried to help you escape from the consequences of your actions?"

He couldn't say 'yes'. He couldn't say 'no'. "I'm not in that situation."

"Here's what I think happened," Wolfe said, his tone twisting to blandly conversational. "I think you were in your apartment when Ms Drake returned. She was angry. Perhaps she threatened to make public your affair with another woman. For whatever reason - perhaps the other woman is married, perhaps she's a celebrity or has a public profile - you couldn't allow that to happen. So you panicked. Things got out of control, and you shot Mayson. You ran away. You called on Superman, and he took you away from Metropolis. Then, before you could decide what to do next, he heard about the subway collapse. He left you in your hiding place - affording you ample time to think - and came back to Metropolis to spend the next several hours saving hundreds of lives.

"As soon as he'd finished in the subway, I brought him to the station, although he, like you, was disinclined to give me straight answers. However, my questions alerted him to the fact that your continuing absence was damaging his reputation, so he returned to you, and together, you concocted a story about a woman having been in your apartment."

Wolfe's story was a blend of half-truths and falsehood. Clark grasped that which was refutable. "I wasn't having an affair with anyone," he said. "I'm not in a relationship. I didn't cheat on anyone. I wasn't in my apartment when Ms Drake returned. And I didn't kill her."

Henderson stood and took a step forward. "Clark?" he said. "We can't help you if you don't help us."

Clark bit back his retort - that they had settled on the identity of the murderer within moments of finding Mayson's body - and fixed his gaze on his interwoven fingers as the benumbing sludge rose higher, sucking him further into its mire.

"We have established opportunity," Wolfe said. "We have motive. We have witness statements. You have no alibi. You have no proof that you weren't present when Ms Drake was murdered. You have given us nothing to doubt our case against you."

"Are you going to arrest me?" Clark asked.

"Yes."

With that one word, his life as Clark Kent had gone. His job, his reputation - they wouldn't survive this, even if he found a lawyer who could whip up enough doubt to avoid a guilty verdict.

And as for Lois ... after the Luthor debacle, she was going to wonder if anyone could be trusted.

A tap sounded on the door. Henderson reached over to open it. A uniformed cop stood there.

"Interview suspended at seven-oh-twelve," Wolfe said. He stopped the recording and looked expectantly at cop in the doorway.

"There's someone who would like to see you, Detective Wolfe."

"Whoever it is, get rid of him."

"It's about your current case. And she's female."

"Perhaps it's the enigmatic Lana Lang," Wolfe said with cutting derision. "You come with me, Henderson." He headed for the door, glancing over his shoulder at the third cop. "You stay here."

Wolfe and Henderson left the room. The door shut.

Clark avoided looking at the cop.

Wolfe wasn't going to give up until he had answers. The only answers Clark had were swathed in secrecy.

Wolfe had already tied Clark and Superman together as joint culprits. Revealing that Clark Kent and Superman were one and the same would give Clark an explanation for his non-attendance at the police station throughout the night hours, but it wasn't going to prove that Clark Kent hadn't shot Mayson Drake.

It would only identify Superman as being a murderer, too.

He was jammed into a corner.

And, as far as Clark could see, there was no way out.

__|~|__

Henderson wasn't particularly surprised when they entered the last of the interview rooms and found Lois Lane waiting for them. Wolfe didn't seem surprised either, but he didn't make any effort to hide his annoyance. "We are conducting a murder investigation," he said.

"And I'm here to stop you from charging an innocent man," Lois retorted.

Wolfe released a gush of impatience. "Let me guess. You've conjured Lana Lang out of your bag of reporter tricks."

"If you're talking about the third person in Clark's apartment, then I haven't found her, but I'm so glad you've finally managed to uncover her involvement in this mess," Lois said. She glanced at Henderson. "Did you tell him about the dress?"

"I mentioned it briefly."

It *wasn't* two people at all," Lois stated.

Henderson held his breath, sure that Wolfe would respond to Lois's obvious disdain with a stinging reply. Instead, he said, "What do you have?"

"I assume you asked the witness what Clark was wearing when she thought she saw him run from his apartment?" Lois said, retreating to a more conciliatory tone. "After the shot was fired?"

"Obviously, we did," Wolfe said dryly.

"Jeans. Black leather jacket. Red baseball cap," Lois supplied.

Wolfe nodded his agreement.

"You have Clark here?" Lois said.

"Yes."

"What is he wearing?"

"Excuse me?" Wolfe exploded.

"What is he wearing?" Lois repeated. "Jeans? Black leather jacket? Red baseball cap?"

"No," Wolfe said with sizzling impatience. "But it's not difficult to explain the difference. Sometime during the night, he found a moment to change. He had hours to do it, and he must know that turning up in those exact clothes would be tantamount to admitting guilt."

"So you have doubts about his guilt?" Lois asked quickly.

"No."

Lois took her cell phone from her bag and punched in some numbers. "Perry," she said a few seconds later. "What was Clark wearing yesterday?"

Henderson heard Perry White's squeak of surprise at the question.

"Think back, Perry," Lois said. "It's important." She nodded as she listened. When she hung up, she looked at them with triumph. "Navy pants. Charcoal jacket. Crimson shirt. Crimson tie with a big white daisy in the middle."

Wolfe stared at Lois, unmoving.

"That's what he's wearing now, right?" Lois said.

"What if he is?" Wolfe said.

"The witness says the person who ran from Clark's apartment after Mayson was killed was wearing a black leather jacket, jeans, and a red baseball cap," Lois said. "So if that person was Clark, he had to have been carrying his current clothes with him."

Wolfe plonked his hands on his hips and said nothing.

"Because we know he couldn't have gotten back into his apartment to get those clothes - you had his apartment guarded."

Wolfe tapped the floor with his foot.

"Did the witness mention anything about the fleeing person carrying a bundle of clothes?" Lois said.

"No," Wolfe said. "But I didn't ask."

"Perhaps you should."

Henderson held his breath, expecting an outburst from Wolfe, but it didn't come. "Superman could have flown into Kent's apartment and retrieved his clothes," Wolfe said.

"Then Clark's current clothes would have been in his apartment when your forensic team was there," Lois said. "Was there anything in the report about worn clothing?"

"No."

"How detailed were they?"

"It's a murder case."

"Would they have noted all the clothes in his closet?"

"They took extensive photos."

"In the closet?"

"Yes," Wolfe said. "It could have been important. There were cosmetics in the bathroom, but only one piece of female apparel in the closet. We surmised that Mayson was in the process of moving in. At that early stage of the investigation, it could have been important with regard to motive."

"Now it's important for an entirely new reason," Lois said. "Because in your scenario, the navy pants and charcoal jacket should have been in Clark's apartment when the forensic team was there."

"There was a period of about ten minutes from the shot being fired to the time I arrived at the murder scene," Wolfe said. "That's long enough for Kent to have contacted Superman. And more than enough time for Superman to interfere with the evidence."

"Just before eleven last night, right?" Lois said. "Superman was with me for some of that time."

"That's convenient," Wolfe said, his cynicism spitting like oil in fire.

"He was," Lois said. "He left a few minutes before eleven.

Wolfe's eyebrow stretched higher.

"After he'd gone, I called Clark, but he didn't answer," Lois continued. "I remember checking the time. It was just before eleven, and I decided it was too late to wait a few minutes and try again."

"Lois, you can't make up something because it suits -"

"Check my phone records."

"That will prove you tried to call Kent," Wolfe said. "It won't prove Superman was -"

"Why would Superman get *those* particular clothes?" Lois said. "Why not jeans and a sweater?"

"Probably because he knew what we would find if the forensic team tested them."

"There was a two to three minute gap between the shot and the person running away from Clark's apartment," Lois said. "Time for the murderer to change into the jeans and leather jacket. You have the Prada dress. Take Clark's jacket and tie. See which set of clothing was being worn when Mayson died."

Wolfe scowled as he scratched his neck.

"If Clark did change his clothes, there should be a leather jacket, a pair of jeans, and a red cap somewhere in the vicinity of his apartment," Lois said. "Have you found them?"

"No."

"Did you look?"

"Looking would be a waste of time if Superman -"

"What is your fixation with Superman?" Lois cried in exasperation.

"He and Kent are friends."

"That doesn't mean you can use Superman to cover every hole in your case."

Henderson held his breath again, but Wolfe only sighed. "Tell me what you think happened."

"I have a witness saying a woman wearing a Prada dress and saddle shoes was near Clark's apartment at seven-thirty last night."

"Mrs McCreadie?" Wolfe questioned.

"No. Another witness. Someone who lives in the same building as Mrs McCreadie."

"Mrs McCreadie didn't say anything about seeing another woman near Clark's apartment."

"That's because Mrs McCreadie was at the vet then."

Wolfe nodded in silent encouragement to continue.

"I think the Prada woman let herself into Clark's apartment."

"How could she have done that?" Wolfe said.

"He keeps a key under his mat."

Wolfe raised his hands in frustration. "Doesn't anyone know this city's burglar stats are horrendous?" he said.

"She let herself in," Lois continued. "She waited for Clark to come home. Clark came home, wearing the clothes he wore to work. Mayson came. Mayson saw the Prada woman in Clark's apartment, which is how she concluded that Clark was cheating on her. She got upset and left. Clark followed her. She ran away from him. Clark returned to his apartment. The Prada woman was still there." Lois eyed Wolfe steadily. "Then Clark left, still wearing the clothes he had worn all day."

"Mrs McCreadie said no one left Kent's apartment during that time."

"No," Lois corrected. "She said she didn't see anyone leave Clark's apartment. But half an hour passed between Mayson's two visits. Mrs McCreadie could have been attending to her cat. She could have been in the bathroom. She could have dozed off."

Wolfe nodded in unwilling acceptance.

"When Mayson returned, there were two people in Clark's apartment," Lois said with a pointed look at Henderson. "You were right about that. But it wasn't Clark and Mayson; it was the Prada woman and Mayson. The Prada woman obviously has some connection to Clark, and Mayson was interested in him, too - something happened between them. Mayson was shot."

"Go on," Wolfe said.

"The Prada woman quickly changed out of the dress and into some of Clark's clothes - his leather jacket and a baseball cap. She left her dress in his closet. She hurried away from the apartment. Mrs McCreadie saw her and assumed it was Clark. It's a reasonable mistake. It was dark, the person was wearing Clark's clothes, coming from Clark's apartment, and the bill of the baseball cap would have shielded her face."

"Kent is a tall man," Wolfe said. His tone had morphed from blatant scepticism to reluctant consideration. "The dress doesn't suggest the woman is overly big."

"Height can be difficult to determine from above," Lois said.

Wolfe glared at the floor for a moment. "Do you know the identity of this woman?" he asked as he lifted his head.

"I didn't until you made the comment about me conjuring Lana Lang."

"Kent hasn't mentioned her to you?"

"No. But I haven't seen Clark for a week. I've been away from Metropolis visiting family."

Henderson and Lois watched Wolfe as indecision carved across his face.

"Would you consider releasing Clark?" Lois asked with more meekness than Henderson had ever expected to hear from her.

"He's a suspect in a murder case," Wolfe said brusquely.

"But he's not the only suspect," she said. "And your most important piece of evidence - the witness statement that is the crux of your case - could be mistaken identity. You have another line of inquiry - the Prada dress. If it has gunshot residue -"

"By Kent's own admission, he has no alibi," Wolfe said. "Nothing you've said justifies how long it took him to come to the station. You haven't explained how he managed to stay hidden when every cop in the city was looking for him."

"Most cops in the city were helping with the subway collapse," Lois said. "Clark could have been anywhere else and it's not implausible that no one saw him."

"Why didn't he come to the station as soon as he heard about Mayson?" Wolfe said.

"Because he knew she'd been killed in his apartment and he knew the Prada woman had been there. He was probably searching for her."

"Then why didn't he say that?" Wolfe demanded.

Lois chuckled grimly. "Because he's Clark Kent."

"So?"

"So he's trying to protect her."

"You think he would protect a murder suspect?"

Lois's little lift of her eyebrow told Henderson she hadn't missed the subtle shift indicated in Wolfe's question. "If he wasn't in his apartment at the time the shot was fired, he wouldn't know for sure how Mayson died," she said. "But it is very in-character for Clark to try to protect someone who could be innocent."

The silence came again. Lois waited, watching Wolfe's face.

"OK," he said suddenly. "I'll fingerprint him, take his jacket and tie for testing, and let him go." He pointed a long finger at Lois. "This is highly unorthodox. I'm only doing this because I know both of you. I want you to give me your word that you'll stay with him. When I need to speak to him again, I want to be able to contact him immediately."

Lois nodded earnestly. "I'll take him to my apartment," she said. "You have my number."

"I *will* be wanting to talk to him again," Wolfe warned.

"Yes," Lois said. "I understand that."

Wolfe turned to Henderson. "Take her and get a list of her witnesses and a description of the Prada woman."

Henderson nodded.

Wolfe took a step away, but then swung around to face Lois. "Answer one question for me," he said.

"OK."

"How does a man with such appalling taste in ties manage to have three women chasing after him?"

Lois looked genuinely surprised. "Who's the third?" she asked.

Wolfe lifted his hands in resignation that he would never achieve understanding and strode away.

Henderson leant close to Lois. "You really don't know the identity of the third woman?" he murmured.

He'd expected her to respond with a knowing smile, but any trace of light-heartedness was smothered by concern. "How is Clark?" she said as they began walking towards Henderson's office.

"Despondent. It would be easy to believe he has given up."

"But he denied it?" Lois said. "He denied killing Mayson?"

"Yes," Henderson said. "But other than that, he's done nothing to defend himself. Wolfe is sure he's hiding something."

"Maybe he is," Lois said. "But it's not that he killed Mayson. Even Wolfe is starting to see that."

She sounded confident that finding Lana Lang would magically dispel all the accusations levelled at Clark. Henderson wasn't so sure.

Wolfe was good at what he did. Allowing Clark to leave did not necessarily indicate he was backing away from his suspicions. In Henderson's estimation, he was more likely to be employing another strategy to uncover the truth of how Mayson had met her death.

There was something else to consider here. Did Lois know about Lana Lang's alleged threats against her? "Have you spoken with Superman today?" Henderson asked casually as they approached his office.

"No," Lois replied. "I saw him for a few seconds after he'd finished the rescue at Northwood, but Wolfe took him away before he could speak with the reporters."

"And you haven't seen Clark?"

"No," she said with a hint of impatience. "I already told you that."

They arrived at his office, and Henderson opened the door, allowing Lois to enter first. "You'll stay with Clark?" he said. "After you leave here?"

The look she sent him held more than a hint of impatience. "Yes. I already told you that, too."

So if the threats were real, Clark would tell her. Perhaps that was the reason behind Wolfe's change of tactic - the hope that Clark would be more forthcoming to Lois than he'd been in the interview room.

Lois settled into the guest chair. "Did you ask Clark about the presence of the other woman?" she said.

"I tried to," Henderson said. "But Wolfe wasn't in any mood to tolerate interruptions to the flow of his questions."

"But Clark admitted she was in his apartment?"

"Eventually."

"He did it reluctantly?"

"Yes."

"Did his reluctance increase Wolfe's suspicions?"

"Yes." Henderson picked up his pen and then looked up, wanting to catch her reaction to his next statement. "Lois, this is a long way from over."

She didn't flinch. "When we find Lana Lang, we'll get the answers we need to solve the case," she said. "Finding the real murderer will prove Clark's innocence."

"If he has been trying to protect Lana Lang, he could face a charge of obstruction."

"Not if he wasn't there. Whatever he told you would be speculation."

"Lois … It would be in Clark's best interests if you were to persuade him to tell us the whole truth."

"If Wolfe is releasing Clark because he thinks I'll conduct his investigation for him, he's going to be very disappointed," Lois said sharply.

"Don't tell me you won't be asking Clark questions."

"Of course I will," she said. "But I will be approaching it from the perspective that Clark didn't kill Mayson. I'll be looking for alternatives that fit the evidence."

"You think the Prada woman did it?"

"That's how it looks to me," Lois said. "But being the most obvious suspect shouldn't be enough to get you charged with murder."

"You know Wolfe has more than that, Lois," Henderson said with mild reproof. "Starting with why it took Clark so long to get to the station."

"I think he was looking for Lana Lang."

"Then why were both Clark and Superman so cagey regarding their exact whereabouts in the time following Mayson's death?"

"Perhaps Clark called Superman, and they searched for her together. Clark wouldn't ask Superman to help him escape justice, but he might ask Superman to help someone he loves."

"You think Clark loves this woman?" Henderson asked in surprise.

"Makes sense to me."

It didn't make sense to Henderson. Clark had said he hadn't been interested in a relationship with either Mayson or Lana Lang. He'd admitted there was someone else. And Henderson was sure that woman was sitting on the other side of his desk.

But apparently, Lois Lane - the most intuitive and brilliant reporter he knew - was oblivious.

Clark had said they were only friends. But he hadn't seen the way she'd championed his cause and vehemently proclaimed his innocence.

Perhaps if he had …

Except, the possibility still existed that, despite all of Lois's efforts, Clark would be charged with murder. If that were the case, it might be best if they both believed the almost-tangible bond between them was nothing more than friendship.

"What do you know about this Lana Lang?" Lois asked. "What else did Clark say about her?"

Henderson tapped his pen on his desk, hoping it would serve as a reminder that he was supposed to be asking the questions. "She's from Smallville. Apparently, she's a former girlfriend."

Lois's reaction to that piece of information was minimal - and the little that leaked was quickly shut down. "Well, it's obvious they have some sort of relationship," she said airily. "Her cosmetics were in his bathroom."

"Do you think she will try to contact Clark?" Henderson asked.

"Maybe," Lois said. "But I'm going to take him to my apartment, so unless she's stalking him, she won't be able to find him."

Henderson re-jigged his thoughts. Perhaps Lois *wasn't* so blind. "Why do you want to keep them apart? Wouldn't finding Lana help substantiate Clark's story?"

"I'm not going to allow Clark to go down for something he didn't do," Lois said as she took her notepad from her bag.

Henderson pointed his pen at Lois. "Don't disappear," he warned. "It might seem like a great idea to run off and solve the case, but Wolfe is not someone to mess with."

A tiny smile erupted from Lois's seriousness. "Clark didn't kill Mayson," she said. "I know he didn't. You suspect he didn't. And even Wolfe has his doubts."

"I need names and contact details of your witnesses," Henderson said. "And a description of the woman in the Prada dress."

He took down her information, marvelling that she'd managed to infuse doubt into a case that had seemed about as open and shut as a murder case could be.

If he'd been a betting man, his money would be on her finding a way to prove that Clark Kent had not shot Mayson Drake.

Heck, as much as Wolfe was loath to admit it, she was already halfway there.

__|~|__

The door opened, and Clark felt his body tense.

This was it. He was about to be arrested. Soon after that, he expected to be charged.

Wolfe, his face set to blank, walked in, closed the door, and sat down. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the table. He lowered his head and scratched his temple. Then his head shot up, and he pinned Clark with a long look.

"Did you kill Mayson Drake?" he said.

"No. I didn't."

"Do you know the whereabouts of Lana Lang?"

"No."

The detective lurched forward. "OK," he said. "You agree to be fingerprinted ... you agree to give me your jacket and tie for forensic analysis ... you agree to stay in Metropolis where I can contact you ... and I let you go until I've had some time to investigate your claims."

"What?" Clark gasped.

"You heard me."

"Why do you want my fingerprints?" Clark asked, managing to eke a coherent question from the fog of his confusion.

"To eliminate yours from the prints we took at your apartment. If the woman, Lana Lang, *was* there, we need to isolate her prints."

Was Wolfe backing away from his earlier allegations? Or was this a strategy to get Clark to talk? "I'd prefer not to be fingerprinted," he said.

"OK," Wolfe said nonchalantly. "I'll arrest you, and you can wait in a cell while I look into some new developments."

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"Or course not," Wolfe said calmly. "I'm covering my back. I have a solid case against you. I've received new information that could introduce doubt. I need time to investigate. If you're willing to cooperate, we can be reasonable. If you're not willing to cooperate, I have no choice but to keep you in custody." His face darkened. "Which, considering your association with Superman, is entirely vindicated."

"He wouldn't help anyone escape justice," Clark said.

Wolfe shrugged. "So what's it to be? The cell for a few hours? Or release?"

"I ..." Clark really didn't want his fingerprints on file.

Wolfe stood. "OK." He turned to the other cop. "Can you escort Mr Kent to the holding cell?" He opened the door. "And tell Ms Lane that Mr Kent has decided he prefers our company to hers."

"Ms Lane?" Clark choked.

Wolfe slowly faced Clark. "Yes. Lois Lane."

Did Lois have anything to do with Wolfe's change of tactics? Had she been the female whose arrival had interrupted their interview? "She's here?" Clark asked.

"She's waiting for you. I'll tell her you won't be -"

"I'll give you the fingerprints," Clark said.

Wolfe nodded. "Come with me."

Clark stood as hope spread fresh energy through his body. Lois was here. She'd come to him. Somehow, she managed to shake Wolfe's convictions.

But it didn't change that when Mayson had died, Clark Kent hadn't been anywhere.

For now, that didn't matter.

Lois was here.

Clark followed Wolfe out of the interview room and looked around for Lois. He couldn't see her. He focussed his hearing.

And there it was. Her heartbeat.

The fingerprinting process passed in a daze. When it was done, Wolfe said to him, "I know you're hiding something, Kent. If you're hiding the fact that you pulled the trigger that killed Ms Drake, I won't rest until you're charged and convicted."

Clark decided it would be wisest to say nothing. He loosened his tie and gave it and his jacket to Wolfe.

"You can go," Wolfe said as he took the items of clothing. "For now."

Clark stepped out of the room and into the long corridor. Half a dozen steps later, a door opened behind him. He turned.

Lois stepped out.

Saw him.

Stopped.

Gave a little smile.

Then broke into a run as she came towards him.

Before he'd taken his next breath, she was in his arms. Clark held her, breathing in her presence, letting her Loisness soak into him like sweet rain on the desert floor.

He had missed her so much.

She drew back. Her arms slid from around his neck. She looked into his face with a faltering smile. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Fifteen minutes ago, Clark had thought he might never be all right again. But now ... "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you for coming."

Her smile gained a little more strength. "You didn't think I was going to leave you here, did you? You're my partner, remember?"

Her partner. And friend. Right now, he needed friends, but that didn't soothe the ache in his heart that they would only ever be friends.

"Let's go," Lois said, stepping away from him.

"Where are we going?"

"To my apartment."

"Wolfe said I had to stay in contact."

"He has my number," Lois said as she began walking down the corridor. "I told Henderson you would stay with me."

Clark fell into step beside her, feeling as if he were trapped in a dream. They passed the front desk, and the dream quickly became a nightmare when he looked through the glass doors and saw a crowd of people congregated there.

"Who are they?" he murmured to Lois, dropping close to her ear.

"I don't know," she said. "They weren't here when I arrived."

The sliding doors opened, and Lois and Clark walked through. The cries - full of anger and indignation - hit him like a wall of sound.

Many of the people were holding up newspapers. Clark recognised the nameplate. The Metropolis Star. He read the headline.

MAYSON DRAKE DEAD! CLARK KENT QUESTIONED!

Lois's hand slipped into his.

The questions bombarded them. Lois used her other arm to clear a path through the agitated mass of people. A man shoved the paper at her. "Is it true?" he asked. "Did Kent kill the DA?"

"No, he didn't," Lois said firmly. "He had information the police needed."

"How can you be sure he didn't shoot her? She died in his apartment."

"He wasn't there," Lois said.

"Then who did shoot her?"

"The police are continuing with their inquiries," Lois said. "But if the story in the Metropolis Star suggests that Mr Kent shot Ms Drake, they got it wrong."

"He didn't kill her?"

Lois stilled from her efforts to thrust through the crowd. "Clark Kent did not kill Ms Drake," she said in a voice that left no room for doubt.

"Mr Kent?" A female reporter from LNN tried to shove a microphone into Clark's face. "What do you say to the allegations made in today's Metropolis Star?"

Lois's hand tightened in his. "I didn't kill Ms Drake," Clark said.

"Mr Kent was helping the police with their investigation," Lois said in a loud voice. "He wasn't arrested."

"Has anyone been charged?"

"Not yet," Lois said as she moved forward. They reached the road, a cab pulled up, and they climbed in.

Lois gave Clark's address to the cab driver. Then she turned to Clark and placed her hand on his arm. "It's going to be all right."

"Lois," he said. "Do you really believe what you said back there? That I didn't kill Mayson?"

"Clark!"

He figured from her expression that he was on the verge of trouble for even asking the question.

"I never believed for one moment that you had killed her," Lois said. She pointed at him fiercely. "And you should be ashamed of your lack of faith in our friendship."

"Everyone else seemed to believe I'd done it," Clark said in half-hearted self-defence. It was strange how little the tide of opinion mattered now. Now he was with Lois.

"I knew you couldn't have done it," she said.

"How could you have known?"

"Because I know you, Clark. You can be one of the most frustrating people to walk on this planet, but you don't kill and you don't run away."

A mighty ball of emotion rose up, choking his ability to speak. Clark took her hand in his, put his head back, and closed his eyes.

The thing he valued more than anything else in his life - his friendship with Lois - was still all right. So far, it had withstood the accusation of murder.

Whether it would withstand Lana's claims, he didn't know.

Whether it would survive his secret being blown to bits, he didn't know either.

But for now, they were together.

Her head landed softly on his shoulder. Clark hauled in a deep breath, allowed his mind to fade to nothingness, and wished the short cab ride could last forever.