Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Accused (11/15)

"I was wrong."

His face closed, shuttered by pain. "About what?"

"About you. About what I said." Lois smiled, but Clark didn't smile back. She inched a little closer. "That day in -"

A sharp knock to the door broke into her nascent confession.

"That'll be our pizza," Lois said.

"What were you saying?" Clark asked. "What were you wrong about?"

"I'll get the pizza, and then we'll -"

"Open up," came the harsh cry from the other side of the door. "Police. Open up."

Clark groaned.

"Don't worry," Lois said as she rose from the sofa. "They've probably come to tell us they've found the murderer." She opened the door.

Wolfe was there. Henderson was there, his face pulled taut. A third cop was there.

"Is Kent here?" Wolfe snapped.

"Yes," she said, hearing Clark's footsteps come up behind her. "We told you we would be here."

Wolfe stepped forward, past Lois. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt and slipped them on Clark's wrists. "Clark Kent," he said. "You're under arrest for the murder of Mayson Drake. You have the right to remain silent, but anything you say ..."

Lois tuned out. She grabbed Henderson's arm and pulled him away. "What is he doing?" she barked. "What do you have?"

"The murder weapon," Henderson replied tightly. "With Clark's fingerprints."


Part 11

There was a moment when Lois caught Clark's eyes - a fleeting connection when, she hoped, she managed to telegraph everything that was important.

It's OK.

We'll beat this.

I will never believe you killed.

Hang in there; we're not beaten yet.

Before she could discern his response, he was turned around and marched off between two cops.

Lois gripped Henderson's jacket. "What about the clothes?" she said. "The Prada dress? Clark's jacket and tie? Did you get them tested for gunshot residue?"

He nodded. "Inconclusive."

"Inconclusive?" she hissed. "Either there was evidence of gunshot residue or there wasn't."

Henderson sighed. "There was nothing on Clark's clothes. The dress had traces of something, but the area was small and almost twelve hours had passed since the shooting."

"So you might not have the evidence that she did it," Lois said. "But you know Clark didn't."

Henderson wearily shook his head. "No," he said. "We can be reasonably sure that whoever shot Mayson wasn't wearing Clark's jacket and tie at the time. But the simple explanation is that Clark removed those items when he arrived home. Many men do that, Lois."

"If he had done that, the residue would be on his shirt," Lois said, making a move towards Clark's bag.

Henderson stalled her with a hand to her arm. "Lois," he said, "nothing we find on the shirt is going to change that Clark's prints are on the murder weapon."

"Will he be charged?"

"That depends on the DA's assessment of Wolfe's case. Naturally the DA's department is very keen that the perpetrator be brought to justice in this particular case."

"So am I," Lois said grimly.

"We have opportunity, plus a very good witness statement, plus the weapon, minus a realistic alternative - that makes for a solid case."

"Lana Lang is a realistic alternative," Lois said forcefully.

"We have no evidence that Lana Lang is even in Metropolis."

"Have you found her in Smallville?"

"Wolfe didn't ask the local Sheriff's office to try to locate her."

"Why not?"

"Lois," Henderson said in exasperation. "Even if we were able to ascertain that Lana Lang isn't in Smallville, it doesn't mean she's in Metropolis, let alone prove that she shot Mayson."

"It gives her opportunity."

Henderson's latent impatience bubbled to the surface. "I have to go," he snapped. "I want to be there when Wolfe questions Clark."

"Where did you find the gun?"

"In the subway."

"The subway?" Lois gasped. "How did ..."

"After Clark is charged with murder, there's every chance the next charge laid will be Superman with obstruction of justice." Henderson turned and walked away, shutting the door behind him.

Lois marched to her phone and called Jimmy.

"James Olsen," he said after answering.

"Jimmy," she said. "Remember last year? The car thieves at Metropolis pier?"

"Ah ... hi, Lois."

"Do you remember?"

"Sure, I remember. You nailed them cold."

"I need the video recorder. I need it here in less than ten minutes."

"I'm still working on the subway collapse, Lois. It's a huge story. I got some great shots. It could be my big -"

"Jimmy, I need that video recorder. And I need it now."

He sighed with resignation. "OK, Lois. Where are you?"

"I'm in my apartment. Bring the recorder and -"

"Do you need the beard and moustache?"

"The what?" she said impatiently. "Oh. I remember. No, I just need the recorder and a tape. I have everything else."

"OK, Lois. I'll be there."

"Thanks, Jimmy." Lois slammed down the phone and went to search through her closet for exactly the right outfit.

__|~|__

The knock sounded on her door thirteen and a half minutes later. Lois quickly finished tying the knot in the black lace that weaved up her cleavage, pulling together the two sides of the shiny red halter-top. She hurried to the door and flung it open. "Jimmy," she greeted. "Did you bring it?"

His eyes were popping, and he seemed to have lost the ability to move.

Lois grabbed his arm and pulled him into her apartment. "Did you bring the recorder?" she demanded.

He jolted from his stupor, swallowed, and gave a stilted nod. "Yeah," he said. "I got it."

"Good," Lois said. "Is there a tape in it?"

"Yeah. You have thirty minutes. Will that be enough?"

"Yep." Lois looked down, beyond the shiny red top and to the short black skirt that was cinched around her hips. "Where are we going to put it?"

"You want it somewhere *on* you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Lois," Jimmy spluttered with a helpless gesture towards her outfit. "There is nowhere to put it. Not if you want it hidden."

Lois pulled at one side of the top, centring it. "It has to be able to go somewhere," she said.

"You want the camera at the front?"

"Yes."

His expression was that of a man who was being asked to achieve the impossible. "Can I touch?"

"Of course, Jimmy," Lois said. "Just get it on me and get it hidden. I have to leave."

He leant back and scrutinised her. "It's probably going to be less obvious if it's higher rather than lower," he said. But he didn't make a move towards her.

Lois thrust out her hand. "Give it to me."

He did. Gratefully.

She released the knot. She loosened the laces and shoved the tiny device into her cleavage. "Is that going to work?"

"How much vision do you need?" Jimmy said.

"As much as I can get."

"Sound won't be enough?"

Lois pulled on the laces, tightening the sides of her garment around the recorder. "No. I need to prove identity. For that, I need vision." She craned her neck, looking down at the bump between her breasts. "Can you adjust the laces around the lens so there's a clear view?"

Jimmy approached her and tentatively manipulated the laces. "OK," he said. "The lens is clear."

Lois arranged the bow over the sides of the camera. "Is that going to work?"

"You'll only get vision of what is directly in front of you."

"Is the bump obvious?"

Jimmy stood back, surveying her. "There's a bit of a bulge," he said.

"Is it noticeable?" Lois inquired anxiously.

He stepped sideways. "It is from this angle, but front-on, it's not too obvious unless you're concentrating on that spot." His gaze dropped. "It's not like there isn't anything else to look at."

Lois hitched up her skirt. "Is that better? Should I show more leg? Or more midriff?"

Jimmy's cheeks coloured. "Ah ... perhaps more leg. Try to draw the focus away from the camera."

"I press the button on the left side and it will record?" Lois said, feeling through the material to locate the button.

"Yeah. Same as last time."

"Thanks, Jimmy." Lois hooked her sparkly gold bag over her shoulder.

"Lois," Jimmy said. "This looks dangerous."

"No more dangerous than the car thieves," she said, grabbing the handle of the small glitzy pink suitcase she had packed earlier.

"You were dressed as a guy, then," Jimmy said. "Now ... well, if you were going for the guy disguise, you've failed spectacularly."

Lois paused before opening the door. "What do I look like?"

Her question lifted Jimmy's eyebrows. "A woman on the hunt," he said.

"Good," Lois said. "That's exactly what I am."

Jimmy reached past her to take the door handle. "What if the hunter becomes the hunted?"

"That's what I'm hoping will happen."

"Lois!"

She brushed aside his hand and opened the door. "Are you staying here?"

Jimmy reluctantly stepped out of her apartment and followed her as she strode towards the elevator. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm helping a friend." She hit the 'down' button.

"Clark?"

"What have you heard about Clark?"

They stepped into the elevator together. "That Mayson Drake was shot in his apartment."

"She was," Lois said. "But Clark didn't do it."

"The police wanted him for questioning."

"That's because of where it happened. Clark wasn't there at the time."

The elevator jarred to a stop, the doors opened, and Lois strode out.

"Does the Chief know about this?" Jimmy said, running alongside her to keep up.

"He knows I'm working on this case."

"Does he know you're going out dressed like that?" Jimmy said. "Alone?"

"You can't come, Jimmy."

"Someone should go with you. Clark wouldn't let you go out alone dressed like that."

"Clark isn't here."

"Are you *trying* to get yourself mugged?" Jimmy said in exasperation.

Lois hailed a passing cab. It stopped. "If that is what it takes." She slipped into the cab as a pizza delivery vehicle drew up behind them. Taking a ten dollar bill from her purse, she shoved it at Jimmy. "Thanks for coming," she said. "I ordered pizza. Have breakfast on me." She slammed the door before Jimmy could respond.

Lois gave Clark's address to the cab driver and sat back, closing her eyes as she began a meticulous review of every single piece of information she had gathered about Lana Lang.

__|~|__

The revolver lay on the table between them.

Wolfe started the recording, gave the details of time and the three cops who were present, and then looked up at Clark.

"We know the bullet that killed Ms Drake was fired from this weapon," he said. "We have two clear fingerprints - both yours."

Clark doubted the forensic team had obtained absolute proof that this was the murder weapon after such a short time, but it was possible they had matched the remaining three bullets with the one that had killed Mayson.

"Do you have any explanation for how your prints came to be on this gun?" Wolfe asked.

Possible answers slithered through Clark's mind. He rejected every one of them.

"We found the gun in the subway," Wolfe said. "Between Northwood station and the tunnel collapse."

Yeah, that was where Clark had left it before turning his attention to trying to help injured and trapped people despite worrying about Lois, wondering about Lana, and mourning Mayson. The gun had slipped from the commotion of his thoughts.

"It was hidden behind a couple of loose bricks," Wolfe continued, his tone cool, detached, and eminently chilling.

Clark shuffled uneasily in the seat.

"Do you know the whereabouts of Superman?" Wolfe said.

Clark crossed his arms.

"Did you put the weapon in the tunnel? Or did you give it to Superman?"

Clark had no answers to any of these questions. If he said Clark had put the gun there, he was going to open himself up to a barrage of questions about how it had been possible for someone to get through the security guards and enter the tunnel without being seen. If he said Superman had put it there, he was going to irreparably damage the superhero's reputation.

"I didn't shoot Mayson Drake," Clark said dully.

"Your prints are on the murder weapon."

He was cornered. Where was Lois? He doubted she would stay in her apartment. If Lana heard he had been arrested... If Lana had been watching his apartment and had seen him with Lois … He had to try to protect Lois. "I took it from Lana Lang."

Wolfe laughed - hard and cold. "Lana Lang again. We've established that she does exist. That she was raised in Smallville and you dated her. But the Smallville police officer we talked to said you hadn't been together for a long time."

"I told you," Clark said. "Before she came to my apartment last night, I hadn't seen her for over a year."

"And the police officer was unaware of her pregnancy."

Clark shrunk back into his refuge of silence.

"Who ended that relationship?" Wolfe asked.

"She did."

"That's what we were told. Perhaps you've dwelt on it all these years. Perhaps you were hurt by her rejection. Or humiliated. Perhaps, when the need arose for a scapegoat, you figured it was your opportunity for revenge."

"That's not true."

Henderson moved forward to the table. "Clark, if you didn't do this, you need to speak up now," he said. "You need to give us an explanation for how your fingerprints got on that weapon."

Clark heaved in a breath, feeling squeezed between silence that would indicate guilt or answers that weren't believable. "I met Lana," he said.

"After the shooting? Or before?"

"After."

"When?" Wolfe fired. "Where?"

"When I was coming to the police station."

"When you came in earlier this morning?"

"No. Before that."

"What happened?"

"She said that if I came to you and told you she had been in my apartment, she would ..." Clark stopped. All he had was the truth, but he was painfully aware of exactly how implausible it would sound.

"She would what?" Wolfe said.

"She would kill Lois Lane."

Wolfe didn't quite guffaw, but his scepticism reverberated around the room. "So you did what?" he asked.

"I saw a gun under her jacket. I took it from her. I had to try to protect Lois."

"Let me guess," Wolfe said. "This jacket she was wearing - it was your black leather one, right?"

Clark could only nod.

"The red baseball cap? Did she have that, as well?"

"No."

The atmosphere tingled with disbelief.

"Are you going to charge me?" Clark asked, although he was sure of the answer.

"What did you do with the weapon?"

"I had to try to make sure Lois would be all right. I knew that once I walked into the police station, I wouldn't be able to help her. I'd heard about the subway collapse, so I went there, thinking she would be there. I couldn't find her, so I hid the weapon."

"In the subway?"

"Yes."

"You just walked in there - through all the rescue workers and crowds - and deposited the gun behind a couple of bricks?"

Clark had known these questions would be lying in wait if he chose this path. "Yes."

"Why hide it? Why not bring it with you?"

"I knew I was the primary suspect in a murder case. I figured there was a good chance the gun I took from Lana was the murder weapon, and it had my fingerprints on it. I thought that if I came here and brought it with me, it would be tantamount to admitting I had killed Mayson."

"So instead, you concocted a story about the enigmatic Ms Lana Lang?"

Clark said nothing. Not even Lois's belief in him could save him now.

"You're going to be held in custody until we have completed our investigation," Wolfe said. "I have a warrant for Superman's arrest. Then, unless something changes, I'm going to charge both of you. You with murder. And him with being an accessory after the fact."

The world didn't know it yet, but Superman wasn't going to be seen again for a long time. It was going to look as if he had run away, too.

Should Clark tell them? Should he say, "I hid the gun. I'm Superman. I heard the cries from the tunnel and knew I had to help, but I couldn't leave the gun with Lana because she was threatening to hurt Lois."

No, he couldn't say that.

For over a year, he had protected the secret of Superman. For nearly three decades, his parents had protected the secret of the alien living on Earth.

Once he said he was Superman, it could never be taken back.

Everyone would know.

And it wouldn't provide him with an alibi for the time of Mayson's death.

If he were charged and found guilty, they would know that a normal prison cell wouldn't hold him. They would know they needed kryptonite.

His parents would be distraught if his imprisonment involved constant exposure to the green poison. And they would be vulnerable to any criminal who wanted to get revenge against Superman.

He would be helpless to protect them.

Lois would know.

Everyone knew she worked with Clark Kent. She would also become a target.

She'd said she believed in him. Would she still believe in him when she knew he had been lying to her for so long? Would she still think Superman was a hero when she found out he had hidden evidence?

They were going to charge him with murder. They could establish opportunity. They had the weapon.

Until now, Clark had thought he would have a choice - to reveal his secret or to forego his freedom.

But he had no choice. Divulging the secret was going to achieve nothing except guarantee that Superman would be brought down with Clark Kent.

And suddenly, keeping the secret seemed more important than ever before.

So, Clark said nothing as they took him from the interview room and locked him in a holding cell.

__|~|__

Lois directed the cab driver to stop one hundred yards from Clark's apartment and walked with clipped and purposeful steps, her high heels tapping loudly on the sidewalk as the wheels of her suitcase jolted behind her.

At his door, she took the keys from her bag, dropped them, bent low to pick them up, spent a good twenty seconds selecting the right key, and let herself into his apartment. She closed the door but didn't lock it.

She scanned the apartment, looking for any changes since she had been here with Clark. Seeing nothing obvious, she walked down the stairs, placed the suitcase on the sofa, and opened it. She took her jeans and sweater and hid them in Clark's closet, returning to ruffle the remaining contents to make it appear as if someone was in the process of unpacking. She draped her lacy bra over the edge of the suitcase, its black colour providing a stark contrast to the pink.

Lois straightened and was about to move into the bathroom when she heard a noise outside the door. She scuttled towards the kitchen, pressing the record button on the video recorder.

At the sound of the opening door, she turned around, pushing surprise into her face.

A woman marched in.

A woman wearing Clark's black leather jacket.

And oversized jeans.

Lois glanced to the woman's feet. The legs of the jeans reached the floor, covering most of her shoes, but Lois could see enough to deduce they were saddle shoes.

The woman stopped at the top of the stairs. "Who are you?" she said.

"I'm Lois Lane," she replied.

"*You're* Lois? Lois Lane?"

"You've heard of me."

"What are you doing in Clark's apartment?"

"I'm his girlfriend," Lois declared. Then, figuring now was a good time to get a positive identification, she asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm his fiancée. Lana Lang."

"Really?" Lois said in heavy tones of disbelief. "That's strange. My boyfriend has never mentioned you."

"That's probably because you aren't important enough in his life for him to have mentioned me."

Lois let surprise tumble across her face.

"We dated in high school," Lana informed her. "Now, we've realised we never really fell out of love." She put a hand on her stomach. "And we have a baby to consider."

Lois cackled. "You think Clark wants a baby?" she said scornfully. "With you?"

"He doesn't have a choice. It's his baby."

"Clark's with me now," Lois said. "Nothing's going to change that. Not even a baby."

Lana moved down a couple of steps and stopped right at the spot when Mayson had fallen. "Clark's going to marry me."

"No, he's not," Lois said. "I was here with him just a short time ago. He insisted I move in with him today." She gestured towards the open suitcase. "Perhaps his urgency had something to do with your regrettable reappearance in his life."

"That was *you*?" Lana said. "You were here with Clark?"

"Of course I was with him. I told you - we're together."

"You were dressed ..." Lana's eyes drifted down Lois's body. Lois twisted a few degrees, aligning her body with Lana. "... differently."

"Yeah," Lois said, flicking at her hair. "We were *working* then. But Clark likes me to dress differently in our free time." She hoisted her skirt an inch higher. "He specifically requested that I wear this to celebrate us moving in together. He bought it for me."

"Clark ... bought ... *that*?" Lana gasped.

"He loves it. He said it could have been made specifically for me."

Lana's gaze flitted over Lois's open suitcase. "Did you steal my softening foam gel?"

"What?" Lois exclaimed.

"My Toleriane range of skin-care products. I bought them in Paris. They're the latest thing. I put them in the cabinet. After you and the old guy came early this morning, the gel was gone." She advanced a couple of steps. "I want it back."

"I didn't take your gel," Lois said. "The guy I was with is a cop. He took it."

"A cop?" Lana said, her upper lip curling as if she had burped up something particularly unpleasant. "Did he take my dress, too?"

"Yes."

"Why did he take them?" Lana seemed genuinely puzzled.

"For evidence," Lois said, hoping this would lead to a discussion about the murder.

But Lana's attention had swung back to Lois's outfit. "You said *Clark* bought that for you?"

"Yep."

Lana scuttled down the stairs, her face wrought with shock. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Clark wouldn't have asked you to move in with him. He's going to marry me."

Lois gestured to the open suitcase. "Guess you misunderstood."

"No, I didn't," Lana screamed. "And Clark would never want to be with someone who dresses like that. He gets uncomfortable around such immodesty."

"Really?" Lois said with a squeak of surprise. "He's never seemed unappreciative of my lack of modesty." She brushed at her skirt. "Perhaps he just needs the right woman." She looked at Lana, allowing her disdain to shimmer like the hot sun. "Clearly, that isn't you."

With a swift movement, Lana pulled a small handgun from inside the jacket.

"What are you going to do with that?" Lois taunted.

"Clark is mine," Lana cried hysterically. "He's going to marry me. You can't have him."

"I've already got him," Lois said with calm certainty. "And he's going to stay with me. And nothing you do is going to change that."

Lana lifted the gun and pointed it at Lois.

"You're going to shoot me?" Lois scoffed. "Because Clark wants to be with me and not you?"

"He *does* want to be with me. I know everything about him. He'll marry me because I'm going to have a baby and he doesn't want me to tell everyone his secret."

"He has a secret?"

Lana paused as confusion ironed out her scrunched-up anger. "You haven't realised?"

"I know everything about him that I need to know," Lois said loftily. "And I don't need to blackmail him to keep him interested." She hitched the skirt a little higher.

The gun rose in response.

"What will shooting me achieve?" Lois said. "Clark still won't love you."

"Yes, he will," Lana shrieked. "He has always loved me."

"How many times have you seen him since he moved to Metropolis?"

"That's not important," Lana cried. "He has always loved me. He doesn't love you. He doesn't love the blonde hussy."

Finally, they were making some progress. "What blonde hussy?" Lois said, infusing her question with jealousy-tinged interest.

"That blonde who was here last night. The one who was so stupid, she thought Clark wanted to go to a show with her."

"What's her name?"

Lana snorted. "I don't know. She had a boy's name. It was a bird."

Lois's mouth fell open, and she held her pose for a breath. "Mayson Drake?" she gasped. "Mayson Drake came *here*? To see Clark?"

"Yes," Lana said, nodding importantly. A sudden smile dissolved her anger. "But she won't be back. I made sure of that."

"You made sure of it?" Lois said, mixing a trace of admiration into her interest. "How?"

"The same way I intend to make sure you won't be with Clark."

"You *shot* her?"

"She wouldn't believe Clark was with me. She said she didn't think Clark was the father of my baby."

"So you *killed* her?" Lois said.

"Yes. Just like I'm going to kill you."

Having achieved her objective, Lois switched her focus to trying to get out of this alive. "You said Clark has a secret," she said. "If you're going to kill me anyway, there's no harm in telling me what it is."

The gun dropped a few degrees. "You must know," Lana said. "You must have worked out that he's not like other men."

"He isn't?" Lois inched closer to the meagre cover provided by the couch.

"No. He's different."

"How is he different?" Lois asked, eyeing the distance to the couch and wondering if she were close enough to risk a dive.

Lana moved a little closer. "He's scared of intimacy," she said in a lowered voice.

"He is?" Lois's exclamation squeaked with surprise.

"I was with him for a long time," Lana said. "I made it very clear I wanted our relationship to progress further. But he was never interested. Not once. I'd invite him to my home when my parents were out. I'd ask him to stop the car on lonely roads." Her eyes rested on Lois's chest, and Lois fingered the bow, using her forearm to try to conceal the bump. "And if I wore a top like that, he would make a point of staring at my face."

"Maybe he just didn't find you attractive," Lois muttered under her breath.

"I thought there was something wrong with me," Lana continued. "Until we broke up and I met other guys, and I realised *he* is the one with the problem."

"So it's not his baby?"

"Of course it's not his baby," Lana hooted. "Clark Kent won't ever have a baby. That's why it's so perfect that we get married. He's wants a family. I can give him one."

"Why would Clark want someone else's baby?"

"Because he can't get deeper into a relationship than being friends. He can't admit to his feelings. Can you believe he never once told me he loved me?"

Lois found that ridiculously easy to believe.

"Clark will marry me because he is scared I will go to the papers and give them the story," Lana said, clearly impressed with her strategy. "He has a big profile in Metropolis. The moment I saw the posters, I knew I had him."

Lois regarded Lana with a mix of scorn and pity. "Reputable newspapers don't run those sorts of stories," she said. "Clark knows that."

"Then I'll speak to the disreputable ones."

"Did you tell him what you intended to do?"

"I told him I knew his secret," Lana said with satisfaction. "It was obvious he was worried about it becoming public."

Yep, Clark had probably been worried. About Lana's mental health. About the future for her baby. But it probably hadn't occurred to him that Lana would shoot Mayson and try to frame him. "You can't make him marry you," Lois said in defence of her friend. "And I don't think he is going to care if you broadcast that particular insight across the entire United States."

"Of course he is," Lana said. "No man wants the world to know -"

"Maybe everyone will just assume it was you."

Lana paled. "Excuse me?"

"Did you ever consider that people might think he doesn't find you attractive?"

"I'm *pregnant*," Lana taunted in a singsong voice. "Doesn't that tell you something?"

"How are you going to claim that it's Clark's kid in one breath and expose his terrible secret in the next?" Lois asked. "Haven't you realised they are incompatible?"

Blotchy crimson flooded into Lana's cheeks. The gun jerked upwards. Lois dived to the floor behind the sofa.

The blast came, shattering the silence.

Lois heard a thud. And then a clatter.

She peeked over the couch.

Lana was prostrate on the floor. The handgun was lying half a yard from her outstretched hand.

In the doorway was Mrs McCreadie, her feet apart, her arms forward, her weapon pointed. "Better call 911, Ms Lane," she said. "Tell them we need the homicide detectives here."

Homicide? Lana was dead?

Lois rose from behind the couch and moved towards Lana, taking the precaution of kicking the gun out of her reach. "Did you hit her?" she asked Mrs McCreadie.

"Nah. I'm a better shot than that. I was aiming for the floor right between her feet, and that's exactly where I hit."

Sure enough, there was a gouge in the floor between Lana's ankles.

Lana's head and shoulders lifted.

"But next time I'll be aiming straight in the middle of her back," Mrs McCreadie said.

Lana collapsed back to the floor.

Lois picked up her cell phone and dialled Henderson's number.

"Henderson," he said.

"You need to get to Clark's apartment," Lois said. "Bring Wolfe."

"Clark's apartment? Is Clark there?"

"No," Lois said. "You arrested him."

"He's in a holding cell. I ... I thought ... maybe ... Superman ..."

"I don't know where Superman is," Lois said. "But Mayson's killer is here if you're interested in coming and arresting her."

"Mayson's killer?"

"The Prada woman. AKA Lana Lang. The one you should have been investigating from the start."

"Lois, if it's just your word against hers -"

"I have proof," Lois said. "I nailed her cold. And I have an excellent witness."