THE PORTRAIT By Jude Williams Rated: PG-13 Submitted: October 2003 FEEDBACK: Courteous constructive criticism is welcome at judithwilliams@hotmail.com My thanks to my faithful beta reader, Gerry Anklewicz who encouraged me and kept me on track. She keeps my writing honest and prods and pokes me to finish what I start. Without her, I would probably have a hard drive full of incomplete stories and nothing in the Archive. You will recognize some lines of dialogue that may seem familiar from Lois and Clark episodes. I make no claim to have created them, but use them as points for FOLCs to recognize and enjoy from a different perspective. Likewise I intend no infringement on the characters from the Lois and Clark series. They belong to D.C. Comics and to Warner Brothers. I have borrowed them for the purpose of my story. I will acknowledge the film, screenwriters and novelist who provided the inspiration for this story in the Author's notes at the end. AN EXPLANATION: Every once in a while someone on the Lois and Clark board asks the question, "What movies would you like to see Teri and Dean in if they were remade today?" What they really mean, I think, is, "In what movie would you like to see the Lois and Clark personas as created by Teri and Dean?" I always come back to the same answer when I think about it, so I don't reply to those posts anymore. But I started thinking, I'll never get to see them in that movie, but what if I wrote a variation of it as though it were a Lois and Clark episode? And that's what this is. If you are a lover of classic Hollywood films, you'll probably recognize it pretty quickly. There is a multitude of differences between my story and the film, and I would be very interested if anyone would want to do a comparative analysis between the two. I will, of course, give proper credit where credit is due in my endnotes. I don't know if anyone's ever done this before, and I certainly am not trying to plagiarize anything. I was just interested in seeing how it would play out. It's an Elseworld story (I think. I'm never quite sure about the category definitions) so events and characters are not necessarily in sync with the LAC: TNAOS timeline. Those who want to play the game and try to guess what film is the inspiration for the story, or who do not need to know the truth of the story, and who prefer to read without foreknowledge should go now to WARNING. For those who need to know, the following is a SPOILER * * * * * * * * * * Lois Lane is not dead. The name of the film is Laura, a 1944 Twentieth Century Fox black and white film starring Gene Tierney Dana Andrews, Clifton Webb, Vincent Price and Dame Judith Anderson. It's available at any video store that has a selection of Classic Hollywood films. * * * * * * * * * * WARNING: This story contains a brief description of violence. THE PORTRAIT Perry White exhaled heavily and assessed the young man seated across the desk from him. He saw dark hair, brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses, and a straight gaze that met his own without any sign of hesitation or discomfort. The editor of the Daily Planet was about to hire a new reporter, a task that, ordinarily, would have been a pleasure. But the man upstairs hadn't suddenly done an about face, unlocked his pockets, increased the budget, and insisted that he add staff. No, he would never have done that on his own. He had agreed because Perry had persuaded him that it was necessary. The famous editor wished like hell it wasn't, but he knew that sometimes, we have to do what we'd rather not, no matter how painful. And painful it was. Lois Lane was dead. She was gone, and somebody had to replace her. No, strike that! No one could ever replace Lois Lane. How could he replace the best investigative reporter he had ever seen? Her would-be replacement, young and fresh-faced, was a little na‹ve, maybe, and without much real experience. On paper, the man across the desk wasn't at all impressive - special correspondent for the Nairobi Guardian, reporter for the Borneo Times, associate editor of the Smallville, Kansas, Gazette. But Perry White had a gut feeling about him, the kind he got, on occasion, that turned out to be fortuitous and infallible ,the kind that made him a great editor. The fellow had brought in a terrific story about the demise of an old theatre that was being torn down to make way for one of Lex Luthor's new projects. It showed a flare for just the kind of thing that Perry wanted to put '30' to the career of Lois Lane. Right now he was pretty sure that this young man was the one who could do the job the way he wanted it done. He just needed to probe a little further to nail it down. "Well, now, Kent, you don't exactly have the kind of resume that plays like an Elvis top ten hit." Clark Kent's natural optimism dropped twenty degrees. It was always the same with these editors of great newspapers. They wanted you to have had experience at other great newspapers, but how could you get that experience when they wouldn't hire you if you didn't already have it? "I understand, Mr. White, and I appreciate you're giving me an interview. I haven't had any experience writing for a large newspaper, but I've certainly had a lot of experience interviewing with them. I'd hoped that the theatre piece might make a difference this time, but I guess not. So, thank you anyway. It's meant a lot to me personally to meet an editor I've admired for so long. And if you can use the story, it would make a great addition to my file, even if you aren't going to hire me." He rose to leave. "Now just a darn minute," Perry snapped, stalling the young man's departure. "I didn't say I wasn't going to hire you. Don't you go jumpin' the gun on me, here. This is a good story, and I intend to use it. You showed initiative bringing this in, and you have good reporter's instincts. You know how to create something interesting out of what seems ordinary, but I haven't completely made up my mind yet. You knew to investigate carefully, check your facts, research the background; and then you had the sensitivity to center the piece on that aging actress who refused to give up the stage to the demolition crews until she finished her farewell scene. That's all first-rate. Now I need to tell you why I'm hiring someone, and what I expect from that person. Then I want to hear from you if you can do the job." Clark lit up inside. He almost grinned, but he had seen the headlines about Lois Lane's death, and he had felt the sense of gloom in the newsroom when he first walked in. Jocularity didn't seem appropriate under the circumstances. Did the job he was interviewing for have anything to do with what had happened to her? Perry looked out the window for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, "I guess you know that Lois Lane is dead." He looked at Clark who nodded affirmatively. "She would have called that theatre piece of yours, 'touchy-feely' and refused to write anything like it. If she had written it, she would have given it a much harder edge. But I don't want to say goodbye to her in a way she would have written it. She was a world-renowned reporter, but almost no one knew the person she really was. Do you understand?" Clark wasn't sure, but he nodded again. Perry continued. "Did you ever meet her?" "No, I never did. I saw her at a press convention, once, but we didn't run in the same circles. I don't...didn't know her at all, personally, but I know her work inside and out. She was a great reporter, apparently fearless in her investigations." "To say the least. I was always afraid she'd end up...." He stopped abruptly, looked down for a moment and then went on. "The Daily Planet can never replace Lois Lane. And no one here can really investigate her death and write her story. We're all too close to it. That's why I persuaded the publisher to let me hire someone completely different, unfamiliar with us, with her, and with the circumstances leading to her death. Someone who could begin investigating without any preconceived notions, carry through without sentimental attachment, and get the story of how and why she died and who killed her. "Management agreed with me that to write the story of her death we needed someone objective, someone without the emotional baggage of having known her. We needed someone who could write about her without any prejudice from working with her day after day. Because, lord knows, the woman never met anyone without leaving a deep impression, too often negative. I need an unbiased reporter with an open mind to investigate and write the story of her murder." He paused, caught in a memory, then spoke again. "The way she went after someone she'd targeted was unforgettable...and dangerous. Do you know the circumstances of her death?" "Only what I read in the news releases: that she was shot when she opened the door of her apartment and died instantly." "Inspector Henderson of the Metropolis Police Department is in charge of the case. He and Lois carried on kind of a feud. He always claimed she drove him crazy, and she probably did, but he's made it his personal business to get whoever did this, and he's holding back some details hoping he can trip up the killer." Clark said nothing. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to respond. He sat waiting to find out just how he fit into all this. The editor sized up the reporter one last time. He wanted someone who, untainted by previous contact with Lois Lane, could investigate her life and write about her death fairly and truthfully. Perry White, who never trusted anyone at first glance, unaccountably trusted Clark Kent without reservation. He made his decision. "I think you're the man who can write the story and show us the real Lois Lane while you're doing it. What about it, Kent?" Clark's sprits leaped. He was going to get a chance at what might be the biggest story of the year. He looked Perry straight on and said, "I think I can do the job." "Think?" Perry roared. "Think isn't good enough. Can you do the job?" Taken aback by Perry White's ferocity, but unflinching , Clark nodded, stood, and said firmly, "Yes sir, I can." "Good. If you do it the way I think you can, you won't have any problem with the contract I'll offer you. Mess it up, and you'll be on your way back to the Borneo Gazette." "Times," Clark muttered. "What?" "Uh, just clearing my throat, sir." Perry turned and gestured toward a large painting leaning against one wall. "There, looking as real as life, stands the best reporter the Planet has ever seen. Won three Kerth awards and not close to thirty yet. No one that young's ever done anything like it. Our publisher was so pleased when she won the last one that he commissioned this portrait of her. When you get to know what she was like, you'll know she didn't spend much time sitting for it. But the artist, Tristan Ganeymede - you've probably heard of him - did a terrific job of catching her likeness on canvas, I think. Clark saw a woman in a trench coat facing into the wind, dark hair blown about, one strand across her face, lithe body almost revealed by the half open coat. One foot was slightly in front of the other, and she carried a small tape recorder in one hand; the other hand was clenched into a fist. But it was the face that drew the onlooker. Beautiful, with eyes defiant against whatever she saw in the distance. Like so many portraits of strangers, it was two-dimensional. The beauty was flat, the figure static. But the flash in the eyes intrigued. He was looking forward to knowing this woman, discovering what she had really been like. Perry continued, "We tried to give it to Lois's family, but they're not ready to cope with it yet. I've got to get it out of here because it keeps reminding everybody...well, anyway we're gonna send it over to Lois's apartment for storage until her family decides what to do with it. We'll get you a key to her place so you can visit the scene of the crime after you check in with Bill Henderson. "Now, to start you off, here's a list of people you'll want to interview. You'll probably add some names to the list as you go along." He handed him a computer printout. Clark took a quick look at the page. Lex Luthor, Perry White, Tristan Ganeymede, Inspector William Henderson were names he recognized. He assumed that Lucy Lane, Ellen Lane and Samuel Lane were Lois Lane's family. Jimmy Olsen, Catherine Grant, Diane Goodman, Daniel Scardino, Ralph Potter, Carl Benson, and the single appellative, Star were unknown to him. Were they friends, colleagues, rivals? Perry broke into Clark's silent speculation. "Now you come along with me. We'll get you a desk and some press credentials, and you can get started. You can fill out the payroll paperwork later." Perry opened his office door and strode onto the newsroom floor with The Daily Planet's newest reporter in tow. ++++++++++++ Clark checked the top of his new desk again. *His* new desk...at The Daily Planet! He still wasn't completely certain that it was real. But that was his computer. Those were his in-out boxes, lined pads, pens, pencils, and most important, for the moment, his working telephone. Alongside the phone was a Rolodex. Not just any Rolodex but the one that had belonged to Lois Lane. It was Clark's Rosetta Stone for the woman he was about to decipher, the key to the secrets of her life and death. He looked again at the list of names Perry had given him. He would start with those he recognized and identify the others later. First, Inspector William Henderson, who would be his window into the crime. Checking the Rolodex, he found the number and punched it into the phone. He should make that an auto-dial listing, but the instrument he had been given was too generic to have such an add-on. The Daily Planet appeared to be running on a pretty tight budget. Someone at the other end of the line answered. Clark asked, "Inspector Henderson there?" There was a pause at the other end, then Clark heard "Henderson." "Inspector Henderson, my name is Clark Kent. I've just been hired by the Daily Planet to write about the Lois Lane murder. I was wondering if I could come over, introduce myself, and talk with you about the case." "New in town, aren't you?" Henderson's tone was more sardonic than inquisitive. "Well, yes. How did you know?" "You're too polite to be a local reporter. Nothing like Lane, that's for sure. Okay, I'm willing to give a new guy a break. Besides, I promised Perry I'd keep the Planet informed. Come on over; I'll find out just how far I can trust you." Clark hung up the phone, as he reflected on the different standards of courtesy in Metropolis and Kansas where he grew up. Grabbing a pad, pen and his newly acquired voice recorder, he strode toward the elevators, returning after a few steps to retrieve the list Perry had given him. Fifteen minutes later, he pushed open the door to the 27th Precinct where Henderson was assigned. Approaching the Sergeant at the front desk, he asked for the Inspector and was sent up some nearby stairs to the homicide squad room. As he looked around, a saturnine, dark-haired man waved at him from the back of the room. "Kent?" Clark nodded and made his way to the out-of-the-way desk. As he approached, the man stood up, and Clark thrust out his hand saying, "Thanks for seeing me, Inspector. I hope we'll be working together frequently." Henderson ignored the hand, his response hinting at veiled hostility lurking beneath the stoic surface he presented. "What makes you think we'll be working together?" Clark answered quickly, smiling. "Because I'm such a trustworthy guy, as you'll soon find out." Henderson relaxed, smiled, nodded and pointed to a chair. "All right. Everything I tell you is off the record until I say it isn't. Agreed?" Clark nodded. "I can live with that." Making note of Clark's easy manner, Henderson said, "Perry wasn't kidding when he said he was going to hire someone very different from Lois." "Why do you say that? I may not be in her class, but I'm a good reporter." "I'm sure you are. Perry White wouldn't have hired you otherwise. I'm talking about attitude. Lois didn't like to be told that someone else would control what she could write." "I see," said Clark. "Tell me about her." "Nosy, pushy, hard-edged. No crime scene was safe when she was around. Always picking up things, ignoring yellow tape. When I'd call her on it she'd be all innocence." "She must have hindered a lot of your investigations." "She wasn't always like that. When she first started, she was a sweet kid. Eager to learn Ambitious but not overly cynical. About average for a rich girl who grew up in Metropolis, I'd say. But something happened to her in her first year at the Planet. She was hell on wheels after that. Wouldn't take anyone's word for anything. "You don't know what happened?" "No. Whatever it was, it turned her into a pain in the butt, though. She was always challenging us about our methods and had her own ideas about police procedures. Expected us to photograph and dust for fingerprints at every crime she got onto, even a routine break-in or burglary. If it was important to her, then it had to be our top priority." "Sounds like she was a real nuisance." Henderson looked at him sadly. "She was the best crime reporter I've ever seen and was responsible for putting more crooks behind bars than a lot of cops in this city. Most of the guys on the force will miss her. I'm gonna get whoever killed her; you can bet on that." It dawned on Clark that all of Henderson's complaining was subterfuge, hiding fondness for a woman he had respected and felt a kinship with. "Tell me about her murder." "Still off the record. We think she wasn't alone. We think there was someone else in the apartment with her besides the killer. A witness. There was an empty bottle of wine at the bottom of the trashcan under some rubbish, and glasses washed clean and innocently left to drain like they'd been there a while. Whoever that somebody was knew about DNA and fingerprints because they did a good job of eliminating both. I figure it was somebody she was in a relationship with; she was wearing a negligee. We haven't released any of that to the press. " "You don't have any idea who it might have been?" "No one's come forward, but from what we found out from her sister, she was seeing a couple of guys - Daniel Scardino, a federal agent, and Lex Luthor, everybody's favorite billionaire who just happens to be the Daily Planet's owner and publisher." Clark mentally put those names higher on his interview list. "According to the news report, she answered the door and was shot." "Yeah. She had a peephole, so she must have known who it was, and she must have known them well because she was willing to open the door wearing a flimsy nightdress. There's something else I didn't release to the news people. This was a particularly vicious crime. Somebody unloaded both barrels of a shotgun full of double ought buckshot directly into her face. There was nothing recognizable left, and the whole back of her head was gone." Clark thought of the lovely woman in the portrait. "She must have made somebody really mad. Any idea who?" "There's a long line. The guys she put behind bars probably hated her. And a lot of reporters resented her. When she was on a story, she didn't let anybody get in her way. She'd have run over them and left them for road kill. But was that enough for one of them to do this? It strikes me more like something personal. The perp wanted to do more than kill her. He wanted to blot out her existence." "You think it was a man, then?" "No, just using a general 'he'. But if a woman did it, she'd have to have a strong stomach and a knowledge of guns. It's pretty likely the shotgun was sawed off." "You didn't find the weapon?" "Not yet." Clark stood up. "Thanks, Inspector Henderson. You've given me a good start for my investigation. I'll be checking back with you. I'd like access to the crime scene, if that's okay. I have a key to the apartment, and the Planet wants to store a portrait of the victim there until her family is ready for it. As I said, I'll check with you before I print anything." "I'm good with that. Since I've been up front with you, I expect you to keep me informed about what you find out while you're snooping around." "You've got it Inspector," Clark replied. Then making his farewell, he headed back to the newspaper office to write up the details he had just learned. A short time later, Clark exited from the elevator at the Daily Planet and made his way across the bullpen to his desk. Halfway there he saw Perry motion to him from the door of this office. Joining the editor, he followed him into his sanctuary. "How's it going, Clark? I don't suppose you've got anything to print yet?" he asked with a wink and a smile. Grinning, Clark replied, " Well, not quite yet, sir. But I've got some good leads. I spent an hour with Inspector Henderson. He seems like a good man. I know some of the details of the crime, and I'm beginning to get a sense of what the subject was like." "Subject? You mean Lois? If you can call her 'the subject', you don't have a clue yet as to what she was like. Keep digging, son. Bill Henderson is a good man, but she was a complex woman, and it's gonna take a lot more than his viewpoint for you to figure her out. What's your next move?" "I thought I'd write up my notes. Then I'd like to interview someone here at the Planet who was close to her. After that I need to talk with Lex Luthor and a Daniel Scardino. I'll visit the crime scene later this afternoon. I could take the portrait over there for you, if you like." He nodded his head in the direction of the painting. When he saw it, he thought it had changed. The 'subject's' eyes and mouth seemed harder, and the body seemed to have more aggressive tension in it. The raised fist had become an angry gesture. "Sure thing, Clark. That would be a big help. Seems like you're out of the gate fast and on the inside track. You won't be able to talk with Lex Luthor today, though. He's tied up in a meeting with one of his companies. He only comes in here a couple of times a week. You ought to call his secretary and make an appointment. Now, if you want to talk with someone from the newsroom who was close to her, Jimmy Olsen's your guy. You can probably find him in the darkroom. You talked with any of Lois's family yet? Clark shook his head. "Not yet. Maybe I'll try to see one of them after I talk to Olsen and Scardino." Perry glanced at a message on his desk. "The reason I asked, her sister, Lucy, called a little while ago and said she was stopping by to drop off some files Lois had left at her place. You might as well take them and look them over. She should be here around 2:30." "Good," said Clark. "That'll save me from having to track her down." "Sounds like you'll have a busy day. Why don't you put the picture in the conference room until you're ready to take it." Perry turned back to the copy he was checking on his computer." Clark returned to his desk. He had notes to write up and phone calls to make. +++++++++++ Clark scrolled through his computer notes, comparing them one more time with his notepad. It had been a productive hour. He had set up a lunch meeting with Daniel Scardino, made an appointment for the following day to speak with Lex Luthor, and organized his notes, transcribing them into his computer. Satisfied, he stood and looked around hoping to see some hint about the location of the darkroom. As he did, he brushed his notepad off the desk. Bending over to retrieve it, he suddenly heard a long, low whistle followed by a slow sultry voice. "Well, he-llo-o. Who's the new tight end, Marty?" He looked up to see an auburn-haired femme fatale talking with a man at a nearby desk. She slithered close to him, extended a limp hand, and said, "I'm Catherine Grant. 'Cat!' " The expletive exploded with accented consonants. "I write Cat's Corner. And you are?" Clark wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the hand, so he shook it briefly as he replied, "Clark Kent. I'm new here at the Planet. I just started today." "Oooh, don't I know that. You wouldn't have escaped my notice longer." Her heavily made-up eyes mapped him with the precision of a Lewis and Clark survey. "Mmmm, you are just what we've needed around here." She batted her eyelashes and smiled in welcome. Then her smile faltered. "Wait a minute. Clark Kent? You're the one they hired to write about Lois." "Yes," said Clark. "I hope I can do justice to her life and death." "Poor, dear Lois. Such an unexpected death, and there's so little to write about her life. She just didn't have much of one outside of work." "You were close?" "What can I say? You know, girls in the newsroom. I'd give her advice, but she didn't seem to get it. With all the men available, she couldn't catch on to how to take advantage of her assets. She just couldn't find the right touch. Her eye make-up and lipstick never worked. Sometimes not enough, other times too dark, too red. . And the clothes she wore! So dowdy and tacky." Clark wondered if Cat really thought the strapless, sleeveless, backless bodice she was wearing ought to be standard uniform for a female reporter at the Daily Planet. He rather doubted that she would like all the competition. "Uh, well, that seems like a shame. Is there anything you can tell me about her murder?" "Not really, but if I think of anything I'll get back to you. Come to think of it, I'll get back to you anyway," and blowing a kiss, she undulated away. Clark shook his head in amused astonishment as he mimicked, "Cat!!" under his breath. The Daily Planet certainly had some different reporters on its staff. He wondered if Jimmy Olsen would prove as out of the ordinary, and once again looked around for the darkroom. As he walked toward a nearby desk to ask for directions, he passed the conference room where he had deposited the portrait an hour earlier and found himself looking through the glass partition at a figure that now appeared to be, not professional in the face of a storm, but dowdy and rumpled, eyes desperately searching. The enigmatic woman of his initial impression was becoming a riddle with a continually changing answer to the question, 'Who was Lois Lane?' Returning his attention to the desk, he introduced himself and asked the reporter if he had seen Olsen. The man pointed him toward the darkroom, and he wound his way past the coffee machine toward a corridor next to the fire stairs exit. He was about to turn into it when he was accosted by a small, weasel-faced man with thinning hair slicked back from his face. The face wore a toothsome grin. "You must be the new guy, Kent, huh?" Without waiting for an answer he went on, a jerk of his thumb indicating himself, his self-congratulatory tone proclaiming his fondness for his own voice. "Ralph Potter, Investigative Reporter." Clark heard the capital letters clearly in Ralph's intonation. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ralph still had importance to convey. "So, you're gonna cover Lane's murder. Wow, what a shock that was. Don't know why Perry thought he needed to hire someone. I'm available right now. But Lane was one of his pets. He doesn't want any of us to write about her. Not that I couldn't have let everyone in on the real lowdown." At last, Ralph paused to breathe, and Clark felt that, perhaps, it was his turn to speak. "Hi, Ralph, I'm Clark Kent. And yes, I'm on the story of Lois Lane's murder. I take it you knew her well?" "Are you kidding? Nobody knew her well, but I probably knew her better than anyone. Tough chick, but a looker, you know? Thought she was too good for the guys around here, but a real babe, if you get my drift." His grin became a leer. "She was built like a-" Clark interrupted him. "I was interested more in your impressions of her as a professional colleague." Ralph looked disappointed for a minute. "Oh, that." He paused for a moment, then tossed off "Intense." He paused again, apparently examining the word, before continuing. "Yeah, that's what she was. Intense. I told her lighten up, let go, enjoy yourself, and spread it around a little. But would she? Nah, she just flaunted it every chance she got. A real tease." Clark sensed that Ralph had returned to his personal interests. He prodded. "When she was on a story, she was totally focused?" "Focused? Yeah, I'll say." His grin was completely gone now. "She got hold of something, she didn't let go. And competitive. She had to get there first, be first...with everything. She was ferocious. That's why everybody called her Mad Dog Lane." Clark jotted on a pad. "Mad Dog Lane. Well that certainly gives me a picture of her. Did you ever work with her?" "Her? Nobody worked with her. Nobody was good enough. Like I said. She was one of Perry's pets." There was a yell across the newsroom. "Ralph! Call for you." "Gotta go, Kent." The grin was back. "Probably one of my sources with a lead on a hot new story. Catch me later if there's anything else you want to know . Like I said, I know the lowdown." And with that, he bustled away cushioned in the force field of his self-importance. Clark made a quick notation of the conversation on his pad, to be typed into his computer later, including his impression that whatever Ralph thought he knew about Lois Lane was almost certainly low down but not necessarily accurate. Then turning, he walked down the adjacent hallway looking for the darkroom. Halfway down, on the left, he saw a glowing red bulb above the sill of a door marked, 'Darkroom'. Assuming that the light meant no intruders, he knocked and called out, "Jimmy Olsen? It's Clark Kent. I'd like to talk with you." A voice answered, "Five more minutes. I'll meet you at your desk." Clark, picking up a cup of coffee on the way, wandered into the conference room to take another look at the portrait. For the first time he noticed the body underneath the coat. The pose caught by the artist was sinuous and alluring, full breasts thrust forward, hips cocked, and a long leg outlined by the trousers she wore. Looking up at the face, he saw heavy-lidded eyes framed by lashes black with mascara. Combined with a bright red mouth, they gave the woman an expression that was more taunting than belligerent. Alice-like, Clark thought, The more the riddle's answer changed, the more intrigued he became by the woman of the portrait. "You Clark Kent?" A young voice broke his reverie. Turning he saw a round faced youth with lanky brown hair and a pug nose. "Right. Jimmy Olsen?" "That's me. You weren't at your desk so I took I chance when I saw somebody I didn't know in here. You want to talk to me?" He advanced into the room. "Yes. Why don't we just sit here"? Clark motioned to a chair. Jimmy chose one that put his back to the portrait. They both sat down, and Clark began. "You know who I am?" "Sure. Everyone in the newsroom knows. You're here to write about Lois's mur...." He stopped, swallowed hard, and repeated, "You're here to write about Lois." "Perry told me that you were close to her." "We were friends, if that's what you mean. She was somebody special." "Special? In what way." "In the way she treated me. In the way she talked to me. In the way she acted around me. To everybody else around here, I'm just an errand boy. Invisible till they need something. She was never that way. She did more than talk to me. She listened. I'm working really hard to be a press photographer, and she helped me out, encouraged me. Sometimes she'd take me on assignments so I could get experience, and she'd give me advice. She showed me what made a good picture, and showed me how different angles and framing can tell different stories. She'd give me advice about my personal life too. Girls and stuff. She was...I can't believe...." He stopped and looked down. Clark realized that, for the first time, he was interviewing someone who thought of Lois Lane as more than a reporter. It was a new answer to the riddle, and he wanted to explore it. "She was somebody you really liked, then?" Jimmy looked up. "I loved her!" He blushed, and stammered. "I mean, you know...I really liked her. Not that she'd ever look at a guy like me seriously. I had dreams about her, but I'd never tell her about any of them. She wouldn't want to hear it. I knew that, but she never made me feel like she couldn't stand the thought, you know?" "You didn't think she led you on or flaunted her sexuality?" Jimmy looked at him in astonishment. "Where would you get a crazy idea like that? Oh, I bet you've been talking to Ralph. Hey, listen, she wasn't like that. Not that I didn't appreciate all the things she had going for her. But she was warm and natural, and when we talked, I kinda forgot about the rest of it. At least, I tried to forget...most of the time. But she would never come on to me or anybody else around here. Especially that jerk, Ralph. She was a class act. I really miss seeing her every day." 'When was the last time you saw her?" "The morning before she died. She'd just finished a big story and she said she was going to take some time off." "Did she say what she was planning to do?" "No, and she didn't look like somebody who was looking forward to a vacation. She was pretty preoccupied and didn't want to talk." "So, she wasn't nice to you?" "Who said? She was a great reporter and sometimes she could be abrupt, but I knew that it was when she was trying to figure things out. "I thought you said she'd just finished a story." "She had, but there was another one she'd been working on about a couple of deaths down in the Hobbs Bay reclamation project. I had some research on it for her and gave it to her before she left." "Jimmy!" A bellow came from the direction of Perry White's office. "Gotta go. My master calls. Maybe we can get together later. I really didn't tell you much about her." "You told me a lot, Jimmy. You've made her seem more human. I'd like to talk with you some more." Jimmy had been trying to avoid looking at the portrait. Standing, he turned and gestured toward it. "You know, you can't really tell what she was like from that. She wasn't only professional or beautiful. She was caring and terrific, and her smile made you feel like the sun was shining just for you." "Not Mad Dog Lane, then?" Jimmy laughed. "Sometimes that too. She could really get on your case when she was waiting for research." He sobered. "But that's not the way I'll remember her. Lois was the best, and she expected the same from everybody else. She wanted me to do my job the way it ought to be done. She could be really demanding and tough, but she pushed me to be better than I thought I could be, and I was better because of her. She inspired me." "Jimme-e-e-e! Now!" Jimmy grinned. "Fear can be inspiring too. See you, C.K." <'C.K.'> Clark liked that. It made him feel as though he belonged. He watched Jimmy almost run in the direction of the roar. Apparently Top Dog Perry barked when he wanted something, and his staff jumped to respond. He wondered what the editor's bite was like. Glancing at his watch, he realized that it was noon. He had to meet Dan Scardino. As he turned to leave, his eyes fell once more on the portrait. Strange. The heavy make- up and the cold sexual allure were gone. Instead, he saw warm, natural sensuality. The face radiated a friendly glow, and the eyes shone with human interest. This newest answer to the riddle made him wish that he could have known her. ++++++++++ DEA Agent Daniel Scardino had suggested that he and Clark meet at Molinaro's, an Italian delicatessen not far from the Daily Planet. It nestled on the ground floor of an office high-rise whose dwellers crowded its tables or stood in a long line at the take out counter. Clark, having walked there through the grey November chill, welcomed the warmth and bustle and breathed in the mouth-watering, garlicky smells. He glanced around, looking for the dark suit of a government agent in the jumble of colors and patterns currently popular as casual office dress. There was no suit. He looked down at his watch. He was late by five minutes. His previous experience with federal enforcement officers made him wonder if his man had left already, refusing to wait, even a short time, for a reporter. A finger poked him in the chest. "You Kent?" The man standing before him needed a haircut and shave. He was wearing jeans, a faded, plaid flannel shirt, and scuffed leather boots. Not Clark's idea of a drug enforcement agent. "That's right. You're Agent Scardino?" He didn't completely manage to suppress his surprise. "Not what you were expecting? That's the way I like to operate, catching people off guard by not living up to their expectations. Ever been here before?" So far, Clark wasn't particularly impressed with Daniel Scardino. "No, I'm new in town." "Best meatball sandwiches in Metropolis, and they make a veal and peppers that'll knock your socks off." "Sounds great. How did you know who I was? " Scardino stepped back and took in Clark's attire top to bottom. "I figured you *would* live up to expectations. You're the only suit in the room. Come on, I've got a place for us in the back. Nice tie." He flipped up the bottom of Clark's multi-colored neckpiece. They wound their way through the crowd to a rear booth and sat across from each other, Scardino facing the occupied tables and front entrance of the restaurant. A dark pudgy waiter appeared to take their order. "Watcha want today, Daniel? The usual?" "Yeah, Vito, with extra sauce and a side of macaroni salad." "Same for your friend?" "I think I'll try the veal and peppers," said Clark. "A man of taste," said Vito to no one in particular. "Not like the bums you usually bring in here. Something to drink for you gentlemen?" "Coffee, two creams, four sugars," Clark replied. Scardino said, "The usual and bring it now, not when you feel like it." "You insult me. It's on the way," retorted Vito and disappeared. With an impish grin, Scardino said, "They love me here." "You come here a lot," stated Clark. "The Italian food makes me feel like I'm back in Mama Scardino's kitchen." Vito re-appeared with Clark's coffee and a crŠme soda for Scardino. "Please make note of my promptness in your tip," he suggested and departed without further comment. "What tip?" Scardino threw at the waiter's back. Then, turning to Clark, his grin faded. "What do you want to talk to me about?" "Lois Lane. As I told you, I've been hired to write about her murder." Waggling his eyebrows at Clark, Scardino said, "Don't they have obituary writers at the planet already?" "Yes, they do," Clark replied, shortly. "That's not what they hired me for. What was your relationship with Lois Lane?" "Maybe I don't want to tell you. It could be classified." "Is it? Were you working on something with her?" "What makes you think so?" "Because she had another story in the works, and I can't think of any other reason she'd associate with you. How did you meet, anyway?" "Thanks, I like you too," Scardino jabbed. I wouldn't say we were exactly working together. I was sent here on a special assignment, and she just happened to be looking into the same thing. She has a way of pushing herself into something when she smells a story. We decided to share information." "About?" "I told you, Kent, it's classified." "Was it dangerous? Did you get her mixed up in something that could have gotten her killed?" Clark realized his voice was rising. What was he getting upset about? "What are you, her keeper? She wouldn't put up with that. You never met her did you?" Clark shook his head no. "Well, there's something you should know about Lois. She had incredible eyes you could drown in, but she wasn't just beautiful; she was a consummate professional. She went after a story without thinking about danger. I tried, but she refused my protection. I can hear her now. "Just what do the words, 'I do not need you to protect me' mean to you?" She was independent, bold, headstrong, and unpredictable." "So you didn't get along?" "What can I say? We were...close. It went beyond the work. She was feisty and liked spicy Thai food. A woman after my own heart which I tried to give to her, but she was only interested in the story...and being friends." "It was all strictly business, then?" Clark was astonished to find that he felt relieved. He didn't like to think that this exciting woman that this woman was intimately involved with a jerk like Scardino. Something he didn't understand was happening to his professional objectivity. "It wasn't my call, but being friends is better than nothing." He smirked. "Who knows what that can eventually lead to?" Their food came, and Clark saw that Scardino's 'usual' was a meatball grinder. They were silent for a few minutes while they took the edge off their hunger. Then after swallowing a mouthful of roasted peppers, Clark continued. "I learned at the Planet that Lois was taking some time off. Do you know why? What she was planning to do?" "I don't know anything about it. I told the police that." Clark leaned forward and asked forcefully, "Did you tell the police that you think she might have been killed because of the story she was working on? Did you give them any names?" "Watch out, Kent. You'll drag your tie through the marinara sauce." The joke held a metaphoric warning. "So you're not going to tell me anything to help me find out who did this?" The reasons Clark didn't like him were not completely clear, but Daniel Scardino's annoying personality was high on the list. "You claim to care for her, but you won't help find her killers. What kind of guy are you, Agent Scardino?" "I helped the police. They'll find her killer. And maybe I'll do some investigating on my own. If we get to be friends, I'll share, and you can call me 'Daniel'...if we get to be friends." "Where were you the night she was killed? Scardino stood and downed the last of his crŠme soda. "Thanks for lunch, Kent. Gotta go. See you around." He left the booth and walked out of the restaurant without a backward glance. thought Clark. Looking at his watch he saw that it was almost two o'clock. He needed to get back to the Planet to write up this interview before Lucy Lane arrived. ++++++++++ When Lucy Lane stepped off the elevator and into the Daily Planet newsroom, heads turned to observe her entrance. She was known by most of the news crew, who found her amiable manner refreshing. That she shared her sister's good looks met with universal male approval, especially since she good-naturedly responded to their obvious appreciation. Because of recent events, the mood on this occasion was a somber one so there were no whistles or remarks, and she smiled only faintly as she waived a general greeting and walked to Perry's office. Clark, finishing his transcription of the Scardino interview, had been aware of her when she entered Perry's office. Just as he turned off his computer, he saw the two of them emerge and watched them walk toward him. He stood as they approached. "Ah, Lucy, I want you to meet Clark Kent. Clark, this is Lucy Lane, Lois 'sister. Clark, here, is going to write about Lois and maybe, help find out who...what happened. I know it'll be hard, honey, but it'd be real helpful if you'd just talk with him about your sister. He didn't have the good fortune to know her, so he really needs to find out what she was like." Perry had his arm around Lucy as he finished, and when she nodded affirmatively, he squeezed her shoulders. "Clark, why don't you take Lucy into the conference room so you two can have a little privacy. Lucy, when you're finished, you come say goodbye, now, you hear." And he turned to walk back to his office. Clark saw that the girl in front of him was working hard to control her emotions. As a diversion, he asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee?" Looking up gratefully, she replied, "Yes, that would be great." He didn't want to send Lucy into the conference room alone, where she would confront the portrait, so Clark took her with him to the coffee machine. "How do you take your coffee?" he asked. "Cream and sugar," she replied. And then followed in an undertone, "Not like Lois." "Lois liked her coffee black?" "No, she used artificial cream and fake sugar. She worked out a lot, but she still worried about calories anyway...except for chocolate." Lucy's answers were low and subdued. "She liked to stay fit?" "Yeah. She was in the gym almost every day. And she studied Tae Kwan Do. All the messes that she seemed to get into, she needed to be able to take care of herself." Without her realizing it, Clark had ushered Lucy into the conference room and seated her at the table where she toyed with her coffee cup. Deflecting her attention from the painting, he sat next to her, continuing to ask questions and making notes on a pad. "What kind of messes did she get into?" "It was always about some story she was after. I didn't pay a lot of attention except when she'd get herself almost killed." "You worried about her?" "I loved her; of course, I worried about her." For the first time Lucy became animated in her response. "She was my big sister. When our parents' marriage started coming apart, she looked after me. After they divorced, all we had was each other. But lately, I felt like I needed to look after her." "You thought she was in danger?" "Not in the way you think. She wouldn't have let me get involved in her work. But I did think she was in danger of throwing away her personal life." "She was having problems in her personal life?" "She didn't have a personal life. It was all about working, following a story, getting the scoop. She had her eyes set on winning a Pulitzer Prize and nothing else mattered. She never just relaxed or had a little fun." "Was she dating anyone?" "She didn't have dates; she had interviews. Not that she didn't wish she could find someone special. I kept telling her there was a super guy out there who'd make her happy, but she always said she didn't have time for it." "Someone said she was involved with two men, Dan Scardino and Lex Luthor." "Work, it was all work. She and Scardino were investigating something together, and Lex Luthor is the third richest man in the world. I don't care how many times she went out with him, he was just another interview." "A lot of women would have been excited to be asked out by the third richest man in the world." "Money didn't interest her, but what makes him tick did. She said he resonates power, and I think she found that fascinating." "Some would call it an aphrodisiac." "I don't think Lois was interested in him that way." Lucy had confirmed Scardino's story, and Lois Lane was not involved in a relationship with Lex Luthor. Clark was pleased, almost elated...except that these emotions he was feeling were about a dead woman. He avoided looking at the portrait even though he very much wanted to. "When she left the Planet the day...that day, she was planning to take some time off. Do you know what she was going to do, if she was going away anywhere?" "She told me she had some thinking to do, a decision to make, but she didn't say what it was about or if she was going away." "Perry said you were bringing over some files she left at your apartment?" "Yes. I don't know what they were. She said not to let anybody but Perry see them." "Do you know what was in them?" "No, she warned me not to look at them. That it could be dangerous for me to know. Like I said, I stay...stayed out of her investigations. I didn't look." Clark covered her hand with his. "I'm sorry to have to ask these questions. I can only imagine how hard it is for you, but do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill her?" Tears filled Lucy's eyes, but she answered. "I wish I did so it would help find that...whoever did it. But I don't. It had to be somebody from her investigations. Anybody who knew her personally...well, she could be prickly, but underneath she was loyal and loving. You had to love her in spite of her prickles." "Thank you, Lucy; I'm so sorry for your loss. If there had been a way to avoid putting you through this...." There was a moment of silence. "Thank you. You've been very helpful." Lucy stood and looked at the portrait. "That doesn't show what she was like underneath, you know. It doesn't show her vulnerable side or her caring side. It's all about work. That's not the way I want to remember her." Clark walked her out of the conference room, and she went off to say goodbye to Perry. Unable to avoid it longer, he let the portrait draw him. Funny that Lucy couldn't see the wistful sadness that he saw, the longing for personal intimacy that softened her eyes giving them shadowed depths. He jerked his gaze away. This was crazy! It was the portrait of a dead woman. He was reading too much into the flat canvas. He turned to his desk to write up the interview with Lois's sister. A few minutes later, Lucy re-appeared, making her way to the elevator with a slight wave of goodbye to the many eyes that followed her. Perry stood in the door of his office watching until she disappeared into the elevator; then, he motioned to Clark to join him. The two men entered the editor's office where Perry retrieved some files from his desk and gave them to Clark. "This is what Lois left with Lucy. They look like they're about one of her investigations. I don't know what; she didn't always tell me what she was onto. I'm entrusting these to you because they could have something to do with her murder. Read them tonight and bring them back in the morning. Depending on what's in there, we may decide to turn them over to Henderson. If we do, you'll pick up some points with him." "Thank you, Mr. White. From what I learned today, it could well be that this investigation is what got her killed." "You want to tell me about it?" "No, sir. I don't have anything definite yet. It's just a hunch that I have to follow up on." "But you'll fill me in when you have something concrete?" "Yes, sir. I will." "You getting to know her any better?" "I know she wasn't afraid of looking under rocks. That seems to be one thing that everyone agrees on. But I'm getting a lot of conflicting opinions about her. It's hard to pin her down." "She was a woman, Clark. How much experience have you had with them?" Clark flushed. "I've dated. I've had girlfriends." "I'm not talking about girls. I'm talking about women. Women are not easy to figure out; they like to keep you guessing, surprise you. Lois was always a surprise. You never knew what she was up to. Not only was she a woman, but she was special, unique. You're not ever gonna know everything there was to know about her." "I know. She's a riddle, and just when I think I've found an answer, the question changes, but that just makes her more intriguing." "Now, you're finally getting it, son. Go to it." ++++++++++ Clark stood in front of apartment 105, juggling the key and several file folders while trying to steady a large, flat, wrapped package. He had covered the portrait with unused newsprint to provide protection for it while in transit. Apprehension was making it difficult for him to fit the key into the lock, an exercise he would normally perform readily. Why did he feel this way? He'd visited crime scenes before. He'd never been bothered by them. Why should it make a difference that this was the scene of Lois Lane's death? He didn't even know her. Clark succeeded in turning the lock and pushed open the door of the apartment. . A distant voice interrupted Clark's thoughts, "Help, I'm being robbed!" Clark quickly leaned the portrait against the wall and dropped the folders on a coffee table set between two loveseats. He started toward a closed window, then stopped. It was still light outside. He couldn't go flying off in broad daylight to rescue someone. Much as he wanted to help, he couldn't risk revealing to the world that Clark Kent had unusual powers. Being dissected in a laboratory like a frog was not one of his career goals. He was going to have to figure out some way to use his powers to help without exposing his identity, but for now, he would have to choose, carefully, the moments when he could respond. This moment simply wasn't one of them. He looked around for the telephone and called 911 to report what he had heard. After completing the call, he went over to a window and opened it. The air in the apartment felt stale and heavy. When he had entered the apartment building at 1050 Carter Avenue, he had stopped to let the superintendent, Mr. Tracewski, know who he was and what he was doing there. The super had told him that, although the electricity and telephone were still working, the apartment had been closed and the heat turned off He wanted to freshen the room for a few minutes, even though the cold November damp would also seep in. He would turn on the radiator later. Clark let his eyes wander around what had been Lois Lane's home. A complete, though small, kitchen, some unusual wall decorations, two facing loveseats with a coffee table in between, an antique collector's cabinet near the entryway. It was small with a paneled base; above were glass doors guarding polished wood shelves that held three gold and acrylic objects. He walked over to examine them; they were Kerth awards. Resuming his survey of the apartment, he noted two vases containing what were probably fresh flowers a couple of days ago, and several small green plants on a table near the window. Lois liked plants and flowers. Near the kitchen was a large tank with a few brightly-colored fish swimming frantically in all directions. Clark looked for a shaker of food, which he found next to the tank, and sprinkled some in the water. The occupants gratefully converged on it with mouths open. Lois had plants and fish to talk to, but no roommate. Looking back into the sitting area, he observed that the loveseats didn't look very comfortable. He tried one. They weren't. She must not use them very much. Torture couches to hurry the departure of unwanted visitors? A deterrent for over-enthusiastic suitors? Decorator pieces in a place where she spent as little time as possible? Inspector Henderson had said that someone was with her when she was killed. Was she entertaining him on those couches? She, in her negligee, and he in...what? Slacks and sport shirt? T-shirt and boxers? Pajamas and robe? Just a robe? A towel? Nothing? Clark said aloud, "Stop it. This woman is nothing to me. It's just a story," and he went in search of the bedroom. He found nothing unusual there. A large bed (he didn't want to dwell on why it was so large), a bedside stand, a mirrored dressing table topped with bottles and jars, a small chair, a chest of drawers, and a closet with double doors. In one corner stood Lois's luggage, packed and waiting for a trip never taken. The adjacent bathroom held a clothes hamper as well as the usual fixtures. These were the two most intimate rooms inhabited by Lois Lane, and, in spite of the stale air in the living room, they felt cool and fresh. Clark breathed deeply and thought of cucumbers just picked for his mother's cucumber and tomato salad. It was Lois Lane's scent, the essence within her aura. Her Self. Suddenly Clark felt like an intruder. He shouldn't be here. He turned his mind off. He would not get caught up in a ridiculous argument with himself. Time to get back to business. He looked dubiously at the couches, but saw no alternative. He piled the loose cushions from one sofa onto the other and sat with his back to the kitchen. It wasn't too bad this way. He picked up a file folder and opened it. Inside, on top, was a Daily Planet article about a drowning victim found washing around an anchor stanchion of the Hobbs Bay Bridge. The police were asking for help in identifying him. The next article identified him as a chemist who had worked for STAR Labs until recently. Lois had written questions to be investigated and answered. Why was he fired? What had he been working on? Friends, coworkers? Suicide? Why? How long had he been dead? Witnesses? There were notes from some interviews, but there was nothing that stood out as anything but routine. The second file had information about a dead body that had been thrown into a construction dumpster at a building being restored in the Hobbs Bay reclamation project. The police were trying to identify it. Subsequent articles identified the victim, as a promising high school athlete who had died elsewhere and been brought to the site. The coroner's report gave the cause of death as an overdose of amphetamines. The body showed no signs of long-term drug abuse. Just another young man whose first mistake turned out to be his last. Another set of similar questions completed the report. Why had he taken drugs? Were his friends involved? Where did he get the drugs? Where did he die? Why was he brought to the construction site dumpster? Who would know about it and have access to it? There were, as yet, very few answers to the questions. As in the previous file, there was nothing that made this death extraordinary. The third file contained data about amphetamines, steroids, designer Ecstasy, and insulin - apparently the research Jimmy had done. Was this just scattershot information gathering or had she put something together? He sat back. It had been a long day, and he was tired. His mind was having a hard time keying on whatever it was she was investigating. He should have brought some food, or something to drink. Henderson had told him that forensics was finished with their work, so he could make himself at home if he wished. He wondered if she had any tea. He went into the kitchen and looked through the cupboards. He found a box of orange pekoe, not his first choice, but apparently all that was available. There was a kettle on the stove, but he didn't need it. Filling a mug with tap water, he dropped in a tea bag and, lowering his glasses, concentrated his gaze on the cup. Seconds later, the water bubbled. He replaced his glasses, dunked the tea bag for a couple of minutes, dropped it into the trashcan and returned to the couch with cup in hand. He sat back on the cushions and sipped the steaming brew, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body. What a day it had been. So many people, so many versions of Lois Lane. His brain careened from one to the next. Which one was the right one? Or were they all right? What kind of story had she been on to? How did those three files tie together? He looked at the shrouded painting, rose, removed the wrappings, returned to the couch and studied the portrait. He saw the woman Perry and the others had talked about. The maddening, pushy, nosy, curious, hard-edged professional who was also an inspiration, beautiful, caring, warm, naturally sensual, a good friend as well as being independent, bold, headstrong, and unpredictable. He thought Perry was right to say that he would never find out everything there was to know about Lois Lane. But he wished he could. The riddle had become a mystery that he would be willing to spend a lifetime solving. She was the most exciting, fascinating woman he had ever come across...and she was dead! He'd waited all his life to find her, looked for her all over the world...and he'd found her 36 hours too late. Was this his fate? Was he meant to be nothing more than a deus ex machina, the god from the machine come to earth to save the day and then retreat to limbo until he was needed again; to defend and protect, , but never find personal happiness? He stared, sadly, at the painting for along time, his heart a stone in his chest. After a while, his eyes gradually closed, his head fell back, and he dropped into restless sleep. ++++++++++ Some time later, he roused when he heard a key in the lock, and the door open. In the dim light of the single lamp, a disembodied face, familiar and lovely, floated toward him. It was the woman of the portrait, wearing the same trench coat and slacks, stepping from the painting to join him. "Lois?" he murmured. "Clark, I'm here. Just as you wished." "I thought you were dead." "How could I be dead? You've been looking for me; I had to come to you." "You're really here? You know me?" "Of course. I've been waiting for you all my life." She leaned over and kissed him softly. Gently touching her face, he gathered her to him so that they could kiss again. She was warm and pliant in his arms, and her kiss, sweet and loving. When they finally broke apart, he said, "I love you, Lois. I want us to be together always." "I want that, too, Clark." She kissed him, longingly. "But we don't know what tomorrow will bring. Please, let's make the most of tonight," and she kissed him again, her sweetness sparking into passion. How could he resist? But he would not make love to her on this loveseat. Breathing kisses on her mouth, her throat her neck, he lifted her and floated them into the bedroom. "Clark? What...how...?" "Shhhh. No questions. I'll explain later. Just be with me now." He laid her gently on the bed. Somehow, their clothes were on the floor, and he was kissing her everywhere. He paused to look at her. She was glorious, as he had known she would be. He sought her again and again, and each time she received his overtures eagerly. For him, the night was paradise, a portent of their future together. As they fell, jumbled together, into an exhausted sleep, he whispered, "I will love you, always." ++++++++++ The first thing he noticed when he woke was how uncomfortable the bed felt. He shifted to find a softer spot and reached for Lois. She wasn't there. Extending his arm, he swept the mattress searching for her. His elbow bumped into something unyielding. Definitely not Lois. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was lying, fully clothed, on the abominable settee. How did he get back here? Where was Lois? He called out her name. There was no answer. What was going on? He hurried to the bedroom. Everything was as he had found it the night before. The bed had not been slept in; there were no signs of passion in the night. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He felt scruffy. He needed a shower, and his underclothes needed a laundromat. He returned reluctantly to the living room, forcing himself to face what he was unwilling to acknowledge. It had been a dream. She was not alive. His incredible night of nights had been a fantasy. He looked at the portrait; her eyes mocked him. ("Did you really think I was that easy?" she jeered. "Did you really think I was alive? What kind of sick person makes love to a dead woman?") He couldn't stay here. He gathered the folders and rushed to the door. He would go back to the Apollo hotel, shower, put on fresh clothing, and return to the Daily Planet where he could put everything into perspective. He would concentrate on his investigation of the crime and forget Lois Lane lying beside him doing things that he could never, ever experience with her. ++++++++++ When he reached the Daily Planet, he went directly to Perry's office and laid the folders on his desk. "I'm sure she was on to something, sir, but I don't have enough to figure out what. I'll have to follow up her leads." "Good mornin' to you too, Clark. You look like you had a rough night. You want to be careful about too much carousing when you're not used to it." Clark flushed. "Sorry, sir. Good morning. I wasn't carousing, Mr. White, just lost trying to figure out Ms. Lane's files. I can't seem to get on her wave length as far as her investigation goes." "Lois didn't like to write down things that other eyes could borrow. She got burned once by a reporter she shared ideas with, and she vowed to never let it happen again. 'Course it never occurred to her that she might not be around to use her own files." "Right, sir." "Look, Clark, It's great, you wanting to show me respect and all, but everyone around here calls me 'Chief' or 'Perry', all right?" "Yes sir, I mean, Chief. Thank you. I appreciate being included with everyone else." "Now that we've got that straight, what do you think about showing these files to Henderson?" "I think we should give him copies of what's in them. It will show him that I can be trusted, and who knows, maybe he can see something that I can't. "Good idea. What do you have planned for today?" "This morning, I have an interview with Lex Luthor in his penthouse at the Lexor Hotel, and I'm going to track down Dan Scardino again to get his take on what's in Lois's files." "Sounds good. You can drop the file copies by for Henderson on your way," and he turned his attention to the ubiquitous copy waiting to be blue-penciled. ++++++++++ Inspector Henderson was interrogating a robbery suspect when Clark arrived at the 27th precinct, so Clark left a manila envelope containing the copies of Lois's material and an explanatory note with the desk sergeant. Then he left to go to the Lexor Hotel. Clark had printed a biography of Lex Luthor from the Daily Planet archives, and he read it as his cab alternately waited and moved through the usual Metropolis traffic jam. By the time he arrived at the Lexor, Clark knew that Luthor was the third richest man in the world and was moving up on number two. He owned a lot of Metropolis real estate on which he had constructed state-of-the-art buildings of great size and which commanded expensive rents. He controlled corporations of various sizes in various areas of commerce and was a generous benefactor to charities and the arts through his Luthor Foundation. He was the most sought-after bachelor among the Metropolis socially elite, and his name was mentioned frequently in Cat Grant's column as squiring this or that prominent woman to the opera or ballet or even sporting events at LexMet Square Garden. Clark noticed that he liked to stamp his name on whatever he owned or controlled. The list was so long Clark could only remember a few: the Lexor Hotel, Luthor Foundation, LexMet Square Garden, Lexco Construction, Lexlab Scientific Research, Luthor Energy Exchange, LexMed HealthCenter, Luthor Organ Donor Index, Luthor Startrip Enterprises. There seemed to be no end to Lex Luthor's interests or his ability to make money. A Metropolis Midas, he touched and turned a profit. There was a lot in the bio about what Luthor was currently involved with, but very little about his past. What there was sounded like sausage from a PR factory: poor family, orphaned by an unsolved arson fire, sold newspapers, self- educated, began by using leverage to buy and sell anything and everything, made some lucky investments and he was on his way with his first million. Clark was dubious. He wanted to see the man for himself. Arriving at the Lexor, he gave his name at the desk and was shown to a chair to wait. A short time later, a tall, distinguished older man approached him. His erect bearing hinted at a lifetime of military service somewhere. When the man spoke, his very precise and elegant English accent identified the somewhere. "You are Mr. Kent? Allow me to introduce myself. Nigel St. John, Lex Luthor's executive assistant. If you would follow me, please." Skirting the main elevator bays, Nigel St. John led Clark around a corner to a separate elevator operated with a card key. "After you, Mr. Kent," said St. John, gesturing with his arm. Clark went ahead, Nigel St. John followed, and again using a card key, closed the door and sent the elevator skyward. ++++++++++ St. John led Clark into an opulent study that had a wall of floor to ceiling books - some leather bound, many others with ancient bindings that Clark guessed to be first editions. Another wall held a display of four French Impressionist paintings, originals by C‚zanne, Van Gogh, Monet, and Vlaminck. A third wall showcased a collection of weapons - guns, swords, knives - ready for lethal use. Underneath the weapons was a paneled credenza, similar to the trophy case in Lois's apartment but without the upper shelving. On the flat plane of the top lay an antique crossbow, cocked and ready to fire. An oversized desk, which sat in front of a large glass sliding door, was free of any appurtenance except for a mahogany box inlaid with ivory, a cigar lighter, and an ashtray centered in a row along the room-side edge. On the other side of the desk, beyond the glass was an expansive terrace with a panoramic view of Metropolis. Standing in front of the desk, dominating a room that was impossible to dominate, was a sharp-faced man with curly dark hair. He wore a suit whose fabric and impeccable tailoring said 'money', as did everything about him from head to toe. Nigel St. John spoke softly. "Mr. Luthor, may I present Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. Mr. Kent, this is...Lex Luthor." Clark felt as though he had stepped into some stage setting for a play in which he was to act a part he did not yet comprehend. He half expected trumpets to blare as Chorus Nigel introduced Rex Lex. It was an elaborate production designed to impress anyone who entered there. But Clark Kent was not 'anyone'. The man before him, exhibiting his charm,, smiled and gestured effusively with a hand holding a cigar. " Mr. Kent. Welcome!" His voice was sharp, crisp, and slightly nasal. A voice accustomed to being heard and heeded. It was the voice of a man who would, of necessity, stamp his brand on everything he owned. It was the voice of power. Clark didn't like him already. "Mr. Luthor, thank you for agreeing to see me. I believe you know why I'm here." "Yes, Mr. Kent. Perry White persuaded me that I should hire someone like you to write 'finish' to the career of Lois Lane. May I offer you a cigar?" He opened the wood and ivory box and proffered it to Clark. "Uh, No thank you." "No? You're sure? These are the finest in the world. My own personal blend and roll." Clark shifted his shoulders in annoyance at the subtle assertion of control. "I'm sure I would enjoy one immensely, if I smoked, but right now I'd like to ask you about Lois Lane." Accepting a temporary standoff, Luther returned the box to the desk and responded, "What can I tell you about her?" "Did you have a relationship with her other than that of employer-employee?" "Come, come, Mr. Kent. Let's not play games. You must have learned that Lois and I were seeing each other, that we were close. It was a dreadful blow when she was killed." He snapped out the words emotionlessly. "You say you were close to her. How close?" "It was no secret that I had asked her to marry me. I very much wanted to make her my wife, for her to become Lois Luthor. Mrs. Lex. Luthor." Stamp. Stamp. Clark could imagine Lois Lane's reaction to that scenario. "And her answer was...?" "She wanted some time to think about it. She promised to give me her answer when she returned from a long weekend upstate." "So she was planning to go away. Do you know where?" "No," Luthor barked. She wouldn't tell me. She said she didn't want anyone to know where she was." Her refusal had not pleased him. "When was the last time you saw her?" "Saturday afternoon. She had just kicked me in the jaw." Clark suppressed a smile. Now that sounded like Lois. He pressed forward. "Why?" "It was a little Tae Kwan Do practice. She liked the challenge of working out with a master. I became distracted by..." he paused. He ran his tongue around the edges of his mouth, his eyes glittering lecherously for a moment. Then he went on, "it doesn't matter what. She took advantage of it. She was amazing; unlike any other woman I've ever met. She never missed a chance to move in for the kill, yet when she was sad, she cried. Just two of the many reasons I wanted to marry her. With guidance, she would have become the perfect mate for me. I will be hard pressed to replace her." Clark felt his dislike growing. It wasn't enough for Luthor to brand Lois with his name. He planned complete control over her life, re-forming her to an image of his warped fantasy. Stamp. "When did you expect to see her again?" "She told me that she would probably return late tonight and that she would see me some time tomorrow." "So she was supposed to get back in town tonight and give you her answer on Wednesday? And you were satisfied with that?" Clark thought that if he were waiting to find out if Lois Lane would marry him, he'd be on her doorstep when she arrived. "Yes, I was certain that her answer would be 'yes'. I can be very understanding, Mr. Kent, when it means getting what I want." "You were that sure of her?" "Of course. What reason could she have for saying no?" Clark had no answer for that rhetorical question, but he would bet Lois's Rolodex that there was a reason and that Lois had gone away to decide what to do about it. "Do you know anyone who would want to kill her?" "Certainly not. I presume it had something to do with a story she was pursuing." "Do you have any idea what that story was?" Again came the short, "No! But she was fearless about poking her nose into places where she shouldn't, sometimes stupidly so. I tried to caution her about it, but she wouldn't listen. Such a needless waste." Clark had reached the end of his tolerance for the ego that was Lex Luthor. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Luthor. I know you're a busy man, so I'll be on my way. If I find out anything pertaining to you, would it be all right if I get in touch with you again?" "Certainly, Mr. Kent. Just contact my secretary for an appointment. I'll be pleased to help in any way I can. After all, Lois was my special lady." Clark departed as quickly as he could, Nigel again accompanying him to the lobby of the hotel. There, he telephoned Dan Scardino's office and was told that the DEA agent was having lunch at Molinaro's. Clark grabbed a taxi and set off across town. When St. John, returned to the penthouse suite, Lex was staring pensively through the glass at the city of Metropolis spread out before him. "He's gone, sir." "Would that were true, Nigel. Would that were true." Lex turned back into the room. "No, I think Mr. Kent could become a thorn in my side, a very painful nuisance." "How so, sir?" "You heard his questions. He was neither impressed nor intimidated by our little theatrical. I may have made a mistake in allowing Perry to hire him. He's intelligent, he's curious and he's unafraid. Not a welcome combination if he should happen to turn his curiosity on our enterprises. We must keep an eye on Clark Kent, Nigel." "Do I need to bring in one of our Hobbs Bay associates?" "Not yet, Nigel. We need not act precipitously. Watch. Just watch." "I'll make arrangements." ++++++++++ Molinaro's was in mid-lunch hour frenzy as Clark stood near the doorway, scanning the throng for Dan Scardino. A passing Vito stopped to greet him, "Ah, the man with good taste. Looking for Daniel?" "Yes. Is he here?" "In the back booth. I believe he's entertaining one of his usuals," he added scornfully. "No food, just coffee." As Clark approached, he saw that Inspector Henderson was in pressing conversation with an insouciant Scardino. "Are you going to tell me what this investigation was about or not, Scardino?" "Not, Inspector. At this critical stage, I can't take a chance that what I know won't get back to the wrong people." "I'm the police, Scardino. We're on the same side." "That doesn't mean you don't have a leak in your squad room. I can't tell you." "That sounds familiar," said Clark, looking down at the two men. "Well, if it isn't the man from the Daily Planet. Come to fill me in on your latest hot lead?" replied Scardino. Henderson looked up. "Don't tell me you're working with this guy?" "No, I'm here for the same reason you are, Inspector. To find out what he knows about the material in Lois Lane's files." "Well, he isn't talking. I've a good mind to run him in for obstructing justice." "But you won't," interposed Scardino. "First, you'll go to my superior and see if you can use an end run to get what you want. Meanwhile, either stay and have some food, or get out of here and let me enjoy my lunch." Henderson rose and left with a parting shot. "Don't leave town. This isn't over." Insisting on the last word, as always, the federal agent shot back, "I'll be around." Clark remained where he was. Scardino, looking up at him, said, "Don't waste your breath, Kent. I'm not talking to anyone." "Sooner or later, you'll talk, Scardino. We'll be sharing information, yet." "Only when Lois Lane comes back from the dead. Now get outta here and let me eat my lunch in peace. All this bickering is giving me indigestion." Clark caught up with Henderson outside and said, "I take it you found her files as mysterious as I did, Inspector?" "Right. I have a lot of questions about them, but no answers yet. My men will be following up on some of the suggested leads. And, by the way, thanks for giving me access, Kent. You're proving to be a man of your word." Clark shrugged. "I always have been, Inspector." "Yes, I'm beginning to see that. Why don't you call me Bill? And keep filling me in as you dig deeper." "I will, but I wanted to ask. What do you have on Lex Luthor?" Henderson laughed shortly. "Which Lex Luthor would that be? The Mr. Perfect Butter-Wouldn't-Melt-in-my-Mouth Billionaire? Or that slimy under-rock-shadow, Mr. Big that I suspect but can't quite pin anything on? That's off the record, by the way." This was new information for Clark. "Mr. Big? Who is that?" "It's a name that crops up when we pick up some penny ante grifter who's escalated his M.O. into a big time operation. It's Mr. Big who's behind it all, but nobody's ever met him, and nobody knows who he is. At least that's the story. If it isn't the truth, they're too scared to squeal." An alerted Clark now understood his antipathy toward Luthor: an invisible aura of evil repelled him. Had Lois found out something about Luthor? Was it Luthor who had killed her? "Could he be responsible for Lois's death?" "Not according to him. He says he loved her. But what's that saying? 'Each man kills the thing he loves.' In my opinion, Luthor would sure be capable of it. But it would take a lot of legwork and a lot of luck to prove it, beginning with tying him to those corpses in the Hobbs' Bay district." "I'm already on it," said Clark, as he turned and strode down the sidewalk toward the Daily Planet. The first thing he did when he stepped off the elevator was look for Jimmy. He found him at the coffee station, conversing with an attractive redhead. "Hi, Jimmy. Are you available for doing some research?" "Oh, hi, C.K. This is Angela, an intern from Metropolis U. Sorry, Angel. As you can see, I'm needed for some important work. Catch you later." And taking Clark by the arm, he moved him back into the center of the newsroom. "Thanks, C.K. That was perfect. Angela will really be impressed!" "Making a move on her, were you?" "Hey, I'm young. A guy's gotta take advantage of every opportunity." "She's very attractive." "Yeah, I noticed." Jimmy paused to watch Angela saunter back to the archives. Clark grinned at his obvious appreciation of Angela's attractions. "So, Clark, what do you need?" Break time was over. Clark went over to his desk and pulled out copies of Lois's files. "I need to know everything you can find out about these dead men, and also about the building where one of them was found. Lois has some questions here. See how many answers you can find." "You got it," said Jimmy enthusiastically, as he headed for his computer. He stopped suddenly and returned to Clark. "This is stuff is from files that Lois left with Lucy, right? Have you looked at her laptop? She kept a lot on it that she didn't have anyplace else." This was the first Clark had heard about a laptop. "I haven't seen it. Is it here? Do you know how to get into the files?" "She took it with her when she left Saturday morning. It should be at her apartment. To get into the files, all you need is her password. I figured that out one day when she'd pulled a Mad Dog Lane, and I was kinda mad at her. It was pretty easy, if you know Lois." "So what is it?" Jimmy, leaning over, whispered, "Pulitzer," and went on his way. Smiling over the characteristically Loisian password, Clark thought about what Jimmy had said. Unless it was hidden somewhere, there had not been a laptop computer in Lois's apartment. Maybe the police had it. Flipping the Rolodex, he found Henderson's' number and punched it into the phone. As it rang, he speculated on how he could finagle an upgrade to an instrument with auto-dial. A few seconds later, he was speaking with Inspector Henderson. "Bill, Clark Kent. Did your forensics team take a laptop computer from Lois Lane's apartment?:" He listened for a moment. "No? Well, apparently she had one, and it isn't here at the Daily Planet, either." He paused again, then, "You bet. I'll keep you posted." He hung up. Where was the computer? Did it have something incriminating on it? Did the mysterious visitor who was with her when she died take it away? Always more questions; he needed answers. Opening a desk drawer, Clark took out his interview list and reviewed it. The first two names were Perry White and Lex Luthor. The chief checked with him frequently and often gave him fresh ideas for his investigation. Luthor had revealed little, and there were many questions about him still to be answered. Clark didn't think Tristan Ganeymede would have anything to add. He was probably half in love with Lois; at least, the portrait would indicate that. The last thing Clark wanted was to hear another guy saying how wonderful she was and how much he loved her. Bill Henderson was next , and Clark was confident that if he found out anything, he would pass it along. After talking with Lucy, he had decided that Lois's parents would not be able to tell him anything, and he didn't see any need to intrude on their grief. Jimmy, Cat Grant, Dan Scardino, Ralph Potter - he had talked with them all. Only Jimmy had offered anything of value, and he was still helping. That left three names unidentified: Diane Goodman, Carl Benson and Star. Clark decided to ask Jimmy about them. He suddenly realized he was hungry. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost four o'clock. He should have picked up something when he was at Molinaro's. The thought of a stale sandwich from the office vending machine didn't appeal either. Maybe a bottle of juice would help. He got up from his desk and went to the drink machine located against a wall next to the coffee station. He picked up a bottle of orange juice, chug-a-lugged it and dropped the empty container into the recycle bin. When he returned to his desk, Jimmy was there holding a stacked printout. "Hey, C.K. this is what I could find, right away. There's probably more, but it'll take some time. I figured you'd like to have something to start off with." "Thanks, Jimmy. You're right. Maybe this will send me in some new directions. I'll take it with me over to Lois's. I'm going to see if I can find her laptop. You can call me there if you find anything that looks promising." "Okay. I'll keep digging." As Jimmy started to leave, Clark said, "Oh, Jimmy. Can you tell me who Star, Diane Goodman and Carl Benson are?" "Sure. Star is this far out friend of Lois's, and I mean really far out. She's into horoscopes and trances and stuff. Anything about the occult, she can help you with. She lives in Lois's building. Diane is a reporter here. She and Lois got along pretty well. In fact, Diane did some legwork and found a source that helped Lois crack her last story. She's not here now, though, 'cause she had some vacation time coming. I think she was going to Hawaii or somewhere. Carl Benson is the travel editor. Lois used to like to talk to him about all the places around the world that she wanted to visit but didn't have time for. I think he left on Sunday for a free Travel Editors' tour of Ecuador. Does that help?" "Yeah, that helps a lot. Thanks, Jimmy." Jimmy left, and Clark's stomach growled. Flipping through Lois's Rolodex, he found 'Pizza'. There were several names, and she had rated each one. Apparently she chose her pie according to her mood. One said "A too much chocolate day. Thin crust, lots of veggies. No worries." Another had "A to hell with it day. Great Chicago style kitchen sink. Fat city." Then there was, "A day to celebrate. California designer. Artichokes, oysters, crab, shrimp olive oil and herbs. Add champagne. Expect heartburn." Even ordering takeout was an exciting adventure with Lois Lane. Finally, he found what he was looking for. "Comfort food day. Pepperoni and cheese classic. Relax with a video." He dialed the number and ordered. ++++++++++ There was no laptop computer in Lois's apartment. Clark had known it was a long shot that, maybe, the crime scene investigators had not been as thorough as they should have been and had somehow overlooked something the size of a breadbox. Fat chance. He looked in cupboards and closets, behind, under and on top of furniture. He used his X-ray vision anticipating secret compartments in the walls or under the floorboards. Nothing. So if it wasn't here, and it wasn't at the Daily Planet, where was it? Lois hadn't left it with her sister. Lucy would have given it to Perry. He had to conclude that someone had taken it, and that meant it had something important on it. He had no idea where to continue the search. He finished eating the last slice of pizza, and poured another cup of tea from the pot he had brought, along with an assortment of teas. It was impossible to work at the Apollo Hotel, and he had decided he would use Lois's apartment as a base of operations until he got a place of his own. If he was going to spend some time here, he wasn't going to be forced to drink orange pekoe, and tea brewed in a pot was much superior to tap water colored by a few dunks of a tea bag. After all, no one objected to his being here. He collected the trash, putting it in a plastic bag next to the door to take away with him when he left. Then he sat on the Procrustean couch to read Jimmy's printout. The drowned man, Clayton Kimball, had been a chemist at STAR Labs. He had worked on synthesizing hormones. STAR Labs would not disclose why he was fired. The medical examiner's report showed the presence of water in the lungs. Cause of death: drowning. He was unmarried and had no family living in Metropolis. His medical card gave the name, Silas Trent, to be notified in case of death. Clark wrote a note to himself on his pad: 'Can we subpoena STAR Labs records and force them to reveal why he was fired? Consult Henderson.' The body found in the dumpster was that of Robert Nolan. He had a father, mother, and sister, all of whom were heartbroken over his death and mystified that there were amphetamines in his body since he had been obsessed with keeping his physique honed and in shape for athletics. His nutrition habits were excellent, and he worked out daily. Big and fast, he was a running back for the Roosevelt High School Rough Riders football team; college scouts from all over the country came to watch him play every week. He had a great future, and no reason to O.D. on drugs. He wrote on the pad again: 'any connection with STAR Labs? Athlete - unusual behaviour- steroids?' The remodel on the building where the body was found and, in fact, the entire Hobbs Bay reclamation project were funded by Lex Luthor through LexBank; another of his companies, Lexco, was doing the construction. At last, a connection to Luthor. It was far-fetched, but it was there. Lois's conundrum was beginning to resemble one of those puzzles made up of dots that formed a picture when they were connected properly. Clark needed to figure out the connection sequence. It would be a lot easier if Jimmy could come up with more dots. It had begun to rain, a hard November downpour sounding like pellets of sleet when the wind blew drops against the windows. He laid his head against the back of the couch and looked at the painting. He hadn't wanted to look at her. He knew he would just think about last night. His other self was right. The self he didn't want to listen to. He was in love with a dead woman. Not only was it futile, it was sick. Working at the Daily Planet had been the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Now he just wanted to find Lois's killer and run as far as he could away from her memory. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her. ++++++++++ Some time later, he roused when he heard a key in the lock, and the door open. In the dim light of the single lamp, a disembodied face, familiar and lovely, floated toward him. It was the woman of the portrait, wearing the same trench coat and slacks, stepping from the painting to join him. "Lois?" he murmured. "I thought you were dead." "Do I look dead? Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?" A bright, overhead light came on. Clark blinked. "What?" "You heard me, buster. Don't move. I'm calling the police." "Lois, it's you! You're not dead." "No, but you will be in about another minute, if you don't explain who you are and why you're here." Her face was angry, as she put down the cases she was carrying, picked up and collapsed an umbrella she had set down next to the door, and brandished it as a weapon. He wasn't sure she was real. This could be a bizarre version of last night's dream, Mad Dog Lane come to torment him. Oh, god, he hoped it was real. "It's okay. My name is Clark Kent. I'm from the Daily Planet...and you're not dead!" "From the Daily Planet? I've never seen you before. And you tell me I'm not dead one more time, and you get the point of this umbrella right in the middle of your solar plexus. You just sit there and don't move while I call 911." He picked up the phone and handed it to her. "You don't need to call the police, honest. I'm here legally, and I'm not going to hurt you. I'm so glad you're...." He almost said the fatal words again, and she pointed the umbrella tip ready to thrust. Catching himself, he continued, "...here; I'm glad you're here. Just give me a chance, and I'll explain everything to you. I'm working for the Planet because everyone thinks you're dead. Why didn't you let people know you were alive?" "Why would I let anyone know I was alive? I didn't know I was supposed to be dead." "It's been in every newspaper and newscast for days. How could you not know?" "I've been...out of touch," she said, her eyes sliding evasively sideways. "Where could you be that out of touch? The Gobi Desert? Mars?" "Wait a minute. I'm the one asking the questions here. Why would my being dead prove that you're working at the Planet? Don't tell me they hired you to replace me?" "Not replace you, write about you. Everyone's been pretty shaken up by your murder." He expected a reaction to the word 'murder', but she came at him from another direction. Glaring, she demanded, "Why should I believe anything you tell me? You talk good, but for all I know you're some kind of gentlemen thief who uses his charm to seduce and then rob women." She thought he was charming! He couldn't help himself. His face broke into a great big smile. She was not diverted. "Do you see 'stupid' written on my forehead? That may be a really...terrific...smile," She seemed to drift off for a moment, but hurriedly regained focus. "But, I'm still calling the cops." She started to punch in 911. "Wait! Don't call the police; call Perry White. He'll tell you who I am." His deep brown eyes pleaded with her, and to her dismay, she couldn't resist them. "Okay, we'll just see about that." She coded Perry's home number into the phone and waited, keeping a steady eye on Clark. "I hope Perry has a strong heart," Clark murmured. Startled by the idea, Lois handed Clark the phone and said, "Here, maybe you should prepare him." When Perry answered, Clark said, "Chief, it's Clark. Are you sitting down?" The reply was loud and irritated. "Clark, do you know what time it is? And why in Sam Hill should I be sitting down?' "Hold on tight, Perry. Lois is alive." "What?" "She wasn't killed after all." "Now, son, it's been pretty easy to see that you've kind of fallen under Lois's spell, the more you found out about her. It's understandable, but Clark, much as I'd like to believe it isn't so, she's dead." "No, she isn't. She's standing right here. Why don't you talk to her?" He handed the phone to Lois who said, "Perry? It's me." "Great shades of Elvis! Lois, honey, is that really you? You're not dead?" "Why does everybody keep saying that," she muttered. "Yes, Perry, it's really me. I've been...out of town and didn't realize that everyone thought I'd been murdered. I know you have a million questions, and I'll answer them all tomorrow. But just for now, let's keep my resurrection between us, okay?" "All right, darlin', but I probably won't sleep a wink wondering where you've been. Let me talk to Kent, again." "You do know him, then? You trust him?" "I do, honey, and so can you." "If you don't mind, I'll decide that for myself. Here he is," and she handed the phone to Clark. "Chief, I'll call you at the Planet in the morning. I don't know where Lois will stay tonight, but I agree with her. I think it's best, for now, that everyone still thinks that she's dead." "Wherever she is, you stay close and protect her, you hear." "Yes, sir!" Clark's enthusiasm for the task reassured Perry, who went on. "You know, we can't keep this a secret for long, Clark. This is a big story." "We'd better find out what Lois knows before we make it public, don't you think? There are still questions to be answered." "You're right, and now you and Lois can work together to find those answers. You should make a good team." Clark looked at Lois who was still bristling and holding the umbrella. She was also dripping all over the carpet from having come in from the rain, and suddenly she sneezed. "I think we'd better wait and tell her about that in the morning." "You're right. She's not used to working with a partner. Don't worry. I'll handle it, and you two can get on with finding out who tried to kill her." "Aren't you forgetting something, Chief? There's a more urgent question we need to answer first." "What's that?" "If Lois is alive, then who's dead?" Perry chuckled in approval. "I knew you were right for this job. You two are going to make a great team! Talk to you tomorrow, son," and he hung up the phone. Clark smiled at Lois. She regarded him warily. Then she sneezed again. "Lois, you need to get out of those wet clothes." He realized he'd forgotten to turn on the radiator.'" You're probably freezing. Why don't you take a hot shower and put on something dry." "You expect me to get into the shower with you hanging around? I'm nobody's fool. I saw 'Psycho'. I'll shower after you're gone, and the door is locked." "Lois, I understand you need to get to know me, but Perry vouched for me, didn't he? Would he have done that if I were Norman Bates? Anyway, he told me to stay with you to protect you." "I do not need you to protect me. I just want to take a shower and go to bed." Clark was beginning to understood what Scardino had been talking about. "Alone in an apartment where somebody tried to kill you? If you're nobody's fool, then get used to the idea that you're in danger, and Perry told me to stay with you. Look, you're wet and cold and probably hungry. . I'm sorry. I ate all of the pizza, but while you're showering, I'll go get some takeout and make another pot of tea. You can lock the door when I leave and I can let myself in when I get back." "You have a key to my apartment?" she said, horrified. "We didn't think you'd mind since you were dead. Now go get in a hot shower." "Not until I lock the door behind you." First, he turned the radiator on and then he stepped into the hallway. He heard the lock snap as he moved toward the stairs. Literally walking on air, he grinned and remembered that Lois Lane likes spicy Thai food. He knew just the place. ++++++++++ After locking the door behind Clark, Lois hung up her dripping raincoat, and turned toward the bedroom. As she did, she saw the painting for the first time. She grimaced and continued on, going immediately to the telephone in her bedroom. Later, after entering the bathroom, she stripped off her sodden clothing and stepped into a steaming shower. Soon she stopped shivering and simply stood relaxing under the water as it ran over her head and shoulders and down her body, warming her through and through. Finally, she soaped her hair and the rest of her, completing her ablutions as she turned her mind to Clark Kent. She was furious with the thought that he had been snooping around her apartment getting into who knew what. Perry might trust him, but Perry didn't know how he conducted himself privately, and Perry didn't have a drawer full of lacy lingerie that some miscreant might want to paw through. Clark Kent really didn't look like a pervert, but could you always tell by looking? If she went by looks, Kent was a really attractive guy who could be worth getting to know in all kinds of ways, but she wasn't about to render favorable judgment on so little information. She stepped out of the shower stall and began toweling herself dry. So what if he was good looking, she thought. She didn't have time for that right now. If she kept on thinking like that, she could get distracted from what she had to do. He could become a problem, if he wasn't already. Why on earth did Perry have to assign him to stick with her like a watchdog? He was definitely going to get in the way. She went back into the bedroom and looked around carefully, opening drawers and the closet. Nothing appeared to be out of place. Maybe he wasn't a pervert, after all. She thought of the men she'd known, knew now. How many of them, given the circumstances, could have resisted the temptation to invade her private domain and fondle her most intimate possessions? The answer was depressing. Lucy was right. She had rotten taste in men. Clark Kent gave promise to being a different sort. After combing out her hair and leaving it to dry in a curly mass, she threw on a pair of sweats and was returning to the living room when Clark let himself into the apartment carrying containers of steaming - she breathed deeply and spontaneously smiled with pleasure - Thai food! "How did you know I like Thai food?" "Good evening, Ms Lane. It's a pleasure to see you all dry and comfortable. And I know you like Thai food because I've spent the last two days finding out everything I could about you." He *was* going to be a problem. "Sorry. Hi, and thanks for the food. Shall I make the tea?" "No, you sit and eat while I make a pot. Where do you want...?" "At the kitchen table. I can watch you make the tea while I eat. You want some too?" "No, thanks, I've already eaten." It hadn't occurred to him that she would want to watch. That complicated things. Now where had he seen that kettle? She began opening cartons and eating from them with the accompanying chopsticks. "Mmmmm. This is great! I didn't know there was any place in Metropolis that had Thai food this good. Where did you get it?" He had found the kettle, and the water was heating as he 'hotted' the pot and took several teabags from a box. "At a little place I know." He looked at her sitting on the edge of her chair - no make-up, hair curling wildly, oversized sweats drooping - stuffing her mouth and moaning her approval. He saw not the woman of the portrait, not the person he had learned about for two days, but still another Lois Lane. He thought this one was adorable, but then, he was hopelessly besotted by her. "Maybe I'll take you there sometime." She stopped shoveling noodles into her mouth. "You mean like a date?" she asked indignantly. "No, as a friend. We can talk about dating later." She snorted. "In your dreams. What makes you think we're even going to be friends?" "We'll get to my dreams, someday, but let's be friends for now. After you're around me for a while, I'll grow on you. You'll get used to me, and you won't be able to resist finding out where this little Thai place is." "Why keep it a secret? Why don't you just tell me?" "Someday I'm going to tell you all my secrets, but not yet." "Ha! As if I'm interested in any big secrets you might have." "We'll see. Back in Kansas, we know how to play our cards close to the vest until it's time to lay them down." She half choked. "You're a poker player from Kansas? Is that why Perry hired you? Because he figured you'd be easy pickings in his poker games?" "No, he hired me because of my experience and because I could write the kind of story he wanted written about you." She laughed again. "Sure you can. Where did you get all this experience, the Kansas City Star?" "No, the Smallville Gazette and the Borneo Times among other papers." The tea was ready and he poured some in a mug for her. She shook her head in disbelief. "Smallville and Borneo. I couldn't make that up. Perry must have been out of his mind with grief over my death, " she said smugly. He poured some tea for himself and sat down opposite her, grinning. "Actually he was quite composed and businesslike. Said everybody else was too busy to follow up on the story of your death, so he was willing to give me a chance at it." He watched the fun disappear from her face, and she looked down, started to eat another bite, then returned it and pushed the carton away. "Sure," she said, face stricken. "What was I thinking?" "Hey, I'm kidding. Everybody was devastated about your death. The place was full of gloom when I walked in. Perry hired me because everyone else was too upset and too close to it. I didn't know you, so I could be objective, and that's what he wanted. A story about the real Lois Lane." "And did you find her?" she asked quietly. He answered in kind. "I'm on the trail, but it may take me the rest of my life to get the whole story." She looked up at him in surprise. "You're a nice guy, Clark. At least, so far." They smiled at each other, the air heavy with curiosity and anticipation. Then she broke the moment. "Just don't fall for me, Kansas. I don't have time for it." "We'll see." Ignoring him, she picked up her mug and drank. A surprised look crossed her face as she swallowed and looked down. "What is this? I thought you were making tea?" "It is tea." "This isn't my tea." "It isn't orange pekoe, if that's what you mean. There are lots of better varieties, Lois. I discovered some wonderful ones when I was traveling. Lapsang Souchong, Darjeeling and Oolong, Keemon, Jasmine. I found this one in South Africa. There's no caffeine, and it will actually help you sleep." "You decided I need to get some sleep?" He realized his faux pas. "Uh, no, of course not. That's up to you. I just thought you were probably tired. Didn't you say all you wanted to do was have a shower and go to bed?" He paused and asked innocently, "Did you want to do something else besides sleep?" She looked up at him sharply but saw the twinkle in his eyes. She grinned and shrugged, saying, "Yes, sleep is what I want. What's this stuff called anyway?" "Rooibos. Means 'red bush'. It has all kinds of health and nutritional benefits. South Africans use it for a lot of things. I had a friend whose grandmother used it to color her hair." "Well, I wouldn't use orange pekoe for that." She looked at him speculatively. "You've had some interesting experiences for a guy from Kansas. I've always wanted to travel, but I never seemed to have the time." "Maybe I can help you change that." She looked at him in surprise, again. "You're a strange guy, Clark Kent. You show me something different every minute. I like that." "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that." She had finished eating, and he saw that she looked weary. Placing the containers with the leftovers in the refrigerator, he poured another cup of tea for her and said, "Look, why don't you take this with you. You can finish it in bed. We have a lot to talk about in the morning, and I have a feeling that Perry will be ringing my pager very early." This time she didn't object to his directions, but nodded and said, "I'll just lock the door behind you." "Lois," he said gently. "I'm not going anywhere. If you can spare an extra blanket and pillow, I'll bunk out here." She looked skeptically at his big frame and her tiny couches. "I don't think you'll fit on those." "Don't worry, I'll manage." He smiled. "I've slept many times in rush huts with dirt floors." She nodded, left and returned with a blanket and pillow. As she started back to her bedroom, she saw the portrait again. "What's that thing doing here?" she asked, gesturing toward it. "Your family couldn't cope with it yet, and it was upsetting the newsroom. Perry had me bring it here for temporary storage." "Oh. Well, I'll put it somewhere out of the way tomorrow. I can't stand the thing." "I kind of like it," Clark retorted. It helped me get to know you." "Sheesh!" she said disgustedly and resumed her way to the bedroom. At the door, she paused and looked back for a moment, at the painting and at him, gauging his character. Then she nodded her head slightly and went into the bedroom, closing but not locking the door. He was making progress! He delightedly punched the air with his fist and mouthed 'yes'. Then he stretched out on the floor with his pillow and blanket and wished he had a toothbrush. As though she had read his thoughts, Lois opened her door and held out the desired object along with an almost empty tube of toothpaste. "I had an extra one. I don't know about you, but I can't stand not brushing before I go to sleep." He took the brush and paste, said thanks, and completed his bedtime ritual at the kitchen sink. Later, as he lay under the blanket atop the airfoil he had created for a mattress, he thought back over the conversations they'd had since she'd walked through her apartment door and into his life. He knew he was past any hope of letting his feelings for her go, but that didn't mean she didn't have a lot of explaining to do. She hadn't even blinked when he had said she had been murdered. Now, why was that? The only answer he could come up with was that she hadn't been out of touch at all. She had seen the newspapers and heard the newscasts. Then why had she let everyone believe she was dead? And why was she lying? He fell asleep gazing at the portrait. ++++++++++ Early the next morning, Clark put on a pot of coffee, and as the aroma permeated the apartment, he heard Lois stirring in the bedroom. He wished that he had brought back eggs and bread with the Thai food last night. He should have gone by the Apollo Hotel, too, for fresh clothes. He would have to pick up everything, later, but he didn't want to go out until he and Lois had a chance to talk, and she had heard from Perry that they were going to be partners on this story. He had begun to make a list of things he needed to get when he heard a knock at the door. Immediately alert, he silently slipped to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Scardino! What was he doing here? Clark was deciding whether or not to ignore the knock, when Lois, pushing him aside, checked the visitor's identity, and opened the door. Clark was dumbfounded. "Lois! What's the matter with you? You can't just open the door to anyone. You're supposed to be dead, remember? Don't tempt fate. It can still happen." "Don't worry, Clark. It's only Scardino. Come in, Dan. Do you two know each other?" Scardino came in, thrusting a huge bouquet of flowers at Lois. "Welcome back, beautiful," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Yeah, we've met. Hello, Kent. Looks like you may get to call me 'Daniel', yet. What's for breakfast?" "Are you crazy?" Lois exclaimed. "I told you I was still supposed to be dead. How many people saw you come in here with these flowers?" "Don't worry. I'm a federal agent. I know how to be discreet." "Well, let's go into the kitchen. I think Clark made some coffee. We have a lot to talk about." Clark stared slack-jawed at the co-conspirators. "Coffee is good." Scardino spotted the folded blanket and pillow that Clark had left on the coffee table. "You've made yourself right at home here, haven't you, Kent?" He followed Lois into the kitchen. "What, no eggs?" "There aren't any," Clark snapped, his temper beginning to rise. "What's going on? How did you know Lois was here?" "I told him," said Lois. "I called him last night, while you were out for food, and told him to come over this morning." "Lois, what were you thinking? He could be the one who tried to kill you." "Don't be silly. Why would Daniel want to kill me? We're working together." "Well, you and I are working together, and right now, I'd like to kill you." "You and I are not working together. Just because Perry made you my watchdog, temporarily, doesn't mean we're working together." "Lois, listen to me. You are in danger! You can't go around telling everybody you're alive. We need to use that to surprise the killer and maybe get him to give himself away. You didn't call anybody else last night did you?" "No, of course, not. Just Daniel." "Why would you call him, of all people? Don't you think Lucy or your parents might like to know you're alive? And why didn't you tell me about the call?" As he listed her transgressions, his voice rose to a shout. "How do you know he's not the one who tried to kill you? You're behaving irresponsibly." "Uh-oh. Dad's mad," interposed Scardino, smirking at Lois. She, in turn, glared at Clark and pointedly poured only two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to Scardino. "You can leave, now, Clark. Dan can guard me while we discuss our investigation. I'll call Perry later and tell him everything is okay." "No way!" His voice was loud and demanding. "I'm not leaving until I get an explanation of what's going on between you two." Deciding to put an end to his interference, Lois exclaimed, "Just because Perry hired you and told you to keep an eye on me does not give you the right to hang around, now that it's not necessary, and pry into what I'm doing. This is none of your business, so just go back to Kansas and leave me alone." "I'm not leaving you alone until Perry says it's all right, and I'm sure not leaving you alone with a guy who could have tried to kill you." "That's the second, or is it the third, time you've said that, Kent. You're starting to make me mad. I wouldn't try to kill Lois. I told you we're friends." Scardino put his arm around her shoulder, and they smiled fondly at each other. The assurance did not make Clark feel any better. His face was now a thundercloud, as he searched for the words to reply. Lois saw his momentary hesitation and prepared to move in for the kill. Releasing herself from Dan's grasp, Lois reached out to touch Clark's arm. "Clark, I'm sorry. You were so helpful and reassuring last night. Somehow we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot this morning. Why don't we all sit down and have a cup of coffee, and I'll try to explain to you." She kicked herself inwardly. She couldn't believe she'd just said that. It was anything but a coup de grace. Was she getting soft...or was there something about this guy? Clark allowed her to guide him to the kitchen table and give him some coffee. When they were all seated, she began. "It was Diane Goodman who was murdered in my apartment Saturday night. She asked if she could use my place for a few hours before she caught the redeye to L.A. She had some vacation time coming and decided to get away from the November cold and sit on a beach in Fiji for a few days. I don't usually do something like that, but I was going away myself, and she'd given me a source that tied my last story together; I decided to thank her by saying yes. I gave her the spare apartment key I keep in my desk, and told her she could leave it on the kitchen counter when she left." Scardino took up the tale. "Diane invited me to stop by for a drink. When I got here, she was dressed in a negligee and seemed to want to spend her waiting hours...uh, dallying. She was good looking and interesting and I thought, 'Why not?' It's not like I had anything going with anyone else." "Sure, why not?" Clark mimicked and looked at Lois who appeared unmoved by Scardino's words. He paused, briefly, then asked, "Lois, why were you going away?" "Lex Luthor had asked me to marry him, and I needed to think it over. I went home, packed a bag, and stopped to see him again before I left town. I'd discovered some very suspicious things about him in the investigation that Dan and I were on. I had to decide if I love him and would be willing to ignore what I'd found out, or if I was going to pursue the story to wherever it might end." So she had suspected Lex was not what he seemed on the surface. Had that kick in the jaw been more than just her enthusiasm in a Tae Kwan Do challenge? Had it been a little payback for the billionaire's deception? There were startling revelations in what she'd said, but, ultimately, Clark found himself transfixed by the last. What had she decided about Luthor? But he couldn't ask. He didn't want to reveal his feelings yet. He reluctantly returned to the explanation in progress. "What happened that night?" he asked Scardino. "We put on some appropriate music and drank a bottle of wine. It turned out she wanted to talk more than anything else. She told me she'd just left a long time relationship that had gone sour, and that's why she was going all the way to Fiji. She wanted to get away from everybody and just sit on one of those isolated islands for a while. We were playfully arguing about whether to open another bottle of wine and let the evening turn romantic, when somebody knocked at the door. She wasn't expecting anyone, but since it was Lois's apartment, I thought she should answer it. She walked to the door and looked through the peephole. She must have recognized whoever was on the other side because she turned the knob and swung the door open. She didn't have time to say anything before I heard the sound of the gun's blast. The only light we had came from some candles, and all I saw was Diane falling and a shadow in the doorway. I hit the floor behind the couch so whoever it was wouldn't see me and give me the same treatment. There were some clicking sounds, and then the door closed. Diane was..." he paused for a beat and continued, "unrecognizable. I didn't want to compromise my investigation with Lois, and I hadn't seen anything that would help the police, so I covered up the evidence leading to me, grabbed her purse and the key from the kitchen counter, and went down the fire escape." Clark regarded Scardino with contempt. "Henderson *should* arrest you and not just for obstructing justice. I think he could nail you as an accessory after the fact." Lois jumped in. "Now just a minute." Clark turned to her. "As for you. You're not much better than he is. When did you find out, and why did you let everyone think you were dead?" She paled slightly at the scorn in his words but answered without hesitation. "I heard it on the news as soon as the story broke. I called Dan, right away." "Why Dan? Why not Perry or your family, or Inspector Henderson?" "I knew he had been with her, and I needed to find out what had really happened. Diane and I had a heart to heart about Dan when I gave her the key. She wanted to know if he was a stand up guy and asked me if it would be okay if she invited him in for a drink. I assured her we were just friends." Well, she and Dan agreed on their relationship. That put him out of the emotional game. There was still Lex, but for the moment, Clark didn't think about her relationship with Luthor. He was disappointed with what Lois had done, and he could feel his regard for her eroding. "After Dan filled me in, we both agreed that it would be safer for me if I stayed dead. I still needed some time to think about Lex, and Daniel wanted some time to ask around and see if he could come up with anything about who could have done it." "Is that all you care about - a story? Don't people mean anything to you? Lucy, your parents, Perry, everybody at the Planet, even Bill Henderson have been devastated by what they thought was your violent death. And what about Diane Goodman's family? Don't they deserve to know what happened to her? How could you have even considered doing this?" "Wait a minute, Kent. You're not being fair to Lois. She thought of all of those things, but I talked her into hiding. I believed I might be able to come up with some idea of who did the killing. We would have told everyone as soon as I did." "But you didn't, did you? Did you do anything besides eat breakfast, lunch and dinner at Molinaro's?" "Sarcasm isn't your style, newsboy. If you knew anything, which you don't, you'd know that Molinaro's is where I meet with my snitches. They get a meal, and I get information." "And the information you got was...?" "Unfortunately, not much. One or two mentioned Mr. Big, but they were all afraid to drop the dime on him." Lois cut in. "They talked about Lex?" Before Scardino could say anything, Clark asked, "You know Luthor is Mr. Big?" Lois shrugged. "I don't have any definite proof, but everything I've found out points that way. That's why I had to go away and think about his proposal." "Why would you even hesitate?" snapped Clark. "Are you going to tell me you could protect a criminal, or, god forbid, marry one?" "I didn't want to convict him until I could prove he was guilty. He loves me, and he asked me to marry him. That has to count for something." "Only if you love him. Do you?" At that moment, there was no one else in the room. Scardino had disappeared, and Clark and Lois were the only two people in a world on hold while he waited for her answer. Short and definitive, it came quickly. "No." "Then you're not going to marry him," he stated with relief. "I didn't say that." "How could you possibly think of marrying him if you don't love him, and you think he's a criminal?' "Dan and I are on the trail of something important, and Lex is almost certainly at the bottom of it. I need to stay close to him to find out the truth." "Is this the story in the files you left with Lucy?" At her nod, he went on. "Fine, then fill me in and we'll finish it without your having to do anything as sordid as marrying Lex Luthor." "Clark, I can't. I'm sorry, but the investigation is Dan's and mine, and we have to decide what we think we should do. You're not a part of it." It was the final encroachment in her assault on his opinion of her. "You know what? You're right. I'm out of here. I'll tell Perry that Dan is looking after you, and that he can call you here to get whatever explanation you deign to give him. As far as I'm concerned, you and Dan deserve each other." With that, he flung open the door, strode through it, and slammed it behind him, rattling the windows. ++++++++++ Lex Luthor was humming "I've Got The World on a String", as he briskly entered the dining room of his Lexor Hotel penthouse. All was well in his world, and he was looking forward to whatever challenges he would be overcoming in this new day. Sometimes he regretted that getting his way proved so easy. He wished that a formidable foe would appear to make winning a bit more difficult. Throughout his career, there had been many pebbles in his path, but they had provided no greater hazard than a brief stumble. Perhaps the world held no equal who could excite his Machiavellian genius. What a pity. He would have to make do with the humdrum. Good morning, sir." Nigel greeted Lex and held a chair for him at the long table. "I trust you had a pleasant night." "Good morning, Nigel. Yes, indeed, it was most pleasant. Miss Technology World was an enlightening and stimulating companion. I congratulate you on your taste." "Thank you, sir. I take it you were pleased with her endeavors, then." "But of course. She is blessed with an abundance of unusual talents and exhausted herself in displaying them. She should sleep for some time. When she wakes, see that she has breakfast and transportation, and, of course, appropriate remuneration." "You were not disturbed by the brief power outage, then?" " A small hazard of her methodology, Nigel. Fortunately Miss World is not completely dependent upon technology. She displayed remarkable versatility at the moment of crisis. You deserve a reward for finding such a fascinating creature." "Thank you, sir. I always appreciate your displays of gratitude." "What shall it be? I'm feeling particularly generous this morning." "Perhaps, the usual, doubled, sir?" "Nigel, you're in a rut. How much gold do you need in that Swiss bank vault of yours? Have a little fun for a change. How about a yacht and a sports car? I could even be persuaded to give you some time off to enjoy them." "Thank you, no, sir. Perhaps when I feel that my future has been comfortably provided for." "You only go around once, Nigel. Don't forget to live a little." "Spoken like a paradigmatic hedonist billionaire, sir." "True, true." Luthor smiled, ruminating briefly upon the many privileges accompanying the accumulation of fortune. "Well, let's to business. That's where the real fun lies." "I couldn't agree more, sir. I have always found the greatest pleasure in my work." "What's happening on the Clark Kent front?" "There has been a rather unexpected development." "All right, you have my attention. What is it?" "Mr. Kent spent last night in Ms. Lane's apartment. Late in the evening, a young woman arrived, and she, too, spent the night there. Then, this morning, the DEA agent, Daniel Scardino, also entered the apartment carrying a bouquet of flowers." "Now I'm intrigued. Who was the young woman." "It was difficult for our contact to see her. It was dark and raining. However, he took this photograph. I believe you'll have no difficulty in identifying the subject." Lex took the photograph and drew in his breath sharply as he recognized "Lois Lane! She's come back from the dead?" "Apparently so. It also appears that she, Mr. Kent and Agent Scardino could be working together on a certain matter." "This is disastrous, Nigel. We must somehow divert them from our enterprise. Perhaps a little sleight of hand can focus their attention elsewhere. Obviously, the continuation of her faux death is a ploy to apprehend the culprit who attempted to murder her. We must keep them pre- occupied with following that line of thought." "May I suggest a welcome home celebration, sir?" "Perfect. I can announce our engagement at the same time. Make all the arrangements for a surprise party at Lois's apartment. Telephone invitations to everyone we can think of. It must take place immediately, of course. A chic soiree, I think." "I'll see to it, sir."