**Not so hot,** she answered. **I didn't bother to scan much--don't
want to lower myself to that depth--but he seems to be a big payer.
He's impatient, though. And he wants everything run his way.**
Oh, fine, thought Keller. My first victim in three months, and it has
to be the Big Shot type.
He made the usual Q-R opening; curtly and efficiently:
"Your name?"
"Uh--Harold Radcliffe."
"Why the hesitation?" But Keller had scanned it already. The man was
simply cautious. He continued without letting Radcliffe answer:
"Age?" 33. "Occupation?" Hesitation: Salesman. "Residence?" After
writing this and Radcliffe's telephone number down, he closed his grimy
black notebook and sat back.
"And now, Mr. Radcliffe, why exactly did you come here?"
Radcliffe, unsure of himself at first, gathered confidence as he
noticed Keller's interest growing. He began:
"Well sir, for this job I need one of the best detectives--" he paused
at Keller's grimace--"and since you're one of the few detectives in
the city who can read minds, and the only A-2 'tec in the state--" He
shrugged, and finished, "I figured you'd be the man for me."
Keller saw that he was telling the truth, after a quick check into the
man's mind. "All right, Mr. Radcliffe. What's your problem?"
* * * * *
Radcliffe seemed to not be able to focus his thoughts. His mind, Keller
saw, was a loose stream of unconnected thoughts, trying to merge into
a whole. Keller could read no message out of them. He suspected a
block--an unusual thing for a C-3, but not impossible.
He gave up, sat back and awaited the other's response. Finally it came,
jerking Keller out of his chair.
"It's murder, Mr. Keller. The murder of my wife."
Murder!
It was the first suspected murder in thirteen years. Ever since the
Ricjards case in '04, peace and tranquility reigned in a calm and
placid nation. For thirteen peaceful years there had been no hint
of manslaughter other than accidental. It had been conditioned out
of humans at the prenatal stage, and unless there was a violent,
all-encompassing urge to kill, murder was completely out of the
question.
It was hard to believe. But it was not a lie; no non-tele could block a
lie, and Keller scanned the truth in Radcliffe's brain.
"Wait a minute, Radcliffe. Are you sure it's not murder by
accident--unintentional manslaughter, as the police term it? Or it
could be suicide. Had you thought of that?"
Radcliffe shook his head impatiently. He rose out of his chair, pacing
the floor nervously. "It could not possibly be accident. You'll see
that when you investigate the case. Suicide? It's possible. Anything
is possible, I suppose, but I would lay any kind of odds against it.
We had just been to the theater. We returned to our apartment at about
five minutes to eleven.
"After undressing and showering, I started to turn in. I noticed a
light on in her room--we sleep in separate rooms--and called to her, to
see if anything was wrong. There was no answer.
"I figured that she had gone to sleep with the light on, and went into
the room to turn it off. That was when I saw her on the floor." He
stopped. Keller read grief, fear and love in his memory.
"How had she been killed?"
"It was a handgun, Mr. Keller. Her face was all blackened and charred.
Barely recognizable. But I knew it must be her. Our rooms connect, you
see. There are two other doors to each room; one to the outside hall,
and one to each bathroom.
"When she was shot, my door was locked on the inside--triple-locked,
I remember, because I felt like being left alone that night. It was
locked by chain, bar and bolt. It's a fairly ancient apartment house.
We like it that way. Her bathroom door was open and there was no one
hiding inside. The same went for my bathroom. And both hall doors were
locked and bolted.
"The windows were locked on the inside, and there is no opening to
shoot through that would not leave traces. I checked.
"Even if the killer had gotten in some way or other, there was no way
he could get out and still leave the doors and windows locked up tight."
Keller thought, there is one way, Mr. Radcliffe. But he kept it to
himself for the moment.
* * * * *
He looked up and smiled as confidently as he could. "I'll be glad
to take your case, Mr. Radcliffe. Of course you want me to spare no
expenses," he added hopefully. At Radcliffe's harassed nod, he relaxed.
Next came the most dangerous part of the job. It was a part which had
eliminated several competent detectives from their jobs--the Probe
phase. This involved plunging into the subject's mind, and sorting out
relevant details which could furnish extra clues. Several Probers had
got themselves trapped in the subject's mind, unable to get out because
of a mental block or insanity.
It might, however, be unnecessary. He flashed a thought to the girl in
the adjoining room: **Sal, should I give him the H-R treatment?**
Answer: **Emphatically! He's hiding something. Not intentionally, but
it needs to be uncovered. A superficial scanning of the preconscious
doesn't get the job done.**
Keller sighed. The Probe (also called the H-R treatment, because a
certain amount of hypnotism was involved) was trying on not only the
subject but also the scanner. He said:
"Now, Mr. Radcliffe, I'm going to go into your subconscious mind and
get your impressions of last night. I want you to concentrate on ...
let's say ... the moment when you saw your wife." He shut off all of
his five senses, and took the plunge.
The image formed:
Shrieking terror. A tinge of ozone in the air. The Creature creeping
up from behind. A beheaded teddy bear lying full length on the floor.
A hole in the air near the door, colored red. Floating demon--where?
Nonononono! The Creature bending over him. Terror--heat. No! THE MAN
WHO FLEW. Melting walls. The door (now violet) disintegrating. The
teddy bear shriveling now--turns into a snake--
He emerged.
Before he could take full control of his body, a thought came:
**Rick? How did you come out?**
He flashed her the image. **Lousy. I can't get a true
impression-picture to save my life. Just a lousy nightmare,
fantasy-symbolism deal. But I did get something out of that mess. I'll
let you know about it as soon as I verify it.**
* * * * *
To Radcliffe, since the time when Keller had stopped talking until
right now, as Keller opened his eyes and frowned in thought, no
time had elapsed. In actuality, the time taken was one and one-half
microseconds.