"Sure. Can I ride with you? I rode in with Thompson; he'll have to
stay."
"Come along," I told him.
* * * * *
By ten fifteen that evening, we had narrowed the field down
considerably. We fed all the data we had into the computer, including
the general type number of the spermatic fluid, which Dr. Prouty had
given us, and watched while the machine sorted through the
characteristics of all the known criminals in its memory.
Kleek and I were sitting at a desk drinking hot, black coffee when the
computer technician came over and handed Kleek the results at ten
fifteen. "Quite a bunch of 'em, Inspector," he said, "but the
geographic compartmentalization will help."
Kleek glanced over the neatly-printed sheaf of papers that the
computer had turned out, then handed them to me. "There we are, Roy.
One of those zanies is our boy."
I looked at the list. Every person on it was either a confirmed or
suspected psychopath, and each one of them conformed to the set of
specifications we had fed the computer. They were listed in four
different groups, according to the distance they lived from the scene
of the crime--half a mile, two miles, five miles, and "remainder," the
rest of the city.
"All we got to do," Kleek said complacently, "is start rounding 'em
up."
"You make it sound easy," I said tightly.
He put down his coffee cup. "Hell, Roy, it _is_ easy! We've got all
these characters down on the books, don't we? We know what they are,
don't we? Look at 'em! Once in a while a new one pops up, and we put
him on the list. Once in a while we catch one and send him up.
Practically cut and dried, isn't it?"
"Sure," I said.
"Look, Roy," he went on, "we got it down to a fine art now--have for
years." He waved in the general direction of the computer. "We got the
advantage that it's easier to sort 'em out now, and faster--but the
old tried-and-true technique is just the same. Cops have been catching
these goons in every civilized country on Earth for a hundred years by
this technique."
"Sam," I said wearily, "are you going to give me a lecture on police
methods?"
He picked up his cup, held it for a moment, then set it down again,
his eyes hardening. "Yes, Roy, I am! I'm older than you are, I've got
more years on the Force, I've been working with Homicide longer, and I
outrank you in grade by two and a half years! Yes, I figure it's about
time I lectured you! You want to listen?"
I looked at him. Kleek is a good cop, I was thinking, and he deserves
to be listened to, even if I don't agree with him.
"O.K., Sam," I said, "I'll listen."
* * * * *
"O.K., then." He took a breath. "Now, we got a system here that works.
The nuts always show themselves up, one way or another. Most of 'em
have been arrested by the time they're fourteen, fifteen years old.
Maybe we can't nail 'em down and pin anything on 'em, but we got 'em
down on the books. We know they have to be watched. We got ninety per
cent of the queers and hopheads and stew-bums and firebugs and the
rest of the zanies down on our books"--he waved toward the computer
again--"and down in the memory bank of the computer. We know we're
gonna get 'em eventually, because we know they're gonna goof up
eventually, and then we'll have 'em. We'll have 'em"--he made a
clutching gesture with his right hand--"right where it hurts!
"You take this Donahue killer. We know where he is. We can be pretty
sure we got him down on the books." He tapped the sheaf of papers from
the computer with a firm forefinger. "We can be pretty sure that he's
one of those guys right down there!"
He waved his hand again, but, this time, he took in the whole
city--the whole outside world. "Like clock-work. The minute they
goof, we nab 'em."
"Sam," I said, "just listen to me a minute. We know that ninety per
cent of the men on that list right there are going to be convicted of
a crime of violence inside the next five years, right?"
"That's what I've been tellin' you. The minute--"
"Wait a minute; wait a minute. Just listen. Why don't we just go out
and arrest them all right now? Look at all the trouble that would save
us."
"Hell, Roy! You can't arrest a man unless he's done something! What
would you charge 'em with? Loitering with intent to commit a
nuisance?"
"No. But we _can_--"
I was cut off by a uniformed cop who stuck his head in the door and
said: "Inspector Royall, Dr. Brownlee called. Says they picked up
Hammerlock Smith. He's at the 87th Precinct. Wants you to come down
right away if you can."
I stood up and grabbed my hat. "Sam, you can sit on this one for a
while, huh? I've been waiting for Hammerlock Smith to fall for two
months."
Sam Kleek looked disgusted. "And you'll see that he gets psycho
treatment and a suspended sentence. A few days in the looney ward, and
then right back out on the street. Hammerlock Smith! _There's_ a case
for you! Built like a gorilla and has a passion for Irish whisky and
sixteen-year-old boys--and you think you can cure him in three days!
Nuts!"
I didn't feel like arguing with him. "We might as well let him go now
as lock him up for three or four months and then let him go, Sam. Why
fool around with assault and battery charges when we can wait for him
to murder somebody and then lock him up for good, eh, Sam? What's
another victim more or less, as long as we get the killer?"
"That's what we're here for," he said stolidly. "To get killers." He
scratched at his balding head. "I don't get you, Roy. I'd think you'd
_want_ these maniacs put away, after your--"
He stopped himself, wet his lips, and said: "O.K. You go ahead and
take care of Smith. Get some sleep. I'm going to. I'll leave orders to
call us both if anything breaks in the Donahue case."