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Chapter 2
I’m good-but not that good. Sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed me. The first two attackers dropped unconscious, as did the next two. But someone had a armlock on me and as I was breaking this hold another policeman got me by the ankle. And so on. Roaring with rage, like a giant pulled down by ants, I fell beneath the onslaught. My last act was to free my right arm long enough to take the jeweled policeman’s badge from my pocket and flip it across the room to land at Angelina’s feet.
“Here!” I ululated. “You deserve that. Not as a souvenir as I had pla
“This is Captain Kretin,” she said, “who tried to speak to you earlier this evening. Are you ready to listen now?” I muttered something that even I couldn’t understand and stumbled to the nearest chair, rubbing my jaw and feeling immensely sorry for myself. The captain spoke.
“As I have been explaining to your charming wife, Mr. diGriz, we merely want you to aid in an investigation. A man has been found, brutally murdered...” “I didn’t do it! I was out of town at the time! I want my lawyer...” “Jim, darling, listen to the nice policeman.” It was the way she said darling that sent ice water through my veins. I shut up. My Angelina can be deadly when provoked.
“You misunderstand; no one is accusing you of the crime. We just need your aid in attempting to solve this hideous felony. This is the first murder we have had on Blodgett in a hundred and thirteen years, so we are kind of out of practice with this sort of thing.” The captain took out his notebook to refresh his memory, then carried on in a boring and monotonous voice. “Earlier this afternoon, at approximately thirteen hundred hours, there was a disturbance in the Zaytoun district of this city, not far from your place of residence. Witnesses reported three men ru
Scrawled on it were the words STAINLUS STEAL RATA.
“Whoever wrote this doesn’t spell too well,” I muttered, brain still addled from Angelina’s tiny but deadly fist.
“A remarkable observation,” she said, looking over my shoulder. Her tone of voice was not a sympathetic one. The policeman droned on.
“It is our theory that the victim was attempting to contact you. If this is so, then the indications are that he put the paper into his mouth when he was attacked, in order to conceal its presence from his assailants. Here is his picture. We would like to ascertain the dead man’s identity.” He passed it over. I biinked my eyes into focus and stared at it. I was depressed. I have seen corpses before so that part didn’t bother. It was a good holograph, in three-dimensional color, clear and sharp. I turned it around and around-then handed it back.
“That’s all very interesting,” I said. “But in all truth I have never seen this man before.” They didn’t want to believe me, but’ in the end they had no choice. I could see that they were sure that I was lying-even though I was telling them the absolute truth. They left after some more futile questions, carrying away three of their party who had not regained consciousness. I went to the bar to mix us some strong drinks, since it had turned out to be a very trying evening. But when I turned about with the glasses in my hands I found the point of a very sharp kitchen knife about one centimeter from my left eyeball.
“Now what was that you said about my being a traitor?” Angelina asked in a warm, cold voice; honey over ice.
“My love!” I gasped, stepping backwards. The knife moved with me, never changing its relative position. I felt the sweat break out on the nape of my neck as I began lying swiftly. “How could you be so heartless? So misunderstanding? When the police appeared I was sure they had captured you, forced you to lead them here against your will. So I called you a traitor so they would think you were not involved in whatever charge they were arresting me on. I did it but to protect you my dearest!” “Oh, Jim, I have been so cruel to you!” The knife clattered to the floor and she had her arms about me and I juggled fiercely not to spill the drinks down her back. Her arms were strong, her embrace warm, her kisses passionate. And I felt like a rat.
“There, there,” I gasped after we came up for air. “Just a misunderstanding. Now let us drink our drinks and try to figure out just what the hell is going on around here.” “Were you really telling them the truth? You’ve never seen the dead man before?” “The truth and nothing but! I know that I have broken my long-standing rule of never telling the police anything that might aid them in the slightest. It can’t hurt, just this once. The man’s an absolute stranger.” “Then let us find out who he is.” She took the holograph from behind the seat of the sofa where she had concealed it. “I took this from the captain’s pocket as he left. There is no need to involve the local police in Special Corps matters. I’ll get on to the local agent at once.” She was right of course. This affair undoubtedly had ramifications that stretched far beyond this backward planet. Since identity records here were exhaustively complete it meant that the dead man had to be from off-planet. Which meant that the case now was the responsibility of the legendary, galaxy-wide, professional, superior and all-embracing police force known only as the Special Corps. Of which organization I can say, in all modesty, I am the most important member.
“We’ll need more identification than this picture,” I said, handing it back to her. “Have the agent meet us here. I’ll be back within the hour with everything that he will need for the investigation.” I slipped a toolkit into my pocket before leaving. The city morgue was not too distant-which will give you a good idea of the kind of neighborhood this is-and I went through a back window and three locked doors without slowing down. I pick locks the way others pick their teeth.
I slid out the drawer of the cooler and stared down at the corpse. The glimmering hope that he might be familiar in the frozen flesh vanished. The mystery remained. It took but seconds to scrape off fragments of skin, clip hair samplesand extract dirt from under the man’s nails. His clothes had been carefully filed and labeled by the police. I located them and took samples of these as well. And still more scrapings from his shoes. After this I went out the way that I had gotten in-and no one knew of either my arrival or departure. This minor operation had gone so smoothly that I returned to the safe house just as the Special Corps agent was letting himself in through the public convenience.
“Nice weather today, Mr. diGriz,” he said, adjusting his clothing.
“It’s always nice on Blodgett, Charley. That’s why I hate it. When is the next shipment going out to headquarters?” “A couple of hours. The weekly bag. I’m taking it myself.” “Perfect. I want you to take along these containers. Tell the lab to use every possible test on these samples. Here’s a picture of the late deceased that I took them from. Get me gene tests, pollen tests, blood groups, ethnotyping, everything and anything they can think of. I want to know who this man is-or was. If he can’t be identified I want to know where he came from. He was looking for me-and I’m very interested in finding out why. “ The answer came in a surprisingly short time. Just three days later the front door bell rang and I looked into the sca