“Hi, Doc,” Mearson said. “Take a load off your feet and tell all.”
Galbraith took the load off his feet and lighted a cigarette before he spoke. “Puzzling for a while,” he said. “I didn’t get the answer till I went into medical history with him. While playing polo at age twenty-two he had a fall and got a whop on the head with a mallet that caused a bad concussion and subsequent amnesia. Complete at first, but gradually his memory came back completely up to early adolescence. Pretty spotty between then and the time of the injury.”
“Good God, the indoctrination period.”
“Exactly. Oh, he has flashes—like the dream he told you about. He could be rehabilitated—but I’m afraid it’s too late, now. If only we’d caught him before he committed an overt murder—But we can’t possibly risk putting his story on record now, even as an insanity defense. So.”
“So,” Mearson said. “I’ll make the call now. And then go see him again. Hate to, but it’s got to be done.”
He pushed a button on the intercom. “Dorothy, get me Mr. Hodge at the Midland Realty Company. When you get him, put the call on my private line.”
Galbraith left while he was waiting and a moment later one of his phones rang and he picked it up. ” Hodge?” he said, “Mearson here. Your phone secure?… Good. Code eighty-four. Remove the card of Lorenz Kane—L-o-r-e-n-z K-a-n-e—from the reality file at once… Yes, it’s necessary and an emergency. I’ll submit a report tomorrow.”
He took a pistol from a desk drawer and a taxi to the courthouse. He arranged an audience with his client and as soon as Kane came through the door—there was no use waiting—he shot him dead. He waited the minute it always took for the body to vanish, and then went upstairs to the chambers of Judge Amanda Hayes to make a final check.
“Hi, Your Honoress,” he said. “Somebody recently was telling me about a man named Lorenz Kane, and I don’t remember who it was. Was it you?”
“Never heard the name, Morty. If wasn’t me.”
“You mean ‘It wasn’t I.’ Must’ve been someone else. Thanks, Your Judgeship. Be seeing you.”