For some reason, Sergeant Mycroft wasn't at his usual post behind his desk just outside of Commissioner Moran's office, so I knocked on the door once, and walked in unannounced.
Expecting to see the Commissioner behind his desk, I was surprised only to find Jocelyn in the room. She was seated in one of the two free-form black plasteel chairs which faced the Commissioner's desk. Her eyes were closed, and she was leaning back in the chair, with her hands clasped across her flat, pinched belly. At first I thought she was sleeping, but her lips pushed in and out, as if in indication that something was going on behind those tightly-lidded eyes.
The moment she heard me enter the office, her eyes snapped open. "Oh, it's only you."
"Sorry to disappoint you. You're right: it's only me. Might as well get some more shut-eye."
"I wasn't sleeping," she said defensively.
"You could have fooled me." I sat in the other chair, swiveling around so that I was facing her. "What were you doing?"
"Thinking…"
"About what?"
"That should be obvious, even to you."
"The murder of Effie Spade, no doubt."
"That and the whole damn case. There's something about it that just doesn't – ah, well, forget it."
"No, go ahead. Are you on to something?"
Jocelyn nodded and smiled. "I just may be. But until I'm certain, no one but me is going to know what it is. It's my lead."
I frowned. "Do you think that's wise, partner? Keeping an idea or a piece of evidence to yourself in a case of this magnitude isn't a smart move."
"It is if I solve this case," she said. "Don't worry, partner, I'll let you in on it – in due time. I'm not going to take all the glory for myself: but just enough of it with which to save my skin."
I shrugged indifferently. "Have it your own way."
"I will, thank you."
"Where is everybody?" I asked, indicating the Commissioner's empty chair. "Even Mycroft wasn't at his usual post."
"Haven't you heard? Sergeant Mycroft got the day off. He's getting married."
"Married? But what about his wife? They were devoted." I remembered suddenly my invitation for sex with his wife that Mycroft had so graciously offered.
"He got married again," Jocelyn explained. "He's taken a second wife. Some woman by the name of Valerie Marple. It seems she's a rehabilitated criminal he had taken out a few times. They got along very well, and when he brought her home to meet his wife, she liked Miss Marple as well. All three were compatible, so he decided to marry her."
"Hum," I said smiling. "Miss Marple."
Jocelyn looked at me curiously. "Do you know her?"
"Me? Don't be silly. Where would I meet someone like that." I smiled across the room at her. "Where's the Commissioner?"
"He went down to the lab. The Autopsy Report on Effie Spade was ready. He was anxious to see what it said. I offered to pick it up for him, but he insisted on getting it himself." She shrugged. "You know how he is sometimes when he fixes upon an idea."
Indeed I did.
A second or two later, the door to the office opened, and in walked Commissioner Moran, his face buried in the pale blue folder of the Autopsy Report. He looked up for a moment from the page.
"Ah, Mal, you're here." He closed the folder and dropped it on the edge of his desk. "I was just going to call your office."
"What does it say?" I asked, indicating the blue folder. "What did she die of?"
"What we first suspected."
"A blaster?" Jocelyn's voice was incredulous.
Commissioner Moran nodded gravely. "She took the full blast right in the chest. There are some pictures of her in the folder in case you'd like to see. I warn you – they're not pretty."
I picked up the folder and looked. He was right. They weren't pretty at all. Neither was Effie Spade any longer. I reclosed the folder and offered it to Jocelyn. She shook her head.
"I guess that gives a whole lot of credence to what Mrs. Hudson said." I dropped the Autopsy Report back onto the Commissioner's desk. "Unless, of course, it was just a coincidence."
Commissioner Moran shook his head. "I don't believe in coincidences. Not in a murder case."
"Do you realize what that means?" Jocelyn asked. "My God, I've never even see a blaster outside of a picture or in a museum. Where would he have gotten one? They haven't been manufactured in ages."
I shook my head. "It beats me. This whole damn case beats the hell out of me. First rapes, then a murder, and then we find out the murder was committed with a blaster. What next?"
"What's next is that we try and run down that weapon," Commissioner Moran asserted. "I want every person or place where blasters are kept checked out. And that includes armories, museums, private collectors, even police stations…"
Jocelyn seemed shaken. "Do you mean that weapons are still kept in police stations? At this late date in time? You mean, right here, in this station there are weapons like that around?"
"There are some in the vault downstairs," I said. "But how would anyone get to them? They're under constant lock and key, as they would be in any place that kept weapons."
"How does any criminal commit crimes?" Commissioner Moran asked. "There are ways. There are ways for every improbable thing to happen. If, they didn't happen, we'd be out of jobs."
I grinned cynically. "Right now that doesn't seem like too bad an idea. Besides, I have a feeling that if we don't get some breaks in this case soon, we might be all out of a job regardless."
Commissioner Moran glared; he had no sense of humor about some things.
"Detective Browne," he said dryly, "I want you to check out the weapon angle. Get a rundown from the computer of every possible place and person who would have access to weapons of any kind. If we're lucky – and I frankly see no reason why anything will change in our favor – somewhere a blaster will turn up missing. If it does, we'll at least have some where to begin."
"And if it doesn't turn up?"
The glare intensified. "Then we'll be no worse off than we are now."
"Check," I said meekly.
"Miss Wolfe," he said, turning to Jocelyn, "what do you have to report on possible suspects?"
"There are three, sir," she said.
"That's all the computer turned up?"
"Yes, I've afraid so."
"You included, of course, Mal's theory?"
"Of course, sir," she said crisply. "Interestingly enough, the computer seemed to verify my own view in that it didn't turn up a single female suspect. All three are men, sir."
"That doesn't prove anything," I said. "If this were a normal case, the computer would have pin-pointed the murderer a long time ago. Because it hasn't only proved that the killer is a lot smarter than we give him – or, her – credit for. He – or she – has either kept out of our files, or we have no record of that person at all. In either case, there is still no way to say for certain whether the rapist/murderer is a man or a woman."
Commissioner Moran nodded in approval. "Tell us about the three suspects, Miss Wolfe."
"Two of the suspects have since been eliminated from consideration," Jocelyn explained. "They are Henry Roylott and Daniel R. Baley. Roylott has since turned up dead of natural causes, and Baley has been located on Delta Centauri. He's a legitimate businessman now, completely rehabilitated. He hasn't left Delta Centauri for more than six months. There's just no way he could have come to Earth without our knowing."
"Who does that leave?"
"Dain Gutman. He has a record as long as my arm, everything from piracy to armed robbery. He's a habitual – something about him genetically that resists therapy. He's done time here on Earth in Reich Rehab, and he was three years in solitary on an asteroid. Nothing apparently helped. His present whereabouts is still unknown, but I've got several lines on him. It won't be long before he's run to ground. One other point in his favor: he has been known to use a weapon in the past. A blaster, sir."
Commissioner Moran grunted. "Hum. Sounds good. What do you think, Mal?"
"I think it's too soon to say for certain. He sounds as if he might be our man, but then so did the other two, Baley and Roylott, or the computer wouldn't have come up with their names. For all we know, the same may happen with Gutman. We can't know until we find him. So I think we should proceed with the investigation as if he hadn't even entered into our considerations. If we stumble across his name through some other avenue of investigation, then well know for sure. If not, and we find out he's not our man, then nothing will have been lost."
"Agreed." He turned toward Jocelyn. "Miss Wolfe?"
Jocelyn snorted angrily. "Yes – agreed."
Commissioner Moran nodded. "All right then, where does that leave us and this investigation? How does the murder of Effie Spade affect this case?"
"Well, for one thing," Jocelyn said, "we know the killer and the rapist is the same man. Gynecological Reports indicate the same type of bruises and battering of Miss Spade's thighs and curt that were found on the other women. They matched identically. So it's the same man."
"Or woman."
Jocelyn glared at me.
"What else do we know about this – person?" Commissioner Moran asked.
"Clearly," Jocelyn expounded, "our one time rapist has now degenerated into a murderer. Apparently his lust is no longer satisfied by simply attacking his victims sexually. Now he is resorting to murdering them as well."
Commissioner Moran nodded several times. "Yes, I wholly agree. Obviously this man is so filled with hatred for women that degrading them sexually no longer fulfills whatever perverse compulsion it is that motivates him. He has taken things one step further."
For the moment, I said nothing. The pieces seemed to fall in place the way Commissioner Moran and Jocelyn had arranged them. Everything they said seemed logical. But what if it weren't? What if they were looking at this whole thing backwards?
Commissioner Moran must have recognized the uncertainty in my eyes. "What's bothering you, Mal?" he asked. "You're too quiet."
"What if that wasn't his motive, sir?" I asked back. "What if the murder wasn't done in a blind, psychotic rage, but was, instead, a very controlled, purposeful act?"
"Oh, my God!" Jocelyn snorted cynically. "What kind of wild goose are you chasing now?"
Commissioner Moran shook his head. "I don't see your point, Mal. Clarify it for me."
I sat forward on my chair. "What if this murder is the first real break we've had in this case? Think about that for a moment. The pattern of these crimes has been altered, changed, disrupted. Our criminal has changed his behavior in a very significant manner."
"Go on…"
"Perhaps," I reasoned, "the murder is the key to this case. Maybe there was a reason why this particular woman was murdered and the other three were not. Hypothesis: maybe she was murdered because she saw the rapist and could identify him. I'll even take it one step further – maybe she even knew her attacker."
"What evidence do you have to even make such a suggestion?" Jocelyn demanded. "That's not even logical! I'm sure you could come up with any number of hypothetical equations that would 'fit', but I'm certain they'd be no more valid than the one you're offering now."
Commissioner Moran rubbed his lips slowly while he thought. "I don't know, Mal," he said finally. "In this instance I think I agree with Miss Wolfe. It's an interesting thought, but I'm not so sure it works."
"I disagree," I said frankly. "And I'm not going to give up on it until I'm as sure as you two seem to be that I'm wrong."
Commissioner Moran shrugged. "Well, I'm not going to tell you how to conduct your investigation." It was obvious that he disagreed with me considerably. "Mal, you do whatever you think is right."
Jocelyn was much more blunt. "I think you're wasting you time, but that's up to you. As for me, I'm going to investigate along other lines. And I'm going to start by getting a run-down on Miss Effie Spade from her neighbors. That seems as good as any place to begin."
The telephone on Commissioner Moran's desk rang. "Excuse me a moment," he said, inserting the receiver into his ear. It was a private communication, coming in on the top-priority channel. His face was grim when he rung off.
"What was it?" I asked.
"It was a call for Miss Wolfe," he explained. "I had it put through into here. I'm afraid it's bad news. Dain Gutman is in maximum security prison on Triton, and has been for the past two years. He's not our man. So now what do we do?"