Alfred Bester. The Demolished Man
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...u peepers always pick 'em up before they go into action."you to be avoided. A man would have to be a hermit to do that. How can a
hermit kill?"
was never noticed. Never reported. Even by Maria Beaumont's peeper
secretaries. That means there couldn't have been anything to notice. He must
have a passable pattern and yet be abnormal enough to murder. How the hell can
we resolve a paradox like that?"
killed D'Courtney. Two, his daughter's disappeared. Three, somebody robbed
D'Courtney's guards of one hour and we can't figure how. Four---"
police were everywhere. The white-smocked technicians from Lab were scurrying
like beetles. In the center of the hall, the party guests (dressed) were
assembled in a rough corral, milling like a herd of terrified steers at a
slaughter house.
the wave of hostility that greeted him. He reached out quickly to Jackson
Beck, police Inspector 2: "What's the situation Jax?"
and personal symbols, Beck continued: "Peepers here. Play it safe." In a
microsecond he brought Powell up to date.
something?"
have to do some tricky coaxing to get anything out of them; and this case is
going to need it. I'll be the villain. You be their friend."
The friendliness disappeared from his deep dark eyes. An expression of shocked
indignation appeared on his face.
dead silence. Every eye turned in his direction.
herd a group of innocent people together like cattle?"
and treated with every courtesy until the truth is uncovered."
rotten, lousy, high-society pack of hyenas..."
at once."
he mumbled.
again, I'll break you. I'll send you straight back to the gutter you came
from. Now get out of my sight."
Suddenly he was again transformed. His bearing conveyed the subtle suggestion
that he was at heart one of them. There was even a tinge of fashionable
corruption in his diction.
famous so let me introduce myself. Lincoln Powell, Prefect of the Psychotic
Division. Prefect and Psychotic. Two antiquated titles, eh? We won't let them
bother us." He advanced toward Maria Beaumont with hand outstretched. "Dear
Madame Maria, what an exciting climax for your wonderful party. I envy all of
you. You'll make history."
fade. Maria took Powell's hand dazedly, mechanically beginning to preen
herself.
warmth. "You've had a trying time, I know. These boors in uniform."
terrified."
exasperating experience?"
he said: "Conduct Madame and her guests to the study. No guards. The ladies
and gentlemen are to be left in privacy."
guests. One of them arrived after the felony was reported. An attorney, Mr.
¼maine."
him a telepathic greeting.
off."
for the books."
give it away, Jo."
to smash every sacred ethic of the Guild. He radiated a blast of indignation
that made Beck grin.
chaste devotion and gently disengaged himself from her tremulous grasp.
chattering with renewed animation. It was all beginning to take on the aspect
of a fabulous new form of entertainment. Through the buzz and the laughter,
Powell felt the iron elbows of a rigid telepathic block. He recognized those
elbows and permitted his astonishment to show.
self-deprecation, shame---
harm to let a little scandal rub off on you. Make you more human. Stay here &
help. Got a hunch I can use another 1st. This one is going to be a Triple-A
stinker."
him. Jo ¼maine was a heavy-set man, thick, solid, with a shining bald
head and a friendly blunt-featured face. Little Tate was nervous and
twitchy... more so than usual.
Tall, broad-shouldered, determined, exuding a tremendous aura of charm and
power. There was kindliness in that power, but it was corroded by the habit of
tyranny. Reich's eyes were fine and keen, but his mouth seemed too small and
sensitive and looked oddly like a scar. A magnetic man, with something vague
inside him that was repellent.
They were en rapport.
collusion."
they're in collusion with you."
It was dangerous. Powell tried to shake it off. He turned to ¼maine:
"Now then, Jo?"
any fast ones."
the objective level. I'm here to see that it does. I'll have to be present at
every examination."
we can---"
whether you've got that consent or not."
this mess?"
building a stock-pile of secrets that have got to be protected."
the guy."
hadn't called a lawyer. It makes me suspicious."
it, but the occupational disease of detectives is Laterality. That's
right-handedness or left-handedness. Most detectives suffer from strange
changes of Laterality. I was naturally left-handed until the Parsons Case when
I---"
fascinated audience and sighed deeply. When he turned back to them. Dishonest
Abe was gone.
after Maria and the guests saw the blood dripping down on your cuff."
and we all went tearing upstairs to the Orchid Suite."
to lead the way."
daughter were in the house. Why look for her?"
sneak out of the house without a word and go running naked through the
streets, she may have had her father's scalp in her hand."
right to refuse Esper Examination without prejudice to himself. Reich is
refusing."
start the investigation."
into police code and asked:
Demolition."
there was a daughter. Nobody did. He didn't see her. Nobody did. He could
infer that the murder made her run out of the house. Anybody could. But how
did he know she was naked?"
north arch into the study, a broadcast of fervent admiration followed him: "I
bow, Linc. I bow to the Master."
Bath. The floor was a mosaic of jacinth, spinel and sunstone. The walls,
cross-hatched with gold wire cloisons were glittering with inset synthetic
stones... ruby, emerald, garnet, chrysolite, amethyst, topaz... all containing
various portraits of the owner. There were scatter rugs of velvet, and scores
of chairs and lounges.
Tate, and ¼maine behind him. The buzz of conversation stopped, and Maria
Beaumont struggled to her feet. Powell motioned her to remain seated. He
looked around him, accurately gauging the mass psyche of the assembled
sybarites, and measuring the tactics he would have to use. At length he began.
die by the thousands every day; but simply because someone has had the energy
and enterprise to assist old D'Courtney to his demise, the law insists upon
turning him into an enemy of the people. I think it's idiotic, but please
don't quote me."
Probably this fact has alarmed some of you. You imagine that I'm standing here
like some mind-peeping monster, probing your mental plumbing. Well... Jo
¼maine wouldn't let me if I could. And frankly, if I could, I wouldn't be
standing here. I'd be standing on the throne of the universe practically
indistinguishable from God. I notice that none of you have commented on that
resemblance so far..."
mass mind-reading is a trick no peeper can perform. It's difficult enough to
probe a single individual. It's impossible when dozens of TP patterns are
confusing the picture. And when a group of unique, highly individual people
like yourselves is gathered, we find ourselves completely at your mercy."
had been invited, Madame. You must remember me next time..."
it was premeditated murder. We'll be certain after Lab has finished its work.
But let's assume that it is a Triple-A Felony. That will enable us to play
another game... a game called `Murder.' "
casual course, carefully turning the most shocking crime in seventy years into
a morsel of unreality.
make-believe detective must discover who killed the victim. He asks questions
of the make-believe suspects. Everyone must tell the truth, except the killer
who is permitted to lie. The detective compares stories, deduces who is lying,
and uncovers the killer. I thought you might enjoy playing this game."
First, the motive. Second, the method. Third, the opportunity. Our Lab people
are taking care of the second two. The first we can discover in our game. And
if we do, we'll be able to crack the second two problems that have Lab stumped
now. Did you know that they can't figure out what killed D'Courtney? Did you
know that D'Courtney's daughter has disappeared? She left the house while you
were playing `Sardine.' Did you know that D'Courtney's guards were
mysteriously short-circuited? Yes, indeed. Somebody robbed them of a full hour
in time. We'd all like to know just how."
to be sprung with infinite caution.
through motive. I'll be the make-believe detective. You'll be the make-believe
suspects. You'll tell me the truth... all except the killer, of course. We'll
expect him to lie. But we'll trap him and bring this party to a triumphant
finish if you'll give me permission to make a telepathic examination of each
of you."
peep. Because, you see, if all the innocent suspects grant permission, then
the one who refuses must be the guilty. He alone will be forced to protect
himself from peeping."
turning the room into a stage. "I ask formally: `Will you permit me to make a
TP examination?' Then I go around this room..." He began a slow circuit,
bowing to each of the guests in turn. "And the answers come... `Yes... Yes...
Of course... Why not?... Certainly... Yes... Yes...' And then suddenly a
dramatic pause." Powell stopped before Reich, erect, terrifying." `You, sir,'
I repeat. `Will you give me your permission to peep?' "
pointing finger and the fierce scowl.
You hear the tortured refusal: `No!'..." The Prefect turned and enveloped them
all with an electrifying gesture: "And in that thrilling moment, we know we
have captured the killer!"
of ultra violet windows through clothes and flesh into the soul... But Maria's
guests had bastardy in their souls... perjury... adultery---the Devil. And the
shame within all of them rose up in terror.
motive out of these hyenas."
really can't blame you. Only a fool would trust a cop." He sighed. "One of my
assistants will tape the oral statements from those of you who care to make
statements. Mr. ¼maine will be on hand to advise and protect you."
Felony in over seventy years. I've got my career to watch. This can make me."
can break me."
harassed, handed Powell the reports and said in an overwrought voice: "This is
a bitch!"
peppery with De Santis who was comfortable in no other relationship.
Death instantaneous. But what produced the wound? What drilled the hole
through his skull? Go ahead, ask me."
couldn't burst the back of his skull."
this? Couldn't be done."
projectile?"
smelly."
in the room. Nothing nowhere."
mouth... bit of standard candy wrapping."
throat."
whistling a crooked tune. He remembered hearing an audio-book once about an
Esper who could read a corpse... like that old myth about photographing the
retina of a dead eye. He wished it could be done.
method. Let's hope we can get something on opportunity, or we'll never bring
Reich down."
this... What? Oh, Reich? He's the killer, De Santis. I slicked Jo ¼maine
down in Maria Beaumont's study. Reich made a slip. I staged an act and
misdirected Jo while I peeped to make sure. This is off the record, of course,
but I got enough to convince me Reich's our man."
Demolition, brother. A long, long way."
and descended to field headquarters in the picture gallery.
headquarters had been set up. Powell and Beck met for a conference. Their
mental exchange took exactly thirty seconds in the lightning tempo typical of
telepathic talk:
gallery. He crossed the overpass, descended to the music room and entered the
main hall. He saw Reich, ¼maine, and Tate standing alongside the
fountain, deep in conversation. Once again he fretted over the frightening
problem of Tate. If the little peeper really was mixed up with Reich, as
Powell had suspected at his party the week before, he might be mixed up in
this killing.
murder was unthinkable; yet, if actually the fact, a son of a bitch to prove.
Nobody ever got anything from a 1st without full consent. And if Tate was
(incredible... impossible... 100-1 against) working with Reich, Reich himself
might prove impregnable. Resolving on one last propaganda attack before he was
forced to resort to police work, Powell turned toward the group.
Gus. Jet off. I want to say something to Reich. I don't want you to hear. I
won't peep him or record his words. That's a pledge."
Reich watched them go with curious eyes and then looked at Powell. "Scare 'em
off?" he inquired.
silence.
keeps, both of us. It's the cowards and weaklings and sore-losers who hide
behind rules and fair play."
some frightened little man wrote for the rest of the frightened little men.
Every man's got his own honor and ethics, and so long as he sticks to 'em,
who's anybody else to point the finger? You may not like his ethics, but
you've no right to call him unethical."
the other's rotten. If you were all killer, it wouldn't be so bad. But there's
half louse and half saint in you, and that makes it worse."
tricky, Powell. You really scare me. I never can tell when the punch is coming
or which way to duck."
voice burned. His eyes burned. Once again he terrified Reich with his
intensity. "I'm going to lick you on this one, Ben: I'm going to strangle the
lousy killer in you, because I admire the saint. This is the beginning of the
end, for you. You know it. Why don't you make it easier for yourself?"
himself to meet the attack. "And give up the best fight of my life? No. Never
in a million years, Linc. We're going to slug this out straight down to the
finish."
the four-way clasp of final farewell.
7
tied down to a desk. He does not have files, memoranda, notes, and reels of
red tape. He has three Esper secretaries, memory wizards all, who carry within
their minds the minutiae of his business. They accompany him around
headquarters like a triple index. Surrounded by his flying squad (nicknamed
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod by the staff) Powell jetted through Center Street,
assembling the material for his fight.
motive, method, and opportunity, Commissioner. We've got possible opportunity
so far, but that's all. You know Old Man Mose. He's going to insist on hard
fact evidence."
Multiplex Prosecution Computer. You wouldn't want us to use his full name,
would you? We'd strangle."
evidence for Old Man Mose. I want to ask you a straight question. Are you
willing to go all out too?"
ebony chair behind the ebony desk in his ebony-and-silver office. "What the
hell is that supposed to mean, Powell?"
and Monarch in any way. Will you be embarrassed when the heat's on? Will it be
possible for Reich to come to you and get our rockets cooled?"
discussed the Monolith Case with you. Extract follows:
POWELL: There's a tricky financial angle to this business, Commissioner. Monarch may
hold us up with a Demurrer.CRABBE: Reich's given me his word he won't; and I can always depend on Ben Reich. He
backed me for County Attorney.End quote."
switched his tactics and glared at Crabbe. "What the devil are you trying to
hand me? What about your campaign for County D.A.? Reich backed you for that,
didn't he?"
me since."
got no proof. Your own admission."
Reich. Make another note. So am I."
monster Old Man Mose is. Always screaming for
facts---facts---evidence---unassailable proof. We'll have to produce evidence
to convince that damned machine he ought to prosecute. To do that we're going
to pull the Rough & Smooth on Reich. You know the method. We'll assign a
clumsy operative and a slick one to every subject. The cluck won't know the
smoothie is on the job. Neither will the subject. After he's shaken the Rough
Tail he'll imagine he's clear. That makes it a cinch for the slicker. And
that's what we're going to do to Reich."