The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 358
"Naturally," responded Harper with bland indifference.
"Wrong diagnosis," decided Ledsom's mind. "He's clean. We'll frisk him all the same."
They raked the car from end to end, ran hands over Harper and extracted a tiny blued automatic from his right-hand pocket. Ledsom grabbed the gun eagerly, ejected the magazine from the hand-grip, examined it, jerked his eyebrows a bit.
"Holy Smoke! What sort of rod is this supposed to be? Twenty in the mag with slugs the size of match-heads. Where did you get it?"
"Made it myself. Up to fifty yards, it is very effective."
"I can imagine. You got a permit for it?"
"Yes." Harper produced the permit and handed it over.
Ledsom glanced at it, registered more surprise. "Are you a Federal agent?"
"No, Captain. The F.B.I, issued that for reasons of their own. If you want the reasons you'll have to ask them."
"No business of mine," said Ledsom, a little baffled. He handed back the permit and the gun. "That toy isn't the weapon we want, anyway. Did you see or hear anything suspicious before or after finding Alderson?"
"Not a thing."
"No sound of a car beating it, for instance?"
"No sound whatever."
"You didn't hear the shots before you arrived?"
"No."
"Umph!" Ledsom was dissatisfied. "So they had at least two or three minutes' headstart. You're a material witness and we want a statement from you at the office. Sorry to put you to more trouble and delay but—"
"Only too glad to assist," said Harper.
LEDSOM directed two crews to explore the loop road, then led the way back to barracks. Reaching his office, he slumped behind his desk and sighed deeply.
"It's a lousy business. I've yet to tell his wife. They hadn't been married long, either. God knows how she'll take it." He sighed again, dug an official form out of a drawer. "Have to do some clerking myself, seeing all the boys are busy. You got a card on you, Mr. Harper?"
Harper slid one across to him.
It read: WADE HARPER—FORGER.
"So help me Mike," said Ledsom, blinking at it. "That's what I call advertising one's sins. Next thing one of them will write me on a business sheet headed: Baldy O'Brien—Heistman."
"I'm a microforger."
"What sort of animal is that?"
"I make surgical and manipulatory instruments so tiny that they can be used to operate on a bacillus."
"Oh, now, don't give me that!" said Ledsom. "A fellow couldn't see enough to use them."
"He can—under a powerful microscope."
"Every year they think up something new," marvelled Ledsom. "You can't keep up with it."
"There's nothing new about this," Harper assured. "It started back in 1899, with a Dutchman named Dr. Schouten. Since then, the only considerable improvement on his technique has been gained by de Fonbrune's one-hand pneumatic micromanipulator. I make variations on that gadget, too."
"You must be kept busy," remarked Ledsom, wondering how many or how few people wanted to dissect a germ.
"I get by. There aren't more than a couple of dozen competent microforgers in the world. The demand is just enough to keep pace with the supply."
"So the F.B.I. think they can't afford to lose you?"
"You're making guesses," said Harper.
"This bacteriological warfare business, maybe?"
"You're still guessing."
"Okay; I know when to mind my own business."
Ledsom got to work on the official form, put down the witness's name, address and occupation, followed it with a dictated account of what had occurred and shoved it across for the other to read and sign.
When Harper had gone, Ledsom grabbed the phone, made a long-distance call. He'd just finished talking when Sergeant Forst entered the office and eyed him curiously.
"Something broken, Cap?"
"That Harper guy fed me a line that would do credit to the best con man in the business. So I just called his home town to see if he has a record."
"And he has?"
"Yes."
"Jumping Judas!" said Forst, dropping a couple of books on the desk and making for the door. "I'll put out a pick-up call for him."
"No." Ledsom looked pensive. "His home-town cops send him love and kisses. He's helped them solve several tough cases, and he's shot down three culprits for good measure."
"What is he, a private dick?"
"Nothing like that. They say he has a habit of falling headlong over something that everybody else is looking for. They say he's done it time and again, and it's uncanny." He sought for a satisfactory theory, found it and ended, "Reckon he suffers from beginner's luck and makes a hobby of exploiting it."
If the subject of this conversation had been within half a mile, he'd have picked up that notion and smiled.
DRIVING at fast pace along the main road, Harper passed through three successive road-blocks without incident. His mind was working as he tooled along. If, he argued, a chased car switched into a side road, the odds would be at least fifty to one on the driver choosing a turn-off on his own side, rather than one across the artery and on the far side.
Since the loop-road was somewhere ahead of Harper, and on his wrong side, it was very likely that Alderson and the chased car had come from the opposite direction, or towards him.
He glanced at his watch. It said six-twenty. He had found Alderson at four-ten, a little over two hours ago. That could put the murderers the best part of a hundred miles away, if they'd kept going non-stop. Probably the police had been alerted over a huge area by an eight-state alarm.
It wouldn't do much good. There was no adequate description of the fugitives and none at all of their car. "A tall, blond fellow" just wasn't enough to go upon.
He let a few miles go by until he saw a service-station on the opposite side—the side that, in Harper's theory, Alderson and the killers had used. He crossed and pulled up near the pumps; two attendants came over.
"Were you fellows on duty around four o'clock?"
Both nodded.
"See anything of a prowl car driven by a trooper named Alderson? Car Seventeen, it was."
"I know Bob Alderson," said one. "He was around a couple of times this morning."
"Not between three and four?"
"No." He thought a bit. "Or if he was, I didn't see him."
"Me neither," said the other.
Their minds told that they spoke truth; Harper knew it with absolute sureness. So far as he was concerned, they need not have opened their mouths.
"Anyone else here who might have noticed him around that time?"
"Only Satterthwaite. Want me to ask him?"
"I'd appreciate it."
The attendant went out of sight around the back of the building. It made no difference. Harper could hear them mentally, though their voices were out of reach.
"Hey, Satty, a fellow here wants to know if you saw anything of Bob Alderson two or three hours back."
"Nary a sign."
He came back. "No luck, Satty didn't see him."
"Anyone now off-duty who was here at that time?"
"No, mister." He showed curiosity. "Like me to tell Bob you're looking for him, if he happens along?"
"He won't be along—ever," said Harper.
"What d'you mean?"
"Some hoodlum shot him down around four. He's dead."
"Lord!" said the attendant, going pale.
"You'll have the police here asking similar questions, sooner or later." Harper gazed up the road. "Know of any place on his patrol where Alderson was in the habit of stopping?"
"He'd often grab a coffee at the Star Café."
"Where's that?"
"Four miles along, on the crossroads."
"Thanks."
He pulled out, drove fast. Two miles farther on, he came to another filling station, this time on his own side of the road. Turning in, he put the same questions.
"Sure I saw him," said a laconic, sandy-haired youth. "Didn't notice the time but it must have been about three hours back."
"Was he chasing somebody?"
The other considered this and said, "Yes, now that I come to think of it, maybe he was."
"What happened?"
"One of those low-slung green Thunderbugs went past in a hell of a hurry, and Bob came half a mile behind—like he'd no time to waste, either."
"But you aren't positive that he was pursuing the Thunderbug?"
"I didn't think so at the time. Most of the stuff on this road moves good and fast—but now that you mention it, I guess he may have been after that car."
"Did you notice who was in it?"
"Can't say that I did."
"Did anyone else see this? Was anyone with you at the time?"
"No."
Harper thanked him and pushed on. So far, he'd gained one item: a green Thunderbug. He didn't congratulate himself on that; the police would find it themselves before the night was through. He was one jump ahead of them solely because he was concentrating on one specific line of search, while they were coping with a hundred. Harper had great respect for the police.
AT THE Star Café, a pert waitress reported that Alderson had eaten a meal there and left about one-thirty. Yes, he'd been by himself. No, he hadn't shown particular interest in any other customers or departed coincidentally with anyone else. No, she hadn't seen a tall, blond fellow with a green Thunderbug.
One of the other girls had seen Alderson go up the left-hand crossroad.
Harper took that road and kept the accelerator pedal well down. Fifteen minutes later he found a tavern keeper who had seen Car Seventeen. Yes, he had thought at the time that Alderson was after someone, probably a kid in a hot-rod.
Seven miles farther on, Harper struck another filling station. An elderly man came out and handed him news worth having.
"Shortly after three, a Thunderbug hauled up to the pumps for ten gallons of alk. There were three fellows and a girl in it. The girl was sitting in the back with one of the fellows. She kept giving me sort of appealing looks; I had an idea that she wanted to scream, but didn't dare."
"What did you do about it?"
"Nothing, at that moment. I was by myself and I'm not as young as I used to be. Those three could have bounced me on my head until my brains fell out."
"So what then?"
"They paid and pushed off; as soon as they'd got up a bit of speed, I skipped into the road for a look at their plates."
"Did you get the number?" asked Harper.
"No. I waited a mite too long. I hadn't my glasses on, and the figures were too fuzzy to read." The oldster frowned, regretting the lost opportunity. "Couple of minutes later a prowl car came along. I flagged it down and told the trooper about this girl. He said he'd look into the matter, and went after the Thunderbug at a good clip." His rheumy eyes quested hopefully. "Did he latch on to something?"
"Yes—a coffin."
"Good God!" The oldster was visibly shaken. "And I sent him after them."
"It isn't your fault, Pop, you did the best thing in the circumstances." Harper waited a minute for the other to recover, then asked, "Did those fellows say anything to indicate where they'd come from or where they were going?"
"They spoke exactly one word and no more. The big blond one dropped his window and said, 'Ten!' I asked about oil and water, but he shook his head. The girl looked as if she'd talk plenty once she got started, but was too scared to begin."
"What did this bunch look like? Give me as complete and detailed a description as you can manage."
The other licked his lips and said, "The blond one was doing the driving. He was a husky guy in his late twenties—yellow hair, blue eyes, strong chin, clean-shaven, good looking and intelligent. You'd have called him a nice kind of fellow, if his eyes hadn't been meaner than a snake's."
"No facial scars or other identifying marks?"
"Not that I noticed. Tell you what, though—he was pale. So were the other two guys. You know, whitish—the way they get when they've been bottled up quite a piece." He gave Harper a significant glance.
Harper nodded. "As if they've just come out of jail. They've escaped or been paroled—more likely the former, by the way they were acting."
"That's how it looks to me."
"Had they been hitting the bottle?" inquired Harper, sensing a possible lead at wherever the stuff had been bought.
"Far as I could tell they were cold sober."
"What else can you add?"
"The fellow sitting alongside the driver was another husky, about the same age: Black hair, gray eyes, clean-shaven. He was just as pale-faced, just as mean-looking. I never got a proper look at the third one in the back."
"How about the girl?"
"Around twenty or twenty-one—brown eyes, brown hair, a bit on the plump side. Attractive, without being a stunner. Wearing a mustard-colored coat, yellow blouse and a string of amber beads. Her hand was up by the window and she had a birthday ring with an opal in it."
"Somebody born in October. You're doing top-notch, Pop."
"Like I told you, I noticed that girl," said the oldster.
"How were the fellows dressed?"
"All the same—dark green jackets, gray shirts and collars, dark green ties. Looked almost as if they wore uniforms, with buttons and insignia removed. Never seen anyone wearing that sort of rigout. Have you?"
"No," admitted Harper. "It doesn't resemble prison garb, either." He continued his cross-examination a few more minutes, then finished with, "Have you a telephone here?"
"Sure. Come round the back."
THE VOICE in the earpiece growled, "State police barracks. Captain Ledsom."
"My lucky day," remarked Harper, unconsciously confirming theories at the other end. "You're the very man I want."
"Who's speaking?"
"Harper. Remember me?"
"Ah, so you've thought up something you forgot to tell us?"
"I gave you all I had at that time. I've since dug up a bit more."
"Such as what?"
"The car you want is a recent model green Thunderbug, carrying three fellows and a girl. I have descriptions of all but one of the men."
Ledsom exploded, "Where the blazes did you get all this?"
Grinning to himself, Harper told him where and how.
"Why don't you join the cops and have done with it, instead of fooling around with germ-chivvying gadgets?" Ledsom demanded.
"Because I'm a couple of inches too short, six inches too wide, detest discipline and want to go on living."
Giving a deep grunt, Ledsom said, "I'll send a car out there right away. Maybe the boys will pick up something else. Meanwhile, you'd better give me the dirt you've collected."
Harper recited it, finished, "Obviously there are now two leads I couldn't follow, even if I wanted. They are properly your work because you have the facilities. First, have any three fellows answering these descriptions been let out of prison or climbed the walls recently? Secondly, has any young girl answering this description been reported missing of late?"
A tolerant chuckle sounded before Ledsom replied, "We'll tend to those, and about six more angles you've missed."
"For example?"
"Where did they get the clothes they're wearing, the money they're spending, the car they're using, the gun they fired?" He was quiet a moment, then continued, "We'll send out a flier that may bring us the answers. With luck, we'll learn the tab-numbers on that Thunderbug. Ten to one it's stolen."
"I could push on along this route and perhaps learn more," said Harper. "They may have stopped for beer or a meal, and talked out of turn within somebody's hearing. But why should I bother? What do I pay taxes for? I have business of my own to do."
"You're arguing with yourself, not with me," Ledsom pointed out. "Nobody's asking or expecting you to do anything." He hurried on with, "Of course, we really do appreciate the part you've played so far. It shows fine public spirit. Things would be easier for us if everyone were as helpful."
Harper removed the phone from his ear, stared at it suspiciously, put it back and said, "Why can't they have visiscreens on these things in rural areas?"
"What has that to do with anything?"
"One could watch a guy's expression while he's plastering on the butter." He hooked the phone, turned, said to the oldster, "They're coming straight out. You'd better see if you can recall any item you may have overlooked. They'll need everything you can give them."
Returning to his car, Harper set about his normal affairs, confident that so far as he was concerned the episode was finished.
Chapter Two — Under Suspicion
HE STOPPED at the next town, found a suitable hotel, booked a room for the night and took in a show during the evening. He listened to the midnight news before going to bed, but it made only brief mention of the killing.
The stereoscopic video gave the murder a little more attention, with pictures of troopers and deputies searching the loop-road.
Both radio and video were more interested in vagaries of the weather, sports results, the round-the-globe race, and a complicated legal battle between the government and the Lunar Development Company.
He had a sound sleep, arose at eight, breakfasted and spent the morning at the Schultz-Masters Research Laboratories. They needed certain special micromanipulators, and displayed the flattering attitude that only Harper could make them. At one o'clock he left, with two tough technical problems solved, two more yet to be considered and a provisional order in his pocket.
After a meal he started homeward and at three-thirty was halted by a prowl car at a point forty miles from the scene of yesterday's shooting. One of the two troopers in the car got out and came toward him.
He watched the approach with surprised interest, because the oncomer's mind was warily broadcasting, "Maybe and maybe not; but if so, he won't get away with it this time!"
"Something wrong?" Harper asked.
"You Wade Harper?"
"Yes."
"A call went out for you half an hour ago; Captain Ledsom wants to see you."
"I saw him yesterday."
