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thermal switch under the
dash, and the Stanley glimmered from dull mottled gray into a lighter,
institutional gray. I pulled up in front
of the vanBectons in-city mansion, right where the limousine had been,
and donned the watch hat. I left
the engine on, walked quickly up the perfect marble-paved steps, and used
the knocker, ignoring the bell
button.
The door opened a crack.
I am Officer Wendrew Westen. Are you Herr Gillaume vanBecton?
Flickering candles backlit the young Federal Protective Officer at the
door. No. Can I help you,
Officer?
I looked doubtful, but answered, Perhaps. It appears that the power failure
... There is a large tree
... Could you at least come and take a look?
It was his turn to look doubtful. I just waited.
Finally he stepped back and called inside, There s a problem, something
to do with a tree and the
power failure.
Take care of it.
I managed not to grin at vanBecton s less than pleased words.
The young FedPro closed the door behind him and stepped onto the marble
under the portico.
What s the problem?
It s right at the corner there. I turned and began to walk swiftly in
the direction I had pointed.
He hurried after me, and I slipped the blackjack from my belt as I passed
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the Stanley and stepped
around the trimmed yew tree and up to the mass of maple branches.
He never even saw the blackjack coming and went down like a steer in a
slaughterhouse. He had a
separate key in his belt, which I hoped was the house key, and I extracted
the ring and dragged him
partly under the tree branch, just to get him out of sight.
With a quick step I jogged back to the house and tried the front door.
It wasn t locked. So I opened
it and stepped inside. Hello ... hello? I asked in a reasonable
facsimile of a lower-toned and less
cultured voice.
What are you doing here? VanBecton marched toward me. Behind him I could
see a plump,
silver-haired woman.
What is the difficulty, William?
Officer Wendrew Westen, sir. The FedPro fellow, he tried to move the tree,
sir, and he s trapped
under it., Thought you d want to wire for help.
Wire for help? Isn t the tree what cut off the wireset?
Might be, sir, I offered helpfully.
You idiot, how could I wire for help if the tree is what cut off the
wireset?
I frowned. Do you want to look, sir?
No. I don t want to look. I want you to fix the problem.
Frau vanBecton stepped into the large hall, a space bigger than my study,
though not all that much
larger than the foyer and staircase had been in my own old Virginia
place. She carried a candle lamp.
Good evening, madame. Terribly sorry. I gave a bow that brought me
closer to vanBecton.
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VanBecton glowered at me as if I were the problem.
Perhaps I should run down to the station and get some assistance. I took
a step forward and half
bowed.
Dorcas, go check the set again, snapped vanBecton.
Dear, I just checked it.
Check it again.
Yes, dear. She shuffled out of sight.
Sir. I think you dropped your wallet. I stepped forward and pointed.
VanBecton couldn t help looking down, and I used the blackjack again, right
across his temple,
almost hard enough to crack his skull and kill him. That was the trouble
with political appointees. They
still didn t really know the tricks of the trade. All they could do was
talk and order people around, and
play games with people s lives without ever having paid the price
themselves. And there was never any
proof; so average citizens would think I was a soulless killer. How could
they understand? They didn t
want to.
After catching vanBecton and letting him down, I stepped into the parlor
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next to the briefcase that he
had not moved when the power had failed.
Dear ... You re not William.
He told me to wait here. He went upstairs for something.
She looked blank.
Does the set work?
No.
Are you sure?
She looked down, and in the dim light I scooped up the case.
I m leaving, madame.
After walking into the hall and hoisting vanBecton s limp form, I
barely staggered out the steps with
him before she started screaming. I ignored the screams and stuffed him
and the case in the rear seat of
the Stanley and threw myself in front. I guided the steamer out of the
small circular drive and away before
the neighbors decided to investigate.
The drive out to University and the Woodward and Vandervaal car park was
uneventful, as I had
hoped. The store was closed on Monday evenings, but the lot was open and
vacant. VanBecton was
stirring by the time I trained the disassociator on him, but a full jolt
to the brain dropped him. When he
woke he would be a low-class zombie, and I was effectively a murderer for
the fourth time, although the
victims all still breathed and talked if in monosyllables. Until he was
ready to walk around, I covered
him with the disreputable trench coat and went to work on his
briefcase.
Although it took longer, I picked the lock on his case, because I needed the
case looking untouched
later. I riffled through the papers. Most were useless administrative
trivia, not surprisingly since
vanBecton would have been far too cautious to put something important on
paper, and even if he had, it
certainly wouldn t have been in a case he casually carried home.
Surprisingly, there were two documents I could use a set of handwritten
notes and the summary
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