Part 14 (1/2)
”Nothing's wrong,” St. Cyr said. ”In fact, I think I know which one of them did it.”
Nothing could shock the master unit; he had no capacity for genuine surprise or outrage. He said, ”Do you require any a.s.sistance in the apprehension, Mr. St. Cyr?”
”Thank you, Teddy, but not just yet. I have some prowling to do first, to be sure my suspicions are right.”
”I'll help with that, if you want.”
”You can help most by standing guard right here and making certain that none of them leave that room.”
”I'll do that, sir.” Efficient. Polite. Obedient. And just about as human as anyone in this strangely cool Alderban family.
”Excellent I'm going up to the fourth level, and I'll be back in about half an hour.”
”Good luck, sir,” the master unit said.
In the bas.e.m.e.nt workshop some minutes later, Baker St. Cyr located a prybar in an open-front tool rack and used it to break into the cabinet in which Teddy kept the keys that he had shown Inspector Rainy and the cyberdetective only a few days before. The cabinet door was strong, and it screeched loudly as the lock tore loose and it grated open over the jagged ruin. St. Cyr hesitated when he had it open, listening for some sound that would indicate the break-in had been heard. He did not know if the house computer monitored things like that. When two minutes had pa.s.sed in agonizing silence, he decided that he was un.o.bserved, and he began to read the tags on the keys, looking for those that he might be able to use.
He found them and placed them on the counter below the cabinet, then forced the violated door shut again.
This is all a useless endeavor.
He looked at his watch and saw that he had fifteen minutes of his half hour left. He did not want to keep them waiting beyond that time, for he did not want anyone to go onto the fourth level to look for him.
Five minutes later, he was done. He left the workshop carrying a paper sack full of interesting discoveries, crossed the garage, and stepped into the elevator shaft through the doors that he had forced open from the inside a short while ago. The shaft was lighted only by the glow that spilled through the open doors. The floor was only three feet below those lift doors on this last level, and he was able to use that minimal illumination to find the pair of parallel tracks on the righthand wall. It was on these that the lift rode; because the system was designed for horizontal as well as vertical movement, there were no cables to contend with. Standing on the thick lower rail, holding the sack in his left hand, he grasped the notched upper rail in his good right hand and began to laboriously work his way upwards.
Teddy was waiting outside the door to the kitchen, where St. Cyr had left him. ”n.o.body tried to leave?”
”No, Mr. St, Cyr.” Teddy did not show any interest in the paper sack or its contents. ”Do you want support in there, sir?”
”Not yet. If you'd continue to guard the door, I'd feel as if my back was well covered.”
”Yes, sir.”
St. Cyr vocal-coded the door and went inside, made certain it shut completely behind him, and walked to the table, where he put down the sackful of evidence.
Tina was sitting on the floor with the others again, her black hair fallen across her face like a mourning cloth. He supposed that if anyone here had it in him to mourn, it was Alicia. Still, the girl held that same mournful image in his mind. Dane also sat on the floor, Hirschel on a stool, Jubal and Alicia on matching white chairs. They almost looked, St. Cyr thought, like some medieval court-the king and queen above everyone else, the n.o.bleman on the stool, the distant and unimportant cousins on the lowest level. They all watched him cross the room, put the sack down and seat himself on the table. Then, suddenly, as if realizing that he was not the one most to be feared, they looked furtively at one another, wondering... Only Tina made no attempt to read something sinister in the others' eyes; she stared at her hands, which were folded in her lap.
”The proof?” Jubal asked.
”Yes.”
”Who?” He sounded very old, and not at all cantankerous. He sounded as if he would rather not know who, would rather St. Cyr took the evidence away and never came back again.
”I'll come to that in a moment,” the cyberdetective said. ”First, I want to tell you who I've suspected over the last several days and my reasons for not trusting each. That way, when I come to whom I now know know committed those four murders, you'll understand that I've not made a rash decision.” committed those four murders, you'll understand that I've not made a rash decision.”
No one said anything.
Sr. Cyr said, ”I first suspected Hirschel.”
The hunter smiled. He looked like a wolf.
Succinctly, the detective explained the circ.u.mstances under which he had first seen their uncle: the storm, the rider on the horse, the b.l.o.o.d.y heads of the two boar. ”I recognized quite early that Hirschel was the one individual in this household most capable of violence.”
And still is.
Not quite.
St. Cyr continued: ”Furthermore, he was basically an outsider who visited for a month or two every couple of years. Though the victims of the killer were his relatives, they were more distantly related to him than to any of you, perhaps distantly enough to be thought of as mere obstacles between Hirschel and the family fortune. He was also suspect because he was the sole living Alderban outside of this immediate family, heir to the entire industrial complex.”
”Which I wouldn't want,” Hirschel said. ”I can't think of anything more boring than managing wealth.”
”That's one of the reasons I finally rejected you,” St. Cyr said. When the others stirred, aware that the number of suspects had just dropped twenty percent, the detective said, ”Then I thought that it very well might be Dane.”
”I tell you it's the wolf, the du-aga-klava du-aga-klava.”
”No,” St. Cyr said. ”But your superst.i.tion and your insistence on supernatural forces being involved were what first put you in a bad light. You're an educated young man, supposedly beyond such foolishness as that. Tina, however, has shown me how a hypno-keyed man might very well adopt such an unreasonable att.i.tude despite the breadth of his education.”
Jubal frowned and pulled on his nose as if he were not artistically satisfied with its proportions. ''What on earth does hypno-keying have to do with all of this?”
”I won't go into that now,” St. Cyr said. ”Besides, Tina can give you a much better lecture on the topic than I can.”
Jubal looked at his daughter, perplexed, but she did not raise her eyes to meet his.
Possibility: Hypno-keying has unsettled Dane Alderban's mind. His reliance on superst.i.tions would seem to indicate this and might also evidence an underlying taint of more serious psychosis.
At most: neurosis.
Psychosis.
St. Cyr ignored the other half of his symbiote and said, ”For a long while, I suspected Jubal.” The old man looked away from Tina, his face coloring. ”From the beginning, Jubal insisted that I should look outside of the family for the killer, and he would not entertain for a moment any other likelihood. Each time that he attempted to redirect my attention away from a member of the family, I had to wonder about his intent. Now it seems clear that this was only naiveti. Secondly, I was unfavorably impressed with Jubal's lack of emotional response to the deaths of his children. He seemed to view it all with a detached, almost academic academic sterility. Again, it was Tina who made me see how hypno-keying could be responsible for this unemotional reaction. And since Jubal has been a hypno-keyed artist a good deal longer than anyone else in the family, he has had more time to grow even cooler and more impersonal than his children are rapidly becoming.” sterility. Again, it was Tina who made me see how hypno-keying could be responsible for this unemotional reaction. And since Jubal has been a hypno-keyed artist a good deal longer than anyone else in the family, he has had more time to grow even cooler and more impersonal than his children are rapidly becoming.”
”What the h.e.l.l is is this?” the old man asked. This time, St. Cyr noticed that Jubal's rage even appeared to be acquired rather than genuine, as if he were imitating an actor he admired. St. Cyr could not be angry with him now. He could only pity him. this?” the old man asked. This time, St. Cyr noticed that Jubal's rage even appeared to be acquired rather than genuine, as if he were imitating an actor he admired. St. Cyr could not be angry with him now. He could only pity him.
”Finally,” St. Cyr said, not answering the question, ”Jubal seemed suspect because of his reluctance to allow the family to be armed with deadly weapons. It appears now that this was only due to some genuine dislike for weaponry.”
”Of course it was,” Jubal said. ”And what motive would I have had for killing my own family?”
”The same motive Dane had-no motive at all. You could have been mentally unbalanced.” He turned immediately to Alicia and said, ”Then I suspected you. For one thing, you were the only one in the family who wept at Betty's death. That made you suspect simply because it was a different sort of reaction. When Tina explained that you had undergone hypno-keying much later in life than the others in the family, when you married Jubal, I felt that you were even more of a candidate for prison. What must it have been like, all these years, being at least somewhat emotional and caring in a house of people growing constantly more machinelike, colder, more selfish.”
”It hasn't been easy,” she said.
Jubal looked stunned. St. Cyr thought he really was, for once, what he appeared to be.
”But,” the woman said, I've had the guitar, my music, for comfort.”