"All right," Alec said. What else? "And you?" He felt absurd as soon as the question left his lips.

She laughed wistfully. "Oh, fine." She smiled. "Under the circumstances."

The elevator, having descended to the lowest conceivable level, opened. The corridor down here glowed with a stark, unearthly light. Alec and Cargill walked together, while Sylvia Mencken trailed behind.

"This is the place," Alec said, "where you keep them."

"Yes-in here."

They turned into a large gray room. A big pink man abruptly materialized in front of them, waddling very close. He shook hands with each of his guests, bowing deeply from the waist while greeting Sylvia.

When the ceremonies were complete, the pink man scowled at Cargill. "Which one?" he asked.

"Seven-six-eight-three-nine," said Cargill.

"Ah, that fellow." The pink man nodded sharply. "A rather fascinating carcass." He smiled self-consciously, then bustled hastily away. Cargill indicated they should follow. Set in one wall, occupying the entirety of its length, was a series of metal drawers, like a monstrous file cabinet. The pink man went instinctively to one and drew it open. Alec followed Cargill over. They looked down together. There, lying upon a hard metal slab, as naked as could be, was Ted Mencken. He did not appear greatly changed from the last time Alec had seen him. The blood was gone, though.

"Well?" said Cargill.

Alec struggled to reply, but the ferocity of Sylvia's reaction-communicated through her involuntary radiations---drained his own. He barely managed to nod. "Yes," he said.

"Yes, that's dead."

"Dead?" Cargill asked. "Did you say dead?"

"I meant Ted," Alec said.

The pink man was giggling at the slip. Alec could have crushed his ugly fat face with a rock.

"And?" Cargill said, wheeling to face Sylvia. "What have you got to say, my dear?"

His lines spoken, Alec allowed himself to be swallowed up within the girl's radiations. He was now finally able to understand her attitude of wistful regret. Seeing her dead father had made her recall, in disorganized mass, the many past times they had been together. Memories reached Alec in vague procession. He could tell that they had not always gotten along. In fact, often they had not. Sylvia was sorry. Yes, that was it. Now she understood that it was too late for everything that had not already occurred.

"It's my father," she suddenly said.

"Theodore Mencken?"

"Of course," she said, no longer facing the corpse.

"Shut it up," Cargill ordered the pink man.

The file drawer clanged shut. Alec opened his eyes and suddenly laid a hand on Sylvia's arm. "Let's get out of here," he said.

She smiled appreciatively and let him lead her out. Cargill came after. In the corridor, Sylvia drew away and leaned against the wall.

"Are you all right now?" Alec asked.

"Better," she said.

"Then I-"

Cargill stepped between them, cutting Alec off. He suddenly began to speak, but it was several moments before Alec was able to understand his words: "... many motives, I am speaking, of course, of years past. Men were even known-I can show you records that testify to this- known to kill during fits of sudden passion. Husbands would kill their own wives, fathers, their sons and daughters, vice versa, versa vice, ad infinitum. Some say those were horrible, horrible times. I wonder. Except for a brief period on the beat-a patrolman in the North Beach sector-I have devoted my adult life to detective work. I am head of this city's homicide squad. I am, in point of fact, that squad. Last year, I investigated four murders-two turned out to be accidents and one was a suicide. And the other? The few we do get year in and year out? I can assure you passion no longer plays a significant role in these crimes. What does?" He was staring hard at Alec, presumably expecting some response. But Alec had nothing to say. Sylvia seemed to be holding herself up only with the assistance of the wall. But Cargill went on: "I'll tell you what it is: power. That's the word I want. Murder nowadays is primarily a means of expressing power. I am stronger-greater-than you. You demur. In proof, I take your life. Well, I'll tell you." His voice rose passionately, filling the tiny corridor. Alec reached past him and grabbed Sylvia's arm. She had nearly fainted. "I want the old days back," Cargill said. "I want human murders for human motives. These crimes" (he waved back toward the morgue) "make me ill. We are all humans. We share this planet together. None is greater, more powerful, than another. I will-I promise you this-I will discover the perpetrator of this crime and guarantee that he is brought to justice. I will" (he was pointing at Alec now, his finger trembling with passion) "succeed in the way I always have and that man" (he turned to Sylvia) "or woman will be shown that the egotism that made him-or her-feel that murder was justified is a crime in itself of the deepest and most dreadful sort. I promise you that much and" (his finger was back at Alec's belly) "and no more."

"Are you accusing me?" Alec said, glaring down at the finger.

"Of course not," Cargill said, dropping his hand.

"Then get out of my way. Can't you see that she's sick?"

"You may go now," Cargill said, and he turned off toward the elevator.

Alec held Sylvia by both her shoulders. His face was very close to hers. "Are you going to be all right? He's gone now."

"Yes," she said, barely managing to whisper. But he felt her gain more control of her body. She stood up, not attempting to draw away from him. "Will you take me out of here?"

"Of course." He helped her toward the elevator. It was gone now-carrying Cargill above. "I'll be glad to." He could feel the depth of her regard, her need for someone- anyone-him-who could help. "Of course I will."

"That man was horrible," she said.

"Yes. He thinks I killed your father. He was warning me."

They stopped beside the wall. Her face was less pale-she seemed able to stand unassisted now. She gazed at Alec.

"Did you?" she asked.

Five.

"I'd be glad to see you home," Alec said, as he and Sylvia Mencken descended the high concrete steps of the Hall of Justice.

"I don't want to go there-not yet."

"Well-where?"

"I think I'll just go over to the park and walk around."

"I really don't know if-"

She laughed. "You don't have to go."

They paused at the edge of a moving walkway. This was not a busy part of town. An occasional passenger drifted past at a steady five-miles-per-hour. "But I would like to talk to you."

"Oh, I don't mind." He had been eager to get home to Anna. All that had occurred last night still seemed disturbing to him.

"Good," Sylvia said. She pointed across the walkway. "Go get us a cab."

Alec nodded, any thought of refusing now forgotten, and skipped across the walkway.