Sitting just outside Commissioner Moran's door, in his usual place behind his massive desk, was Sergeant Mycroft. He was an absolutely corpulent man, but his face, though massive, had preserved something of a sharpness of expression. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain a faraway, introspective look.
"Malachi Browne," he said, making no effort to move. Certainly Sergeant Mycroft was one of the laziest men I have ever known. He had no ambition, and absolutely no energy. He put out a broad, fat hand, like the flipper of a seal. "You certainly took your time in getting over here. What would you have done if this were a real emergency? Arrive tomorrow?"
I shook his hand, well familiar with his kidding banter. "Sometimes, Sergeant, its easier to get clear out to Titan than it is to get across town."
"Don't I know it," he sympathized. "Don't I know it." Valerie stood at my side, clearly feeling uncertain. She looked furtively around the office, the sense of being trapped welling up in her eyes. She studied Sergeant Mycroft. He was in full uniform, and as such, his mere presence must have brought home the realization that she had indeed been arrested.
"This," I said, bowing gallantly, "is my captive, Miss Valerie Marple. I trust, Sergeant, I can leave her in your capable hands."
"Wait a minute," Sergeant Mycroft muttered. "Wait a minute. You know you've got to sign for her." He searched through the papers on his desk, finding at last the necessary form. He shoved the paper at me.
Without reading it, I signed it.
"Bringing her in," he mumbled under his breath, reading over the signed form. He dropped it into the Out file. "I'll bet you were bringing her in."
I laughed. "Was that what I told you over the communicator?"
"Well, I didn't make that up. Don't you remember?"
"You must have called at a good time."
Sergeant Mycroft gave Valerie a careful once-over with his pale eyes. "I'll just bet that I called at a good time."
There was a row of buttons embedded in the right-hand corner of the bright yellow plasteel desk, and Sergeant Mycroft pressed one. "Send in Policewoman Drew," he growled.
Valerie pressed herself against my side. Her body was trembling. "Mal, I'm frightened…"
"There's no need to be," I assured her. "This is all perfectly routine. You'll be photographed, a voice print match will be made, and then you'll be brought to a room where you can bathe and rest. If you're hungry you can order something to eat. Then, a little later, a psychiatrist will come and interview you. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"But what if…"
"Would you like me to stop down and visit with you a little later?" I asked.
Valerie's face softened with hope. "Oh, would you? I'd appreciate that so much."
"Of course."
Policewoman Drew appeared at the door. "Miss Marple," she said softly, smiling.
"Mal…"
"Go ahead. There's nothing to be afraid of. I'll be down there a little later."
When she was gone, Sergeant Mycroft leaned forward over his desk, and in a low, conspiratorial tone, he asked: "How was she?"
"Excellent," I told him. "She's a very passionate woman. One of those rare multiple comers. Hell, she must have come ten, twelve times in all."
Sergeant Mycroft nodded sagely. "Oh, yes, I know the type. My wife Nancy is like that. For her, sex is one long orgasm. She's one hot-blooded woman, Nancy is. You ought to try her out once Mal. I really think you'd like her. All our friends really rate her high."
"Why, thank you," I said, sincerely flattered. "I really do appreciate that. I've heard a lot about your wife from some of the guys, and she really does sound good. I'm going to take you up on that."
"Fine; fine," he said, pumping my hand. "I'm sure Nancy will be tickled pink to hear that. She's always had a thing for you, frankly, especially since she's found out how thick your cock is. Nancy likes a thick cock. She's not so crazy about long cocks, but she sure does like a big fat one."
"Where did she hear about me?" I asked, flushed with quiet pride.
"Oh, you know how it is. Things like that get around. She mentioned you to me a couple of times, but I didn't know how to bring it up with you. You know how it is sometimes. You don't like to impose."
"Don't be silly, Mycroft. You should have told me. I'd have been glad to fuck her. You should know better than to stand on ceremony with me. We've been friends for too long."
Mycroft sighed. "You're right. Absolutely right. It was all my fault. I hope you didn't take offense or anything?"
"Me?" I asked incredulously. I laughed softly. "Don't be silly. I understood completely. Besides, what have you got to worry about now? I said I was coming, didn't I? Hell from what I heard about Nancy from the guys, you couldn't keep me away from her. Just thinking about her gives me a hardon. And I want you to tell her that, too!"
"You always know just the right thing to say. I appreciate this, Mal. And so will Nancy."
"Don't mention it."
"Say, I've got an idea. What are you doing this Sunday?"
I thought for a moment. "Nothing important. Why, what did you have in mind?"
"Well, you see, I've off this weekend, and I was just thinking maybe we – the three of us – could get together on Sunday. Nancy could fix us some dinner, we could have some drinks, and then we could have a trio together: you, me, and Nancy. What do you think?"
"Fabulous. That really sounds great You've got yourself a deal, buddy. And you tell Nancy what I said: tell her I can't wait to fuck her."
"Don't worry about that – I'll tell her. Hell, she'll probably get so turned on by the idea, I'll bet she masturbates ten times before Sunday!"
I laughed appreciatively at the image. "Hey, you know what? Now you've given me an idea. Why don't you fuck Valerie Marple?"
"Miss Marple? Your prisoner?"
"Sure. Why not? She'd like you, I'm sure. She's a very, very passionate woman." I leaned forward, and in a whisper, said: "And, frankly, just between you and I, I really think she's better than most local girls."
"Really? Why?"
"Well, coming as she does from Ganymede, it seems to me that she's just more than a 'little' aroused by our standards of sexual openness. You've got to remember she's from the sticks – and they're still pretty prudish out there. In fact, did you know they don't even have Erotiseries out there yet?"
"No shit?"
"Absolutely true. She told me so herself. I tell you: Valerie Marple is turned on by all our sexual freedoms and openness. It impresses her. It makes her feel very worldly and sophisticated."
"A real hick, huh?"
"Yeah, and all you've got to do to get into her and have the time of your life is take her out later. Take her out on the town. Show her the sights. Maybe take her to an Erotiserie. Believe me, she'll be creaming in her panties and grabbing your cock before you know what's happening to you."
"Do you really think so?"
"Do I think so? I know so. In fact, when I go down and speak to Valerie later, I'll put in a good word for you."
Sergeant Mycroft's face grew serious. He pumped my hand vigorously up and down. "Thanks, Mal. Thanks a lot. I sure do appreciate this. I certainly do."
"Don't mention it."
"And I've gonna call Nancy right away and tell her what you just did for me. This way we both know she'll show her appreciation appropriately on Sunday. I'll have her give you a blow-job you'll never forget."
I pried my hand from his meaty paw. "Hey, enough of this socializing. I'm late enough." I cocked my head at Commissioner Moran's office door. "Tell me, is the second most powerful man in Bos-Wash in?"
Mycroft laughed. The dubious title of "second most powerful man in Bos-Wash" was one that Commissioner Moran had given to himself in a fit of ego mania upon being appointed to his job by the Mayor. A title, which, incidentally, neither Sergeant Mycroft nor I was about to let him forget easily.
"Yeah, he's in there, but he's with somebody. Wait a sec and I'll buzz him for you."
I walked toward the door. "Don't bother. I'll just walk right in, like I usually do. After all these years, I think he expects me to be rude."
I pushed open the opaque plasteel door and strode into the room. Sitting, slumped behind his desk, with the sunlight streaming in over his shoulder from the open window, was Police Commissioner Spencer Mortimer Moran. Across the desk from him was a slender and most attractive young woman with long blonde hair. My intrusion caught her in mid-conversation: "… know. You have his report right there in front of you. Give Auggie a call if you don't…"
"No, no, that's quite all right…" He sat up in his seat, looking as rumpled as always, adjusting his rimless plasteel glasses. "What is the meaning…"
"Auggie?" I echoed incredulously, striding across the room, ignoring Commissioner Moran, smiling my best and most seductive smile at the beautiful blonde. "Who is Auggie?"
Commissioner Moran bristled. He pushed his slipping glasses up with a brisk jerk of his index finger, causing his head to snap back in surprise. "Malachi Browne – what is the meaning of this!" His pale blue eyes glared at me through the lenses of his glasses.
The blonde's mouth opened in surprise, as if she were going to say something, but nothing came out.
"Plain-clothes Detective Browne," Commissioner Moran shouted, pounding his flat, open hand on the top of his desk with such force that the few soft white hairs remaining on his head flew violently up and down, giving him a wild-eyed appearance, "at least you could have had the courtesy of waiting to be introduced!"
"Then, allow me to make the introductions," I said glibly. "My name is Malachi Browne, but you can call me Mal. This somewhat flustered gentleman is…"
"Malachi Browne!"
"Don't believe him; I'm Malachi Browne. Say, you never answered me: who's Auggie?"
The blonde finally found her voice, trembling with indignation though it was. "He may be Auggie to me," she said, bristling visibly, "but to you, he's Doctor…"
"Doctor!" I turned back to Commissioner Moran. He was half out of his seat in frustration, his mouth twitching fitfully. "Are you sick or something, Spens?"
"No, I am not," he said, deliberately, coldly, "but believe me when I say I think I may be ill." He turned to the blonde, smiled apologetically, and in his softest, sweetest voice, said: "If you don't mind, Miss Wolfe, I think I'd like to speak to Mr. Browne in private. Perhaps we can go over this a little later."
"Yes, of course," Miss Wolfe said. "I understand." She rose up from her chair and crossed the room, moving toward the door. "Goodbye, Mr. Malachi Browne!"
I smiled at her. "You never answered my question. Miss Wove… Miss…"
She slammed the door.
"Oh, well," I said philosophically. "You win some, you lose some."
"Sit down, Detective Browne." Commissioner Moran commanded, his anger hardly contained. His hand was trembling as he stroked it through what little hair that remained on his head.
I sat down and smiled.
Commissioner Moran settled himself back in his chair. For a moment he said nothing. He simply sat there, with his elbows on the top of his desk, his fingers laced together in front of his face, the knuckles white. He continued to glare at me from behind his glasses.
"Malachi Browne," he snapped, "if you ever…"
I waved off his anger. "Oh, come on now, Spens. Don't get your balls in an uproar…"
"Don't you tell me how to act! This is my office, and you work for me!"
I stared back at him and frowned. "What's the matte with you, Spens? I've never seen you react like this be fore. Christ, if after all these years you're not used to the way I behave… what's come over you? Are you worried about something?"
He exhaled heavily and shook his head. "You're lucky that you're my best man, Mal, or I never would have put up with you…"
"Something is bothering you. What is it, Spens? Does it have anything to do with Miss Wolfe?"
"In a way… yes." He continued to shake his head staring blankly down at his desk top. "And you're right: something is bothering me. Ha – that's an understatement. It's got me baffled. Everything's in flux. I've got the Mayor on my back, the City Council, and I've got tc worry about the newspapers and television finding out." He sighed mightily. "Ah, Mal, I tell you, sometimes it's just not worth it."
"Jesus Christ, Spencer, are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?" Among his many virtues, the foremost of which was putting up with me, Commissioner Moran had one really bad habit – he was the most oblique, long-minded son-of-a-bitch in the world. If he had his way he would keep me dangling all day long. I said: "What's up, Commissioner? From the way you're reacting, it must be big."
"Big… I'll say it's big. Bigger than anything I've ever had to deal with in all my years as a policeman. That's why I've called you in on this. We've got to solve this, Mal, and solve it fast."
"Solve what? Jesus!"
Looking preoccupied, he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses absently. "Perhaps I should begin at the beginning," he said, holding the glasses up above him, squinting as he stared through the lenses.
"Bravo!"
"Now, I don't want any interruptions from you," he warned me. "I know how impatient you get with me, but I won't stand for it this time…"
"Jesus, get on with it!"
"See! That's exactly what I'm talking about."
"Oh, my God."
"I'm going to tell this in my own way. Do you understand that? In my own way."
I sighed and nodded.
"Good." He nodded once to affirm his victory. Then he sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his chest, and he spoke to me while fixing his eyes on a spot somewhere above us on the ceiling. He said: "Over the centuries, mankind has learned to deal reasonably well with his sexual drives. This, as I'm sure you're well aware, was not always the ease. There was a time in our past when – generally speaking – men and women were ashamed of their nude bodies, and they abhorred and denied their sexual feelings. They were obsessed with outmoded ideas like personal fidelity, and despite all the readily available evidence, they chose to believe that man was not fundamentally a promiscuous being…"
I groaned.
His eyes dropped from their lofty angle, and he glared at me. "However," he continued, clearing his throat, "today we no longer suppress our sexual drives, nor are we ashamed of or by them. In this present world in which we live, sexual experience is looked upon much in the same way we look upon… eating."
I remembered suddenly who it was who'd made the analogy between an Erotiserie and a luncheonette.
He pursued the metaphor. "Yes – eating. As a biological necessity, as a fact of life to be faced openly and realistically and maturely. Our culture has a very mature, intelligent, and quite sophisticated outlook toward sex in relation to the generations that have passed before us. In our world, nothing is repressed sexually; in fact, everything is out in the open. Our lifestyle is one of total uninhibition."
I shifted in my chair to show my impatience. He went on, unaffected.
"Sexual interplay," he observed, pressing his fingers together as if in prayer, "between strangers, friends, neighbors, and even members of the same family is looked upon as normal in our culture. The petty sexual jealousies of another age have long ago been laid to rest, just as personal possessiveness on a sexual level no longer exists. So much so, in fact, there had not been a single sex-related crime in over one hundred years… until now!"
I opened my eyes. "What did you say?"
He smiled and went on, confident now that he had my undivided attention. "And why should there be sexual crimes in our world? We have everything available sexually; nothing is repressed, nothing is considered perverse. Every form of sexual interaction – from pornography to live sex shows to Erotiseries – is readily available to every member of our sexually liberated culture whenever the mood strikes him to satisfy his erotic appetite."
"Don't stop now, you long-winded son-of-a-bitch!" I cried. "Get to the point!"
Commissioner Moran leaned forward across his desk. He spoke in a harsh whisper. "Malachi, something very unusual and very frightening is happening in our city. Someone, apparently the same person, has committed a vicious and brutal series of rapes…"
"Rape!"
"What's right. It's a frightening word, isn't it: rape. And what's even more frightening is the fact that there has not been a single case of rape reported any where in over one hundred years."
"My God…"
"Needless to say, the necessity of solving this despicable crime at once is of the utmost urgency. Mal, the city is in turmoil – panic is about to break loose. Thank God public awareness of these brutal attacks has been kept to a minimum; there have been no official releases. But there have been leaks. The city is rampant with rumor. I'm not sure how much longer we can keep this a secret."
A chill ran up my spine, and I shuddered involuntarily. The very idea of rape was repugnant; it was so completely alien to my way of thinking, to my way of feeling, that it physically made me feel ill.
"He's sick," I said, shaking my head. "Whoever is doing this is a sick, sick person."
"Clearly. But your reaction, Mal," observed Commissioner Moran, "touches exactly the core of the problem that faces us. We, as a society, and as individuals, no longer know how to deal with this form of antisocial behavior; it's far, far too threatening to us. My God, we don't even know how or why something like this can be happening, much less find the one responsible for the crimes. It's absurd, it's bizarre, it's… perverted. Why in the name of God should any man rape when free and open sexual intercourse exists for all members of our society? Why?"
I didn't know the answer to that question. Yet.
"You've got to find him, Mal, and stop him," Commissioner Moran told me. "You've got to restore sanity before one man's sickness awakens that same kind of sickness in others. And if that happens, we'll be faced with an epidemic that quite literally could destroy us."