"And?"
"Nothing. We knew of the man, he couldn't leave without our knowledge and, if he had tried to leave, he would have been held. Again," he added, stiffly, "as a matter of courtesy."
A barrier and one which the cyber had expected. The influence of the Cyclan was small as yet on this world, yet strong enough to ensure that Dumarest, once held, would be quietly handed over without fuss or trial. The agent he had used should have seen to it that the man had been held. What had gone wrong?
He listened as the captain told him, his face remaining impassive, his thoughts a flickering, darting turmoil. The agent had failed, that was obvious, and had died as a result of his inadequacy. But where was Dumarest now?
Kregor shrugged as he put the question. "I don't know as yet."
"But you've been looking? A murderer, surely, can't be allowed to escape."
"Did I say he was a murderer?"
"A man was dead, you say."
"True, but we lack proof that Dumarest intended to kill him. It could have been an accident. The man was armed and may have threatened Dumarest who struck out in self-defense. It was a most unusual blow. It-"
"Take me to see him," ordered the cyber. "I want to see them both."
It was cold in the mortuary but Broge didn't feel the chill. He stood, impassively waiting, the cowl lifted to frame his gaunt features as an attendant slid the long, narrow table from the wall. The agent was difficult to recognize with his destroyed face.
"Bram Jolpen," said Kregor. "His father owns a mill to the south. Rich, spoiled, a bit of a playboy. He'd taken a young girl home-or so he told an officer, when he heard a scream. It worried him-or so he claimed, and he went to find someone to investigate."
"You seem doubtful that he was telling the truth."
"It seems odd. A young man in a poor area who stood in the rain for no apparent reason. We haven't been able to find the girl. We can't find anyone who drove him to the spot. He was armed."
"So?"
"If armed then why wait to find an officer if he was so concerned? When he heard the scream he could have gone to investigate. At least he could have banged on the door."
Broge said, "But you are certain Dumarest killed him."
"No." Kregor was emphatic. "I'm not certain at all. There were no witnesses and think of that blow! Well, look at it. He could have aimed a punch at the jaw and Jolpen stepped back so that it caught his nose. An accident."
"Then why not stay?"
"He could have been afraid. Maybe he thought there were others after him like Jolpen. How do I know why he ran?" Kregor scowled as he looked at the dead man. "An accident," he rumbled. "We'd never be able to convict on evidence like that."
It had been no accident and the cyber knew it. The angle of the blow for one thing and the tremendous force with which it had been delivered. If it came to it medical testimony could be called in to question the captain's assumption of accident, but that shouldn't be necessary. "And the other man?"
"Armand Ramhed?" Kregor gestured at the attendant.
Jolpen had done his work too well.
Lying on the slab the old man looked at peace. They had folded his hands and combed his hair and he seemed more asleep than dead.
"We found him sitting in a chair," explained Kregor. "My guess it that he had just felt tired, sat for a moment then fell asleep. He just didn't wake up."
"The other man reported he heard a scream."
"So?"
"Dumarest was staying with the old man. He could have tortured him."
"Why? Money?" Kregor frowned and shook his head. "The man had nothing and any fool would have known it. Why torture an old man for nothing?"
"Need a criminal have logical explanations for what he does?" The cyber glanced at the attendant. "What did the autopsy show?"
Glancing at the captain the man said, "There hasn't been one."
"Don't you know how he died?"
"Natural causes, I guess." The man was defiant. "And he wasn't tortured-there isn't a mark on him."
"But the scream-"
"We have only Jolpen's word for that," said the captain. He sounded impatient. "There's no point in making work, Cyber Broge. I've my men out looking for Dumarest and when we find him he will tell us what really happened."
"If you find him."
"We will." The captain was brusk. "I've men at all points. He might even give himself up once he's had time to think it over. Why not? An unlucky blow struck in fear-who could blame him?"
It was pointless to argue and could even be awkward. If he mentioned how the old man had been killed then Kregor would be curious as to how he knew. Also once an association had been formed between his knowledge and the assassin, details best left hidden might be exposed.
But Dumarest had to be found.
Broge stood thinking, assembling facts, assessing known data. A man on the run, a stranger in the city, where would he go to hide?
He said, "Captain, was anything taken from the house?"
"Not as far as we know."
"Nothing disturbed?"
"Papers on the desk. And some clothing. It was scattered before a wardrobe; old stuff not worth a beggar's notice. As I told you the old man was poor."
"But-"
"What now?" With an effort Kregor mastered his irritation. He was tired and cold and was more worried than he cared to admit. The failure to find Dumarest was evidence of inefficiency, a fact the dead youth's father would make the most of at the inquiry. Bram Jolpen had been a wastrel, but his family would be thirsting for revenge and would be vicious if denied it. He must give them no grounds for complaint and it was no time to make powerful enemies. He had gone too far and knew it. "My apologies, Cyber Broge, I did not mean to be discourteous. But I assure you that I have done, and am doing, all I can to find the missing man. It is only a matter of time."
"What if he should manage to gain passage on a ship?"
"He can't. The field is secured. Only one vessel has left since the incident and that was two hours after the dead were found. He couldn't have obtained passage on the Accaus. We'll get him, Cyber Broge. I promise you." He looked at the old man lying on his slab. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Thank you, no, Captain. We both have other matters claiming our attention."
From the mortuary Broge returned directly to his quarters. A small room opened from his office, bleak, containing little more than a narrow couch. A cyber needed little else. He wasted no energy carrying a load of useless, waterlogged tissue and had no time for emotionally stimulating art work. Intellectually he could appreciate the beauty of functional design but, that a thing served its purpose, was all that was required. A bed did not have to be too wide, too soft, too ornate. That it provided support and the room in which it rested privacy, was all a cyber could demand.
"Master!" His acolyte bowed as he was summoned. "Has the man been found?"
"No."
"Your orders?"
"Check with the men watching Hilda Benson. Have them search her home. It is barely possible she is aiding him."
"Dumarest? But, master, she informed us where he was to be found."
"Which means nothing. Women are difficult to predict with any high degree of accuracy. The death of her old friend could have created a state of aberration."
"It will be done, master. And?"
"Total seal."
Broge touched the heavy band locked around his left wrist as, bowing, the acolyte left the small room and closed the door. Protection enough against invasion, but the mechanism incorporated into the band gave more. A flood of invisible energy streamed from it creating a field which provided a barrier against any prying electronic eye or ear.
Lying supine on the couch Broge closed his eyes and concentrated on the Samatachazi formulae. The initial state was difficult to achieve and he forced himself to relax, remembering his instructions, the guides he had been given during early training. Later, he knew, the act would become second-nature and, always, it was a mistake to let urgency intrude.