The Mindwarpers Page 11

  Henderson frowned and said unwillingly, “All right. Make it eight o’clock. Ring at the side door.”

  Bransome left as another customer came in. Outside, he recalled Reardon’s remark to the effect that a discreet watch was being kept upon Henderson. Such observation would take note of all visitors and, perhaps, succeed in identifying one wanted elsewhere. He looked up, down and across the street in hope of spotting the watcher, but that individual was excessively discreet or possibly off duty. Nobody was keeping an eye on the place so far as he could detect.

  How to spend the intervening time was something of a problem; to stroll to and fro along the main street for a couple of hours would be to draw attention to himself and that was the last thing he wished. He solved that difficulty by taking the road to the lake an strolling along its verge like a sightseer enjoying the view. Eventually becoming bored, he returned to town still with half an hour to spare. Another light meal took care of that, using the same cafeteria as before.

  “Coffee, black, Albert. And a ham sandwich.”

  The attendant brought them, unceremoniously dumped them in front of him. Then he leaned across the counter.

  “Sixty cents. And the name isn’t Albert.”

  “How right you are.” Bransome gave him the money, said, “And the name isn’t George.”

  “That’s your hard luck,” the attendant informed. He tossed the cash into the till and turned to rearranging the back shelves.

  At exactly eight o’clock Bransome rang the bell at the side door. Henderson answered promptly, showed him into a living room, and indicated an overstuffed chair. Blank-faced and wary, Henderson took a seat himself, lit a cigarette and spoke first

  “Let me tell you, Bransome, that I’ve heard the tune before. It’s been played over two or three times for my special benefit and I’m pretty damn sick of it.” He squirted a thin stream of smoke and watched it dissipate. “ ‘Your work at the defense plant brought you so much per annum, a nice, round, fat sum. Is this crummy store bringing you as much? What’s so fascinating about the hardware trade as compared with scientific research? What’s your real reason for swapping one for the other?’” He paused again, then said, “Right?”

  “Wrong,” said Bransome. “I don’t care a cuss if you see fit to run a chain of brothels.”

  “That’s a pleasant change,” commented Henderson, cynically. “So they’ve decided to try to get at me from a different angle, eh?”

  “I haven’t come here to get at you.” “Then what’s the idea?”

  “I’m in plenty of trouble myself. I believe that you can help me quite a lot.”

  “Any reason why I—”

  “And,” interrupted Bransome, “I suspect that I can help you equally as much.”

  “Don’t need help,” Henderson asserted. “All I want is peace and a quiet life.”

  “So do I—but I’m not getting it.” Bransome pointed a finger by way of emphasis. “Neither are you.”

  “That’s for me to decide.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of disputing your rights in that respect. What I’m trying to say is that I haven’t got the peace of mind I’d like to have and ought to have. I don’t believe you’ve got it either. We may be able to get it if we work together. Want to hear my story?”

  “You might as well tell it now you’re here. But don’t start subjecting me to this come-home-all-is-forgiven stuff. I’ve developed a strong resistance to arguments against doing as I darned well please.”

  “You’re still suspicious of me,” said Bransome, “and I can’t blame you for it. By the time I’ve finished you may have changed your outlook. Now listen to what I’ll tell you.”

  He began with, “Henny, we are both scientists, you of one kind and I of another. We both know that an essential attribute of a scientist, or of any technologically competent individual, is a good memory. Without it we could not have been adequately educated in the first place. Without it we could not draw data from knowledge and experience as an aid toward solving current problems. To us and those like us a good reliable memory is an absolute must. Do you agree?”

  “It’s too obvious to be worth mentioning,” remarked Henderson, unimpressed. “I hope you are leading up to something more weighty than a mere lecture.”

  “I certainly am. Be patient with me. To continue: my memory always has been excellent, as it had to be to enable me to become a specialist in my field. I’ve learned to make full use of it, to rely upon it at all times. No doubt the same applies to you.”

  “No doubt,” agreed Henderson, looking bored.

  “Now let me tell you something else. I’m a killer. About twenty years ago I murdered a girl in a moment of temper and callously dismissed the deed from my mind. I swept it under a mental carpet because I did not want to be chivvied by the recollection of it. Recently I heard that at long last the crime has been discovered. That means the police are looking into the matter. I’m two decades ahead of them, but crimes older than mine have been solved. If the cops don’t want me yet, they will before long. I’m on the nm, Henny, because I don’t want to be caught; I don’t want to face execution at worst or a life sentence at best.”

  Staring at him disbelievingly, Henderson said, “You mean to tell me you’re a real, genuine murderer?”

  “So my good, reliable memory insists.” Bransome waited to let those words sink in, then topped them devastatingly with, “My memory is a goddamned liar.”

  The half-smoked cigarette aropped from Henderson’s fingers. He leaned sideways to snatch it from the carpet, made a couple of grabs and got it. Then he was about to put its glowing tip between his lips when he noticed it, reversed it and sucked deeply. The smoke went down the wrong way, and he had a brief fit of coughing, then recovered his breath.

  “Let’s get this straight, Bransome. Are you or are you not guilty of murder?”

  “My memory says I am. It says so in clear details amounting to total recall. Even now I can see that girl’s angry face as we yelled at each other. I can see the shocked stupefaction when I bashed her on the skull. I can see the loss of color in her complexion when she was lying flat and going cold. I can see the dead disinterest in her face as I smothered it under a load of dirt. The whole scene is still with me. It is as fresh and photographic as if it happened only a week or two ago. Maybe it did happen a week or two ago.”

  “What the blazes are you getting at? You’ve just told me you did it twenty years back.”

  “So my memory says. I’m telling you again that my memory is a clever and persuasive liar.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The facts contradict it. The lack of facts likewise. Jointly they say I’ve never committed such a crime.”

  “What facts?” demanded Henderson, trying but failing to conceal his rising interest.

  “I got the willies and ran away. I was scared, really scared. I bolted—perhaps in the irrational belief that it’s harder to hit a moving target.” Bransome gave a rueful smile. “I could have run anywhere so long as it made me more difficult to find. For some reason I cannot explain, I did what criminals are reputed to do but probably don’t—I returned to the scene of the crime.”

  “Ah!” Henderson stubbed out his cigarette, leaned forward with his full attention on the other. “What then?”

  “I could find no evidence of it.”

  “None?”

  “None whatever. I killed that girl outside of a small country town called Buries ton. Do you know that place?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Bransome found this answer disappointing. He continued, “I went to Burleston and questioned residents who’d spent their lives in that area. They knew nothing about any recently discovered murder. I toured the countryside seeking the spot marked X and couldn’t find it or anything resembling it. I raked through past issues of the local newspaper, going back a full year, and could find no mention of an old killing coming to light.”

  “Perhaps you went to the wron
g Burleston,” Henderson suggested.

  “I thought of that myself and had a look through the almanac. There is one and only one Burleston.”

  “Well, maybe you got the name wrong. Maybe it’s some other place with a similar-sounding name.”

  “My memory says it’s Burleston and no other.”

  Henderson pondered a short while then offered, “By the looks of it your memory is shot to hell.”

  “Dead right!” said Bransome. “Is yours?”

  Coming swiftly to his feet, Henderson rasped, “What d’you mean, is mine?”

  “Don’t get agitated about it Tell me something. Do you remember a girl named Arline Lafarge?”

  “Never heard of her, and that’s the truth, Bransome.” Henderson started pacing to and fro across the room, his hands clasped behind his back, a look of concentration on his heavy features. He was visibly uneasy. “Is this the female you think you bumped off?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why should I know of her?”

  “I was hoping you’d admit to killing her, too,” said Bransome, evenly. “It would have been an eye-opener for both of us. We could have looked into the question of how we got that way and how best to share the grief.” He watched Henderson speculatively as that person continued to parade back and forth like a restless animal. There was momentary silence which Bransome broke with, “Who did you kill, Henny?”

  “Are you crazy?” asked Henderson, stopping in his tracks.

  “Quite possibly. If so, I’m far from being the only one. A number of fellows have left the plant in circumstances that are mysterious to say the least. I’ve had it on good authority that other plants have, lost personnel too. Nobody knows or can imagine the real reasons why they went. I couldn’t have made a useful guess myself. But today is different. I am one of the departees and I know why I’ve played the frightened rabbit. Each and every man knows his secret reasons for hiding away, and each is ignorant of the other fellows’ reasons. Some don’t even know that there are other fugitives.”

  “I do,” said Henderson, still punishing the carpet. “I was there when some of them left.”

  Bransome went on, “I checked back on myself, God alone knows why. Maybe I’m more suspicious than some. Or perhaps the delusion did not take as strong a hold on me. Besides, I’d no hole into which to crawl and couldn’t think of anything better to do. So, whatever the reason may be, I went to Burleston. The result is that I’m stuck with a murder that appears never to have been committed.” “What’s all this to me?”

  “If all the absentees have been got on the run in the same way as I’ve been persuaded to bolt,” Bransome explained, “I think it would be a good thing if they took time off to return to the scenes of their crimes and try to prove their own guilt. What they find—or don’t find—may make their hair stand on end. And it would be a big help in getting to the bottom of this matter if they could make contact with each other and compare notes.”

  “That’s why you’ve come to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you traced any of the others?”

  “No, I have not. They’ve vanished into the never-never. I got a lead to your lurking-place only by sheer luck. I figured it provided an opportunity too good to miss—but it won’t do me anything worthwhile unless there’s complete frankness on both sides.”

  “The approach was yours, not mine.”

  “I know. I’ve given you my reasons. I’m also giving you some excellent advice and that’s this: if you have anything on your conscience, you’d do well to check on whether it really exists. I’ll bet ten to one that it doesn’t exist no matter how insistently your brain argues to the contrary.”

  “I don’t regard your own checking as sufficient,” Henderson opined. “On your own account it’s been perfunctory. If I were in your shoes I’d want something more conclusive. After all, you’ve been looking for proof that you’re nuts—on the principle that it’s better to be insane than guilty. For myself, I’d want solid evidence to satisfy me that I’m off my head.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Bransome told him. “Tomorrow I intend to clinch the matter one way or the other.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to put it to the police.”

  “You mean give yourself up?”

  “Not on your life! I’ll admit defeat when I have to and not before. I intend to call the cops long distance and sound them out. If they show no interest and prove to be as ignorant as everyone else, that’ll settle it. I shall then be satisfied that, as you’ve suggested, I’m crazy.”

  “And then?”

  “I can’t let it rest at that. A man would be a fool to resign himself to that state of affairs. I shall have to look into the question of what has addled my brains and, if possible, do something about it. I don’t want to acquire yet another nightmare at some time in the future.”

  “That’s logical enough.” Henderson gave up his restless trudging, sat down, helped himself to another cigarette. His smoking was a nervous mannerism rather than a pleasure. He eyed his visitor doubtfully. “Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you’re as innocent as the babe unborn. You want to find out how you became burdened with a delusion. How will you go about it? Do you know where to start looking?”

  “Yes—back home. It was there I first got the jitters.”

  “Right in your own house?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. In my house or in the plant or somewhere between the two. Somewhere in that area. The only alternative source of information is Burleston, and if the police there know nothing about it—”

  “All right. So you’ve an approximate idea of where to look—but what are you going to look for?”

  “At the moment I haven’t the remotest notion,” Bransome confessed. “If the Burleston police clear me I shall go back convinced that in the home area there’s something to be found if only I can find it. I’m not a professional investigator nor an Indian tracker nor a smeller-out of witches. I’ll have no choice but to work by guess or by God.”

  Henderson digested this and said after a time, “I wish Myerscough were here.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Fellow I know. Works for the Department of Bacteriological Warfare. I’ve heard some strange rumors about what goes on there. It’s said they’ve developed some kind of hell-brew that can drive people up the wall. Maybe a virus has broken loose. Maybe something’s floating around that he’d recognize. If so, he could tell us.”

  “Us?” echoed Bransome, pouncing on it.

  “It’s your problem, but we’re both discussing it, aren’t we?” Henderson evaded.

  “Yes, we are. And it’s getting us nowhere. And I know why.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “You’ve been picked on already and you don’t like it one little bit. So you’re cagy. You don’t want to trust your own shadow any farther than you can throw it. Right at the beginning you practically accused me of letting myself be used to get at you from some other and more persuasive angle.”

  “Well, Bransome, I’m entitled to keep—”

  “You’ve something to hide and you’re determined to play safe as long as possible by continuing to hide it. No doubt you are genuinely interested in my story. No doubt you are willing to sympathize with me on the assumption that the story may be true. But that’s as far as you’ll go because you can’t be certain that the story is true. It could be a cunning piece of bait designed to make you blab. You’re not going to allow interest or sympathy to make you blab.”

  “Now look here—”

  “Listen to me,” ordered Bransome, firmly. “Let us suppose that you’re in the same fix as I am but the hallucination embedded itself more deeply in your case and you haven’t undermined it by back-checking. Obviously you aren’t going to ask for trouble by confessing the crime and naming the victim. Your every inclination will be against it. From your point of view such stupidity would enable the powers-that-be to dig up the evidence
with which to convict you.”

  “But—”

  “However, suppose you were to tell me in confidence that at some unspecified time in the past, somewhere or other, you murdered somebody or other—or believe that you did. And suppose I promptly take this information to the police. Know what they’ll do? They’ll welcome me with broad, anticipatory smiles. They’ll find me a comfortable chair and give me coffee. They’ll get all set for the coming revelation. Then they’ll want to know when, where, how and who. I’ll admit I can’t tell them. They’ll snatch away the chair and the coffee and heave me through the front door. If in a mad moment of zeal they come along to question you, what will you say? You’ll deny everything and tell them I’m a nut-case. The police won’t be able to take it any further and won’t want to. They’ve more than enough to do without wasting time on useless gab.”

  Henderson rubbed his chin, scratched his head, fidgeted about and looked troubled. “What d’you expect me to say in reply to that homily?”

  “I don’t want names, dates or any other damning details. You can keep those to yourself. I want blunt and truthful replies to two blunt questions. First, do you honestly believe that you have murdered someone? Second, have you found or attempted to find any evidence in support of that belief?”

  After a long pause the other said, “Yes and no.”

  EIGHT:

  BRANSOME STOOD up and commented, “That’s all I wanted to hear. It’s hell to be in a boat floating on a sea of illusion. It’s some comfort to know that somebody else is in the same boat. How do you feel about it?”

  “Much as you do.”

  “Pity we can’t get hold of the others. Between the two of us we might persuade them to talk. Then the whole bunch of us could make a joint effort to discover what has afflicted our skulls.” He looked around the room. “I want my hat and coat.”

  “Are you going?”

  “Yes. The party’s over. Must go sometime.”

  “Where to at this ungodly hour?”