Page 185 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective
P. 185

Slow Burn

            Suddenly I became aware of an insistent pressure on a nerve in my
        right shoulder. Labelle had unerringly poked me in a very sensitive
        location. My hand jerked involuntarily off the mouse.
            “Had  enough,  Sergeant  Donat?  Then  we  can  continue  with  Mr.
        Carbone. Where were you yesterday between 4:30 and 5:30?”
            “Right here, working. I keep no regular hours.”
            “Can you prove that? Did you have any visitors?”
            “No. At least, not in the physical sense. But I was in touch with
        lots  of  people  out  in  cyberspace.  One  of  them  is  a  professor  of
        psychology  at  the  university.  I’m  pretty  sure  he  will  remember
        exchanging E-mail with me around five o’clock. Our computers date-
        and  time-stamp  all  messages.  Of  course,  we  can  set  the  internal
        clocks  on  our  PC’s  to  any  time  we  want,  but  I  doubt  if  Dr.
        Homunculus  does  any  fooling  around  with  his  machine.  Let  me
        check my message log.”
            Quentin  rolled  his  mouse  around  like  a  planchette  on  a  ouija
        board, laying menu upon menu at a dizzying pace. No doubt Labelle
        was memorizing his every move.
            “Yep. Here it is. I sent him a message at 4:51. He responded at
        5:03, and I acknowledged it at 5:14.”
            “Please  print  that  out for  me,”  said  Labelle.  “And  a copy  of all
        three  messages.  If  your  story  checks  out,  we  will  not  have  to
        impound your hardware.”
            That got him hopping. We had the printout five minutes later and
        were ready to leave. Then I noticed a framed photograph on the wall.
        It  showed  two  major  league  baseball  players  shaking  hands;  both
        were  in Kansas City  Royals uniforms,  one  also wearing a catcher’s
        chest protector.
            “Who are those guys?” I fancied myself knowledgeable in sports
        history and its spinoffs, statistics and trivia, but I couldn’t identify the
        significance of the occasion.
            “Oh, that is baseball’s only Q-to-Q battery: Dan Quisenberry and
        Jamie Quirk, on April 13, 1980.”
            We departed, descending the five flights of stairs slowly.
            “My  faith  in  human  nature  is  restored,”  I  said,  as  we  removed
        flyers for student activities from our windshield. “He intends to go
        through the proper channels with his computer games this time.”
            “The channels he is employing are not exactly ethical.”

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