“Do come in, Miz Ashley,” Droney said. “And be welcome. I didn’t know you were acquainted with Dr. Shima, but then I know very little about either of you.”
“But he says his name is Wish.” Regina was bewildered. “A poet named Wish.”
“Yes, I’ve experienced Dr. Shima’s fantasies before. It’s not one of his more attractive attributes. Now let me parade my collections before I give you your pianola roll.”
Mr. Wish unobtrusively removed a hangman’s noose from his pocket and set it on the floor alongside his chair.
“I adore my death masks of these divine ladies of Easy Virtue. Now you may object that a mask was never taken from Eleanor Gwyn, say, or Pauline Borghese, or Catherine the Great, and you would be quite right. But the ingenuity of the collector can always triumph over mere reality. I assembled all existing portraits of these lascivious ladies and then commissioned a plastic surgeon to mold duplications onto the faces of bodies in the morgue. The masks were taken from them. I may add that there would have been no need to re-create Emma Hamilton if only I had known you then. You are a reincarnation of that magnificent demirep.”
A laser burner and 8-mm. palm-pistol joined the noose.
“I’m extremely proud of these erotic matchbooks which took years to assemble. The constraint of the collector’s matchbook is that it must be virgin; the matches unused, the striking surface unscratched. These are from India and each displays one of the mystic love-positions from the Kama Sutra. Inspiring, don’t you think, Miz Ashley?”
A pressure bulb labeled (CN)2 was placed on the floor.
“I was showing this collection to a guest once and before I could stop him he pulled a match out of a book and struck it. When he saw the horror on my face he asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’ and I said, ‘Oh no, nothing at all,’ and then I fainted. Fortunately I was able to replace the matchbook with another virgin. Are you a virgin, Miz Ashley? I think so. They have a magnetic attraction, as do you.”
A scalpel glittered down to the floor.
“Now this is my collection of dog collars. Some are fascinating reflections of their times. The spiked German for giant Great Danes, reminiscent of the spiked steel ball-on-chain, der Morgenstern, used by mounted knights to smash the heads of foot soldiers. Here is an original Saint Bernard collar with miniature cask of brandy attached. I’ve never dared sample the brandy. A harness for a twentieth-century ‘Seeing Eye’ dog. French jeweled collars for toy terriers. That strange thing is an Eskimo husky sled harness. And this beauty is a silver curb-link choke collar.
“Choke collar?” Regina asked.
“Why yes. It was used in the days before vets devised implanted radio controls. It restrained the animal when it was on the leash. Let me show you. Here, put it around your neck—You know, it would make a fabulous necklace, and I’m almost tempted to give it to you—That’s it. Now, the leash was attached, and the collar was loose and comfortable so long as the dog accompanied its master dutifully; but if it tried to explore or wander or run away? One pull on the leash would strangle it into submission—Like this!”
Lafferty’s huge fist twisted the chain until it disappeared into the skin of her neck. Regina’s eyes started and she flailed as Droney maintained his grip on the silver garrote and thrust her supine on a couch with his body on top of hers. “Kommt Hure! Herunter! Sitz! Liege! Bleib!” His lips were on her distorted mouth. “Yes. Speak French to your mistress, Italian to your wife, English to your horse, German to your dog. Sterb Hund! Yes. Sterb Hure! The moment I met you I knew you would die passionately and give passion to me. Yes. I knew—Ah!”
As Regina shuddered into death spasms, he penetrated her while gazing expectantly at Mr. Wish. Then he screamed into the orgasm which her last contractions produced, and slowly collapsed.
At length he arose from the dead body and disentangled the buried chain, meanwhile regarding his audience wistfully.
“No response, Mr. Wish? No reaction? Shock? Horror? Disgust? Fear? Nothing? No, nothing. Too bad. I’d hoped for your extra added fillip, Mr. Wish. This was no better than the necrolovelies in the morgue.”
“The name is Shima,” Mr. Wish said. “Blaise Shima.”
He reached down, picked up the laser, and burned Droney Lafferty through the head.
19
Subadar Ind’dni appeared absorbed in Droney Lafferty’s bizarre collections while the Ghoul Squad hauled out the wrapped bodies, the Molecular Squad hypo’d their print readouts and left, the Telly Squad left, the Media Team left, and the Polizei and Hommie Squad left, carrying with them the noose, laser, pistol, scalpel and (CN)2 bulb, all eternalized in plastic. When they were at last alone, Ind’dni turned from the vitrines and spoke to the stunned Wish-Shima.
“Merely going through motions for Legal,” Ind’dni said. “Legal is obsessed with evidence factual which they add and subtract and compute. They are accountants at heart. It is my belief they are all failed IRS candidates.”
“I killed him,” Shima-Wish muttered.
“It will never come to trial,” the Subadar continued casually, “unless I press for speedy action. Calendar at present is back-logged seventy-nine years. Judges are appointed, serve, retire, die, and never have tried a case that initiated during their term on the bench. I myself have seen in court grandchildren of accusers and accused, perpetrators and victims, standing before grandchildren of judges. You must now regain control, Dr. Shima. Strength is required. You must strive for the beckoning primal pinnacle, and I’m sure you will achieve it along with Miz Nunn. I envy you.”
“I killed him.”
“So you did. It is permitted to ask: as Dr. Blaise Shima or as Mr. Wish?”
“I won’t plead insanity.”
“Most honorable but please to answer question. Did you burn the brain of our celebrated necrophiliac as Dr. Shima or as Mr. Wish? Can you remember?”
“As both.”
“Bravo! Good news indeed. Then your moieties are on speaking terms at last. They are aware of each other and reconciled to each other. Result of witnessing shocking outrage perpetrated against Winifred Ashley, no doubt. Most fortunate disaster for you, doctor; it has welded you together. I doubt very much whether your fugues will ever again occur.”
“I burned him in cold blood,” Shima persisted.
“And now you want luxury of repentance? You were raised French Catholic in a place called Johnstown, yes? Tsk! Their floods have washed them back into the Medieval. This is the enlightened twenty-second century after Christ, doctor. If Johnstown cannot think in modern terms, Jesus surely would if He returned to the Guff. The spirit of that sage is always in touch with the times.”
“I killed him in cold blood.”
“And you need no longer feel guilty about Mr. Wish. He was instrumental in destroying the Queen Bee and the hive-home of the Golem. Discontinue your pauvre petit obsession, I beg.”
Shima croaked.
Ind’dni spoke slowly and distinctly. “Doctor, you killed Lafferty in self-defense.”
Shima stared. Ind’dni nodded. “That is my version for Legal. You saw him strangle Winifred Ashley with the choke collar. He arose from her body with chain in hand. You feared you would be next to be murdered by this insane creature, and rightly so, for you were sole witness. So you killed him in self-defense. Homicide found corpse with chain in hand. Quod erat demonstrandum.”
Shima’s head wobbled dazedly. “But—But you’re always so—so—such pure, unadulterated cop.”
Ind’dni sighed. “Alas, the Western world can never fathom our values, which is why you have always failed in India.” His tone turned brisk. “Now come, doctor. There is Miz Nunn to consider. Last bulletin informs that she is enroute to P.L.O. pyramid to negotiate a contract on Miz Ashley. I have had death of latter much publicized through Media to forestall madame’s involvement with the PloFather, but am informed that the pyramid admits no current news. We must go in person.”