Future Crimes Part 58

"Nope, only for an hour." Keeping his stun gun in the open, the detective moved along.

TeaHouse 23 was in middle of the next block, scrunched between a defunct ponic farmers market and a MedCal Free Crematorium.

"Out of the way." A battered land hea.r.s.e was pulled up to the curb and two black-enameled robots were worrying a body out of the rear of the vehicle.

Jack stepped aside, waiting until they'd carried the gaunt dead woman inside the cremation facility.

One of her shoes fell off as they were hauling her.

A neo leather pump, it bounced on the paving.

After it fell into the gutter. Jack approached the door of TeaHouse

The metallic door inquired, "Yeah?"

"I have an appointment with Willis."

"You're alluding to Mr. Marryat?"

"That Willis, yeah."

"Hold it, while we confirm."

Roughly a minute later the door jerked open inward.

There were ten small square tables in the little tearoom.

All were occupied, and at six of those customers were having their fortunes told by a variety of mystics and seers.

Walking through the room, Jack pushed through a curtained doorway.

"You must really be up the creek, Jack." A lean, bearded man was sitting in a plaz armchair near the far wall.

"I need some psi help on a case, Willis," he admitted, sitting in a rubberoid rocker.

On the wall behind the bearded man were mounted six small monitor screens. Without looking back at them, Marryat said, "Screen five."

A very fuzzy image formed on that screen.

"What is it, Willis?"

"What the h.e.l.l does it look like?"

Narrowing his eyes. Jack leaned forward.

"Give me a hint."

"Sweet Christ, it's a projection from my brain."

"I know that, what I'm trying to convey is that it's too blurry for me to--" Marryat frowned, turning to get a look at the screen.

"That is a lousy picture, isn't it? Must be the spell of sinusitis I've been suffering through is futzing up my--" "You could simply tell me what it was supposed to be."

"That's never as impressive, though."

"Even so."

Marryat sighed, facing Jack again.

"A corpse sliced in three."

Jack studied the image.

"Now that you tell me, yeah, I can sort of make that out."

The screen went blank.

"The picture was to point out that I've already sensed what case you're worried about."

"It's been on all the Newz vidwall broadcasts today.

You don't have to be psychic to--" "You're on to something," cut in Marryat.

"You want to see if I can confirm your suspicions by extrasensory means."

Jack nodded.

"I've got Tinker working on this with me, handling the tech stuff," be told the psychic.

"What I'm starting to suspect is ... what's the matter?"

Marryat was pressing his hands to his stomach, bent far forward.

"Something," he murmured.

"What?"

The bearded man shook his head.

"Lost it."

After a moment Jack said, "The cops seem to think that the Malibu Slicer is just one more goofy pattern killer. I've got a hunch, based on what's coming in from various informants, that this whole chain of killings has a definite rational purpose."

Marryat leaned back, closed his eyes.

"What I believe," continued Jack, "is that somebody wants to kill one or maybe two people and that they invented a serial murderer to cover the--" "Back off." The psychic sat up straight, eyes opening.

"That's a warning?"

Marryat said, "I'm not getting anything clear. Jack.

But I keep seeing the door of your office."

"And?"

"There's a funeral wreath hanging on it."

"C'mon, n.o.body uses funeral wreaths anymore.