We're Friends, Now Part 8

"Please understand, this is a necessary adjunct to the true development of ECAIAC. We shall have here two divergent lines of approach within parallel fields. Actually, each of you will be an important co-aide in this experiment! I would like you to cooperate fully with Mr.

Beardsley's line of approach. Uh--vintage '60," he added for their amus.e.m.e.nt.

The reaction was immediate and varied. Victor d'Arlan examined his fingernails and registered aristocratic boredom. Pederson slouched up against the desk, seeming amused at Mandleco's pitch ... but he wasn't watching Mandleco. The gaze he fastened on Beardsley said plainer than words that he was quite aware of the situation.

Only Sheila Carmack seemed fascinated, as she sat a bit straighter in her chair and peered brightly across her drink. It was obvious that she, for one, was taken in.

"Why, I wouldn't have missed it for the world!" she sparkled. "Just like, you know, in those--what did they call them--_whodunits_? It's actually thrilling!"

"It's archaic!" d'Arlan sneered.

"It's heroic," said Pederson, his gaze still on the little Coordinator.

"Beardsley, I hope you pull it off. I actually do. Always did think you were twice the man ECAIAC is!"

Beardsley moved forward, not smiling. "Thanks," he said. "In that case you won't mind if I begin with you."

"With _me_?" Pederson stared, then laughed suddenly and without mirth.

"Skip it, Beardsley! I know your methods, and I can tell you right now it won't get you any--"

Beardsley stopped him. "Pederson," he said, "as of now we agree on just one thing. I also think I'm twice the man. The only difference is that I'm man enough to _really_ believe it." He paused and watched him absorb that. "It's going to be ECAIAC or vintage '60, Pederson. Your choice!"

It was at once a rebuff and a challenge. Pederson then straightened up slowly, a muscle in his face flinched and then he smiled--with all but his eyes. "All right," he snapped, "we'll begin with me. I'll fill you in plenty! You want to know if I saw Carmack the day of the murder? I did! The louse put through a vis call to me. _Insisted_ I come out and see him--"

"Whoa, now just a minute! You wouldn't say this was a friendly visit?"

"I'll get to that!" Pederson's words came fast and clipped. "You know how I fought the ECAIAC lobby. I fought it long and hard, and when I lost it finished me with the public. But I wasn't through! I began digging up every fact I could about Carmack. Took me a few years, but worth it. Most of it smelled! Ask Professor Losch, he'll tell you--"

"I've already spoken with Losch," Beardsley said quietly. "He managed to convey his sentiments pretty thoroughly."

"Good. Then try talking to _him_," Pederson nodded venomously at _Mandleco_. "Ask Mandleco how the great Carmack managed to get those patents through.... I can tell you he didn't do it alone! Oh, I've dug plenty!"

"Why, you--" Mandleco gave a snort of anger and started forward, but Beardsley managed to forestall him. He gazed sternly at the tele-columnist.

"I think we're all aware of your considerable talent for digging, Pederson. ECAIAC, too," he added pointedly, "for we already have it on the tapes."

Pederson bristled. "Sure. Sure, you have it! My past connection, my opposition to the lobby, even my digging maybe. But you don't have it all! How do you equate _hate_, Beardsley? Is _that_ on your tapes?"

Beardsley could have told him that it was, indeed, on the tapes. But he only shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "we don't have it all. Not ECAIAC nor I nor any of us, and that's the eternal pity of it. But I'd like to try! The sum and the substance, Pederson ... don't you understand me? Just once before I'm through--"

It was the voice, some secret and subtle thing in the voice that reached out and gripped Pederson and bore meaning with it. He stood quite motionless, staring at Beardsley; for a split second his eyes widened, then disbelief gave way to something of comprehension, admiration.

"Beardsley," he said softly. "You fool. You utter d.a.m.ned fool!"

Oblivious of the others, then, he turned and began to pace. "All right.

Here it is. Carmack called me out to see him. He had gotten wind of what I was up to, and offered to buy me off." Pederson laughed bitterly.

"Wasn't even subtle about it! Said he liked my stuff, and would like to see me at the top again where I belonged. Said he could arrange for me to step into a top job at Central Telecast. Providing, of course, I could manage to--ah--'forget' certain little items I'd uncovered."

Pederson was doing all right. Beardsley gave him his lead.

"He actually thought it would be that simple! I refused him outright, and of course, he couldn't believe it. A man like that--We dropped all pretense, there were some bitter words--"

Beardsley said quickly, "Could you elaborate?"

"Oh, I don't remember exactly. He went venomous! I suppose there were threats. I told him he hadn't enough money _or_ influence to buy what I knew, and that when I had it properly doc.u.mented I intended to make a national scandal of it." Pederson halted abruptly. "You know, it occurred to me later that was a foolhardy thing to say!"

"Ah? Why is that?"

"Well, I had heard of that safeguard of his--the 'neuro-vibe'--and I suppose there were other things, too. He was a cautious man, a dangerous man. But," Pederson shrugged, "he let me into his home readily enough."

Beardsley lifted a finger. "Because he was confident he was going to buy you--wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose that's it. Maybe I was lucky to get out of there so easily!

Anyway I did." Pederson stopped pacing, and his gaze bored into Beardsley's. "So now to the big question. Yes, he was alive when I left him. No, I never saw Carmack again. I went straight to my office and worked until well past midnight; by the way, I have ample proof of that--"

"Yes, I'm sure you do! What were your feelings at this point?"

"My feelings? I knew my life was in danger now! Carmack would be out to stop me. I don't mind admitting I was ... well, rather relieved, when I heard the news."

"Ah-h! And when did you hear it?"

Pederson glared, but his answer was quick. "Late the next afternoon, of course! By habit I work late hours and I sleep long." With an air of finality he threw a challenging look around. "I want to congratulate whoever did it, and I don't much care whether the answer comes from you or ECAIAC!"

Beardsley surveyed him solemnly. Pederson had little more than brushed the surface, but it was enough, it served to set the pattern; he could have sworn Pederson was aware of that. He said drily, "Thanks, Pederson.

Your story is--very pat."

He turned to the others. Mandleco rather surprised him, seeming not so much disturbed as he was engrossed deep in thought; as for Mrs. Carmack, Beardsley saw that the comedy had gone out of it for her, but she tried to keep up the veneer.

"This is all most interesting!" she sparkled, placing her gla.s.s down carefully and turning to face him. "Am I to be next, Mr. Beardsley?

Shall I give both the questions and the answers as Mr. Pederson did?"

"No, Mrs. Carmack. I'll do that! I took note a moment ago that you mentioned the _whodunits_. You must be familiar with them? Say as a hobby?"

It wasn't at all what she expected. She stood wide-eyed and startled.

"This is so thrilling, remember. Vintage '60! As the _whodunits_ will tell you, one of the prime requisites is an accounting and proof of your whereabouts at the time of the deed! Well?"

Beardsley's voice was just edged enough to throw her into confusion.

"Why, I--" she faltered. "You mean that night? I--I--"

"What, no alibi? You don't even remember? According to vintage '60 that could mean either complete innocence or extreme cunning; beware the suspect who is clever enough to be ready with no alibi!"

Beardsley saw her stiffen; there was a change across her face, a struggle beneath the eyes. "But then," he shrugged, "it has always been my conviction that _motive_ rather than opportunity is the real requisite. On that basis it's plain you couldn't have killed your husband. You loved him! He was only fifty-eight, he only left you a dozen million dollars, but you loved him and you were faithful! Anyone can see that after seven weeks you're still all broken up over it!"