Part 52 (1/2)

”Sure.” Helen got her jacket from the closet. ”I should be on my way anyhow.” She patted Dave's shoulder in a comradely way and let herself out.

”Doctor,” said Lake, ”you've said you were home in bed at the time Dr. Shelborne's home burned. Is that correct?”

”Yes. That's right.” When she'd asked her questions before, Dave had been annoyed. Now he felt queasy. Now he was, in a sense, the perp.

”Are you sure?”

The question hung in the sunlit air. ”Of course. Why do you ask?” He could read nothing in her expression.

”Someone answering your description was seen near the town house at the time of the fire.”

”It wasn't me me.” Dave immediately thought of the man at the gas station. And he'd been driving Shel's car. With his vanity plate in front just in case anybody wasn't paying attention.

”Okay. I wonder if you'd mind coming down to the station with me, so we can clear the matter up? Get it settled?”

”Sure. Be glad to.” They stood. ”Give me a minute, okay? I need to use the washroom.”

”Certainly,” she said. There was one on the first floor, and she waited while he went into it.

He called Helen. ”Don't panic,” ”Don't panic,” she said. she said. ”All you need is a good alibi.” ”All you need is a good alibi.”

”I don't have have an alibi.” an alibi.”

”For G.o.d's sake, Dave. You've got something better. You have a time machine.” time machine.”

”Okay. Sure. But if I go back and set up an alibi, why didn't I tell them the truth in the beginning?”

”Because you were protecting a woman's reputation,” she said. she said. ”What else would you be doing at four o'clock in the morning? Get out your little black book.” ”What else would you be doing at four o'clock in the morning? Get out your little black book.” The problem was that Dave didn't The problem was that Dave didn't have have a little black book. a little black book.

CHAPTER 42.

That old bald cheater, Time.

-BEN JONSON, THE POETASTER THE POETASTER

DAVE had been reasonably successful with women, but not so much that he needed to organize a data center. Not to the extent, certainly, that he could call one with a reasonable hope of finis.h.i.+ng the night in her bed. Except maybe Katie, who would do it as a favor, but he didn't want to involve her in this. What other option was there? He could try to pick somebody up in a bar, but you didn't really lie to the police in a murder case over a pickup. had been reasonably successful with women, but not so much that he needed to organize a data center. Not to the extent, certainly, that he could call one with a reasonable hope of finis.h.i.+ng the night in her bed. Except maybe Katie, who would do it as a favor, but he didn't want to involve her in this. What other option was there? He could try to pick somebody up in a bar, but you didn't really lie to the police in a murder case over a pickup.

Well, he'd have to come up with something. Meantime, he would need his car keys. He came out of the washroom, apologized to Lieutenant Lake for the delay, got his keys, and started out with her. ”Oops,” he said. And stopped, patting his rear pocket.

”What's wrong?”

”Let me get my wallet.”

He went upstairs, into his bedroom, and used the converter to return to the night of the fire, to Thursday evening, when he'd been out with Katie. It was about seven hours before the town house burned.

He came back down into the den and let himself out. The garage, of course, was empty. He used the converter again to move forward to 12:30. He was home by then, and the lights were out in his bedroom.

He held his breath while the garage door rolled up. But everything stayed quiet. He opened the car door as quietly as he could, slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and backed out into the street.

HE wasn't going to find a credible woman wandering the streets, so he pulled over to the curb beside an all-night restaurant to think about it. He was in a run-down area lined with crumbling warehouses. A police cruiser slowed and eased in behind him. The cop got out, and David lowered the window. ”Anything wrong, Officer?” he asked. The cop was small, black, well pressed. wasn't going to find a credible woman wandering the streets, so he pulled over to the curb beside an all-night restaurant to think about it. He was in a run-down area lined with crumbling warehouses. A police cruiser slowed and eased in behind him. The cop got out, and David lowered the window. ”Anything wrong, Officer?” he asked. The cop was small, black, well pressed.

”I was going to ask you the same thing, sir. This is not a safe area.”

”I was just trying to decide whether I wanted a hamburger.”

”Yes, sir,” he said. Dave could hear the murmur of the police radio. ”Listen, I'd make up my mind, one way or the other. I wouldn't hang around out here if I were you.”

Dave smiled, and gave him a thumbs-up. ”Thanks,” he said.

The policeman got back into his cruiser and pulled out. David watched his lights turn left at the next intersection. And he knew what he was going to do.

HE crossed over into New Jersey and drove south on Route 130 for about a half hour. Then he turned east on a two-lane. Somewhere around two thirty, he entered a small town and decided it was just what he was looking for. Its police station occupied a drab two-story building beside the post office. The Red Lantern Bar was located about two blocks away, on the other side of the street. crossed over into New Jersey and drove south on Route 130 for about a half hour. Then he turned east on a two-lane. Somewhere around two thirty, he entered a small town and decided it was just what he was looking for. Its police station occupied a drab two-story building beside the post office. The Red Lantern Bar was located about two blocks away, on the other side of the street.

He parked in a lighted spot close to the police station, walked to the bar, and went inside. It was smoky and subdued, reeking with dead cigarettes and stale beer. Most of the action was near the dartboard.

He settled in at the bar and commenced drinking scotch. He stayed with it until the bartender suggested he'd had enough, which usually wouldn't have taken long. But that night his mind stayed clear. Not his motor coordination, though. He paid up, eased off the stool, and negotiated his way back onto the street.

He turned right and walked methodically toward the police station, putting one foot in front of the other. When he got close, he added a little panache to his stagger, tried a couple of practice giggles, and lurched in through the front door.

A man with corporal's stripes came out of a back room.

”Good evening, Officer,” he said, with exaggerated formality and the widest grin he could manage, which was then pretty wide. ”Can you give me directions to Atlantic City?”

The corporal shook his head. ”Do you have some identification, sir?” ”Yes, I do,” Dave said. ”But I don't see why my name is any business of yours. I'm in a hurry.”

”Where are you from?” His eyes narrowed.

”Two weeks from Sunday.” David looked at his watch. ”I'm a time traveler.”

LIEUTENANT Lake was surprised and, Dave thought, disappointed to learn that he had been in jail on the night of the fire. She said that she understood why he'd been reluctant to explain, but admonished him on the virtues of being honest with law-enforcement personnel. Lake was surprised and, Dave thought, disappointed to learn that he had been in jail on the night of the fire. She said that she understood why he'd been reluctant to explain, but admonished him on the virtues of being honest with law-enforcement personnel.

When she'd left, he called Helen. ”Let's go rescue your boyfriend.”

CHAPTER 43.

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang- -WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, SONNET 73

”THE question you are really asking, Simmias, is whether death annihilates the soul.” Socrates looked from one to another of his friends. question you are really asking, Simmias, is whether death annihilates the soul.” Socrates looked from one to another of his friends.