THE DECEIVERS by Alfred Bester

Author:Alfred Bester [Bester, Alfred]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Lammister

lam (lam) v. lammed, lamming, n. Slang.—v.t. 1. to run away quickly.—n. 2. on the lam, fleeing or hiding, esp. from the police.

—The Random House Dictionary

Winter bounced up the stairs and rang Demi’s doorbell. After a moment the door was opened by what appeared to be a good-looking street stud.

“Can I help you?” the man asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Winter said. “I must have stopped at the wrong floor. I—” Then he glanced past the man. It was Demi’s apartment. There were two more men and two uniformed cops inside.

“What’s all this?” Winter asked. “Where’s Ms. Jeroux?”

The man closed the door behind him and confronted Winter in the corridor. “You know her?”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“There’s been an incident.”

“Incident!”

“Your name, please.”

“Winter. Rogue Winter. R-O-G-U-E. Who the hell are you? What incident?”

“Do you have any I.D. on you, Mr. Winter?”

Winter whipped out his wallet and shoved it at the man who opened and inspected it. “I’m asking you,” Winter growled. “Who are you? What twigs? Where’s Ms. Jeroux?”

The man returned the wallet. “She’ll have to wait. Friend of hers, Mr. Winter?”

“Yes, and I—”

“Know her well?”

“What the hell business is it of yours? Who are you?”

“Dampier. Sergeant Dampier.” He flashed a gold badge long enough to be read in nanoseconds.

“You’re police?”

“That’s right, Mr. Winter. Are you a relative of Ms. Jeroux?”

“No, and I—”

“But a close friend?”

“God damn your eyes! Where’s Demi? What’s happened?”

“How did you happen by this morning?”

“We had a date. We—Look, I’m not going to stand for this much longer. D’you think I’m the type that runs screaming at the sight of a cop? I want to know where Ms. Jeroux is and what’s happened to her.”

“You think something’s happened?”

“That has to be obvious. Is she all right?”

Dampier nodded coolly, as if making up his mind. “I’m from Third District Homicide.”

“Homicide!” Winter shouldered past him and shoved the apartment door open. Dampier put a restraining grip on his arm. The apartment was a shambles. Winter looked around wildly, all his famous poise gone. “What? Who? How? Where’s Demi?”

“We don’t know.”

“You said homicide.”

“That’s right.”

“But no body?”

“No body.”

“Then why? How? What makes you think…” He tried to control himself. “What happened? Exactly.”

“The neighbors heard screaming and crashing,” Dampier said. “Violent struggle. They called us at nine-forty.”

“I left here at nine,” Winter muttered. “I was with Young, talking about her, and we never knew…”

“So it’s presumed homicide, with the body removed,” Dampier continued calmly. “Possibly by you, since you were intimate with her.”

“Goddam you!”

“Come on, Mr. Winter. You spent the night here. Some of your gear is in the mess. Just back from Ganymede, huh? That’s what the tags on your tote say. Lovers’ greeting or lovers’ quarrel?”

“We were planning on getting married.”

“Changed your mind?”

“No, damn you.”

“Did she?”

“No.”

“Find her with another man?”

“What’s your name? Dampier? I swear I’ll—”

“Easy. Easy. You wouldn’t believe how many homicides are committed by people who’ve been intimate. I have to know all this. It’s better answering questions here than at the station.”

“Gig,” Winter breathed hard.

“You know this apartment well?”

“Well enough.

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