"Now, the type of crime we're working with--the kind we expect future laws to apply to--is strictly limited. It must be a crime of violence against a human being, or a crime of destruction in which there is a grave danger that human lives may be lost. The sex maniac, the firebug, or the goon who gets a thrill out of beating people. Or the reckless driver who has proven that he can't be trusted behind the wheel of a car. "We can't touch the kleptomaniac or the common drunk or the drug addict. They're already provided for under other laws. And those habits are not, _by themselves_, dangerous to the lives of others. A good many of our kind of zany _do_ drink or take drugs--about fifty per cent of them. But what they're sentenced for is crimes of violence, not for guzzling hooch or mainlining heroin." * * * * * My phone chimed. It was Lieutenant Shultz, of Homicide. His square, blocky face held a trace of excitement. "Inspector Royall, Inspector Kleek told me to report to you if there was any news in the Donahue case." "What is it, Lieutenant?" "We're pretty sure of our man. Scrapings from the kid's fingernails gave us his blood type. The computer narrowed the list down quite a bit with that data. Then, a few minutes ago, one of the boys found the kid's clothes stuffed in with some trash paper in the back stairwell of a condemned building just a couple of blocks from where we found her last night. "And--get this, Inspector!--she was wearing a pair of those shiny patent-leather shoes, practically brand-new, and they have prints all over them! His are over hers, since he was the last one to handle them, and there's only the two sets of prints! We just now got positive identification." "Grab him and bring him in," I said. "I'll be right down. I want to talk to him." His face fell a little. "Well, it isn't going to be as easy as all that, sir. You see, we'd already checked at his last known address, earlier this morning, before we got the final check on the blood type. This guy left the rooming house he was staying in--checked out two days ago, just a short time after the girl was killed. I figured that looked queer at the time, so I had two of my men start tracing him in particular. But there's not a sign of him so far." I untensed myself. "O.K. What's his record?" "Periodic drunk. Goes for weeks without touching the stuff, then he goes out on a binge that lasts for a week sometimes.