Radcliffe seemed to not be able to focus his thoughts. His mind, Keller saw, was a loose stream of unconnected thoughts, trying to merge into a whole. Keller could read no message out of them. He suspected a block--an unusual thing for a C-3, but not impossible. He gave up, sat back and awaited the other's response. Finally it came, jerking Keller out of his chair. "It's murder, Mr. Keller. The murder of my wife." Murder! It was the first suspected murder in thirteen years. Ever since the Ricjards case in '04, peace and tranquility reigned in a calm and placid nation. For thirteen peaceful years there had been no hint of manslaughter other than accidental. It had been conditioned out of humans at the prenatal stage, and unless there was a violent, all-encompassing urge to kill, murder was completely out of the question. It was hard to believe. But it was not a lie; no non-tele could block a lie, and Keller scanned the truth in Radcliffe's brain. "Wait a minute, Radcliffe. Are you sure it's not murder by accident--unintentional manslaughter, as the police term it? Or it could be suicide. Had you thought of that?" Radcliffe shook his head impatiently. He rose out of his chair, pacing the floor nervously. "It could not possibly be accident. You'll see that when you investigate the case. Suicide? It's possible. Anything is possible, I suppose, but I would lay any kind of odds against it. We had just been to the theater. We returned to our apartment at about five minutes to eleven. "After undressing and showering, I started to turn in. I noticed a light on in her room--we sleep in separate rooms--and called to her, to see if anything was wrong. There was no answer. "I figured that she had gone to sleep with the light on, and went into the room to turn it off. That was when I saw her on the floor." He stopped. Keller read grief, fear and love in his memory. "How had she been killed?" "It was a handgun, Mr. Keller. Her face was all blackened and charred. Barely recognizable. But I knew it must be her. Our rooms connect, you see. There are two other doors to each room; one to the outside hall, and one to each bathroom. "When she was shot, my door was locked on the inside--triple-locked, I remember, because I felt like being left alone that night. It was locked by chain, bar and bolt. It's a fairly ancient apartment house. We like it that way. Her bathroom door was open and there was no one hiding inside. The same went for my bathroom. And both hall doors were locked and bolted. "The windows were locked on the inside, and there is no opening to shoot through that would not leave traces. I checked. "Even if the killer had gotten in some way or other, there was no way he could get out and still leave the doors and windows locked up tight." Keller thought, there is one way, Mr. Radcliffe. But he kept it to himself for the moment. * * * * *