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his benefactors when a taB heavy shouldered man with wavy gray hair and a short hawk nosed fellow with a restrained pompadour stepped into the lounge. They knew him either by the table or on sight. Mr. Albigoni, this is Martin Burke, hawk nosed Lascal introduced. They exchanged handshakes and nothing comments on the decor and weather. Albigonis heart and mind were clearly elsewhere. He seemed stricken. Lascal was either genuinely cheefful or able to mask his feelings. Ive just had a fine lunch, Martin said. Now Im worried I may not be able to help you. No fear, Lascal said. Albigoni looked at him squarely but said nothing, his long gray mustache a negative hyperbola over firm pale lips. Lascal handed their menus to a waiter and ordered for both of them. He then spread out his hands for Martins benefit: concealing nothing. Do you know Emanuel Goldsmith? he asked Martin. I know of him, Martin said. If were talking about the same man. We are. The poet. He murdered Mr. Albigonis daughter three nights ago. Martin nodded as if he had just been informed of a minor peculation in book publishing. Albigoni continued to stare at but not see him. Hes a fugitive, a very sick man, mentally, Lascal continued. Would you be willing to help him? How? Martin avoided taking a sip from his drink though he fingered the glass. Mr. Albigoni wasis-Mr. Goldsmiths publisher and friend. He bears him no ill will. Lascals voice did not skim so easily over this prepared statement. Martin subdued the raising of an eyebrow. Lunch was becoming quite surreal. Now that Goldsmith is mentally very disturbed, perhaps insane, wed like you to help him. Wed like to find the roots of his illness. Martin shook his head at the archaisms. I told you, Im no longer connected with IPR. I have been told Albigonis stare suddenly came alive. He saw Martin. Lascal glanced at his boss then turned head and shoulders to Martin as if making a wall to protect Albigoni from outside forces. We can arrange for your return, and for the facilities to be reopened. I dont want to work there again. I was kicked out for doing work I knew was entirely reasonable and valuable. But you didnt go about it in a reasonable fashion, Albigoni said. I do not know what is reasonable when politics mixes with science. Do you? Albigoni shook his head slowly bemused again barely listening. Goldsmith needs to be probed, Lascal said. He isnt in custody I take it. No. Hesitance. Not yet. We need to know what turned him into a murderer. He needs legal therapy not a probe. His problem goes beyond therapy, Albigoni said jaw clamping on the downbite between words. A therapist would fix him or change him but that isnt what I want. I need to know. Here a flash of angry fire. He killed eight people. Friends. Of his. Including my daughter. And his own godson. They did him no harm. They were no threat to him. It was an act of deliberate and calculated evil. Its only been a couple of days Martin said. In theory, could you probe Goldsmith and tell us what caused him to murder his young friends? Lascal asked. A silver plated arbeiter and a human waiter delivered their food, the arbeiter carrying the tray on its flat back. The waiter asked if Martin wished to have another drink. He declined. Im not being told everything, Martin said with a sigh. Gentlemen, I appreciate your hospitality, but We cant explain it all until were sure youre very interested, and will agree, Lascal said. Tough situation, Martin said. Youre our best chance, Albigoni said. We are not above pleading with you. You would be richly rewarded, Lascal said. I think you want me to help you break into the IPR, put Goldsmith in a probe triplex and find out what makes him tick. But the IPR has been closed down. Thats clearly impossible. It is not. Lascal picked at his farmshrimp salad. Martin lifted his eyebrow dubiously. First you would have to find Goldsmith, then persuade the state and federal government to reopen IPR. We can and will reopen IPR, Albigoni