Hannah Bronto - Lovers in paradise

"Everyone has something to lose," Jocelyn said, shifting stiffly on the edge of her chair. She pressed her thighs together, playing preoccupied with the wrinkles in her uniform. She was letting her feelings show again.

"Oh… really?" Mrs. Hudson said, looking at Jocelyn with disdain. Her husband didn't say anything.

"Perhaps," I said, quickly cutting in, "we should get down to our official reason for this visit – as unpleasant as it must seem to you, Mrs. Hudson, to have to go through this again."

She sighed stoically. "Oh, well… if we must."

I unsnapped the quadcorder and placed it upon the levitab in front of me. I pushed back the two glasses, one still half-filled with the languidly rolling mercumist Mrs. Hudson had graciously offered Jocelyn and I, and two darting robo cleans whisked the glasses away in the blink of an eye.

"This is just standard practice…" I began, indicating the quadcorder.

"Ah, a quadcorder," Mrs. Hudson said. "So you're going to see if I'm telling you the truth or not. Well, don't worry, I've clean."

I glanced quickly at Jocelyn, and she returned my perplexed stare.

"I watch a lot of the wall screen," Mrs. Hudson explained, allaying my suspicions. "They always have quadcorders on the shows. Police melodrama is in this season, you know. Just the facts, ma'am…"

"Oh, I see. You understand, of course, use of this instrument in no way implies…"

"Yes, yes, I know. In no way implies any suspicion of me on your part. It's strictly routine."

"Yes… that's so."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "I watch all the programs. I'm something of a mystery buff myself. Actually, if it weren't for the damn rape, this would be positively fascinating. It still is, I guess, in its own way."

"All right…" I said, simply because I didn't know how else to respond. "Let's begin. Just for the record, would you please state your full name and address, date of birth, and occupation…"

Mrs. Hudson replied, answering the questions fully.

"Ah, yes, one point of clarification," I said. "Again, lust for the record, you state that your name is Nora Peel Hudson, but your husband's legal name is John Clay. Could you clarify that, please?"

"Well, that should be obvious. We have different legal names. I never adopted his when we married."

The ancient practice of a wife legally changing her surname to that of her husband's upon marriage had long ago been abandoned generally, but in the last few years many women had revived the fad. I just wanted to make sure.

"This is just routine, ma'am," I said, turning to my next question. "You state that you're in the hotel business. In what way?"

"I'm sole owner of the Stamford Hotel."

"All right, then. Now would you please, in your own words, tell us what happened to you on the night of January eleventh…"

"It was a Monday," Mrs. Hudson, began. "That's important because John – my husband – is only out of the module on Monday nights – business meetings – so I find that an interesting 'coincidence'. If, indeed, it was a coincidence. Personally, I believe it indicates that the criminal must have been someone who knew my routine."

I interrupted her. "Are you speaking about any one in particular?"

"Good heavens, no. No one in particular, but there are, of course, any number of possible suspects."

"Ma'am?"

"Well," she said, shrugging magnificently, "one does not achieve as much as I have in her life without making some enemies…"

"Could you be a little more specific?"

"All right, for example, there's Zeck Roland. He used to be my husband's partner. And then there's…"

"We'll take a full list from you a little later. Now, if you don't mind, can we get back to the… attack."

"Very well. Where was I?"

"It was a Monday night…"

"Yes, and I was home alone. I remember I was watching the screen, when I received a call from the lobby wall-screen. Curious, too, that the visual was distorted…"

"Ma'am?"

"The picture didn't come through. Something was wrong with the vertical reception. All I got was a bunch of lines…"

"A distorter," Jocelyn said.

I nodded to her in agreement. "Go on."

"Mr. Ohls, the security man down in the lobby – that's Cramer Ohls: he's a very nice man – said that some man had delivered a package for me. He said he was Mr. Ohls, but I soon found out that was another ruse… but I'm getting ahead of myself. The man impersonating Mr. Ohls said he had a package for me. I questioned him why he didn't send it up, but he said he couldn't leave his post. Clearly, all he wanted was to get me out of my module… And I fell for it. I said I would gladly come down and pick up the package."

"Did you go down immediately after the call?" Jocelyn asked.

"Yes. I closed off and went directly down."

"By shaft?"

"Well, of course."

"There are no elevators in this building?" I asked. Mrs. Hudson looked scandalized. "Don't be absurd!"

"How many shafts are there in the building?"

"There's the large one at the front of the building: it has six separate channels, three up and three down, and there's a smaller, private shaft in the rear. Only that one is locked. Only tenants have voice cards."

"Did you pass anyone in the shaft?" Jocelyn asked. "Going either up or down?"

Mrs. Hudson thought for a moment. "No… I don't think so – wait! I think I did. Yes… yes, I did pass someone: a man, going up…"

I became excited. "Did you recognize him? Can you describe him?"

"No, I can't," Mrs. Hudson confessed, looking perplexed. "He was wearing one of those portable viewers: you know the kind that slips over the wearer's head…" I exchanged a knowing glance with Jocelyn.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Hudson said. "What does this all mean? What are you getting at?"

"In all probability," I explained, "the man you passed in the antigrav shaft was the attacker, on his way up to your apartment."

"My God…"

"Are you sure you can't identify him?" Jocelyn pressed. "Perhaps his size, his type of build?"

"My God – I never thought… No, no, I can't describe what he looked like for the simple fact that I didn't look at him. I mean, I saw him, but I didn't look at him. He was just a man. But young, old, short, tall, thin, fat – I just don't know."

I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out slowly. "That's quite all right, Mrs. Hudson. Please continue with your explanation."

"Well, I got down in the lobby, and I began to look for Mr. Ohls. When I found him he said he knew nothing of a package, and insisted he had not spoken to me. Needless to say I was furious… poor man: I certainly tore into him. I accused him of irresponsibility, of being intoxicated on duty… everything. I even threatened to have him discharged." She looked at me very confidently and nodded. "I have that power, you know."

"Continue, please."

"I came up in a huff – angry, sputtering, talking to myself in the antigrav shaft. I walked down the hallway to my apartment, unlocked the door…"

"You're sure you unlocked it?" Jocelyn asked. "It wasn't open?"

Mrs. Hudson glared at her. "I un-locked the door to my apartment, and walked in. I stormed into the living room, intending to fix myself a drink at the bar to calm my nerves, when he – the rapist – called out to me from somewhere behind me."

"What did he say?"

Mrs. Hudson thought for a moment. "He said: Don't move! Don't turn around I've got you covered with this blaster…"

I glanced at Jocelyn. "Are you sure those were his precise words?"

Mrs. Hudson assured me they were. "I'll never forget them as long as I live. I've got you covered with this blaster, he said. And then to prove it – he shoved the muzzle of his gat into the small of my back."