Isaac Asimov - The Naked Sun

She said, “Rikaine’s. My husband’s. Just a shout. No words. A kind of fright. No! Surprise, shock. Something like that. I’d never heard him shout before.”

She lifted her hands to her ears as though to shut out even the memory of the sound and her wrapper slipped slowly down to her waist. She took no notice and Baley stared firmly at his notebook.

He said, “What did you do?”

“I ran. I ran. I didn’t know where he was—”

“I thought you said he had gone to the laboratory he maintained in your quarters.”

“He did, E-Elijah, but I didn’t know where that was. Not for sure, anyway. I never went there. It was his. I had a general idea of its direction. I knew it was somewhere in the west, but I was so upset, I didn’t even think to summon any robot. One of them would have guided me easily, but of course none came without being summoned. When I did get there—I found it somehow—he was dead.”

She stopped suddenly and, to Baley’s acute discomfort, she bent her head and wept. She made no attempt to obscure her face. Her eyes simply closed and tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. It was quite soundless. Her shoulders barely trembled.

Then her eyes opened and looked at him through swimming tears. “I never saw a dead man before. He was all bloody and his head was—just—all— I managed to get a robot and he called others and I suppose they took care of me and of Rikaine. I don’t remember. I don’t—”

Baley said, “What do you mean, they took care of Rikaine?”

“They took him away and cleaned up.” There was a small wedge of indignation in her voice, the lady of the house careful of its condition. “Things were a mess.”

“And what happened to the body?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Burned, I suppose. Like any dead body.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

She looked at him blankly and Baley thought: No police!

He said, “You told somebody, I suppose. People found out about the matter.”

She said, “The robots called a doctor. And I had to call Rikaine’s place of work. The robots there had to know he wouldn’t be back.”

“The doctor was for you, I suppose.”

She nodded. For the first time, she seemed to notice her wrapper draped about her hips. She pulled it up into position, murmuring forlornly, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Baley felt uncomfortable, watching her as she sat there helpless, shivering, her face contorted with the absolute terror that had come over her with the memory.

She had never seen a dead body before. She had never seen blood and a crushed skull. And if the husband-wife relationship on Solaria was something thin and shallow, it was still a dead human being with whom she had been confronted.

Baley scarcely knew what to say or do next. He had the impulse to apologize, and yet, as a policeman, he was doing only his duty.

But there were no police on this world. Would she understand that this was his duty?

Slowly, and as gently as he could, he said, “Gladia, did you hear anything at all? Anything besides your husband’s shout.”

She looked up, her face as pretty as ever, despite its obvious distress—perhaps because of it. She said, “Nothing.”

“No running footsteps? No other voice?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“When you found your husband, he was completely alone? You two were the only ones present?”

“Yes.”

“No signs of anyone else having been there?”

“None that I could see. I don’t see how anyone could have been there, anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

For a moment she looked shocked. Then she said dispiritedly, “You’re from Earth. I keep forgetting. Well, it’s just that nobody could have been there. My husband never saw anybody except me; not since he was a boy. He certainly wasn’t the sort to see anybody. Not Rikaine. He was very strict; very custom-abiding.”

“It might not have been his choice. What if someone had just come to see him without an invitation, without your husband knowing anything about it? He couldn’t have helped seeing the intruder regardless of how custom-abiding he was.”

She said, “Mayke, but he would have called robots at once and had the man taken away. He would have! Besides no one would try to see my husband without being invited to. I couldn’t conceive of such a thing. And Rikaine certainly would never invite anyone to see him. It’s ridiculous to think so.”

Baley said softly, “Your husband was killed by being struck on the head, wasn’t he? You’ll admit that.”

“I suppose so. He was—all—”

“I’m not asking for the details at the moment. Was there any sign of some mechanical contrivance in the room that would have enabled someone to crush his skull by remote control.”

“Of course not. At least, I didn’t see any.”

“If anything like that had been there, I imagine you would have seen it. It follows then that a hand held something capable of crushing a man’s skull and that hand swung it. Some person had to be within four feet of your husband to do that. So someone did see him.”

“No one would,” she said earnestly. “A Solarian just wouldn’t see anyone.”

“A Solarian who would commit murder wouldn’t stick at a bit of seeing, would he?”

(To himself that statement sounded dubious. On Earth he had known the case of a perfectly conscienceless murderer who had been caught only because he could not bring himself to violate the custom of absolute silence in the community bathroom.)

Gladia shook her head. “You don’t understand about seeing. Earthmen just see anybody they want to all the time, so you don’t understand it… .”

Curiosity seemed to be struggling within her. Her eyes lightened a bit. “Seeing does seem perfectly normal to you, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve always taken it for granted,” said Baley.

“It doesn’t trouble you?”

“Why should it?”

“Well, the films don’t say, and I’ve always wanted to know—Is it all right if I ask a question?”

“Go ahead,” said Baley stolidly.

“Do you have a wife assigned to you?”

“I’m married. I don’t know about the assignment part.”

“And I know you see your wife any time you want to and she sees you and neither of you thinks anything of it.”

Baley nodded.

“Well, when you see her, suppose you just want to—” She lifted her hands elbow-high, pausing as though searching for the proper phrase. She tried again, “Can you just—any time…” She let it dangle.

Baley didn’t try to help.

She said, “Well, never mind. I don’t know why I should bother you with that sort of thing now anyway. Are you through with me?” She looked as though she might cry again.

Baley said, “One more try, Gladia. Forget that no one would see your husband. Suppose someone did. Who might it have been?”

“It’s just useless to guess. It couldn’t be anyone.”

“It has to be someone. Agent Gruer says there is reason to suspect some one person. So you see there must be someone.”

A small, joyless smile flickered over the girl’s face. “I know who he thinks did it.”

“All right. Who?”

She put a small hand on her breast. “I.”

“I should have said, Partner Elijah,” said Daneel, speaking suddenly, “that that is an obvious conclusion.”

Baley cast a surprised look at his robot partner. “Why obvious?” he asked.

“The lady herself,” said Daneel, “states that she was the only person who did or who would see her husband. The social situation on Solaria is such that even she cannot plausibly present anything else as the truth. Certainly Agent Gruer would find it reasonable, even obligatory, to believe that a Solarian husband would be seen only by his wife. Since only one person could be in seeing range, only one person could strike the blow and only one person could be the murderer. Or murderess, rather. Agent Gruer, you will remember, said that only one person could have done it. Anyone else he considered impossible. Well?”