What I am about to relate was told to me at a later date by Sgt. Williams.
After leaving my apartment, the two detectives returned to their car in silence and
then thanked the Santa Monica officers who had accompanied them in case
anything of a difficult nature had arisen --- also to make an arrest if necessary, since
Carter and Williams, being L.A.P.D., had no legal jurisdiction in Santa Monica.
Police often exchange courtesies of this sort, rather in a you scratch my back, I'll
scratch yours manner.
"Well, I'm glad nothing came of that," said one of the Santa Monica cops.
"Don't be so sure," countered Lieut. Carter, "this guy is up to something. I
smell it. Could you arrange for someone to keep an eye on him?"
"Certainly, sir."
Williams had already assumed his usual position in the passenger's seat of
their dark brown automobile, when his boss climbed in. Often senior officers liked
for their junior partners to drive --- not so with this lieutenant. Wherever he was
going, he preferred to take himself there.
"Unusual twist, huh?" piped up Sgt. Williams, to break the lengthening
period of quiet.
"You didn't believe all that nonsense, did you?" questioned Carter in a rather
depreciating tone. Carter was one of those people who could make one feel like a
fool or worse within a fraction of a second. "Like I said back there, he's up to
something. Either he knows the killer, or he IS the killer."
"But the phone call last night!" objected Williams.
"He could have had someone else call, or even have done the whole thing
electronically."
"And the statement and the polygraph test?"
"He'll either bolt --- that's why I wanted him watched (After all he couldn't
say he wouldn't come.) --- or he has such an ego that he'll come, make his
statement, and take the test --- and hang himself. But if that doesn't work, we'll
find some other way." All the while Lieut. Carter was exuding confidence.
"Supposing he is telling the truth; I have heard of such people?" queried the
young detective with more than a small amount of hostility building inside of him,
despite the feeling that he was treading on thin ice, as far as his partner's temper
was concerned.
"Charlatans!" there the conversation came to an abrupt conclusion. However,
it was due to resume once more in the office of the police psychiatrist, Dr.
Alexander Takahaki.
The office was cramped, having surpassed its maximum capacity of two.
Perhaps, though, it would have seemed less so had it not been packed full of books,
papers, file cabinets, and assorted junk. Dr. Takahaki was a man of about sixty,
though no one would have suspected it, ans somewhat taller than most Japanese
men of his age. The Japanese prints, which were pinned to his bulletin board,
despite the clutter, were ample evidence of his own regard for his own heritage. Dr.
Takahaki's own person, neat and tranquil, was an absolute contrast to his office,
but one would like to think that it too would have been neat and tranquil had there
been more room.
"Can you be there when this Randolph comes in this afternoon, if he does?"
I'd like to know what you make of him," asked Carter of Dr. Takahaki.
"Sure, I'll come. What do you have so far?"
Sgt. Williams meticulously described, from his notes, the details of this
morning's visit to the attentive psychiatrist, while Lieut. Carter waited, with his
countenance expressing plainly his belief that the whole idea of ESP was absurd.
"Have you any personal information on this young man?" inquired the
doctor.
"Just picked up this file on him --- but it's not much," answered Carter.
"He's twenty-three, has an older sister, is a member of a family that's been
prominent in political and diplomatic circles for over three hundred years, father
was a judge. He's well fixed money-wise --- his grandmother left him her fortune,
which was considerable, but mostly embedded within a couple of foundations, and
her house in San Francisco, but he's closed that up for the moment. When he was
about ten his parents sent him off to one of those classy boarding schools, but that
didn't last long --- he got sick. He's always had health problems. Got good grades
in school and college --- but it seems like he never could decide on a major,
probably because everything came too easily intellectually and financially.
Absolutely no record --- not even a traffic violation. Always a loner."
"Have you called the parapsychology department at U.C.L.A. yet?"
questioned the doctor.
Both shook their heads negatively.
"I'll make the call in that case. There may be something to his story."
"Bull!" uttered Carter, once again in a belittling tone. "It's all nothing but a
scam."
"Now, Frank, listen!" intoned Takahaki soothingly. "You've always said
everything has to be checked. Besides, for a long while Duke University was doing
serious research on the subject of paranormal phenomena, and now U.C.L.A. is.
They've been making definite headway. This boy could be telling the truth.
"If not, there are a number of alternatives: number one, he knows who has
committed these crimes and wants us to catch this person; two, he's a
schizophrenic or even a multiple personality --- while part of him is committing the
murders, the other part wants to be caught, putting it in the simplest way possible;
or three, he is a psycho, in your lingo, so sure of himself that he is daring us to nab
him."
"You're right, awful lot of choices there," the lieutenant commented. "Hope
we can narrow it down some."
"I should have the data from U.C.L.A. before he comes in. Then we'll see
where we stand."
After their brief conference, Lieut. Carter and Sgt. Williams made the
necessary arrangements for my appointment, which Carter was certain would never
occur. "Now I want a voice print made from his statement --- to see if he was really
the one who called last night," ordered the lieutenant with all the confidence of one
who has deduced how to checkmate his opponent. "We'll keep him here until we
have the results."
An hour later, having made his call to the research facility, Dr. Takahaki,
more than slightly pleased with himself, reported his findings.
This time they met in Lieut. Carter's office, which was hardly more than a
partitioned off corner of the larger room, where the less ranking detectives had their
desks. Again, as in the doctor's office, the space was so cramped it was impossible
to maintain any quality of neatness. However, it is doubtful that this room would
have been any more orderly, had it been the size of the Houston Astrodome.
"Well, what did you find out?" Carter snapped unintentionally, while trying
to make himself comfortable behind his desk, which meant sprawling out as much
as he could. He resembled a bear in a tiny circus cage; the place was utterly too
small to accommodate his massive bulk properly.
"They weren't too anxious to give me any information, confidential stuff, you
know the drill, but I judiciously pointed out that I could easily get a court order, and
that they would be doing the community a service and all that," said the doctor,
seating himself rigidly in the only other chair in the closet-like space. "Anyway,
Lucian Randolph is absolutely genuine. Except for being somewhat inconsistent, he
has the highest accuracy in telepathy and clairvoyance of anyone they've ever
tested, and he's had more than a minimal amount of success with precognition."
"What's that --- telepathy and clar.... and whatever?" interrupted Lieut.
Carter rather abruptly.
"Telepathy is thought transference, kind of like mind reading, clairvoyance is
perceiving something no one else can, and precognition is seeing into the future,"
interposed Sgt. Williams, half seated on the desk, with one leg dangling off.
"Thank you, Mr. College Graduate," spoken with a not of sarcasm.
"According to what the person I spoke to said," continued Dr. Takahaki, "he
peaks at almost one hundred percent accuracy, but has low points of absolutely
nothing. This is quite unusual because even by chance one should have about
twenty percent correctness. However, they did say that he was having his peak
periods more and more often, because he left. Apparently he was learning to control
it with more certainty.
"I couldn't get much from them concerning his medical or psychiatric
records. But, as a teenager, he did have some mental and physical problems,
however, I am convinced that this is related to his trying to adjust to his ability ---
perhaps, he didn't want to be paranormal."
"Could it be affecting him adversely now?" asked Carter.
"Possibly, but I doubt it --- not in the way you mean," replied Takahaki,
perceiving Carter's implication. "I'm curious; what does he look like? I couldn't tell
much from the picture in the file."
Sgt. Williams answered, "Rather good looking, despite very slight build ---
thin, more than he should be for his height. You can tell he's been sick a lot. He's
about six feet, maybe 150 lbs. Fair --- hazel eyes --- like my mom's green on the
outer edge, brown toward the pupil; dark, reddish-brown hair. His hands are rather
large with long, artistic fingers. He might be really high-strung."
"Never mind," interjected Carter, obviously disgruntled. "Take a look for
yourself. He's here now."
