his, and shouted.
âOr we might snip your balls off, fella!â
The door opened and in came Stedman, saying: âTake it easy, Carol.â
Corelli pushed herself up and swaggered from the room.
Stedman told Cornell: âShe works too hard.â
Cornell realized that the detectives were playing on his emotions, being bad and good guys alternatively. He had heard of such techniques. His face smarted terribly. He refused to cry, but he did not know how long he could continue to protect Charlie.
Stedman was carrying a long sheet of paper, its end ragged as though it had been ripped from a machine. She held it up for Cornellâs benefit.
âJust came in off the ticker,â she said. âLet me tell you about yourself.â She began smugly to read from the paper. âBom 2003 in Birth Facility 1097, Los Angeles, etcetera, etceteraâ¦.â She skipped down several inches.
âWait a minute,â cried Cornell.
âNow here we are.â Stedman punched the paper. âApprehended shoplifting age 12; diagnosed, puberty problem; psychotherapy.â She raised her head. âActually, that is all in abbreviations, but I can read it as fast as if it was written out.â
âI wasnât born in L.A. in 2003,â Cornell said.
âYou werenât?â Stedman frowned and rechecked the first line of the dossier. âThe hell you werenât.â She scowled at him. âYou canât lie your way past the computer, buster.â
âI was born in 2018, in Facility 1182, in Jersey City.â
âThe hell you were.â
âWell, do I look forty-five?â
Stedman squinted at him, and then returned to the paper. âThen you were sent to Nursery 2305 in Birmingham.â
âNot at all! It was Number 1111 in White Plains.â
Stedmanâs face turned gross when she was puzzled. Her nose elongated and her lips protruded. Cornell wondered whether it might have been easier on him to confirm the erroneous data. The police were notoriously proud of their central information system, which listed every male person, from infant to dotard, in the country.
Stedman sneered at the paper, balled it, dropped it, and tried to kick it as it fell, but missed. She took a notebook from her pocket. âAll right, give me the vital facts yourself, but donât try any funny business or the computer will show you up.â She added earnestly: âThe computerâs O.K. Itâs the people who run it make the mistakes.â
So they were not infallible!
Cornell repeated the information.
Stedman said: âGeorgie, when we pick up a guy your age, we know one thing. Itâs not a simple case of transvest. A young kid, maybe, but not somebody old as you. You say you donât have a record. You say furthermore this is the first time you ever wore a jacket and trousers. O.K., Iâll buy that. Surprise you?â
She wrinkled her forehead.
âIâll tell you what it means. It might mean you finally cracked after all these years. But I donât think so. You look pretty cool to me, no tears, no hysterics. Ninety-nine out of a hundred of them will break down when Corelli bats âem around after her sympathy act. Not you. You make little jokes.â
Stedman put her forearms on the table and lowered her head so that he could see along the part in her hair, all the way to the cowlick. She spoke to her hands.
âYou want to know what weâre going to make you for? Criminal conspiracy. Now if you want to confess to that right here and now, maybe we can talk business.â
Cornell had crossed his legs in the wool trousers. His thighs now burned frightfully, and the heavy shoe on the hanging foot felt as though it contained an artificial foot.
He hardly recognized his own voice. âI donât understand that at all,â he said.
âDonât ask me to explain,â said Stedman. âI donât know what you people want. You