Free Ask the Right Question by Michael Z. Lewin Page B

shaking.
    â€œNo,” said the voice. “This is Eddie.”
    â€œWell, good night, Eddie,” I said and tripped down the steps, toward the light. It stayed on me for a moment and then dropped, illuminating the sidewalk in front of me.
    â€œGood night, sir,” The voice said. Recognizably old. More recognizable than that. Generic voice of the aging security guard. Bless him.
    I turned into the empty parking lot at the right end of the clinic. I walked as surely as I could. I was still shaking but I had made it.
    I glanced back and saw Eddie continuing on his rounds. Probably hired by the shopping center and paid extra by Fishman to extend his patrol. My look back took impart of the back of the clinic. I had an impulse to run back and wipe out the marks the stool must have made in the dirt below the window. My only incriminating marks.
    I controlled myself. Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. Tonight I had a big mind. I was back at the car, almost home free. Despite my precautions it stood alone in the lot. But I didn’t care. I would let the marks be. I just wanted to get out. Get away. Who could prove that the marks were left by my stool?
    My stool.
    I did not have my stool.
    I collapsed on the front right fender. In my mind, I could see the stool sitting by the wall in the file room. Plain as it could be. I had walked right by it on my way out.
    On the very long drive home I had to pull over to the curb twice. My knees and hands were shaking so much I could not get them to drive.
    I did make it home and up the stairs. By that time the self-protecting forces had begun to exert themselves in my mind. There were no identifiable markings on the stool, and I had left nothing which characterized me uniquely. No fingerprints. Probably Eddie wouldn’t be able to recognize me again; probably he hadn’t even noticed the camera on its strap by my side. Fishman, at the worst, would suspect me by association and warn Leander. But warn him of what? Someone asking questions about the family for some article? I hadn’t given him Maude’s name. He had no details except my name. He could find out I am a PI and what then?
    The notion intrigued me a little—it might be interesting to see if anything did come of it all. Leander Crystal had not occupied much of my attention. He certainly was relevant, present at the scene. As close to the scene as I had got so far.
    Would he think Fleur was starting divorce action? What could he think?
    And, for it all, I was at home now and not arrested or otherwise interfered with. I had obtained film with the information I wanted. The only task was to obtain the information from the film.
    I set about developing it.
    When I first started working with photographic equipment I would have had to take this film to be professionally developed. Developing film, especially if it is important not to damage any part of it, is a fairly difficult business. But I’m pretty good at it now. With a routine established over the years I get pretty good negatives.
    My big decision was whether to let the film dry overnight or try to rush it to get the prints right away. But that would have made waiting for the prints to dry a thing too. I would want to start reading them.
    I decided to let the films dry in peace overnight. I hung them up in my closet cum darkroom. And then I hung myself out to dry; still shaking. I watched a late movie. Or two.

11
    I woke up at seven thirty. Much too early, but I couldn’t fall back asleep and after a few seconds of consciousness, I didn’t want to.
    In my own terms I had risked a good deal for the pictures I’d taken, and I wanted to find out what was on them. The only question was whether I should print them before or after breakfast.
    I printed them before breakfast.
    Since I was on an expense account, I decided to be thorough. I printed two eight-by-ten copies of each medical file page. I quick-fixed and