Free The Shattered Raven by Edward D. Hoch Page B

south. This building held the usual assortment of offices—a bank on the ground floor, a few lawyers, and at the top, three floors given over to the studios of KJON radio.
    In a city with as many radio stations as New York, it was theoretically possible for someone to spend most of his existence without ever happening upon the all-night talk shows of KJON, but for those who did, the experience was not one to be quickly forgotten. Skinny Simon’s voice, for one thing, came through on the radio in a deep, demanding tone, completely free from the body which lacked its authority. It was possible that Skinny was made for radio. He certainly was not made for television, where one look at his sagging frame and drooping eyelids gave many Friday night viewers the shudders. Though he was not as thin as he had been when he acquired his nickname back in college, he gave the impression of always being in motion, like a runner or a high-jumper, with arms sometimes actually waving as he talked.
    During the MWA dinner he had been fairly well in control of himself, but now Barney saw him in full flight.
    “Barney! Barney! Glad you could make it! What time is it?”
    “Almost eleven-thirty.”
    “Where are the rest of those guys?”
    “Who’s here so far?”
    “Just Harry Fox. I thought you were going to have five people here for me!”
    “They’ll be here—don’t worry. You’ve got a half-hour till show time,” Barney reassured him, following along into a large drab studio with a control booth at one end. The engineer was there, but neither Susan Veldt nor Betty had made an appearance as yet.
    “Some detective was here questioning me a while ago,” Skinny said.
    “A fellow named George?”
    “I guess that was the name. What are they doing—going down the whole guest list?”
    “I suppose so,” Barney said. “Did you know Craigthorn?”
    “I never laid eyes on him, except at a few cocktail parties. You know—broadcasting affairs—things like that Maybe I said two words to him in my life. He wasn’t the friendly sort.”
    Barney remembered Skinny’s attempt to speak with Ross at the dinner, but he decided not to press the point.
    Skinny Simon’s chair was on one side of an oval table. The other five chairs were arranged facing him, each with its own microphone. Barney couldn’t help glancing down the lines of mikes for any extraneous wires or tubes, but there were none.
    “Well, we go on the air in twenty-five minutes. I hope those guys show.” He went back out to the hall, and Barney walked into the control room, looking for Harry Fox.
    He finally found him bent over a drinking fountain, taking a pill of some sort. “How are you Harry? How’s our expert tonight?”
    “Not feeling very expert, Barney. Heartburn. I should be home in bed. If I hadn’t promised to do this thing, I probably would be.”
    “Did you get a visit from a detective today?”
    Harry shook his head. “No, not yet. Why? Are they checking everybody out.”
    “Sounds like it.”
    Harry dropped the little phial of pills into his pocket. “Well, here comes Max and his would-be agent. Let’s go meet them.”
    Dick McMullen had his arm around Max’s shoulder, probably telling him about all the thousands of dollars he was going to make in the coming year. That was the way agents like McMullen worked. But Barney had to admit he wasn’t really a bad guy. Then he saw Susan Veldt getting off the elevator and coming toward the station reception desk. He walked over to meet her.
    “Good evening. I didn’t know if you’d make it.”
    “I made it,” she said. “How are you, Barney?”
    “I had a good night’s sleep.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    They walked back to the studio, and Barney got her seated in the control room, in a warm chair with the stuffing sticking out. “There, you can get a view of the whole thing, and make all the notes you want for your magazine.”
    “Thanks,” she said.
    “Fifteen minutes to air time!” Skinny