shrugged and finished wiping. He called to Teddy, where the master unit waited with the mourners.
"Yes, sir?" Teddy asked, gliding swiftly forward on gravplates, his long rod arms hanging straight at his sides.
Rainy said, as if blocking it all out for his own benefit, "Each bedroom door—except for the guest bedrooms—is responsive to the voice of its occupant. Also, you can open all of these doors with a sonic override. Otherwise, is there any way that someone might gain entrance quickly and without making much noise?"
"Yes," Teddy said, surprising both of them. "There is an emergency master key for manual cycling of the doors, in the event of power failure."
"Who keeps the emergency key?" Rainy asked.
"I do," Teddy said.
St. Cyr: "On your person?" It sounded like a strange object for the preposition in this case, but the only one that came to mind.
Teddy said, "No, sir. I keep it in the basement workshop, in my tool cabinet, racked with other keys that I sometimes require."
"The cabinet—is it locked?" Rainy asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And where is
that
key?" St. Cyr asked.
Teddy slid open a small storage slot high on his right side, a tiny niche that had been invisible only a moment earlier. Twisting his shiny, double-elbowed, ball-jointed arm into a fantastic, tortured shape, he extracted the key from this slot and held it up for their inspection.
Rainy sighed rather loudly and put both hands in his pockets again. "Could anyone have made a duplicate?"
Teddy said, "Not without my knowledge. It is always kept in the recess that you have just seen."
"You've never lost it, misplaced it?"
Teddy looked the same, for his metal features were immutable, but he sounded hurt. "Never."
"And it has been with you since the house was built?"
"No, sir," Teddy said. "I have only been with the Alderban family for eight months."
"But it was with the master unit who was here before you?"
"No, sir. The Alderban family had a large number of limited-response mechanicals prior to the acquisition of a master unit. I am their first master unit."
"Well," St. Cyr said, "that means that everyone in the household could have copied the key previously, when it was in the hands of one of the limited response domos. The lesser mechanicals would have given it to any human on demand and taken it back again, once a copy had been made, without retaining a memory-bit on the incident."
Teddy said nothing.
Rainy said, "We'll progress, for the time being anyway, on the notion that no one had a copy made at that time. If someone had been intent on killing some or all of the Alderban family eight months ago, he would not have waited this long to begin, do you think?"
"Not unless he happens to be a psychotic," St. Cyr said. "If he is completely irrational, there isn't any way of saying, for certain, just what he could be expected to do."
'True. But a psychotic ought to reveal himself, in everyday life, in some bit of eccentricity. For now, let's say the killer has concrete reasons, sound—in his mind— motivations."
St. Cyr nodded agreement, relieved that the federal policeman had not mentioned the
du-aga-klava
.
Rainy said, "Teddy, can we have a look at this cabinet where you keep the emergency key to the bedroom doors?"
"Yes, sir. If you will follow me, please."
He floated into the main corridor and toward the elevator, his long arms hanging loosely at his sides again.
The two detectives followed.
In the elevator, going down, no one said anything. The only sound was the faint hiss of the lift's complex mechanism as they shifted from vertical to horizontal travel and then back again—and the rustle, once, of Rainy removing a hand from a coat pocket in order to brush at his thick hair.
The elevator opened onto the garage, where a number of vehicles were parked in waist-high stalls. Teddy led them across the tile floor and through an irising door into the workshop where he crafted silverware.
"The cabinet is over there," the master unit
"Yes, sir?" Teddy asked, gliding swiftly forward on gravplates, his long rod arms hanging straight at his sides.
Rainy said, as if blocking it all out for his own benefit, "Each bedroom door—except for the guest bedrooms—is responsive to the voice of its occupant. Also, you can open all of these doors with a sonic override. Otherwise, is there any way that someone might gain entrance quickly and without making much noise?"
"Yes," Teddy said, surprising both of them. "There is an emergency master key for manual cycling of the doors, in the event of power failure."
"Who keeps the emergency key?" Rainy asked.
"I do," Teddy said.
St. Cyr: "On your person?" It sounded like a strange object for the preposition in this case, but the only one that came to mind.
Teddy said, "No, sir. I keep it in the basement workshop, in my tool cabinet, racked with other keys that I sometimes require."
"The cabinet—is it locked?" Rainy asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And where is
that
key?" St. Cyr asked.
Teddy slid open a small storage slot high on his right side, a tiny niche that had been invisible only a moment earlier. Twisting his shiny, double-elbowed, ball-jointed arm into a fantastic, tortured shape, he extracted the key from this slot and held it up for their inspection.
Rainy sighed rather loudly and put both hands in his pockets again. "Could anyone have made a duplicate?"
Teddy said, "Not without my knowledge. It is always kept in the recess that you have just seen."
"You've never lost it, misplaced it?"
Teddy looked the same, for his metal features were immutable, but he sounded hurt. "Never."
"And it has been with you since the house was built?"
"No, sir," Teddy said. "I have only been with the Alderban family for eight months."
"But it was with the master unit who was here before you?"
"No, sir. The Alderban family had a large number of limited-response mechanicals prior to the acquisition of a master unit. I am their first master unit."
"Well," St. Cyr said, "that means that everyone in the household could have copied the key previously, when it was in the hands of one of the limited response domos. The lesser mechanicals would have given it to any human on demand and taken it back again, once a copy had been made, without retaining a memory-bit on the incident."
Teddy said nothing.
Rainy said, "We'll progress, for the time being anyway, on the notion that no one had a copy made at that time. If someone had been intent on killing some or all of the Alderban family eight months ago, he would not have waited this long to begin, do you think?"
"Not unless he happens to be a psychotic," St. Cyr said. "If he is completely irrational, there isn't any way of saying, for certain, just what he could be expected to do."
'True. But a psychotic ought to reveal himself, in everyday life, in some bit of eccentricity. For now, let's say the killer has concrete reasons, sound—in his mind— motivations."
St. Cyr nodded agreement, relieved that the federal policeman had not mentioned the
du-aga-klava
.
Rainy said, "Teddy, can we have a look at this cabinet where you keep the emergency key to the bedroom doors?"
"Yes, sir. If you will follow me, please."
He floated into the main corridor and toward the elevator, his long arms hanging loosely at his sides again.
The two detectives followed.
In the elevator, going down, no one said anything. The only sound was the faint hiss of the lift's complex mechanism as they shifted from vertical to horizontal travel and then back again—and the rustle, once, of Rainy removing a hand from a coat pocket in order to brush at his thick hair.
The elevator opened onto the garage, where a number of vehicles were parked in waist-high stalls. Teddy led them across the tile floor and through an irising door into the workshop where he crafted silverware.
"The cabinet is over there," the master unit
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