From Time to Time Read Free

reasonably manage without being nutty about it. Each of us is building a little network of friends, relatives, acquaintances-anyone you might think would know, or hear of, or come upon the kind of incident we're collecting. So start your own network. If you haven't already. Use your own best judgment about who you should use and who not, that's about all I can tell you. And explain as little as you think you can get by with. Make it seem as though you're alone; your own nutty little interest, nothing important. Because above all . . ." He paused for emphasis. "We are not an official part of the Parapsychology Department. Officially they know nothing about us; we're a private group of. . . hobbyists. We've never even met in any of the department's rooms. I don't have to tell you why if your husband was a student here. For forty years the department has taken a lot of guff'-his eves began to narrow- from academics in other fields, the respectable fields, who wouldn't know solid evidence or proof-or refuse to know, which is worse-if it came up and bit them in the ass. He smiled at her and at himself. "Sorry. I'll wipe the flecks of foam from nw lips in a minute. But we're carefully unofficial. And as secret as we can manage. Okay? Ready for the sacred blood oath?
    The young lieutenant nodded, smiling.
    "Then welcome aboard. Ted, I understand you took quite a trip on our behalf this summer. To Arizona?
    "Well, I was in California anyway. On vacation. In L.A., if you can believe it. Ted, a researcher here, was a handsome man who didn't seem to know it, his brown hair cut close, nothing made of its curl, his glasses of wire-thin metal, the lenses round as a coin. He looked thirty, and wore a hand calculator in his shirt pocket. "So I took a couple of days, flew over to Phoenix, rented a car, and drove out to this guy's place.
    "Okay. Tell us about it.
    "My mother heard about this years ago from a friend, a woman her age; they both lived in New York then. I phoned this woman, and got the man's name-my mother couldn't remember it. He used to be a lawyer, a really big-time lawyer in New York, partner in a big firm, all that. He's well remembered, I've discovered. Retired now. I tracked him down, which wasn't hard. Talked to him by phone, and arranged to see him this summer. Ted reached down beside his chair, brought up a worn black leather briefcase bearing a scuffed Stanford sticker, opened it on the table, and slid out a small, chrome-rimmed, gray plastic recorder. He pushed in a control, and a beadlike bulb turned amber. "I taped what he told me, so you might as well hear it from the source. Just picture us sitting by his pool, a nice Arizona morning, getting hot but very dry. Pleasant. He had cactuses around, here and there, some natural, some in pots. We were in the shade from his house, adobe painted so white it hurt your eyes.
    "He's an old man now, but smart; no trouble imagining him as a damned effective lawyer. Intelligent face. I don't think it was because I was in Arizona but he really did look-well, not truly like Barry Goldwater, hut if someone told you they were maybe cousins you'd believe it. Had most of his hair, snow white, and the same kind of bushy white sideburns. Wore expensive-looking tan linen pants, dark blue shirt. Name is Bertram 0. I3ush, and he was stretched out in a lounge chair, me in a straight chair where I could manage the recorder. I had it on a glass-top table between us, and we both had coffee, real big cups. It's a nice place, some twenty-odd miles out of Phoenix. He and his wife retired there, but now he's a widower. Lives alone, but he has grown children with families and two of them live near Phoenix. The other in California. He seems to see them fairly often. And did I say he has money? Well, he obviously has; it's a nice place.
    "We got our preliminary chitchat out of the way, he said it was okay to record, and here's what I got. Nice and clear; I'm a master with these things. He pushed