"Philip E. High - The Artifact" - читать интересную книгу автора (High Phillip E)

and arrest suspect.”

I felt and knew at that moment exactly what was going to happen. I broke ranks and ran forward. “Stop!
It's a trap.”

Shering's bellow seemed almost to wash my warning away. “Place that idiot under restraint—now!”

A hand was clapped over my mouth, my arm was twisted behind me and jerked up my back with
unnecessary violence.

“See if your bloody spirit guide can get you out of this one,” said a voice in my ear.

I realized it was Bruck's voice, the man who jeered at me on every possible occasion but at the time it
didn't seem to matter.

I watched the two officers, weapons ready, mount the steps and push open the door.

There was a blue-white flash.

The first officer swirled back into the street as a cloud of ash. What remained of the second, rolled,
smoking, down the steps but was consumed by heat before it reached the street.
The hand was taken from my mouth and my arm released. When I turned no one, with exception of
Ransome, would face me. Their embarrassment was obvious and acute.

Shering was already climbing into his official car. He knew, as everyone present knew, that this was the
end. He would not be dismissed or even face a cut in salary but his active days in the force were over.
He had lost credibility and, after this incident, could never regain it. They would give him a civilian suit
and a desk job in administration. Many, faced with like circumstances preferred retirement on a reduced
pension.

As I walked to my own transport, someone overtook me.

“A moment, please.” It was Bruck, the man with the sneering comments who had viciously twisted my
arm.

He didn't speak, he was unable to look me in the face but he put his hand briefly on my shoulder. That
touch told me everything; it was an abject apology and a recognition of his bigotry.

I held out my hand and when we shook I knew I had made a friend for life.The atmosphere at work
changed also. I took, perhaps, twice the ribbing I had endured before, but now it was friendly and I
could reply in kind. I knew, of course, that I would always be known as Psychic Jim but that was a
nickname of affection and I was happy to live with it.

I did not have long to enjoy it. Ransome almost pushed me into the waiting staff car. “I thought you ought
to see this before forensic take it away for testing.”

Twenty minutes later he was leading me into the same building where the two officers had died.

At the back of the long room was a spiral stairway to a cramped office. Men in white parted rather
grudgingly to one side as we entered. They felt, I sensed, that we were intruding into their own speciality.