The Absolutely Foolproof Alibi

by James P. Hogan

  “Now, now, Rudi."

  “Thank you. Good night again."

  “Good night."

  Slipping his coat on as he walked, Gorfmann crossed the Compound again and entered the rear door of the Keep, which to his mild surprise he found unlocked—but that happened sometimes. He walked along the darkened passageway that led to the front lobby and went out through the main entrance to the executive forecourt, feeling in his pocket for his keys. But at the bottom of the shallow steps outside the door, he stopped dead in sudden bewilderment. His car was not there.

  Fuming, he paced from one end of the forecourt to the other, thinking that someone might have moved it for some reason, but the reaction was a mechanical one; it was obvious just by looking that there was nowhere else the car could have been. Finally accepting the inevitable, he stormed back into the lobby, slamming the door behind. “What in hell's going on?” he muttered to himself as he crossed back to the passageway leading to the rear door. “Oh God, this is too much. Not at a time like this, of all nights!"

  He went back through the Compound, across the staff parking area, and reported the loss to the security officer on duty at the main gate. Then he signed for one of the Institute's pool cars and used that to go home and change into casual wear before carrying on up to the Claremont. By the time he got there, he was beginning to get over his misfortune. It was quite late next morning when he left again, and he went straight to the Institute. By then he was feeling still irritable at the inconvenience, but much better.

  * * * *

  In the transfer-chamber control room, Gorfmann typed the parameters for the test run into the supervisory console, verified the readback on the display screen, and confirmed the command. “Envelope profile verified and locked,” he reported to Kurt and Hilda at the other stations. “How are we doing on the interface?"

  Hilda consulted another panel. “Override is released,” she said.

  “Probe vector, Kurt?"

  “They're still adjusting the resonators."

  “Estimate another ten minutes to phase three,” Gorfmann said into a microphone on his console.

  “Check,” a voice replied from a grille by the screen.

  A phone rang at the back of the room. Moments later, Josef called from the desk by the door, “Reception calling for you, Dr. Gorfmann."

  “Put it through.” Gorfmann picked up the handset from the hook on one side of the console. “Hello, Gorfmann here."

  “Main Gate Reception. There is an Inspector Wenkle from the police department here, asking to see you."

  Gorfmann frowned, surprised. He had only reported a stolen car—hardly earth-shattering enough to warrant a personal visit, he would have thought. He sighed at the fastidiousness of plodding officialdom. “Very well. Show him into the visitor room there, would you. I'll be over in a few minutes."

  “Very good, Doctor."

  Gorfmann turned toward Kurt, who was entering numbers from a list into a keyboard. “Take over here, please, Kurt. I have to go and see someone at the main gate. And remember what I told you about the synchronizing calibration. It is most important for it to be accurate."

  “Sure."

  “Is it about your car?” Hilda asked.

  “Probably, but that is a personal matter. You have your work to worry about. Kindly attend to it.” Gorfmann hung his lab coat by the door at the back of the room and left.

  Kurt and Hilda made faces and exchanged shrugs. “Snotty today, even for him,” Kurt observed.

  “Well, he has just lost a brand-new car,” Hilda said.

  “What did he need a car like that for anyway?” Kurt asked. “Planning on moving to Hollywood or somewhere, is he?"

  “Oh, he's a big celebrity now, didn't you know?” Josef said from the back. “Science guru of the trendy set. Big hit at the dinner in town last night."

  “I wonder if we could transfer him back to another century,” Kurt mused distantly. “How about the Dark Ages? I figure they could have used some help then."

  “Perhaps somebody already did,” Josef said. “That could be what turned them off science for a thousand years."

  * * * *

  Gorfmann entered the visitor room and closed the door behind him. A man wearing a tan raincoat and Tyrolean hat, and holding a thin leather document case under one arm, turned away from examining the exhibits in the display case on the far wall. He was of medium height and build, with a swarthy face, big nose, and thick black mustache. He nodded his head to indicate the caption FUSION PHYSICS over a section of the display. “It says there that if all the energy you could get from the fusion fuel in the oceans is represented by the distance across the Atlantic, then on the same scale Arabia's oil reserves measure six thousandths of an inch,” he said.

  “That sounds about right,” Gorfmann agreed.

  “Amazing, isn't it? And yet you still read things that say we're about to run out of it."

  “You shouldn't believe everything you read."

  “Is that the kind of work you do here?"

  “Some sections of the Institute are involved in related areas. I myself am concerned with more fundamental aspects of physics. Inspector, look, I am extremely busy. We are about to begin an experimental run. Could we get to the point, please?"

  “Of course.” Wenkle's manner became more brisk. He removed his hat and sat down near the end of the table standing in the center of the room, at the same time motioning with a hand for Gorfmann to take the head chair, across the corner. Gorfmann did so. Wenkle put the document case down next to his hat and took out a manila folder, from which he produced several forms clipped together, and some handwritten notes.

  “I take it this is to do with my car,” Gorfmann said after Wenkle had perused the papers in silence for a few seconds.

  “Er, yes ... Dr. Gorfmann."

  “Well, have you found it?"

  Wenkle studied his notes for a moment longer. “First could we go over some of the information you gave when you reported the loss? The vehicle was left on these premises, is that correct?"

  “Yes, but is this really necessary? You have just said that I've already given you this information."

  “We do like to double-check our facts, if you wouldn't mind, sir. It will only take a few minutes."

  “Very well. Let's get on with it."

  “Now, let's see, you left the car here at the Institute, and went down into Innsbruck yesterday evening. How did you get there?"

  “I drove down with a colleague—Dr. Hoetzer, from the plasma laboratory. We had some technical matters to discuss. It seemed opportune to use the time."

  “I see. And at what time did you leave?"

  “At six o'clock."

  “Approximately."

  “No. Precisely."

  “Ah.... I noticed when I arrived that the staff parking seems to be inside this gate. Is that where you left your car?"

  “No. There is also a small parking area for senior personnel at the front of the Keep, where the offices are. It has its own driveway, leading directly out to the road."

  “So the thief wouldn't have had to go past the security post here at the main gate?"

  “That is correct."

  “What was the purpose of your trip?"

  “I was a speaker at a fund-raising banquet given by the Celebrity Club at the Hotel Ibis. Is that sufficient?"

  “More than adequate.” Wenkle added some comments to his notes and turned the page. “And you left the hotel in Innsbruck with Dr. Hoetzer at?..."

  “Oh, I'd say about ten."

  “Precisely?” Wenkle's tongue poked at his cheek for the merest fraction of a second.

  Sniff. “Approximately."

  “And what time did you arrive back here?"

  “Let me see.... We left the ballroom at around ten, a few minutes to collect coats and get Hoetzer's wagon from the garage.... Oh, it must have been around ten-thirty, ten forty-five at the outside. I found that my car was gone, and I reported it. Now, if you're
completely satisfied, Inspector.... “Gorfmann half rose, bracing his hands on the edge of the table to indicate that he was ready to leave.

  Wenkle, however, shifted another form to the top of the papers in front of him and studied it, giving no sign that he was finished. Gorfmann held his pose for a few more seconds, then conceded with a sigh and sat down again. Finally Wenkle said, “Yes, we do have some information, Dr. Gorfmann. Your car was found this morning, at the bottom of a two-hundred-meter cliff less than a kilometer away, on the steep stretch of road between here and the Weiderwasser bridge. From the impact point where it struck the rocks, it was evidently traveling at considerable speed, and the skid marks where it went off the road indicate that it was out of control."

  Gorfmann looked stunned. “My God! ... Is it badly damaged? It was almost new."

  “Completely burned out, I'm afraid. I assume your insurance will take care of that."

  “And that driver? Was he?..."

  “Oh, no doubt killed instantly. The body was burned to a cinder. We're having to run checks on dental and medical records to try and identify him."

  “I see.... That's terrible.... Have you been able to determine when this occurred, Inspector?"

  “Not really. As I said, the car was found early this morning. But from the amount of burning and the degree to which it had cooled, the accident itself must have happened many hours earlier. It could have been at any time during the night or the previous evening. The car was in a gorge, invisible from the road. We were alerted only when somebody reported the broken fence and headlamp glass, after daybreak this morning."

  Gorfmann licked his lips as the full awareness sank in. “Well, if there's anything else I can tell you...."

  “Just one thing. Out of curiosity, do you have your car keys with you now?"

  “Yes."

  “May I see them, please?"

  Gorfmann reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a leather-tagged key ring containing as assortment of keys. “That one, and that one,” he said, separating out two of them.

  “Thank you. Er, do you have another set, by any chance?"

  “I do, as a matter of fact. I keep them in the desk in my office, here at the Institute."

  “When was the last time you saw them?"

  “Oh.... “Gorfmann made a vague motion in the air that could have meant anything. “I don't know. You don't really notice after a while, if you know what I mean. They've been there since I bought the car."

  “Have you been to your office this morning?"

  “Well, no actually.... I, er, I was somewhat later getting in than I intended, and since we were due to conduct some rather important tests, I went directly to the lab. I was there until you arrived."

  “And you haven't heard of anything unusual being reported from there today—somebody breaking in, for instance?"

  “Breaking in?” Gorfmann looked surprised. “No, nothing like that at all. Why?"

  In reply, Wenkle reached inside his document case again and drew out a plain white envelope. From it he took a key ring with just two keys on it, smoke-blackened and dulled. It also had a medallion attached, bearing a distinctive red motif and encased in a plastic coating that had been partially melted. “Are these the keys from your desk, Dr. Gorfmann?” he inquired.

  Gorfmann stared in astonishment. “Why, yes.... Yes, they are."

  “Can you explain how they came to be in the thief's possession?"

  Gorfmann blinked rapidly behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. “No, Inspector, I can't,” he replied, for once completely bemused. “I have no explanation to offer at all."

  * * * *

  One side of the road had been closed off for a short distance by temporary barriers, reducing the traffic to a single lane. A few cars waited at one end while a policeman wearing a Day-Glo orange overjacket directed traffic through in the other direction. Rudi Gorfmann looked on glumly from a rocky projection above the gorge, while from behind the barriers a tow truck from Innsbruck winched what was left of his car slowly up the precipice. Inspector Wenkle and several other officers, along with two men from the insurance company, were watching from in front of some cars parked in a line along the verge. A cold breeze was coming down from the mountains, and Gorfmann drew the collar of his fur-lined parka closer around his neck and face.

  At least, whoever had stolen it hadn't had long to derive much pleasure from the act, he reflected with a twinge of satisfaction. Served him right. Too much riffraff on the loose altogether, these days, with no sense of decency or respect for other people's rights or property. No discipline in the schools, that was what it was. Too many do-gooders hamstringing the police.

  After Wenkle's visit to the Institute the previous day to inform him about the accident, he remembered recalling that Osternak hadn't been seen by anyone that morning, which was unusual because the professor went by strict habits. For a while, Gorfmann had wondered secretly if maybe—just maybe, for some reason—it might have been Osternak who had gone over the edge in Gorfmann's car. Perhaps he had lost his keys, or forgotten where he'd parked his own car or something, and in some kind of emergency borrowed Gorfmann's. He knew that Gorfmann kept a spare set of keys in his desk. Unlikely, admittedly ... but not impossible. But then Osternak had reappeared later in the afternoon and shattered that fond hope. Now Gorfmann would have to go through the chore of choosing, buying, and getting them to fix all the problems and squeaks in another piece of moron-engineered incompetence that passed as a new car.

  But it was a thought.... Maybe he could doctor the brakes of Osternak's car one of these dark, slippery nights.... An intriguing thought. Tricky, though. Gorfmann's position at the Institute would make him an immediate suspect. It wouldn't do to simply leave a trap like that, which he could have set as easily as anyone else. It would have to be done in such a way that he'd have an absolutely foolproof alibi.

  “It feels as if winter's on its way,” a voice said. Inspector Wenkle had walked over and was standing next to him.

  “Yes, quite a nip in the wind. Have you made any progress in identifying the culprit?"

  “Not yet, but it's still early. There's information to come in from a lot of places. From the X-rays, it seems that he had a surgical pin in his knee. You know the kind of thing I mean?"

  “Yes indeed. In fact I have one myself. It was from a climbing accident, many years ago."

  “They're quite common.... Oh, and there was another thing. I talked to Dr. Hoetzer. Apparently he almost had an accident himself last night, immediately after dropping you off. He tells me that as he was driving out of the main gate, a car came out of the gateway higher up at the Keep, swerving all over the road at considerable speed, and almost collided with him head-on. It seems probable that it was your car, Dr. Gorfmann."

  “Good heavens! Then I must have just missed him by minutes."

  “So it would appear. But it does fix the time of the theft at around ten-thirty. If anything else turns up, of course I'll let you know."

  “Thank you. I would appreciate it."

  “Well, I must be getting back. Good day, then."

  “Good day, Inspector."

  * * * *

  The solution occurred to him a half hour later, as he was leaving the site in his pool car after the wreck had been hauled away. Of course! With a time machine at his disposal, he had the means for constructing the perfect alibi! Literally perfect. For what better way could there be of establishing that he had been in another place at the time a murder was committed, than actually being there? He could arrange for there to be two of him! Let even the best Wenkle in the world find a hole in that if he could. Gorfmann was so pleased with the inspiration that he laughed and chuckled out loud to himself all the way back to the Institute.

  For the alibi to be effective, Osternak would have to be done away with in a manner that required the killer to actually be there, physically, at the same time. That way, the incontestable demonstration that he, Gorfmann—i.e. his other self—had
been somewhere else would prove his innocence beyond question. And the perfect occasion had been just two nights before, when he knew, moreover, that Osternak had been working late, alone, in his dingy office up in the Keep. He also knew that Osternak, being Swiss, kept a revolver in the middle drawer of his desk. As the police would reconstruct it, the professor would have disturbed an intruder who had discovered the gun, and in the ensuing confrontation Osternak had been shot with his own weapon. The time would be known precisely, and Gorfmann would have been miles away, in full view of hundreds of people. It was perfect. There would then be one other key participant to be taken care of to avoid possible complications, of course, but recent events had even provided a means of accomplishing that.

  * * * *

  By the evening of that same day, he had completed his plans. He waited until it was late at night, when the Institute was still. Then, wearing loose black clothing, his face darkened by streaks of greasepaint, and carrying a bag with a day's supply of food and a flask of hot coffee, a kit of tools, and a formal evening suit with dress shirt, he materialized stealthily from the shrubbery by the executive parking area and let himself into the Keep. He crossed the lobby and went along the darkened passageway to the rear door that opened out into the Compound, and from there, keeping to the shadows, made his way over to the dome containing the time-transfer gate. Inside the control room, he activated the supervisory console, and working quickly, primed the system for a simple transfer back to the early morning hours of the day before last—he couldn't risk arriving later, when people might be around. That meant he would have to find somewhere to lay up through the day, but that wouldn't be difficult.

  He set the initialization routine on automatic with a delay of thirty seconds, then hurried through to the transfer room itself, climbed inside the safelike, metal-walled chamber, and closed the door. A few seconds later his head seemed to explode in a riot of colors, and he felt as if his body was fizzing from head to toe, like a can of shaken-up soda. Then the sensation passed, leaving only a tingling in his fingers and a mild feeling of nausea, which quickly passed. He opened the door carefully. All outside was dark and still. He went through to the control room and the console display verified that the time and date were as he had intended. Satisfied, he crossed back to the Keep and made his way up to one of the attic rooms, hardly ever visited, which was used to store old office machinery, archived documents, and some pieces of surplus furniture that even included a comfortable four-seat couch. Yes, he would be fine here for a day, he decided, looking around. He'd even brought himself a couple of books to read. And the wait would be well worth it.