Read Online The Gorgon Festival by John Boyd - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Boyd
Tags: Science-Fiction
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his eyes was drifting away from the emphasis. “Any man who could do that would have an undivided share of Nobel loot in his pocket.”
Slipping automatically into habitual thought patterns, Cabroni realized that here was motive for murder, if Ward wasn’t willing to share the dough with a co-worker.
Cabroni’s angle of attack shifted. Suddenly he became a respectful, almost humble, petitioner. “Your opinion, please, Doctor Carrick: would the repair of DNA affect arthritis?”
“Depending, of course, on the stage of the disease, the rehabilitation of gristle and surrounding muscle might have a generally beneficial…”
“Would it act as a sexual stimulant?”
As Carrick considered the question, Cabroni studied Carrick’s face for subtle signs of his thought processes, a narrowing of eyes, a quivering of the underlip.
Carrick’s face sharpened. His eyes grew speculative, then calculating, then predatory. His rotundity of body, formerly suggestive of joviality, changed; his shoulders became squarer, his stomach flattened and expanded upward into his chest cavities. Leaning forward, talking to himself more than to Cabroni, he looked powerful, formidable.
“If the cellular structure of the genitourinary tract were reconstituted, in toto, there would be rejuvenation, complete and pristine. The organs would be young and yearning again, possessed of a vitality that would dominate the hypothalamus, crush all psychic blocks to the libido. The discoverer of the process, had he any business acumen, could make millions, for he would possess the greatest aphrodisiac in the world. No, billions…”
“Thank you, Doctor Carrick, and good day.”
“Princes and potentates would lay their treasures at his feet. Frustrated wives of impotent husbands would lay pounds, Reichsmarks, yen, rupees, zloty, kronor and flowers… The greatest aphrodisiac in the world. Generals, premiers, presidents, nations, commonwealths, empires…”
Quietly Cabroni closed the door and hurried from the outer office. The day was wearing on, and he wanted to get to Ester and question her before her husband got home. Because the clues pointed so clumsily to Alexander Ward as the perpetrator, Cabroni did not believe Ruth Gordon had been murdered, but, professionally, Cabroni was willing to assume Ward had murdered her. Too little suspicion could be fatal; too much never hurt.
CHAPTER FOUR
Twenty minutes later, Cabroni composed his face in hostile lines and rang the Wards’ doorbell. Ward should be easy to intimidate. Most professors, even the new New Left professors who advocated violence, disliked violence when it was directed at them.
“Joe, you beast!”
Ester had opened the door and squealing with unfeigned delight she flung herself around his neck. Unprepared for her friendliness and spontaneity, his arms went around her, but she slipped from his embrace, took his hand, and led him through the house toward the bar, chatting, “I could forgive you for calling when you’re drunk and obnoxious, but I found it hard to forgive you for hanging up. Nobody does that to me.”
“Ester, I was drunk and maybe obnoxious, but I didn’t hang up. Twice on your husband, yes, but never on you.”
“Then someone else got an earful,” she commented, gliding behind the bar. “I’m sorry, all I can give you is a screwdriver because Alex will be home soon.”
“Is that your handiwork?” He waved toward the table in the dining room with its linen, candelabra, and gold-plated china.
“All mine. I fired the maid. Alex thinks I’ve grown domestic, but it’s really that I don’t want another woman in the house.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “Joe, he’s so rampacious lately, a wholly new Alex with an extra added ingredient.”
“Something the mad scientist discovered in his lab?” Cabroni asked.
“Maybe, but I think I had a lot to do with it. When he starts taking that little half-step, coming toward me like an adagio
Slipping automatically into habitual thought patterns, Cabroni realized that here was motive for murder, if Ward wasn’t willing to share the dough with a co-worker.
Cabroni’s angle of attack shifted. Suddenly he became a respectful, almost humble, petitioner. “Your opinion, please, Doctor Carrick: would the repair of DNA affect arthritis?”
“Depending, of course, on the stage of the disease, the rehabilitation of gristle and surrounding muscle might have a generally beneficial…”
“Would it act as a sexual stimulant?”
As Carrick considered the question, Cabroni studied Carrick’s face for subtle signs of his thought processes, a narrowing of eyes, a quivering of the underlip.
Carrick’s face sharpened. His eyes grew speculative, then calculating, then predatory. His rotundity of body, formerly suggestive of joviality, changed; his shoulders became squarer, his stomach flattened and expanded upward into his chest cavities. Leaning forward, talking to himself more than to Cabroni, he looked powerful, formidable.
“If the cellular structure of the genitourinary tract were reconstituted, in toto, there would be rejuvenation, complete and pristine. The organs would be young and yearning again, possessed of a vitality that would dominate the hypothalamus, crush all psychic blocks to the libido. The discoverer of the process, had he any business acumen, could make millions, for he would possess the greatest aphrodisiac in the world. No, billions…”
“Thank you, Doctor Carrick, and good day.”
“Princes and potentates would lay their treasures at his feet. Frustrated wives of impotent husbands would lay pounds, Reichsmarks, yen, rupees, zloty, kronor and flowers… The greatest aphrodisiac in the world. Generals, premiers, presidents, nations, commonwealths, empires…”
Quietly Cabroni closed the door and hurried from the outer office. The day was wearing on, and he wanted to get to Ester and question her before her husband got home. Because the clues pointed so clumsily to Alexander Ward as the perpetrator, Cabroni did not believe Ruth Gordon had been murdered, but, professionally, Cabroni was willing to assume Ward had murdered her. Too little suspicion could be fatal; too much never hurt.
CHAPTER FOUR
Twenty minutes later, Cabroni composed his face in hostile lines and rang the Wards’ doorbell. Ward should be easy to intimidate. Most professors, even the new New Left professors who advocated violence, disliked violence when it was directed at them.
“Joe, you beast!”
Ester had opened the door and squealing with unfeigned delight she flung herself around his neck. Unprepared for her friendliness and spontaneity, his arms went around her, but she slipped from his embrace, took his hand, and led him through the house toward the bar, chatting, “I could forgive you for calling when you’re drunk and obnoxious, but I found it hard to forgive you for hanging up. Nobody does that to me.”
“Ester, I was drunk and maybe obnoxious, but I didn’t hang up. Twice on your husband, yes, but never on you.”
“Then someone else got an earful,” she commented, gliding behind the bar. “I’m sorry, all I can give you is a screwdriver because Alex will be home soon.”
“Is that your handiwork?” He waved toward the table in the dining room with its linen, candelabra, and gold-plated china.
“All mine. I fired the maid. Alex thinks I’ve grown domestic, but it’s really that I don’t want another woman in the house.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “Joe, he’s so rampacious lately, a wholly new Alex with an extra added ingredient.”
“Something the mad scientist discovered in his lab?” Cabroni asked.
“Maybe, but I think I had a lot to do with it. When he starts taking that little half-step, coming toward me like an adagio
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