Lifeforce by Colin Wilson Page B

body. He started to speak, but his voice stuck hi his throat. His heart was suddenly beating painfully.
    Fallada said gently: “We both recognise this as a possibility, in which case it is also possible that these things are indestructible. But that doesn’t mean they are incapable of making mistakes. For example —”
    The sharp buzz of the telescreen interrupted him. He pressed the reply key.
    “The Commissioner of Police to speak to you, sir.”
    “Put him through.”
    Carlsen was sitting on the far side of the desk, so could not see the Commissioner’s face; the voice was clipped and military.
    “Hans, glad I caught you. There’s been a new development. We’ve found the suspect.”
    “The racing driver?”
    “Yes. I’ve just been to see him.”
    “Alive?”
    “Unfortunately not. In the Wandsworth mortuary. His body was fished out of the river this afternoon.”
    “So there had been no post-mortem yet?”
    “Not yet. But I’d say it’s a clear case of suicide after committing a murder. So from our point of view, the case is closed.”
    Fallada said: “Percy, I want to see that body.”
    “Yes, of course. Any… er… particular reason?”
    “Because I’d like to take a bet he didn’t die by drowning.”
    “Then you’d lose it. I watched them pumping the water out of his lungs.”
    Fallada shook his head incredulously. “Are you sure?”
    “Quite certain. Why? I don’t understand you…”
    Fallada said: “I’m coming over there to see you now. Will you be there in half an hour?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m bringing Commander Carlsen too.”
    Fallada rang off. He stood up, sighing and massaging his eyes. “That is unbelievable. I would have staked a thousand pounds that he was dead before he entered the water.” He crossed to the window and stared out, his hands deep in his coat pockets. “When the screen rang, I was about to say that they had made a mistake in choosing Clapperton. He is too well-known. Consequently, he is of no use to them. So he has to die.”
    “Well, you were right.”
    Fallada grunted. “Perhaps… We must go now.” He pressed the communication button and told his secretary: “Order a cab to pick me up in front of the Ismeer Building in five minutes. And tell Norman to expect another body for examination.”
    The high-speed elevator took twenty-five seconds to carry them to the ground floor, a mile below. There was no sensation of movement; only a momentary lightness. Fallada stood without speaking, his head sunk on his chest.
    As they left the air-conditioned coolness of the Ismeer Building, the air of the city poured over them like warm water. The spring day was as hot as midsummer. Many of the dark-suited men had removed their jackets. Women had taken advantage of the sun to try out the latest fashion: transparent dresses over brightly coloured underwear. There was a gaiety about the crowd that made it hard to believe in vampires.
    The tiny battery-powered cab was waiting by the pavement. Carlsen was about to climb in when he heard the voice of the robot news-vendor: “New Stranger sensation. New Stranger sensation…” The changing neon sign in front of it read: “Spaceman describes Mary Celeste of space…” Carlsen slipped a coin into the machine and took the Evening Mail.
    There was a photograph on the front page that he recognised as Patricia Wolfson, wife of the captain of the Vega. She was holding two children by the hand.
    In the cab, Fallada leaned forward, trying to read over his shoulder. Carlsen said: “It looks as if Wolfson went aboard the Stranger after all.”
    Fallada leaned back. “Read it aloud, would you?”
    “ ‘Only one hour before receiving an order forbidding all further exploration of the Stranger, Captain Derek Wolfson and a three-man team entered its control room. This was revealed today in an exclusive interview by Mrs Patricia Wolfson, the spaceman’s wife. Mrs Wolfson talked to our reporter at the London International