"That's Department of Litigation, sir. One moment."
A female voice: "Department of Litigation, Adjudicator Mawson's office."
"Let me talk to Mr. Mawson."
More time out. Then: "Adjudicator Mawson speaking."
"Thigpen here."
"Thigpen, Lewis Thigpen?" The adjudicator's voice grew brusque and chill. "I'm afraid you have the wrong party, sir. I don't know anyone named Thigpen."
"Listen, Mawson—"
"Murderers are hardly to my taste, sir. Even if I did know Thigpen, it would be my greatest pleasure to turn him over to Security for immediate prosecution."
Angrily, Ross slammed up the com-set and stalked forth from the booth.
Outside, the street was empty, without even a transor in sight. Turning right, Ross strode grimly towards the nearest avenue. His face was set in bitter, deep-hewn lines, but no hesitation showed in his carriage or his manner. Rather, an air of hard, aggressive recklessness now marked him. Tension was in his stance, his movements—the sort of surging drive that calls for quick release in action.