"And so is this," Donegan said. "That's our side of it. Fredericks has friends—his brother's friends. Petty criminals, would-be criminals, unbalanced types. You know that. You've read the record."
"Read it?" he said. "I dug up half of it."
Donegan nodded. "Sure," he said. "And we're going to have six more cases like Fredericks' brother—murder, robbery, God knows what else—unless we can choke them off somehow."
"Crime prevention," he said. "And I'm in the middle."
"That's the way the job is," Donegan said. "We're not superman. We've got limits, just like everybody else. Our talents have limits."
He nodded. "So?"
"So," Donegan said, "we've got to convince Fredericks' friends—the unbalanced fringe—that we are supermen, that we have no limits, that no matter what they try against us they're bound to fail."
"Nice trick," he said sourly.
"Very nice," Donegan said. "And what's more, it works. Nobody except an out-and-out psychotic commits a crime when he hasn't got a hope of success. And these people aren't psychotics; most criminals aren't. Show them they can't get away with a thing—show them we're infallible, all-knowing, all-powerful supermen—and they'll be scared off trying anything."
"But killing Fredericks would do that just as well—" he began.