I looked at the list. Every person on it was either a confirmed or suspected psychopath, and each one of them conformed to the set of specifications we had fed the computer. They were listed in four different groups, according to the distance they lived from the scene of the crime—half a mile, two miles, five miles, and "remainder," the rest of the city.
"All we got to do," Kleek said complacently, "is start rounding 'em up."
"You make it sound easy," I said tightly.
He put down his coffee cup. "Hell, Roy, it is easy! We've got all these characters down on the books, don't we? We know what they are, don't we? Look at 'em! Once in a while a new one pops up, and we put him on the list. Once in a while we catch one and send him up. Practically cut and dried, isn't it?"
"Sure," I said.
"Look, Roy," he went on, "we got it down to a fine art now—have for years." He waved in the general direction of the computer. "We got the advantage that it's easier to sort 'em out now, and faster—but the old tried-and-true technique is just the same. Cops have been catching these goons in every civilized country on Earth for a hundred years by this technique."
"Sam," I said wearily, "are you going to give me a lecture on police methods?"
He picked up his cup, held it for a moment, then set it down again, his eyes hardening. "Yes, Roy, I am! I'm older than you are, I've got more years on the Force, I've been working with Homicide longer, and I outrank you in grade by two and a half years! Yes, I figure it's about time I lectured you! You want to listen?"
I looked at him. Kleek is a good cop, I was thinking, and he deserves to be listened to, even if I don't agree with him.
"O.K., Sam," I said, "I'll listen."