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“An extensive crime,” said the man at the desk softly. He reached for the folder. “Yes, a considerable quantity of murder.” He leafed through the folder and then thought a while, looking at the most recent reports. Thinking was what he was paid for, and he earned his excellent salary.

“This thumbprint on the hotel register—the name is false, but the thumbprint looks real. Could we persuade the Bureau of Records to give their data on that print?”

“Without a warrant? Against constitutional immunity. No, not a chance. The public has been touchy about the right to secrecy ever since that police state was attempted in Varga.”

“How about persuading an obliging judge to give a warrant on grounds of reasonable suspicion?”

“No. We’d have the humanist press down on our necks in a minute, and any judge knows it. We’d have to prove a crime was committed. No crime, no warrant.”

“It seems a pity we can’t even find out who the gentleman is,” the Crimes Department head murmured, looking at the thumbprint wistfully. “No crime, no records. No records, no evidence. No evidence, no proof of crime. Therefore, we must manufacture a small crime. He was attacked and he must have defended himself. Someone may have been hurt in the process.” He pushed a button. “Do you think if I send a man down there, he could persuade one of the mob to swear out a complaint?”