The Puppet Master

electronic Michigan and National Monthly Climatic Summaries, with statistics out the tubes. And to Monthly Weather Review. Hemlock Harbor, a lot farther north, averages the same January temperature as Minneapolis, but its winters arrive two weeks earlier, as defined by a normal daily temperature of 32 degrees, and end more than three weeks later. And it has a normal annual snowfall of 128 inches, compared to 51 in Minneapolis. We Upper Peninsulers are proud of our winters, especially when we've left them for places like L.A.)

Hjelmgaard showed me a little of the savants section in passing. They had their own dining room, a gymnasium and pool, a sort of small theater that handles TV, holos, and film, and a social room with an honest to God concert grand piano. According to Hjelmgaard, one of the savants came to their attention because he played the classics on the piano—Chopin, Beethoven . . . without ever having had lessons. And one of their wealthy supporters—a wide receiver on the Vikings—decided the kid needed a good piano to play on. Each savant also had a private room, with the exception of a pair of twins who were inseparable. Hjelmgaard said that in general, they needed the opportunity to be alone.

When we got to Tomasic's door, Hjelmgaard knocked politely, and a young man's voice called out, 'Just a minute.' To my ears, it could have been a teenager's, one not into cynicism or being 'smooth.' Then he let us in. Charles was medium—medium size, medium build, with medium brown hair in the currently mod 'bowl cut.' He thrust out a hand to shake. His grip was firm but not strong or assertive. 'You're Mr. Seppanen,' he said, putting the accent on the first syllable, where it belongs. From learning it by ear, I suppose, instead of seeing it in writing.

'And you're Charles Tomasic,' I answered. 'It's up to you, but I hope you'll call me Martti.'

He grinned. 'Okay. I'll call you Martti and you call me Charles. Dr. Hjelmgaard told me something about you. You're a famous detective.'

I grinned back. 'Not really famous. Semi-famous. And you make pictures like nobody else can.'

He nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'Dr. Hjelmgaard says I do it even better than Ted Polemes did.' He tapped his head. 'That's why I don't figure things out as well as other people. Part of my brain got used to do my special thing.' He looked at Hjelmgaard, who was beaming like a father. 'I figured that out myself, didn't I, Clarence?'

'Yes, you did.'

We sat around and talked for about twenty minutes, then Hjelmgaard excused us, and we left Charles to do his homework. 'It tires him to carry on a conversation at that level for too long,' Hjelmgaard said. 'Then he begins to act childish, and realizes it, and tends to get upset with himself. I tell him it's all right just to be himself, that everyone has their own style, but advice like that isn't always easy to follow.' He shrugged. 'For any of us.

'Studying history and geography, especially cultural geography, has increased his confidence and competence in social situations. He's a very special person, entirely aside from his talent, and very interesting as well.

'He came to us at fourteen, more than five years ago. At that time his IQ was fifty-one. His father had died in the EVM plague, when Charles was only six, and his mother, who needed to work, had left him at a day care center for special children.

'His talent didn't show up until a Christmas picture—a candid shot—was taken of him with his mother and grandparents. Instead of showing them, it showed a ship at sea: a specific ship—the Alvin S. Baker of the Baldwin Transportation Company.' Hjelmgaard laughed. 'The uncle who took it couldn't imagine what had happened. The negative was a single frame in an uncut roll! So a week or so later he tried again and got an aircraft, an old Boeing 747. In flight, as if shot from above!'

Hjelmgaard chuckled. 'His mother mentioned it to the director of the care center, not as something Charles was responsible for, but as a family mystery. But the director there had read an article, years before, about a psychic photographer, probably Polemes. Knowing of the Savant Project, she called us.

'Charles is not autistic, but he was a somewhat disturbed boy at that time. Then our Dr. Pendleton did a series of traumatic incident reductions on him—Pendleton was the first person on our staff trained for it—and it not only stabilized Charles emotionally; it caused an immediate eleven-point jump in his IQ. It's climbed several more points since then, perhaps due to his growing confidence.'

We sat down in Hjelmgaard's office again. 'Charles reacted very well to you, Mr. Seppanen, and you to him. You seem nicely compatible. What I need to know now is how, specifically, we would proceed. You said it wouldn't be necessary to trespass.'

* * *

I wasn't even sure it would be necessary for Charles to leave his room, but according to Hjelmgaard, the Willmar murder case was the only instance in which he'd succeeded in producing a photo of an intended subject. He'd seen the murderer on television, heard about the crime, had an emotional response, and produced what might be termed 'target photos.' So we acted on the hope, if not the expectation, that if Charles was told about the presumed crime, and then shown the presumed site, he might give us a picture of the crime in progress.

The fee that Hjelmgaard named was $2,500, to be paid directly into a trust fund that the project had already set up for Charles. I checked it with Butzburger over the phone, and he agreed without even looking troubled. Apparently to him that was pocket money, once he'd decided it was all right to use psychics. And maybe he liked where this particular twenty-five hundred was going. A good man, Butzburger, in spite of his church.

We ended up with an agreement to do it in three days, or as soon afterward as conditions were suitable. Hjelmgaard was to come along too, of course. He wasn't charging anything for his time and services. All we had to do was cover his expenses. I also told Hjelmgaard I'd like to take along an ex-Gnostie, Fred Hamilton, to advise me as necessary. We called Hamilton at his office—he'd just gotten back from a business lunch—and Hjelmgaard and he talked for several minutes. Hamilton would remain behind if Charles didn't like him.

Then I called Joe. He had Contracts finalize the agreement then and there, and Hjelmgaard's computer received a copy with Joe's intersig. When I took off from Lindbergh that evening, I felt as if I'd done a really good day's work.

23

EVIDENCE—OF A SORT

I reserved two moderately priced suites in the New Black Angus Inn in Eugene, Oregon, one for Hamilton and myself, the other for Hjelmgaard and Charles. Our flight arrived at the airport a little after noon, half an hour ahead of theirs. We waited for them there and took a taxivan to the motel.

The idea was to go to bed early, because our chartered skyvan would take off with the four of us at 2 a.m., which meant that Hjelmgaard and Charles would have to get up at half-past midnight. Hamilton and I would make a preliminary overflight at eleven, to make sure there was no reason to postpone or cancel.