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he?”
    “Yes.”
    “I came home and found him that way. Lying next to that time machine of his, and the back of his head all bloody. I thought maybe he was still alive, but I could see the machine was going; it had that violet glow. I tried to get hold of the poker. I wanted to use it to switch the machine off, but I couldn't get a grip. My arm wasn't just numb; it wouldn't move. You know, you can try to wiggle your toes when your foot's asleep, but ... I could get my hands on the handle of the damn poker, but when I tried to pull, it just slid off.”
    “You kept trying?”
    “For a while. Then ... I backed away to think it over. I wasn't about to waste any time with Uncle Ray maybe dying in there. My arm felt stone dead ... I guess it was, wasn't it?” She shuddered. “Rotting meat. It smelled that way. And all of a sudden I felt so weak and dizzy, like was dying myself. I barely made it into the ’doc.”
    “Good thing you did,” I said. The blood was leaving Porter's face again as he realized what a close thing it had been.
    Ordaz said, “Was your great-uncle expecting visitors last night?”
    “I think so.”
    “Why do you think so?”
    “I don't know. He just—acted that way.”
    “We are told that you and some friends reached Cziller's House of Irish Coffee around midnight. Is that true?”
    “I guess so. We had some drinks, then I took Drew home and came home myself.”
    “Straight home?”
    “Yes.” She shivered. “I put the car away and went downstairs. I knew something was wrong. The door was open. Then there was Uncle Ray lying next to that machine! I knew better than to just run up to him. He'd told us not to step into the field.”
    “Oh? Then you should have known better than to reach for the poker.”
    “Well, yes. I could have used the tongs,” she said as if the idea had just occurred to her. “It's just as long. I didn't think of it. There wasn't time . Don't you understand? He was dying in there, or dead!”
    “Yes, of course. Did you interfere with the murder scene in any way?”
    She laughed bitterly. “I suppose I moved the poker about two inches. Then, when I felt what was happening to me, I just ran for the ’doc. It was awful. Like dying.”
    “Instant gangrene,” Porter said.
    Ordaz said, “You did not, for example, lock the elevator?”
    Damn! I should have thought of that.
    “No. We usually do when we lock up for the night, but I didn't have time.”
    Porter said, “Why?”
    “The elevator was locked when we arrived,” Ordaz told
    Porter ruminated that. “Then the killer must have left by the roof. You'll have pictures of him.”
    Ordaz smiled apologetically. “That is our problem. No cars left the roof last night. Only one car arrived. That was yours, Miss Sinclair.”
    “But,” Porter said, and he stopped.
    “What happened was this,” Ordaz said. “Around five-thirty this morning, the tenants in—” He stopped to remember. “—in 36A called the building maintenance man about a smell as of rotting meat coming through the air-conditioning system. He spent some time looking for the source, but once he reached the roof, it was obvious. He—”
    Porter pounced. “He reached the roof in what kind of vehicle?”
    “Mr. Steeves says that he took a taxi from the street. There is no other way to reach Dr. Sinclair's private landing pad, is there?”
    “No. But why would he do that?”
    “Perhaps there have been other times when strange smells came from Dr. Sinclair's laboratory. We will ask him.”
    “Do that.”
    “Mr. Steeves followed the smell through the doctor's open door. He called us. He waited for us on the roof.”
    “What about his taxi?” Porter was hot on the scent. “Maybe the killer just waited till that taxi got here, then took it somewhere else when Steeves finished with it.”
    “It left immediately after Steeves had stepped out. He had a taxi clicker if he wanted another. The cameras were on it the entire time it was on the roof.”