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Ordaz paused. “You see the problem?”
    Apparently Porter did. He ran both hands through his white-blond hair. “I think we ought to put off discussing it until we know more.”
    He meant Janice. Janice looked puzzled; she hadn't caught on. But Ordaz nodded at once and stood up. “Very well. There is no reason Miss Sinclair cannot go on living here. We may have to bother you again,” he told her. “For now, our condolences.”
    He made his exit. I trailed along. So, unexpectedly, did Drew Porter. At the top of the stairs he stopped Ordaz with a big hand around the inspector's upper arm. “You're thinking Janice did it, aren't you?”
    Ordaz sighed. “I must consider the possibility.”
    “She didn't have any reason. She loved Uncle Ray. She's lived with him on and off these past twelve years. She hasn't got the slightest reason to kill him.”
    “Is there no inheritance?”
    His expression went sour. “All right, yes , she'll have some money coming. But Janice wouldn't care about anything like that!”
    “Ye-es. Still, what choice have I? Everything we now know tells us that the killer could not have left the scene of the killing. We searched the premises immediately. There was only Janice Sinclair and her murdered uncle.”
    Porter bit back an answer, chewed it ... He must have been tempted. Amateur detective, one step ahead of the police all the way. Yes, Watson, these gendarmes have a talent for missing the obvious ... But he had too much to lose. Porter said, “And the maintenance man. Steeves.”
    Ordaz lifted one eyebrow. “Yes, of course. We shall have to investigate Mr. Steeves.”
    “How did he get that call from, uh, 36A? Bedside phone or pocket phone? Maybe he was already on the roof.”
    “I don't remember what he said. But we have pictures of his taxi landing.”
    “He had a taxi clicker. He could have just called it down.”
    “One more thing,” I said, and Porter looked at me hopefully. “Porter, the elevator wouldn't take anyone up unless they were on its list.”
    “Or unless Uncle Ray buzzed down. There's an intercom in the lobby. But at that time of night he probably wouldn't let anyone up unless he was expecting him.”
    “So if Sinclair was expecting a business associate, he or she was probably in the tape. How about going down? Would the elevator take you down to the lobby if you weren't in the tape?”
    “I'd ... think so.”
    “It would,” Ordaz said. “The elevator screens entrances, not departures.”
    “Then why didn't the killer use it? I don't mean Steeves necessarily. I mean anyone , whoever it might have been. Why didn't he just go down in the elevator? Whatever he did do, that had to be easier.”
    They looked at each other, but they didn't say anything.
    “Okay.” I turned to Ordaz. “When you check out the people in the tape, see if any of them shows a damaged arm. The killer might have pulled the same stunt Janice did: ruined her arm trying to turn off the generator. And I'd like a look at who's in that tape.”
    “Very well,” Ordaz said, and we moved toward the squad car under the carport. We were out of earshot when he added, “How does the ARM come into this, Mr. Hamilton? Why your interest in the murder aspect of this case?”
    I told him what I'd told Bera: that Sinclair's killer might be the only living expert on Sinclair's time machine. Ordaz nodded. What he'd really wanted to know was: Could I justify giving orders to the Los Angeles Police Department in a local matter? And I had answered yes.
* * * *
    The rather simple-minded security system in Sinclair's elevator had been built to remember the thumbprints and the facial bone structures (which it scanned by deep radar, thus avoiding the problems raised by changing beard styles and masquerade parties) of up to a hundred people. Most people know about a hundred people, plus or minus ten or so. But Sinclair had only listed a dozen, including himself.
    RAYMOND SINCLAIR
    ANDREW PORTER
    JANICE