"Well, look here, mister—"

"Let me be perfectly plain," Hall said. "This is a matter of considerable importance and it concerns Officer Willis. No doubt there's a court inquiry pending on him, and no doubt you'll be involved. We may be able to demonstrate that Officer Willis was not responsible for his actions, that he was suffering from a purely medical problem. But we can't do that unless you tell us what you know about his medical status. And if you don't tell us, Dr. Smithson, and tell us damned fast, we can have you locked away for twelve years for obstructing an official, government inquiry. I don't care whether you believe that or not. I'm telling you, and you'd better believe it."

There was a very long pause, and finally the drawl: "No need to get excited, Doctor. Naturally, now that I understand the situation."

"Did Willis have an ulcer?"

"Ulcer? No. That was just what he said, or was reported to have said. He never had an ulcer that I know of."

"Did he have any medical problem?"

"Diabetes," Smithson said.

"Diabetes?"

"Yeah. And he was pretty casual about it. We diagnosed him five, six years ago, at the age of thirty. Had a pretty severe case. We put him on insulin, fifty units a day, but he was casual, like I said. Showed up in the hospital once or twice in coma, because he wouldn't take his insulin. Said he hated the needles. We almost put him off the force, because we were afraid to let him drive a car—thought he'd go into acidosis at the wheel and conk out. We scared him plenty and he promised to go straight. That was three years ago, and as far as I know, he took his insulin regularly from then on."

"You're sure of that?"

"Well, I think so. But the waitress at that restaurant, Sally Conover, told one of our investigators that she figured Willis had been drinking, because she could smell liquor on his breath. And I know for a fact that Willis never touched a drop in his life. He was one of these real religious fellows. Never smoked and never drank. Always led a clean life. That was why his diabetes bothered him so: he felt he didn't deserve it."

Hall relaxed in his chair. He was getting near now, coming closer. The answer was within reach; the final answer, the key to it all.

"One last question," Hall said. "Did Willis go through Piedmont on the night of his death?"

"Yes. He radioed in. He was a little behind schedule, but he passed through. Why? Is it something about the government tests being held there?"

"No," Hall said, but he was sure Smithson didn't believe him.

"Well, listen, we're stuck here with a bad case, and if you have any information which would—"

"We will be in touch," Hall promised him, and clicked off.

The girl at the switchboard came back on.

"Is your call completed, Dr. Hall?"