“BRIEF #921,088. SECTION C-1. MOTIVE,” Mose said. “PASSION MOTIVE FOR CRIME INSUFFICIENTLY DOCUMENTED. CF STATE v. HANRAHAN, 1202 SUP. COURT. 19, AND SUBSEQUENT LINE OF LEADING CASES.”

“Passion motive?” Powell muttered. “Is Mose crazy? It’s a profit motive. Check C-1, Beck.”

Beck checked. “No mistake here.”

“Try him again.”

They ran the computer through it a third time. This time he spoke to the point: “BRIEF #921,088. SECTION C-1. MOTIVE. PROFIT MOTIVE FOR CRIME INSUFFICIENTLY DOCUMENTED. CF STATE v. ROYAL 1197 SUP. COURT 388.”

“Didn’t you punch C-1 properly?” Powell inquired.

“We got everything in that we could,” Beck replied.

“Excuse me,” Powell said to the others, “I’ve got to peep this out with Beck. You don’t mind, I hope.” He turned to Beck: “Open up, Jackson. I smelted an evasion in them last words. Let me have it…”

“Honestly, Linc, I’m not aware of any—”

“If you were aware, it wouldn’t be an evasion. It’d be a downright lie. Now lemme see… Oh. Of course! Idiot. You don’t have to be ashamed because Code’s a little slow.”

Powell spoke aloud to the staffs: “Beck’s missing one small datum point. Code’s still working with Hassop upstairs trying to bust Reich’s private code. So far all we’ve got is the knowledge that Reich offered merger and was refused. We haven’t got the definite offer and refusal yet. That’s what Mose wants. A cautious monster.”

“If you didn’t bust the code, how do you know the offer was made and refused?” the D.A. asked.

“Got that from Reich himself through Gus Tate. It was one of the last things Tate gave me before he was murdered. I tell you what, Beck. Add an assumption to the tape. Assuming that our merger evidence is unassailable (which it is) what does Mose think of the case?”

Beck hand punched a strip, spliced it to the main problem and fed it in again. By now well warmed up, the Mosaic Multiplex Computer answered in thirty seconds: “BRIEF #921,088. ACCEPTING ASSUMPTION, PROBABILITY OF SUCCESSFUL PROSECUTION 97.0099%.”

Powell’s staff grinned and relaxed. Powell tore the tape out of the typewriter and presented it to the D.A. with a flourish. “And there’s your case, Mr. District Attorney… Sewn up and delivered.”

“By God!” the D.A. said. “Ninety seven per cent! Jesus, we haven’t had one in the ninety bracket all my term. I thought I was lucky when I broke seventy. Ninety seven per cent… Against Ben Reich himself! Jesus!” He looked around at his staff in a kind of wild surmise. “We’ll make goddam history!”

The office door opened and two perspiring men darted in waving manuscript.

“Here’s Code now,” Powell said. “You bust it?”

“We busted it,” they said, “and now you’re busted, Powell. The whole case is busted.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Reich knocked off D’Courtney because D’Courtney wouldn’t merge, didn’t he? He had a nice fat profit motive for killing D’Courtney, didn’t he? In a pig’s eye he did.”

“Oh God!” Beck groaned.