Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Vol. 63, No. 2. Whole No. 363, February 1974

The Science of Anticipation by Alexander Agis[3]

Alexander Agis’ “first story” — “The Blue Room” in our December 1973 issue — really prepared the reader for the concept of crime detection that Mr. Agis now gives us in his second story. What kind of detection will we have in the future? What will be the nature of the detective’s work? (We once wrote of “the detective-story writers’ awareness, and in some instances, their extraordinary anticipation of the coming events that cast their shadows before.”)

Well, let’s find out about coming events: join the head of a future President’s Commission on Crime for a tour of CASES — Crime Analysis Station, Enforcement Section — and especially of the CASES Burglary Program...

Commissioner Horace Wadpole Lusnet of the President’s Commission on Crime was ushered into the Timing Center of the Crime Analysis Station, Enforcement Section (CASES) and let out a low whistle. Chief Detective Karrick permitted a boyish smile of satisfaction to spread across his face, revealing a row of perfectly formed white teeth, and took tire Commissioner by the elbow.

“Impressive-looking, isn’t it?”

“My, it certainly is,” said Commissioner Lusnet. “You fellows keep track of all these figures just so you’ll know when someone is thinking about committing a crime?”

“We certainly do, Commissioner. And we’re getting so good at it that we can predict right down to the fiver when a crime is likely to occur.”

“A fiver?”

Karrick permitted himself a friendly chuckle. “Oh, the terminology. Got you with that one, I suppose. A ‘fiver’ is just our way of saying that we can predict right to the five-minute time span when a crime is likely to occur. We’re hoping, of course, to get it down even lower.”

“My, my,” the Commissioner said.

“Uh, Papolich, get the Commissioner a cup of coffee. Now if you’ll step right this way, Commissioner—”

“Four sugars,” the Commissioner said.

“Four sugars,” said Papolich.

“No cream,” the Commissioner added. “Got to watch the weight, you know.” He rubbed a jeweled hand across his paunch.

Karrick led the Commissioner along a straight catwalk that overlooked a series of large wall-mounted graphs and charts. About twenty clerks in blue coats were busily walking along the wall, clipboards and pencils in hand, making notations here and there.

“How do you keep track of all this? It looks so confusing.”

“Only to begin with, Commissioner. You’ll see how everything is worked out to the last detail, and when we’ve finished with the tour I have a surprise for you. A good place for us to start is with these large charts. They are related to the incidence of crime, plotted by their seasonal, monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly variations.”

Papolich brought the Commissioner’s coffee. “Four sugars, no cream.”

“Thank you,” Commissioner Lusnet said and began to stir the coffee with the little plastic spoon. “Hate it when they don’t stir it,” he mumbled, “and you get down to the last mouthful and it’s all sugar.”

Karrick was leading him toward a door at the end of the catwalk. “Computers is the key word here. Computers that figure out all the variations for us in a fraction of the time it would take us.”

“Yes, I imagine—” He took a sip from his coffee.

“For instance, take our burglary program — that’s the red line on the graphs below. We have fed the computers all facts relating to burglaries committed within the continental borders. The actual number is classified, but I can tell you it is in the millions.”

“Don’t know why everyone drinks coffee so hot,” the Commissioner said, sipping from his coffee. “Now, I like mine just lukewarm — don’t you?”

“And consider this, Commissioner: last week we celebrated our fourteenth month of the pilot program, and already we have cut burglaries in this state by ninety-seven percent.”

“Ninety-seven?”

“Yes, so you can understand why your visit is so important to us. If we can get the Federal Government behind us, we estimate — our computers estimate, that is — that we can cut the overall crime rate in this country by ninety-five percent in just one year.”

“Well, well,” the Commissioner said. “I’ll certainly do my part. It was a personal favor of the President to give me this post, you know. My brother was a heavy contributor to his campaign. Frankly,” he laughed, “I don’t know a thing about crime. You’ll have to show me.”

“That we will, Commissioner,” Karrick said, his white teeth flashing against the charts. “That we will. Now, if you’ll just step through this door—”

Karrick held the door open, and the Commissioner, wide-eyed in his unassuming innocence, entered another room. Karrick took his handkerchief and quickly wiped his brow, then replaced the handkerchief before the Commissioner noticed. He could already feel the money pouring over his hands, through his fingers. He could envision a mass network of CASES centers all across the country, keeping track of every citizen in the United States. Karrick would show these criminals a thing or two! He would put some teeth into the law!

“Now,” said the Chief Detective, fighting the pounding in his chest, “this is where we keep the summaries of the trends shown on the graphs in the other room.” Commissioner Lusnet looked out over a room exactly like the first one-graphs, lines, clerks. “You’ll note the red line — that’s for burglaries, you remember — is a simple line plotting the highs and lows. It represents the summary of trends.”

Commissioner Lusnet sipped his coffee and nodded his head; it all seemed very complicated to him.

“Now, look here, you’ll note how these green lines show a sharp upturn right here?”

“Yes, yes, they certainly do.”

“That means that there will be an increase in homicide during this time period.”

“My, my.”

“Now, look at these other lines — the blue and yellow ones — and you’ll note that they show a downturn during this same period of time.”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Commissioner Lusnet. “They certainly do!”

“That means that crimes of kidnaping and aggravated assault will show a decrease during this same time period.”

“I see... I see...”

“And all this is due to the efficiency afforded us by the computer,” said Karrick, “Our employees are no longer trained in the ‘police sciences’ as such. Most of them are now computer programers, psychology majors, efficiency experts, and research consultants. You see, Commissioner, we feel that if we can anticipate something, we can prevent it from happening.”

“Yes, I think I’ve heard something like that before.”

“You should have. We’ve got a ten-million-dollar advertising campaign to get the point across. ‘If we can predict something before it occurs, we can stop it.’ ”

“Yes; now I know I’ve heard it.”

Karrick stood back a half step from the Commissioner, and as the Commissioner looked out over the long row of charts and sipped his coffee, Karrick quickly took out his handkerchief and wiped his face again. Why he was sweating so, he didn’t really know. He only knew they had sent this damn simpleton down to find out about his program, a simpleton who didn’t know a red line from a blue one — unless it was pointed out to him that they were of different colors — and he, Chief Detective Karrick, was sweating!

“You see those clipboards the officers are carrying? Each one is a complete profile of a citizen, right down to the tiniest detail. I might add, even to how many sugars he has in his coffee.”

Commissioner Lusnet raised an eyebrow. “For every citizen in this state?”

“For each and every citizen in this state — except Federal officials, of course.”

“Oh,” Commissioner Lusnet said, relieved, “of course.”

“And just think, with the Federal Government behind us, we’ll be able to include every citizen in the whole United States.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Now, take our CASES burglary program — it’s crammed full of facts relating to burglars. How old he is, what triggers him, and what we have to do to stop him. Complete social, psychological, and economic factors — they are all in that program. It’s our most advanced program, and I’m proud of it.”

“I should think so.”

“Then we run a computer match with the profiles and the computer gives us any names with a minimum number of match-points.”

“Match-points?”

“That’s just our way of saying that the computer has matched the profiles with the hypothetical profile of the typical burglar.”

“It staggers the imagination.”

“Only that’s where the real work begins! The officers then take over and match up the profiles with the charts. When an officer gets one that matches a minimum number of points, he takes it into the next room and talks it over with a psychologist member of our staff. At that point we start calling them ‘teams.’ ”

“I had no idea,” Commissioner Lusnet said. “The President had no idea.”

“I certainly hope you’ll tell him for us,” Karrick said. “We need that Federal funding if we’re to make this program really effective.”

“I certainly will.”

They had walked the entire length of the room and stopped before another door. “Are there any other questions?”

“I haven’t asked any yet,” the Commissioner said, surprising himself with the realization. “All this is so-so impressive that I haven’t thought much about questions. But tell me, how do you actually pin all this down to an arrest? How do you get all these figures down to one particular man, one particular crime, one particular time?”

“Ah,” said Karrick, “the one question I’ve been waiting for. And now. Commissioner, the surprise!” And he opened the third door. “Welcome to the inner sanctum of CASES!”

Commissioner Lusnet walked into a room of buzzing activity, a room with at least a thousand desks and several thousand clerks. At each desk sat two people, one in a red coat and the other in a black uniform, discussing something very earnestly. Clerks were coming and going with the clipboards. The rumble of their conversations was almost deafening.

“My God!” exclaimed Commissioner Lusnet. “What is all this costing?”

“Commissioner,” said Karrick, very carefully, “this is the most important room in the whole setup. This is where the psychologist member of the team and the confrontation officer get together and talk about the arrest. This is where the final decision is made to actually make an arrest.”

“You mean that at every desk in this room there is a possible arrest under consideration — at this very moment?”

“That’s it exactly.”

“Why, there must be thousands of them!”

“Of course not all of them will result in actual arrests. We do miss a few. But bear in mind that we have cut the overall crime rate in this state by ninety-five percent.”

Commissioner Lusnet was impressed; here, before his eyes, were possible arrests under consideration! Here was proof that the Crime Authority was working!

“Please step over here,” said Karrick, taking the Commissioner’s elbow and guiding him over to a desk.

“Commissioner Lusnet, this is Crime Psychoanalyst Metts and Confrontation Officer Stiltson. Gentlemen, Commissioner Horace Lusnet of the President’s Commission on Crime.”

“A pleasure, Commissioner.”

“Glad to meet you, Commissioner.”

“Thank you. I must say, I am very impressed with your operation.”

“Is everything ready?” asked Karrick.

“Half an hour to O-Time, Chief.”

“Good, we’ll have just enough time to get there. Commissioner, we have equipped a second car to take us there. Radio hookup and all. Officer Stiltson has a radio pickup embedded in his helmet. We’ll wait in the second car while he makes the arrest, and we’ll be able to hear everything that’s said.”

“Tonight? I — we are going to witness an actual arrest?”

“That’s right, Commissioner. I was told to see that you got the full story, and I’m going to see to it. Now, I suggest we get moving.”

Officer Stiltson put on his helmet, got his clipboard, and checked his gun. “Ready,” he said.

“I say,” Commissioner Lusnet said, “is it necessary to carry the gun?”

“Just precautionary,” Karrick said. “That’s all.”

“Oh,” said Commissioner Lusnet. But he noticed Office Stiltson had failed to buckle the strap that held the gun in its holster.

Walter Spector peered through the tattered drapes of his two-room apartment. A hint of condensation glistened on the aged bricks of the narrow street, glinting through the early fog. From somewhere atop a utility pole the droning of a transformer wavered in the air like the snoring of a huge insect.

He withdrew into the Shadows of the apartment and shuffled toward the kitchen, favoring his right leg. The single bulb which he used for illumination flickered as the refrigerator started with a jerk. Walter stopped and looked at the refrigerator; he hadn’t actually looked at it for some time. By all standards it should have stopped long ago, should have jerked and hissed and coughed into silence, should have grown warm and tepid and odorous. But it didn’t know any better; all it could do was to run until it stopped. And that would be that. There were no alternatives.

But Walter Spector had had his alternatives, had stood at the crossroads that led to all his possible futures and reached out a hand and throttled all his own dreams. The refrigerator never had any choice; Walter Spector, once upon a time, had had.

He felt weak and dizzy, and a fine layer of perspiration covered his face. In the darkened apartment the undersides of his arms ached with a hard dampness.

He opened the silverware drawer and took out a large carving knife and a screwdriver with a yellow handle. Back in the front room he slipped them into the pocket of his black wool coat; then he put the coat on and turned up the collar against the fog. He put his cap on his head, low over his eyes.

As he reached for the door there was a knock on the other side.

“Mr. Spector?”

It was a tall man in a night-black uniform, an exceedingly healthy-looking young man with intelligent eyes and a firm mouth. There was a certain indefinable kindness in his manner; he might be an officer selling tickets to the policeman’s ball. But there was also a hard steel glint behind his eyes, as if nothing would stop him from performing his duty.

The tall man removed his helmet, cradled it in his elbow, and held his clipboard in the same hand. Walter’s eyebrows came together for an instant, and he looked down at his hands.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Walter Spector, Social Security Number 247-AZ-5114?”

“I suppose so.”

“Born October 12, 1929, Rocky Mount, North Carolina?”

“Yes,” Walter answered, “but I don’t see what—”

“Mr. Spector, my name is Stiltson — Confrontation Officer Stiltson of the Crime Analysis Station, Enforcement Section, State of California Crime Prevention Authority.”

“How do you do,” said Walter.

“Mr. Spector, the Crime Prevention Authority was enacted into law to prevent crimes before they occur. Our motto is, ‘If we can predict something before it occurs, we can stop it.’ ”

“Of course,” said Walter.

“The CASES burglary program contains the facts on millions of burglaries. It can tell us what makes a burglar, what motivates a burglar, what triggers a burglar. It can tell us about his methods and opportunities. It can tell us a myriad of other details. CASES has, in short, given us a complete portrait of the burglar, including all pertinent social, psychological and economic factors.”

“Of course,” said Walter.

“We also maintain statistics on facts relating to timing, including seasonal, monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly variations. According to our program, Mr. Spector, you are scheduled to commit a burglary tonight between” — he glanced down at the clipboard — “1:05 A.M. and 1:15 A.M.”

Walter didn’t say anything.

“Were you going out?”

“Out?”

“Your coat and hat.”

“I... yes, I was going out. For a walk.”

“What do you have in your coat pocket?”

“For a walk, yes. You see, I often take—”

“In your coat pocket, Mr. Spector. What do you have?”

“I... in my pocket?”

“Isn’t that a kitchen knife protruding from your coat pocket?”

Walter looked down at the knife protruding from his pocket. “Yes,” he said, “and a screwdriver too.”

“Mr. Spector, you must understand that my job is to prevent crimes before they occur. To save the possible loss of life and property. At this time no crime has actually been committed. You have been saved from making a serious mistake.”

“Of course,” Walter looked up, “I haven’t done anything yet!”

“Our records indicate that you are out of food, that your utility bills are overdue, that you are about to be evicted from your apartment.”

“Evicted?”

“That you were laid off from the Polaris Car Wash because of an accident attributed to your carelessness.”

“The suds, all over the place. My leg — it was just an accident. I’m going back soon.”

“That you have no savings, no income, no benefits that you can draw on.”

“Yes, my leg — it isn’t heeding right. But I’ll be back in—”

“Mr. Spector, if you will come with me, please.” The officer put the helmet on his head and stepped back a couple of steps.

“I — well, I don’t know. What do you want with me? I haven’t done anything.”

“Mr. Spector, it is my duty to escort you to the Prevention House.”

“Prevention House?” said Walter. “Oh, no! I couldn’t — you see, in just a matter of — oh, no, I couldn’t go!”

“Mr. Spector?”

Walter took a deep breath, and when he exhaled he found himself looking down. “But I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m sure the Authority will take that into consideration.”

The refrigerator started again, and Walter looked back into the apartment. “If we were to wait just a few minutes. The time would be past and—”

“I understand that, Mr. Spector, but I have no authorization in that respect. If the Probation-Incarceration Computer decides that you’ll be a good risk, you may come back. On the other hand, if the computer decides that you may contemplate another crime, you’ll have to remain at the Prevention House until such time as the computer decides that you are again a good risk.”

Walter looked back into the apartment again. The cupboard door stood ajar and the silverware drawer hung open. The refrigerator continued its odd joggling sound. He caught sight of an old calendar on the kitchen wall. It was brown and many years out of date, and where it curled away from the wall it left a small space infested with roach eggs. He didn’t even know what year it represented.

“Should I turn off the light?”

“That won’t be necessary. I have already notified the proper authorities.”

Walter stepped out onto the porch and into the wisps of fog, Officer Stiltson behind him. He looked around one last time at the neighborhood he knew so well. There was the Pay-Less Corner Grocery, diagonally across the street. He had passed it every night on his return walk to the apartment. And he had worked out his plan on one of those walks. He had worked it out so well; only a few minutes ago he had decided finally to go through with it.

There was the officer’s arrest car, its door flung open, a small cloud of vapor emanating from the exhaust and blending into the fog. And there was a small bright light from the radio inside. Just waiting. Waiting to take him to the Prevention House where he would be locked up and watched and given tests — countless tests with countless questions that he couldn’t hope to answer. No more walks through his old neighborhood. No more choice of whether he wanted to walk or not. Walter Spector: criminal, prisoner.

Walter took a deep breath — and sprinted off the porch and dashed diagonally across the yard. Officer Stiltson calmly and carefully fired three shots at his back, the shots hitting Walter in the left lung, the right lung, and the right kidney; and Walter fell dead.

In the second car across the street Commissioner Lusnet and Chief Detective Karrick watched as Officer Stiltson reloaded his gun.

“Overreaction,” said Karrick, his fingers dug into the armrest. “One shot would have stopped him.”

“My goodness,” said Commissioner Lusnet.