Sure, Larry Connaught saved my life—but it was how he did it that forced me to murder him!
of steel, and there is no mattress, only an extra blanket of thin olive-drab. It isn't comfortable; but of course they expect to make me still more uncomfortable.
They expect to take me out of this precinct jail to the District prison and eventually to the death house.
Sure, there will be a trial first, but that is only a formality. Not only did they catch me with the smoking gun in my hand and Connaught bubbling to death through the hole in his throat, but I admitted it.
I--knowing what I was doing, with, as they say, malice aforethought--deliberately shot to death Laurence Connaught.
They execute murderers. So they mean to execute me.
Especially because Laurence Connaught had saved my life.
Great story by Pohl. Some things, however wonderful, have to be kept secret. Completely secret.