They were one of the few of the new machines he had no real trouble with—although lately, being around Bennis as much as he was, he had become far more relaxed on the computer. They also had the virtue of being able to get him large amounts of material in a very short time without the waste or expense of traveling through the city. Garry Mansfield and Lou Emiliani hadn’t bothered to make him get into a cab, or to make their department pay a messenger. They had both just got on their fax machines and sent him everything they had, reams and reams of it, so that, by late in the morning, he had found himself surrounded by flimsy paper: toxicology reports, search reports, interview transcripts, expert advice. What worried Gregor was that, having supplied him with all this information, Garry and Lou would now expect him to make something of it. It certainly seemed as if there ought to be enough to make something of something. At the very least, he ought to have a clue. Instead, he was just as bewildered as he had ever been, and the information that was now coming in about the death of Sister Harriet Garrity wasn’t making things any clearer.
