She was wonderful and Forsdon was in love.
But he'd seen the future and knew that in
five days she was slated for murder!
His door was open, and he waved me in. "Sit down, Forsdon," he said.
"Welcome to the Department of Future Crime."
"Walker calls it Cronus—for the Greek God of Time. It gives us random glances around the city on what looks like a large TV screen—random glances into the future!" He paused for dramatic effect, and I probably disappointed him. I already knew that much. "The picture is hazy," he went on, "and sometimes we have a hell of a time figuring out the location of whatever it is we're looking at. We also have trouble pinpointing the time of an event. But we can't deny the potential. We've been in operation for three weeks, and already we've seen half a dozen holdups days before they happened."
"When?" the Captain asked.
"Seven to twelve days."
It hit me, then, like a solid wallop on the jaw. I'd been looking into the future.
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